Title: Black Roses and Weeping Statues
Summary: Neville's working in the greenhouse when something happens that he's not expecting. This is from his point of view. HP/DM.
Warnings: Um, slight slash. That's it, really.
Beta: Netrixie She goes over my things even when I tell her not to- it's annoying, but useful.
Disclaimer: None of it is mine; however, J.K. has given us permission to play with her characters, and that is just what I have done. So there.
Rating: T
Author's Note: I got the idea of the rose gardens from various ficlets I've read, but the most recent one has been Defenseless by SkyeEyesSparkle7135. The rest of it comes from my head, and remember- flames lower my gas bill- keep 'em coming!
The sky looked like rippled black velvet studded with diamonds through the roof of the greenhouse. Although the hot house was still warm from the heat of the late spring sun, Neville knew the temperature had dropped into the upper sixty's outside, and that was just one of the reasons he was loath to leave his retreat.
This greenhouse was the one farthest away from the school, and contained the most delicate of the plants he had charge of caring for. This was the greenhouse that contained the raw plants needed to create ingredients for calming and clear thinking draughts. The flowers on the Indian Musk Dripping had deep-water blue flowers with long, gently curved petals that seemed to, well, drip off the stem. They were the main ingredient in a third degree calming potion that Snape had fifth years practice.
The air in here was another reason the Neville didn't want to leave- the scent of all these flowers and plants was a calming thing, and he knew that it helped clear his mind and calm his emotions, and he needed that today.
He set down his tools and looked proudly around the garden. This was the one greenhouse that the students were never allowed to work in, and yet here he was. Of course, the fact that he'd already accepted the position as assistant Herbology teacher for next year, after graduation, was one of the reasons he was allowed in here. But not all of them. Sprout had seen, all the way back in fourth year how much stress he'd been dealing with, and had allowed him in here with supervision.
By fifth year he was allowed in here all by himself, and by sixth he was the main caretaker for this greenhouse. Which was more of a job than some people had thought, given how the war had progressed in that year. Everyone had wanted or needed calming or clear thinking draughts then, and he had been in charge of procuring the main ingredients. Hell, he'd even managed to stand up to Snape once, and now they were getting along.
He rolled his eyes. Thoughts of Snape inevitably led to thoughts of Malfoy, because once the war had ended during the summer between sixth and seventh, Malfoy had been accepted- well, he'd more demanded to remain in Hogwarts as the assistant Potions Master. It had come as quite a shock to everyone in the school to realize that Malfoy, the prat who excelled at making their lives miserable, had gotten his mastery in Potions during fifth year. That was ten years faster than anyone else, and the only person ever to have received it in a shorter amount of time was Snape himself.
And while he was on the subject, another student who had agreed to stay behind and teach was Harry. He'd been accepted by Hooch and Lupin to be the assistant for D.A.D.A. and flying lessons. Most of the school had been surprised, to say the least, but not Neville. He knew his friend well, better than most, and while others had expected him to get out of school, go see the world, or just be a society butterfly, Neville had known that Harry wanted to be left alone until he adjusted to a world without Voldemort.
No one knew just how Harry had defeated the Dark Lord- he'd just shown up at Hogwarts over the summer and said "He's dead." That had lead to widespread pandemonium, and while it had eventually been confirmed, no one would leave Harry alone. He'd finally snapped in November, shattering the camera's of the reporters, destroying their quick-quills, and leaving them mute for the rest of the year. No one else had quite dared to push the young man.
That damn war had screwed up everyone's lives. But it had brought them together in ways that no one would ever understand. Dumbledore had said, and often, that there will never be another class to rival this one for bravery and dedication to a cause, nor will there ever be one more committed to causing mayhem wherever they went. More often than not, that was met with shouts of laughter.
But it was true. And you only had to look as far as Harry to see it. He and Malfoy had made up, and had become the most unlikely of friends. Hell, Harry was rubbing off on the blond- Malfoy was even civil to Neville now. But there was the crux of Neville's problem, and the reason he was so unwilling to leave the safe comfort of the greenhouse.
The rest of Gryffindor didn't take kindly at all to Harry's befriending of the Prince of Slytherin, or Neville's acceptance of it. And Ron was pissed at Harry for taking the job he'd been pining for- assistant flying instructor. So when Harry wasn't there to take the brunt of the subtle abuse, Neville was their main target. Ron, Dean, hell even Seamus took part in the jibs and 'practical jokes'.
Hence, the reason for hiding out in the greenhouse.
Neville sighed and looked out of the glass panes toward the rose garden so few students knew about. It too, was also his sometimes charge, and he was proud of it. Right now, with the dark of night fully settled in the sky, the roses looked like they were made of shadow, gilded with silver, and edged with their natural colors. Blues from sky to midnight hued, reds ranging from hearts blood to hot pink, pinks from almost white to magenta, white, cream, yellows and butters, greens from aqua to chartreuse, and the rarest of them all- a velvety black that was used in heart's hope potions, to show true love. It was said that if you and your love touched the rose at the same time, and your love was true and enduring, the flower would always bloom, morning or night, winter or spring, for as long as the love perseveres.
Neville had nurtured a ring of the black roses around a fountain- it wasn't in the center of the garden, but rather off to the side. He had done it there for two reasons-so he could see it clearly from where he was standing, and because of the nature of the fountain. It added a kind of desperate appeal to the meaning of the flowers, a sad declaration that love was not always forever, but as fleeting as the dawn. The fountain was sad, an eternal lament for love lost, and Professor Sprout had never understood why he had encouraged the roses to grow in that one spot. He'd not had the guts to explain the symbolism to his favorite professor, and had just shaken his head. Perhaps one day she might see it for herself.
The statue was of a young woman, sunk onto her knees, wearing a tattered robe and little else. Her face was raised towards the sky, and her expression was one of such anguish and desolation that it always pulled at his heart. One hand was lifted, as though she was trying to catch the spirit of her love and pull him back to her, the other clutching at the material of her gown, above her heart.
Around her, five spouts shot water into the air, and no matter what direction the wind was blowing, they all always fell directly on top of her. It created the image that the statue was crying, had always been crying, will always be crying. Neville's favorite part, the most ironic part, was that the statue had been made by a muggle artist, as a representation of the loss of his sisters husband. Hundreds of years ago, a headmaster had brought the statue to the school, and added the water, and that is how it had been since then.
With a sigh, Neville turned and clicked off the light in the greenhouse, gathering up his tools, cleaning and putting them away. He'd just taken a step towards the door when motion in the statue's clearing caught his eye. He stepped back into the shadows, and watched with wide eyes as two people stepped onto the grass.
That blond head was instantly recognizable, and even as Neville acknowledged it was Malfoy, a darker shadow slid in behind the Slytherin. He narrowed his eyes in concentration- what were Harry and Malfoy doing here at the same time, and this late, too?
It was with shock that Neville watched Harry reach forward and tangle his fingers with the blonde's. Even greater was the feeling when Harry leaned forward and kissed the back of Malfoy's neck. Quickly, Neville cast a charm version of Extendable Ears, and what he heard blew his mind.
"-see why I asked you to come?" Harry's low, warm rumble asked of Malfoy. The blond tugged Harry forward by the hand, dragging him up to his side.
"Beautiful. How did you know this was here?" he replied in a cool baritone. Harry laughed.
"Neville told me he hides here from those asses in our dorm room. As with most of his hiding places, it's extraordinarily gorgeous." Neville felt a rush of warmth at the words.
Malfoy snorted. "For a lot of brave Gryffindor's, you two are well versed in hiding. No wonder you and Longbottom are the only one's I can stand. Snakes." He added as an afterthought, and Harry laughed again.
"Shush, you. Here's what I really wanted you to see." Neville was still reeling over the fact that Malfoy had said he could stand being around him, which was practically an admission of best-friendship, and almost didn't catch the change of topic.
Harry led Malfoy over to one of the bushes, and reached in, regardless of the thorns, and gently brought out a huge, stunning, barely opened black rose. He cupped it gently in his hand, and Malfoy reached out a finger and tenderly drew his finger across it. He let his hand fall, and Harry replaced the rose, then reached out and cupped Malfoy's cheek. He pressed his forehead to Malfoy's- his lips barely moved as he whispered "You know that I love you, that I will always love you."
The Slytherin's hand rose to the back of Harry's neck, resting there as he brought his lips in towards Harry's. When their lips were lightly brushing, Malfoy whispered, "I love you as well. Until the day I die, I swear it."
Neville cancelled the spell and turned away as their lips touched in earnest, ears ringing with their declarations. For the rest of the night, he sat, staring east, away from the lovers. As the stars faded and the sky gave up it's black velvet look, Neville came to a decision. He would never speak of what he'd seen, would never break that confidence.
The sky was laced with gold's and pinks when he finally got up and headed in for breakfast, a peaceful look about his face.
Neville sat, eyes sweeping the Hall during breakfast. The seventh years were getting rambunctious- in addition to getting ready for Christmas break, they would also be celebrating the defeat of the Dark Lord. The whole of the wizarding world had agreed to celebrate his defeat over the holidays, so they could remember what they had lost and gained. Much to Harry's disapproval, but…His untouched food lay on his plate, and to his right, Luna gave a sigh. He never ate breakfast anymore, and it worried her. The Divination teacher was his good friend and sometimes lover, and they had spent the last fifty years together, teaching at Hogwarts.
His eyes took in the rest of the staff table. Draco was the potions master, and an excellent one at that. His students had nothing but praise for him, a shock to those who'd known him during his own school years. And what do you know, he was also the head of Slytherin house. Harry taught Defense and was head, to the shock of many, of Hufflepuff. Ginny was the Quidditch coach and head of Gryffindor, Arithmancy was taught by Susan Bones who doubled as the head of Ravenclaw, and Ancient Runes was taught by, of all people, Lavender Brown. Transfiguration was taught by Blaise, and the only reason he'd given up his Quidditch career was because of a back injury. Care of Magical Creatures by Michael Corner, and he taught Herbology. It was a good staff, and they had all gotten over their school day rivalries.
And the Headmistress, of course, was Hermione. When she had come on staff as Transfiguration teacher, everyone had known it was only a matter of time before she took over Dumbledore's job. Five years after she was hired, Dumbledore retired, and Blaise was brought on to replace Hermione. Which wasn't a bad thing, really- the two of them had started sharing quarters a year later. Which had freaked the students out- professors should not have sex lives, and should definitely not share good morning kisses in public!
But they'd gotten over it, and theirs was hailed as one of the most romantic pairings in the whole wizarding world. Of course, being almost seventy was nothing in the wizarding world- Dumbledore and McGonagall had tied the knot about forty years ago, and they were still going strong at one hundred seventy-five, and one hundred sixty-three, respectively.
Everyone knew about Luna and his off again, mostly on again relationship, Ginny and Michael's tempestuous union, and Lavender and Susan's more controversial one. The only two people left unpaired on the staff were Draco and Harry, and they were just good friends. Neville picked up his tea cup and hid a smile as he took a sip.
Out behind the school, there was a magnificent rose garden. By the fountain of a weeping woman, surrounded by hundreds of hibernating rose bushes, one single black rose stayed in bloom all year round.
He would never tell.
Author's Note 2:
So, I am totally in love with this story, because I don't think I've ever written something so fluffy. And with no angst, too! Now, you know your duty- read and then review. I promise I'll try to reply to each of you! (can you imagine how wheedling I just sounded? Urg. And it rhymed.)Ta!
MannyWitch
P.S.: And here's my word of advice to all you wonderful people out there, reviewers or not- the only good cockroach is one on which you use a whole can of Raid™.