Title: Greenhouse Sailing
Rating: K+
Chapter #: 1 of 1
Ship/s: Neville/Luna
Era/s: Hogwarts
Genre/s: Slightly fluffy, Romance
NOTE: I recommend you read this in 3/4 width and with the font size 2 steps bigger than the preset. It looks a lot nicer and much easier to read, I think:)
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rewriting the epilogue right now.
Winter at Hogwarts was always the same; bitterly cold, with the kind of temperatures that make your teeth chatter and incite a craving for steamy cups of cocoa to be consumed all day, every day. It was no surprise, therefore, that as the groggy daffodils raised their aureolin- and amber-yellow heads, and the sun stepped fully away from the winters' swath of clouds, the students flooded eagerly out to the castle's grounds like a flock of birds swooped about the sky. Carefree and scarf-free, space all along the banks of the Great Lake were almost permanently occupied by happy students who had eagerly finished off their homework late Friday night so as to spend as maximum time in the sun as was possible.
The final Saturday in May heralded the same features as the others before it: amber rays of sun beat down on the backs of students that had happily cast aside all of their extra winter layers and were lounging and laughing happily underneath a clear blue sky. Every pupil at Hogwarts was outside – every pupil except, that is, Neville Longbottom. The teenage Gryffindor in question was not basking under glorious skies, nor was he laughing at all; in fact, he couldn't even manage a smile as he lay gloomily on his four-poster, staring blankly at the wood-chipped ceiling of his dormitory. His mind was whirring however. It seemed to have split into two Nevilles who were arguing, their remarks tinged with self-loathing.
Why don't you just go outside? Oh, of course – it's because you're sad, loser Neville Longbottom.
You forgot to add stupid, ugly and laughed at. Besides, who are you to push me around? You're the one who's never hugged a girl, let alone had a girlfriend.
Well, hate to burst your Bubble-Head Charm, but I'm you, as much as I hate to be.
It was ridiculous and borderline insane, but the hateful comments had been tossing around his head for over an hour. Harry, Ron and his other roommates had left for the grounds just before they'd started flowing; Neville had declined their invitation to join them, but he hadn't told the other boys that the reason behind his decision was that he instead wanted to bang his head against the bedstead's headboard and curse. Curse at himself, for being such a loser; curse at God or whoever was up there, for making him like this; curse at teachers and girls, for scorning and dismissing him without even trying to see the boy inside; and curse at his parents, for—
No. Had he honestly just thought that? Neville shook the horrid notion from his head, feeling like filth for it running through there in the first place. Nauseous and hating himself more than ever, he threw the pillow he was clutching across the room with a roar of anger before heading to the Gryffindor boys' bathroom. His pasty-white hands gripped the edges of the nearest basin. Shaking with repressed rage, he raised his head and stared repugnantly at his pallid, sweating face, which he subsequently splashed with icy water that trickled from the dull-grey tap that a past user had left running.
Running. That was what Neville wanted to do. Escape from himself; from the cage of loathing that he had built around his body. But where to go? For Neville, there was only one option: the greenhouse.
But today, he wouldn't occupy it alone.
Staring down at him from their permanent position along the peaked roof, long serpentine dragons remained frozen in their stone hissing. Sun filtered in through the large, slightly muddy windows, illuminating flecks of dust and displaying their airy dance through the greenhouse. Plumes of ruby smoke puffed steadily from a Fire Seed Bush in the corner of the room, diffusing with the heady-scented air and giving it a distinct red tinge. Soft ruffling of leaves and low mutterings from the Screechsnaps teamed with the distant echoes of students outside to prevent the smothering weight of complete silence.
It hadn't been difficult for Neville to traverse the grounds unnoticed. After all, he was usually still invisible even when he tried to be seen, so blending into the background was a mastered art for him. Only once along his path had he faltered; just as he had neared the patch of burnt grass that had fallen victim to a backfired Fred and George Weasley prank the year before, he was certain that he had heard Hermione's scolding tones drifting from behind a cluster of shrubbery and had to scurry away as noiselessly as possible. But now that Neville had reached the greenhouses, he was unsure what exactly to do with himself. Wringing his hands, he neared a patch of Lithibulps and began to tend to them, snipping the ends of their water-carrying tubes and picking off the soggier, wilted leaves. He was just beginning to spray protective lacquer on the spiral-shaped plant when the sound of movement around the other side of the greenhouse caught his attention.
"H-hello?" he began nervously, trying in vain to keep his voice steady, "Professor Sprout? Is that you?"
No answer came; rather, the smash of a glass bottle hitting the floor was the response. Neville's worries heightened as he stepped forward, armed with the dispenser. Looking absurd, he edged closer to the tray of fertiliser that the crash had come from, praying that it wasn't another dead Mandrake. "Come out, whoever you are, else – else you'll be in trouble!" he blurted out, trying to sound like he had justifiable authority. In a way, he supposed he did – Professor Sprout often mentioned how he was her favourite student, and he had never slipped below Outstanding in any of his Herbology class- and homework. "If you don't show yourself, I'll – I'll tell Professor Sprout!"
"Oh, don't tell Professor, I was only—argh!"
A figure had popped up from behind the fertiliser tray so suddenly that Neville had panicked; the girl he had inadvertently sprayed with Bite-No-More was now clutching her hands to her eye, bobbing up and down as she felt the sting. Neville rushed towards her, his voice leaping to high pitched wails:
"Oh! Sorry! I'm sorry! Are you okay? Oh, damn ..."
He put his arms around her shoulders and steered the girl over to a stool, crouching down beside her. "Can you take your hand away for me?" he coaxed. She lifted her pale hand from her face and Neville saw that her right eye had became swollen and puffy. The rest of her face was beautiful, however; the girl was graced with large eyes, swirling crystal balls of grey and blue. "It'll sting a little, but I know how we can sort this." He rooted around in a nearby cupboard for a minute before emerging holding a small, jade-coloured glass bottle. Holding it between his index finger and thumb, Neville gave the red-capped bottle a vigorous shake then unscrewed the cap. A smell of pine trees and lime gumdrops inflamed their nostrils immediately; it had the irresistible texture of velvet.
Neville dipped his little finger into the bottle. "Close your eye for – for a minute," he said, "it'll be sorted in n-no time." Despite his confident words, Neville was anything but as he delivered the last part of his sentence. His finger traced a line along the rim of her sore eye, brushing along her eyelashes and wrinkling her creamy skin. Neville gulped.
The girl, meanwhile, was laughing.
"Ooh, it tickles more than the Furry Walshies on Fridays!"
This bizarre remark made him even more nervous; he was clueless as to what a Furry Walshie could be, nor why they were particularly tickly the day before the weekend. Confusion aside, the transparent liquid had soon been applied all over her eyelid, the swelling already beginning to fade.
"There you are," he faltered. She smiled warmly, swinging her barefooted legs as she remained seated on the wooden stool. "So – er – what are you doing in here? I heard a smash, see," Neville gestured with his head over to the trolley behind which the girl had emerged. "And um, I'm Neville by the way – Neville Longbottom."
"Luna Lovegood; pleased to meet you," she chirped. He was sure that Luna couldn't be in his year. A short girl she was, but with a face that looked as though she had witnessed much that someone her age should never have been subjected to. Nimbly, she hopped off the stool and walked – no, it would be more accurate to say 'danced', with her peculiar gait – towards the trolley. Neville stood up and followed her; she had bent down and was scrabbling for something on the floor. Once again she popped up – this time, safely unsprayed – holding what seemed like a large, bright piece of parchment. "It's a kite," she said proudly, turning the yellow sheet over to reveal a cross-shaped twig frame. "Yellow," she leaned in and dropped her tone to a more serious murmur, "to please the Nargles."
Neville bit his lip – all of these creatures she was mentioning; had he missed them in Care of Magical Creatures? Admittedly, he spent less time listening in Hagrid's classes than he did trying to stay alive, but still, he couldn't have skipped past so much; could he? In a brave attempt at playing it cool, he decided to play along with her – after all, he didn't want to look like an idiot to yet another new acquaintance; at least, not yet.
"Oh yeah, yeah, you need the – um – Gargles on your side," he nodded feverishly.
"Nargles."
"Isn't that what I said?"
"No, you said—"
"Nargles, yeah, exactly – so anyway, um, why did you make the kite?" He'd already messed up the imperturbable approach, best to divert her attention from his obvious blunder.
Luna laughed, a tinkling of fairy bells, and nodded to the window. "Why not? It's a beautiful day, after all," her expression seemed to melt away into a more mischievous face and a grin spread across her cheeks. Neville glanced a few inches above her head, checking for a light bulb. "Come on!"
All of a sudden she grabbed his hand and raced from the greenhouse, pulling him along and filling his ears with her exultant peals of glee. They were out of the glass-panelled corridor and onto the dewy grass soon enough, and Luna's shrieks increased even further in volume as she flung the sunshine kite into the air. Almost everyone in a wide proximity was staring at the pair, bewildered and amused, but they were invisible to Neville; they might as well have been blades of jade grass, or microscopic ants and ladybirds, he wasn't aware of their presence in the slightest. She was holding his hand.
Past Hagrid's hut they dashed, both hooting and hollering nonsense. Ordinarily – although this situation was far from ordinary – Neville would have been chewing on his lip and mumbling humbly to the others to keep down their screaming whilst remaining quiet himself, but not today. Today, something had changed inside him; he was no longer pitiful, pathetic Neville. He was happy, handsome Neville, ready to take on the world – ready even to take on Professor Snape, if need be. And he would do it with Luna Lovegood at his side, a sunflower kite trailing from her hand.
"Oof!"
Abruptly they stopped. Neville steadied himself and glanced at Luna, who was now holding onto a taut, tightly wound string. Following the cord's path with his eyes, he saw that it had gotten tangled up in a gate of one of the towers' parapets. He groaned. Together, the pair endeavoured to dislodge it by yanking on the twine and running back and forth with it, shaking the rope vehemently, but to no avail: the kite was stuck.
"Oh, bugger, we'll have to climb up to get it now," Luna sighed, her face still lit with a dreamy euphoria. Neville was unsure of her meaning.
He pointed to the tower's rounded wall. "You mean, up – up there?"
"No, silly!" She was laughing at his mistake, but it was different than when other people did: instead of scorning at his expense, she was teasing him with him. "We don't have to scale the outside, this isn't a spy film! Come on, there should be a flight of stairs here."
Neville couldn't help but chuckle along with her; her bubbly deportment was infectious.
Concurrently they climbed the cracked, barely-used staircase, keeping their eyes peeled for gaps in the rotting woodwork; Luna's nose was wrinkled at the musty, faintly clouded air. Upon reaching the final step, both students paused to scope their surroundings.
The tower must have been unused; the pebbled floors were painted with dust and they lay unfurnished. Protruding from the centre of the perfectly circular, stone-walled room was a single post of wood that stretched up to the high-ceilinged tower's upper foundations and, presumably, kept the pointed roof from crashing in. Neville warily eyed the timber support and carefully manoeuvred Luna around it as they crossed the floor space. On the other side of the small tower-room, they found the roughly-fashioned square hole that they had glimpsed from the grounds; barred with a slate-coloured grate made up of bars and diamond shapes. Wound tightly around one of the latter was the sunshine yellow cord, from which the kite was dangling outside. Neville reached out to try and prise it off, but his efforts were in vain; the only feasible method of loosening the string manually would result in him slicing up his hand on the sharp grey diamonds. He felt in his pocket; there was another way, he realised, as long as he had -
Bingo.
Now gripping his wand, his palms becoming sweaty, Neville racked his brains for the correct charm. Once he had remembered it, however, there would be the other task: performing it correctly in front of Luna. If he messed up, she'd realise finally that he was loser Longbottom, and that was the last thing on Earth he wanted to happen. He had to summon some confidence for once; stand up to himself and have some self-belief.
Come on, Neville. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this... Swallowing his doubt and replacing it with aplomb, he raised his wand-arm to point at the hanging thread. "Diffindo!"
Instantly, the cord severed and Neville's face broke out into a proud grin. He had done it. But he had forgotten one thing, something he remembered a little uncomfortably late - gravity. Hastily, he dashed closer to the grate and yelled "Wingardium Leviosa!"
A small pop came from the end of his wand and inside his chest, Neville's heart plummeted. Had he failed? At the most simple, basic of charms, too: the levitation charm. Learnt in first year. His face flushed hot beetroot and he wished that he could use the radiating heat to melt into the floor and not have to look at Luna.
"Ah!"
Luna gasped and smiled as her makeshift kite sailed elegantly through the bars of the window grate. She plucked it neatly from the air and turned to face Neville, who felt he could faint with relief. Now slightly battered with a few rips and tears, the kite wasn't perfect; but then, neither were the couple that had run with it. The couple that were now beaming knowingly at each other; smiling at their own inside joke.
A few moments passed, before the kite was cast away across the stone floor and its owner remained standing; embracing the boy who had saved it.
God bless the greenhouses.
A/N: So, this is my second offering to you all - and also the second fic I've utilised Luna as one of the main characters in. This one was written for MalfoyPotter1996's 'Love Intrest Challenge'. I recieved the pairing Neville/Luna and the prompts 'kite', 'pop' and 'stairs', which all feature in this fiction. Anyway, if you enjoyed it please do take the time to leave a little review, and if you really liked it, recommend it to your peers! I'm starting on some more short fics immediately, too, so you'll see them posted shortly. Thank You!
