QLFC 13: Write from the perspective of someone other than a student who lives in Hogwarts: a ghost, a house-elf, a teacher, a portrait, the Sorting Hat, etc. Extra prompts: (word) freedom, (word) desire, (word) checkmate, (word/object) rook.
Thank you so much to Sam for beta-ing and being amazing.
exit, pursued by a bear
Neville has killed a snake, has won a war, has argued with his grandmother, and has faced his worst fears over and over.
None of that has prepared him for this.
"Mr. Longbottom," Headmistress McGonagall says, peering over her spectacles, "surely you aren't surprised? You're the only person Pomona would recommend for the Herbology position.."
Neville can't help but blush at her words. He's dreamed of this—it's been his desire since he was eleven, shivering every time Snape turned his eyes onto him in Potions, wishing he had a better teacher and vowing to never become the kind of adult that made kids cry.
"Thank you, Headmistress," Neville says hesitantly, "but are you sure?"
Headmistress McGonagall purses her lips and takes his hands in hers. "There is nothing I desire more."
…
"You deserve it, you know," Hannah says that night as they sit outside with bottles of butterbeer balanced in their laps.
Neville rests his head on her shoulder. "I love you," he says back. Her compliment echoes in his head over and over again, and his cheeks redden. Years later, he's still the same boy he was at eleven, awkward and self-conscious and bursting at the seams with his efforts.
"I love you too." Hannah fluffs up his hair, winking as he mock glares at her. "You're going to be amazing."
…
Sitting at the heads table is everything he's ever dreamed of. The stars in the Great Hall's sky shine above him and he watches the top of kids heads as they giggle in excitement and shake in anticipation.
He was one of them not too long ago (it's been four years but it still feels like yesterday) and now he has lesson plans stacked in his office.
It's a cycle coming to an end and Neville leans forward and breathes in the smell of a new start.
…
On the first day of his teaching, Neville wakes up early. He makes himself the steaming chamomile Ginny used made every single day of their darkest year, whispers Luna's good luck charm (it may be fake but not all magic comes from a wand), and puts on his newest robes.
The face staring back at him isn't his, all sharp jawlines and knowing eyes. He looks like his father with his mother's kindness, and the knowledge warms him—he hopes his parents would be proud of him.
"You've got this," Neville tells himself and the scariest part is that he believes it.
…
His first class is with the first years.
"You were in the war?" they ask him, all excited smiles and wide eyes. This is a generation who never saw Hogwarts's halls haunted by darkness, who never got cursed in a place they called home.
Neville sits on the floor and his students gather around him, small and rosy-cheeked. "Just this once," he warns them, and begins the story of Voldemort's last reign of power and the children who buried themselves in the fight against him.
...
It goes wrong though, of course it does, because they are all catalysts of a war and he's not naive enough to think otherwise.
"Professor Longbottom." One of his Seventh-year students sneers from the back of the greenhouses and he thinks he remembers her from years ago, a child of a Death Eater who manages to make every syllable of his name sound like a taunt. "How coincidental is it that they hired a war hero?"
Not at all, Neville thinks. He's the son of a legacy and a leader of an army. People died by his side.
"What do you think?" he says, a little too quick and a little too bitter, and when she laughs, the sound is harsh but not cruel, and his students look at him differently that day.
…
The next time he sees her is that night during his office hours.
"Professor Longbottom, I need your help with the belladonna," she announces, plopping down on his couch without an invitation.
"It's the first day," he says, raising an eyebrow in confusion, because she did it properly, he remembers that, then why—oh.
She laughs when she sees recognition in his eyes. "Camille Selwyn," she says, a smirk curving on her lips. "Yes, my parents were Death Eaters. No, I am not particularly interested in a life of crime, but I'm keeping my options open."
"You're a Ravenclaw," Neville says instead. He out of all people knows that nobody is ever exactly like their parents.
"Yes." She leans forward, eyes dark with curiosity and the delight of getting what she wants. "I'm on the hunt for knowledge. Are you willing to aid my endeavours?"
Neville doesn't think about it for more than a second. Once upon a time, there had been a teacher that had changed his life and ever since then, he's known exactly what he wanted to become. "What do you want to know, Ms. Selwyn?"
…
He spends most nights that winter in the staffroom, drinking tea with Aurora Sinistra, who had once taught him to see every constellation in the night sky.
"How are your children treating you?" she asks, passing him a sugar cube without asking. Neville accepts it, dropping it into his cup without any further fanfare.
"There was a first year who got tangled up in the vines of a rhumbustia hestigona, almost got eaten," he says with a tired sigh, "and my fourth years keep trying to set the greenhouse on fire. My seventh years seem to be plotting a revolution with the plants against me, I swear some of the essays are in mermish and—"
Aurora laughs knowingly. "You're in love with this, aren't you?"
Neville smiles ruefully. His mind is a million miles away, already planning his next week mentally. "Yes, I think I am."
…
"There's something called being too open-minded, you know," Camille tells him as they sit in his office, a chessboard between them. A little second year dozes in and out of consciousness in the corner between two seventh years who are studying for the NEWTS with a one track mind.
Neville shrugs. "I've never heard of that concept," he admits, almost sheepishly, and moves his rook.
"Checkmate," Camille says and knocks down his king. "You're rubbish at chess, Professor, but we love you anyways."
...
"Is this what you expected to be doing with your life?" he asks Hannah during a weekend where his marking had been done so early he had more than enough time to visit.
Hannah laughs, throwing her head back. "Nev, eleven-year-old me would have died at the idea of running the Leaky. I'm just imagining tell her that, and nope. She would have just collapsed."
"I did," he tells her hesitantly. "Professor Sprout… I wanted to be like her. Is that weird?"
"Neville," Hannah says softly and he leans in closer to hear her. "You're such a sap."
He jerks back and she laughs, kissing his cheek with an exasperated fondness.
"As long as you don't change your mind, it's admirable. But if you ever feel trapped, get out. We didn't win this war to lose our freedom," she tells him, and Neville wonders what he did in his life to deserve a woman so utterly perfect.
…
Neville awakens to the sound of his bedroom door opening.
"Longbottom," Headmistress McGonagall says briskly. "Something is going on in the Gryffindor dorm and I need you to go and take a look. I doubt the students would take my presence too well."
Neville nods sluggishly, unable to do anything more in the bizarre situation, before stumbling towards the door. He just hopes he doesn't regret it.
…
Ten minutes later, he thinks he may have just been happier as a lone farmer in the wilderness, never seeing kids again.
"Let me get this straight," he says, dumbfounded. "You wanted to become illegal bear animaguses, so you shrank a bear and smuggled it in?"
The girls in front of him blush, but one, a clear Gryffindor if he's ever seen one, shakes her head. "Of course not!" she says, looking at him with annoyance. "Don't be silly, we didn't smuggle it in. The shrinking charms just didn't last as long as expected and well, he started growing in the middle of the night."
Neville sinks to the ground, buries his face in his hands, and begins to brainstorm how to tell this to the Headmistress.
…
"Let me get this, Professor Longbottom." Headmistress McGonagall adjusts her glasses and glares at him. "You lost the bear?"
Neville blushes. "Well, not exactly," he begins. "It all started when it began to chase me and I panicked and levitated it out the window."
Headmistress McGonagall sighs heavily. "Mr. Longbottom, I am proud of your success as a teacher, but I highly advise you learn to deal with these kinds of situations."
Neville stares, nods, and wonders where he can find a guidebook to dealing with foolhardy students and smuggled wildlife.
…
The first time he leaves Hogwarts as a student, he is eleven going on twelve and lonely.
The first time he leaves Hogwarts as a teacher, he is not scared. He has twelve letters tucked into his robes for later, an empty planner to fill, four book recommendations for Camille, and a future waiting for him.
This time around, he knows his parents are proud, and more importantly, he's proud of himself.