Trying To Touch A Ghost

by serpensortia1

Neville didn't return to his dorm last night'. Professor Sprout spends her morning in an unhappy interlude from her normal duties as a teacher.

Disclaimer: Harry and everyone and thing surrounding him aren't mine. I'm sure you all know they belong to someone else by now right?

***

Trying to Touch a Ghost

I've never been a real morning sort of person. True, I'm much more amiable than Minerva is when she first wakes up, but I'm still never in gear until I've sat down, had some breakfast and settled into the day. It almost makes me feel a little sorry for the class who's papers I'm marking right now, squeezing that bit of extra time out of the part of the day when I tend to sit waiting for my clock to inform me that it's time to head to the great hall. Before this, I have a bit of a short fuse and I feel a little as if my head is made of jagged edges. I'm rough, to put it rudely.

I look down at my papers, all on the dangers of Billywigs to certain plants. Glimpsing through, I think everyone is correct in my third year Slytherin's, but quite a few haven't reached my quota. Nothing outstanding in this pile, not many house points to be given out, I think with a little bit of regret. The third years from that bunch aren't quite as adept in Herbology as previous years - they don't have the patience needed to tend and care for plants.

I sigh a little, picking up the next paper to read through, when there's a knock at my door. It can only be either one of my Hufflepuff's with an early morning problem, or any one pupil trying to give me a poor excuse about homework I've set them. I personally, have no qualms about setting work to be completed and handed in on a weekend like this.

When I open my door, into the warmest corridor in the school I might add, I'm faced with Martha Tully, a second year who I know very well indeed. A day never seems to go by without Martha having some sort of problem, or someone else having a problem that she sees fit to tell me or…she just likes to come and tell me things sometimes. I have to admit feeling a little sorry for the child; by the way she talks to me all the time, I think she must be awfully lonely - she's found it hard to make friends, so comes to me instead. Mind you, sometimes it's hard to feel sorry for someone pulling me out of my chambers half an hour before I normally do. Even the warmest corridor looks draughty and unwelcoming compared to my lushly decorated living quarters.

"Sorry to bother you Professor Sprout…" She starts very quickly, saying everything in one gasp of breath. Her cheeks are red and flushed from running up here and clash a little with her strawberry blonde hair. "But, this first year, Thomas Budgen I think his name is, has got his thumb stuck up one of the taps and none of us, not even some seventh years, can get it out."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, shutting the door behind me. Thumb up a tap. The mind boggles.

"Right then." I start striding down the corridor, concentrating on the sound my boots make on the floor and the sound of Martha's slippers shuffling behind me. "I don't suppose you know why he thought sticking his thumb in a tap was a good idea?"

I hear Martha scuttle up to my side. "Well I think one of his friends saw some slime up there," typical boys, "so he was trying to get it out, but then he reckons something icy was up there because his thumb went all frozen, and then it sort of…stuck."

"And he's in the Boy's main bathroom is he?" I turn my head back and catch a glimpse of her nodding. Something icy being up a water pipe sounds suspiciously like a ghost to me, to freeze his finger like that at least. And I only know of one ghost around these walls who likes to be in taps in boy's bathrooms. Sounds like Myrtle has had a bit of a shock this morning, I doubt she's used to boys sticking thumbs up her. Perhaps I'll go and find her later on, just to see if it was her and maybe warn her against doing that in the future.

I peer into the boy's bathroom upon arrival to find a large crowd, male and female, gathered round a stick thin boy with…yes, his thumb wedged in a tap. It's also worth noting that Thomas is vomiting some nasty looking green slugs. I shake my head…some wonderful fool has deemed that having slugs purging out of your stomach at an alarming rate helps the matter.

"OK, out of the way everyone!" I boom over the noise. It stops for a moment, until I'm then barraged with people telling me what they've tried. I send a glare in the direction of the second year that caused the slugs. From what I hear though, they've used almost every spell possible on the poor, stupid boy. Honestly, sometimes I want to disown this lot. It makes me worry what the rest of the school must be like, seeing my Hufflepuffs are said to be the most practical.

"A lesson to all of you. Magic may be useful, but it's not the solution to everything - it's merely an aid and a weapon to the more important person who uses it. There's no point in hexing him unless it's any use now is it?" They all sort of nod in agreement, as another wave of slugs fly out of Thomas's mouth, just missing a group of disgusted fifth year girls. "Right - finite incantium." That stops the slugs for now. I then venture over to Thomas, wading through the slugs and grab the bar of soap on the side, before greasing his thumb with it. With a few tugs, it slips out looking a little worse for wear and covered in the slime. "Lovely. Next time you want to see slime lad, see me and I'll set you to work on some plants of mine - now off to Madam Pomfrey, you'll start vomiting again in a minute. You lot, go and get dressed! And somebody get Mr Filch to come down here to clean this mess up!"

I sigh, looking down at my feet. I'll have to change again before breakfast, and I'd bet money that these slugs are still here tonight; nobody will want to take the brunt of Filch's despair over this mess. It's times like this that I wonder why I ever told Albus I'd take this job, but then again, it's first thing in the morning on a weekend, still plenty of time for someone to remind why I love it so much too.

***

Breakfast at weekends is a much more relaxed affair than those of the weekdays. The teachers are much more cheerful, enjoying the feeling of knowing you have the whole weekend to wind down and sort out those little things that have been nagging you all week. That and although we have to look out for the pupils safety constantly, it's a time dedicated to yourself. The pupils all walk in late or in small groups, making it a much quieter affair too.

But it doesn't stop the morning routine much at the main table. Everyone is set in a routine of whom they sit near at which mealtime, only really changed when we have visitors. At dinner times, I'm usually in between Minerva and Hagrid, lunch times I usually eat either very late or very early so then I'll converse with anyone who's around at the time, but at breakfasts I always take my place next to Severus, much to the great amusement of the rest of the staff. Yes he can be a foul, mostly unpleasant man who takes more points from pupils in my house than any other member of staff, but a few years back we found that we had something in common - a rather dark sense of humour. For all that I am meant to be the leading example of a Hufflepuff, I'm not perfect in that sense - my sense of humour is much more enjoyed by the Slytherins than any other house.

Severus and myself spend much of the breakfast time trying to outdo one another on who has had the worst day yesterday or quietly mocking one another's pupils for one thing or another. It's a wonderful way of getting rid of tension in the mornings to laugh at somebody else and neither of us mind it one bit. This morning is no different. After sitting quietly for a few minutes, Severus started it off.

"I heard you saved one of your pupils lives this morning. How very…heroic of you."

I smile in his direction, whilst my mind thinks up a suitable reply. "I'm surprised that someone of your intelligence believes idol gossip like that. You know my lot have a habit of exaggerating."

"Indeed they do. However, I was simply repeating what I heard from a pupil, I never said I believed it. Care to let me in on what the truth of the matter was?"

"First year had his thumb up a tap. I pulled it out. Stupid boy was throwing up slugs everywhere thanks to one of my marvellous second years." We both smirk a little - despite the way it annoyed me, you do have to admit it sounds quite amusing and in some way and the slugs seem to be a lesson well learnt on the boy.

"Would this second year happen to be Jennifer Johnston?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "How did you guess?"

"Maybe I should warn you, she appears to have an…obsession shall we say, with that particular spell. She astounded me the other lesson by hitting one of the school owls with it."

"Charming." I say sarcastically back, the mental image of one of Severus' lessons being disrupted by it floating in my head. It was either very brave or very stupid of her to try out the spell in potions of all things. I fear it is the latter.

"Yes, a charming mistake that cost you thirty points I'm afraid." I glare in his direction in between a mouthful of tea. That's where those points went! We were only a couple away from gaining second place in the house championship, but then all of a sudden they'd gone. Perhaps next time I take some off his lot, I'll remind myself to be in a bad mood - fair or not. "It disrupted my lesson and ruined many potions - I feel I was justified."

I spend the rest of the breakfast, still talking, but also trying to work out in my head who I'm more annoyed at - Severus or Miss Johnston. Either way, I try my hardest to wipe the smug grin off Severus' face, but it fails…the man is clearly far too satisfied to have annoyed, pretty much the whole of Hufflepuff house. It's not that we want to come first, and we know that a silly house rivalry won't matter in later life, but it would be nice to have everyone's hard work acknowledged for a change. It hasn't escaped any of us that Hufflepuffs have managed to get themselves a reputation as a load of old duffers. But this year…well I have half a house still in mourning for Cedric and the other half spending time trying to help the others through everything. A second place in rankings would have done everyone a world of good - really lifted spirits. But at least next year looks promising, I've had a number of younger members and old too, telling me that they're planning on practising hard for the Quidditch this year, so we have a team to better the others next year - and lord bless them, I've heard them say they want to do it for Cedric, because he had faith in the lot of them. To me, that's living proof that life goes on, even if we don't forget the dead, we use the strength that we built through the difficult times to make us better. I daresay, thinking about it, that I'm actually rather proud of them all.

"Unusual, is it not, that both Minvera and the Headmaster are late this morning?" Severus' words jilt me out of my thoughts, and I look down the table only to have his words confirmed.

"Hmm…Minvera is always the punctual one too. Maybe one of her students shoved a body part up a tap this morning." I'm delighted to see Severus almost lose his cool as he tries to cover up his choking on some water. I smile pleasantly at him when he stops coughing, "But you're right…it is odd for even Albus to be as late as this." Severus mutters something unintelligible under his breath, before looking up at the doors. Following his gaze, I can see a very flustered looking Minvera McGonagall heading straight towards us - speak of the devil and all that.

"Good morning…or is it afternoon?" Severus smirks at her, as she stops on the opposite side of the table and looks down at us. I have the strange feeling of being eleven again, and being told off by my old Defence against the Dark Arts teacher for suggesting that kicking a grindylow would be a good way of getting rid of it.

Ignoring Severus, Minerva starts to speak, sounding very serious. "I'm afraid, I'm bearer of bad news. Albus was going to bring it up in the staff the meeting tonight, but…oh Ivy," she sighs and looks at me solemnly, "Enid Longbottom passed away yesterday afternoon. Albus only heard about it this morning and it doesn't sound good. The ministry refuse give out any information about her death at the moment, except to the next of kin."

She lets the information sink into us for a moment. Poor old Enid…she was getting old, it's highly possible that she may have gone peacefully, but we're heading into dark times and nothing can be taken for granted when death is concerned. I take a glance at Severus and Professor Sinstra on the other side of him, Severus looks blank and she looks concerned. But I know why Minvera addressed me out of the three of us…we both knew Enid fairly well because we were the ones who helped her organise the papers to make her the legal guardian of - oh lord -

"Neville?" I whisper, and Minerva nods her head. The poor boy…he's had it just about as rough as anyone in this whole school this year. At the end of September, the wizarding world was greeted with the news that St. Mungos had been taken over…almost destroyed. And while the patients had all got out of there safely, Neville's parents died a few weeks later without the expert care they had received there. He surprised us all by taking the news well, but to lose his grandmother within six months…I wouldn't wish that upon anyone, especially Neville Longbottom.

"Albus is certain he would have received the owl sometime after lessons ended yesterday. And the worst of it, Miss Granger informed me this morning that nobody has seen him since then; his bed, apparently, wasn't slept in last night."

Severus looks a little peeved now, as Professor Sinstra stands up and walks over to Minerva, a gentle smile on her face. "I'll have a look for him around the Astronomy tower - I often find students who've snuck up there in the night for a bit of solitude." That's not the only thing they sneak up there for, I can't help but think with a touch of amusement, but that's not the case of it today.

"I suppose this means, I have to look in the dungeons too? Although, why Longbottom would want to wonder round there is beyond all comprehension."

"If you could Severus," Minvera sends him a stern look, "and if you do find him, for heavens sake hold your tongue." Robes flowing behind him and with a familiar scowl on his face, Severus Snape heads off and out of the great hall. It's no wonder children are scared of him, even the way he walks shouts 'stay well clear unless you want your fingers burnt'. "Ivy, would you -"

"Say no more, I'll go and check the greenhouses and the Herbology store room. Neville has a key to them both."

"Thankyou. It's bad enough when one pupil goes missing, but in these circumstances…well, Albus wants to find him as soon as we can." She pauses for a minute, seemingly wondering whether or not to voice whatever concern she might have, but in the end she comes out with it. "I daresay however, that Albus' intentions on finding him may not be as pure as they might seem."

It takes me a moment to understand what she means, but I soon see what she's getting at. Neville has information on how Enid died, something that Albus would love to get his hands on. Although he only wants to know this to gage you-know-who's activity, it feels a little off to think that Neville's safety is not his number one priority. With a swift nod of understanding at Minerva, I make my own way out into the Hogwarts grounds, stopping on my way to quickly tell Mr Filch about the mess in our boy's bathroom and making a quick escape before he gets too annoyed. I can hear the shouts of 'keep more control over the scum!' following me through the damp grass of the lawn.

Well, the first place to check on is probably the store cupboard, seeing as only about six people in the whole school can get into it - myself, Hagrid, Severus, Albus, one of my sixth years and Neville. I left Neville the key after I gave him one to go and fetch some things for me last year. When he came back…I'm not sure, he handed me the key, but I just told him to keep it. He looked quite pale at the time and had heavy shadows under his eyes - he just needed something to perk him up and I trusted him to keep the key safe. That's the thing with Neville, every so often he just needs someone to boost his confidence and that can usually be done with praise or trust.

I shove my key into the lock, and look around the small hideout in the side of the west wall. Lighting my wand, I peer in - no sign of him in here then. Perhaps it was too obvious. I'm just locking the door back up, when some voices on my left catch my attention. Quietly, moving round and past greenhouse three, I soon realise that neither of the two voices are Mr. Longbottom. But I'm a little intrigued as too why pupils would be around greenhouse ten and seven when they have been told inexplicably that at weekends all greenhouses are out of bounds, let alone those two which are always out of bounds (unless of course, you have my permission to enter them).

"I should have brought my cloak…"

"Well it is February…we'll be done soon though. Damn! Why aren't six to ten on this thing?"

"New additions probably, listen Harry can we just hurry up? If Snape finds us here, you know he'll go mental!"

"But if we don't find him, Hermione will be doing the same."

"Yeah - she's acting just like my mum, it's scary."

*Laugh* "Right - I think he's in seven, can't be -"

"Can I help you boys?" I come out from my hiding place to find Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, desperately trying to hide a piece of parchment behind their backs. I briefly see Mr Weasley mutter something under his breath, whilst his wand is pointed at the parchment.

Well, I'll be damned. Could it be that this map of Mr. Potter's that Severus has complained to me about so many times actually exists? I always thought that he was simply over-reacting to some sort of Zonko's product…but yet here they are with a very old piece of parchment that they clearly don't want me to know about and it's all fitting. A magic map. I'll take much more notice of Severus next time he mentions that.

"No! No, we're fine." Says Harry breathlessly.

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow at them both. "You're fine, but yet I can't help but notice how you're in a part of the grounds that you know full well is forbidden. Would you like to explain yourselves, or shall I send you straight to the headmaster?" Oh, I may not be a cruel as Severus, but fair is fair. They're in the wrong place at the wrong time today and they've been caught. I don't intend on just brushing it off and telling them to run away and play like good children.

"We - we were…you see - "

" - We thought we'd maybe look for Neville."

"Yeah, I sorta remembered seeing him…er around here yesterday and me and Harry thought we'd check."

I send them the sternest look that I can muster, seeing as I can't tell for sure if they're telling the truth or not. But even if they are, they're in the fifth year now, their best friend is a prefect; they should know the rules off by heart.

"Be that as it may, you know better than this. You should have told a teacher, not play the hero. So where abouts do you believe Mr. Longbottom is?" Harry stumbles on his words for moment, before mumbling out 'greenhouse seven professor.' I march past the two of them and take a look at the door. The lock's already open. I mutter out the password that this door has on it (an extra guard for the more dangerous greenhouses), before easily sliding it open. I can't help but see that some of my mandrakes have frostbite at first - miserable weather - before wondering down the narrow path and finding…well at least they were correct on something, even if they were breaking rules. Curled under one of the shelves with some trailing aconite half covering him, is a frightened looking Neville Longbottom. I let out a sigh of relief, before heading back out to the other two boys. They both look up at me nervously, and expectantly.

"You can both make yourselves useful and tell Professor McGonagal that he's been found and that I'm taking care of it ok?" They both nod their heads simultaneously, before moving away. "And gentlemen - five points from Gryffindor each. Nothing gives you the excuse to roam around here at the weekends, is that understood?" I hear a chorus of 'Yes Professor Sprout' come back, before they both rush off, Ronald rubbing his arms from the cold, the two of them probably mumbling words of complaint about having house points taken, but sometimes it's the only way they'll learn anything.

I take a moment to gather myself before heading back into the greenhouse. I've no doubt that Neville knows he's been found, but he won't have moved. Technically, this sort of thing should be done by the child's head of house - which in Neville's case means Minerva. We use that system so that the pupils build up the most trust in their heads of house, and so, if they have any trouble, the first person they should go to is that teacher. It works very well normally, but instinct tells me that between Minerva and myself, perhaps it's best that I deal with the boy first before handing him on. He needs more gentle approaches to things, you can't simply charge headlong in there and get him annoyed enough to tell you what's wrong; you have to be calm and move slowly with him.

I lift the trailing plant onto another shelf, leaving Neville exposed and I sit right down beside him - straight into the dirt, but it doesn't matter. Neville seems to be shaking something fierce and his face projects all sorts of emotions - fear being the biggest of the lot. I wait for him to start up the conversation and after a few minutes of shuffled silence, he makes a shaky start.

"I - I'm sorry, I u-used the key a-a-and pass-password" he takes a few breaths to calm himself down a little, " I'm sorry Professor…I shouldn't have used it."

"That's OK, you're not in trouble lad, although I wouldn't make a habit of it - Mr Filch might think we have a thief amongst us." He simply nods his head at this, unwilling to make any more conversation. I was rather hoping he might be a little more outspoken than this, a little more willing to tell me what I already know; often with grief people do say much more, because all their guards have been let down. "Your friends were worried Neville, you didn't sleep in the dorm last night - I just found some of them sneaking around here trying to find you."

"Oh." There's a pause. "You heard didn't you?" His voice is dry and throaty, and by the looks of his eye's he's been crying for quite some time before I turned up, but they've dried out for now. I don't blame him; sometimes it's the best medicine in the world. You don't feel better afterwards, you don't solve anything by doing it, but it allows you to simply feel unhappy properly, which is far better than just bottling it all up.

"The Headmaster received the news this morning. I've hardly had time for it to sink in myself…but I know it will hurt later on today, I knew your Grandmother fairly well you know."

"She - I think she mentioned it once. Sorry, I can't really remember much right now."

"Head done a one eighty on you?" He nods, and I gingerly pat his arm in sympathy. Some children react negatively to touch so you have to be careful, but I often find that just reaching out that little bit can help so much more than clumsy words or advice. It's the sort of thing that parents generally give, and so they miss out on a lot here. Neville's indifferent to it, almost as if he's some sort of cocoon. "It happens to the best of us. These things…they're never going to be pretty or easy to go through, you know that, I shan't lie to you. Your Grandmother was a wonderful lady; I don't think anyone who's ever met her will be able to forget her. She was such a force to be reckoned with…she's left a hell of a mark in my memories, there's a lot that she's done in her life for us to be proud of her for."

There's a horrible clench in my gut as I say that. Oh yes, I'm sad that life has finally outrun Enid, but more than that - memories of my late husband all come flooding back to me at once. He died during the height of the last war - the reign of terror. I was so lost, so desperately trying to take in words just like the ones that I've told Neville, but none of them penetrate a loss like that. He was the only person I'd ever had the misfortune to lose; both of my parents were still alive and beyond that…well, my grandparents died when I was five and seven and whilst I vaguely remembered tears, It'd been over thirty years since then. I'd say I was ill prepared for death, but I doubt that anybody can prepare for such a thing, especially a fifteen-year-old boy. How's he supposed to understand that life goes on no matter what happens?

Luckily when my husband died, I had a mourning period, but before I could wallow any longer, Albus jolted me back into the world by offering me the job as Herbology Professor. Before I took this job, I used to own a shop in diagon ally - my husband and I sold everyday potions for healing, cleaning, keeping pests away from your house…mainly remedies and such, but ask nicely and we probably would have been able to come up with anything you wanted. I grew the ingredients and have a sound grasp of basic medicines and my husband brewed potions with an excellence that I've never been able to master, even at this age. With him gone, the shop was all mine and there was part of me that simply couldn't bear hiring someone to take his place. How could I replace him so soon? I couldn't even step foot in the place at one point. So I sold the shop and took the job that Albus offered me.

I can't say that I'm happier now than I've ever been after that decision. If Harold hadn't been caught up in a duel that cost him his life, I'm sure we would still both be more than content just running that shop. But I enjoy this job, I like working with children, I know my subject well. I'm just as happy here as ever…life for me has gone on. It hasn't become any better than it used to be, it's just matured and adapted to become…well, content again.

"I've got nowhere to live."

I sharply turn my head round to look at Neville. His fingers are screwing up a piece of already damaged parchment and pieces of dried black wax fall off it onto the floor, giving away that this letter is more than likely the one that informed him of his grandmother's death. It's hidden wizarding etiquette; red seals are normal, blue is official ministry documents and black has always been letters informing you of some tragedy. Although, perhaps more recently black may also be that you-know-who is trying to get hold of you – it's almost scare tactics, as when you see black seals on your letters your stomach sinks through the floor and everyone presumes the worst.

"I – I've got nowhere to live." Neville repeats, his voice hitching a little whilst he speaks, making him sound a little more frantic than he was a moment ago. "Great Uncle Algie – he lives in Germany. I don't know any German." He seems to stare blankly at a point beyond me whilst he says that, almost as if he's faking trying to look at me properly.

"Neville…" I start gently, using the sort of soothing voice that you use on fives year olds who've scraped their knees. "Don't worry yourself with things like that now, everything will get sorted out – Professor Dumbledore and the Ministry will sort that sort of thing out, I'll make sure of that."

"But I don't have any other relatives. I don't like Great Uncle Algie…he threw me off a pier. The water was freezing, I got pneumonia." I brush this information to one side; the Longbottom family have always been on the eccentric side so it's not exactly surprising. Neville carries on his stunted sentences however, getting a little erratic as he does so. "We told the doctors that I was clumsy. I am though, clumsy that is. Other people…they're always pulling me out of the staircases. And the other day I knocked a jar of pins over – Seamus had to go see Madam Pomfrey to get it out. He said it really hurt. I was thinking –"

I interrupt his breathless chatter. "Come on now, calm down…"

"I was thinking that I might buy him a box of chocolate frogs or sugar quills from Hogsmeade next visit to say sorry, because it was my fault and everything."

I know what he's trying to do. Or at least, I think I do – Neville's logic has always strayed a little from the usual, but to me it seems like he's trying to block things out. It's a lot easier to think about anything than the reality of his situation. Brushing away feelings and thoughts of any kind towards the loss of his grandmother is a lot less painful…for now. But you have to face these sorts of things sooner or later, and in most cases, the sooner you do, the better it is. As his teacher, and as such - his guardian whilst he's still at this school (all teachers are this to their pupils), it's my job to help him confront emotions and fears that he has right now.

Thinking like that though, I suddenly realise I may have made a mistake when he told me that he had nowhere to live. I know that I handle grief and loss by focusing on exactly that – the person who's no longer going to be in my life. Any other worries or problems in the few days following, perhaps even longer than that, are cast out of my mind. I can't focus on them. It's all to easy to forget that Neville isn't me though, perhaps to him the most important thing on his mind is that he longer has a home, or a place to live in. He's realised that he's now lacking the security that most children his age have. I cast my eyes down on him, a fresh wave of pity washing over me.

I wish I'd never had to be sitting here like I am now, doing my best to comfort the poor boy. I seem to be doing it all too much lately. Cedric being in my house, it's my pupils who felt the brunt of the horror, grief…sheer helplessness that came with his murder. Conceivably, out of all of the staff it was me who felt the most loss – for a brilliant asset to our Quidditch team, for the young man who was determined to become head boy this year, for the boy who I still recall coming to me in floods of tears in the third year when he couldn't cope with the work load and the hours after that, that I spent with him helping him through his studies.

Neville seems to have taken a moment to calm himself, his breathing's slowing down and his fists have un-clenched, leaving white rings where his fingernails dug into his palms. Unsteadily, he starts to uncurl the piece of parchment, until it's opened fully, before scanning it. He's turned it to such an angle where I can only see his name and location scrawled neatly at the top. I look away though, as he lifts his eyes to meet mine; the last thing I want to do is to look like I was prying. It's his letter. Not mine. Teenagers are ever so funny about adults reading their mail.

"To Mr Neville Longbottom," Neville starts to slowly read out loud, "As listed next of kin to Mrs Enid Katherine Longbottom, we regret to inform you that on Friday the twenty-fourth of February, at nine thirty-four am, ministry officials discovered the body of Mrs Enid Katherine Longbottom, at her home in west Yorkshire. A full investigation is being carried out." He looks at me hopelessly. "It says…stuff afterwards too. It says her name and the date yesterday and our house number again." He piece of parchment is turned so that I can now see it clearly. A quick check over it tells me that nothing has changed in that department of the ministry – same simple, un-feeling format to the letters.

"Cause of death." He takes a deep breath and brushes his fringe out of his eyes. "Heart Failure." It's terrible, but my heart almost skips in joy upon hearing that. It wasn't death eaters, it wasn't you-know-who, but Neville is about to put an end to my relief. "Miscellaneous: The Dark Mark faintly glowing above house upon arrival of ministry officials. We are investigating into the issue, however the circumstances surrounding this case are not believed to be suspicious."

Words fail me. All I can do is simply gape at the piece of parchment. Not suspicious? Not suspicious? Since when, in all the years that I have lived, has the dark mark not been suspicious?! Oh, I knew the ministry were delusional about You-know-who; I've had that long chat with Albus about recent events, about the cover up at St.Mungos. I didn't like what I heard at first and I'll admit to simply wanting to be ignorant to it all, but to send – what, a child, for heavens sake, a poor child a letter that…that…I'm more than mortified. I'm infuriated with the lot of them! Whatever would Enid say to these people? More to the point, what ever would she do to these people? She'd send them a howler at least, I'm sure…Enid always had a way with howlers, her's weren't things to be ignored unless you wanted the real thing jumping down your throat.

I look at the piece of parchment again, just to make sure that Neville hasn't misread. He hasn't. Same old 'We send our greatest sympathies to you and your family during this distressing time' is planted on the end as well, almost as an afterthought. Neville looks a cross between crushed and deep in thought having told me information that he's had a lot more time to think about than me. I can't help but wonder what he thinks about that? What idea has formed in his mind about the dark mark's presence? Being in the same dorm as Harry Potter, he's probably had it grinded into him that You-know-who's returned to entertain us all and knowing Neville, he probably just nodded his head at the information, stored it and carried on with everyday life. I'm sure it's like that with a lot of the pupils here, acknowledging the danger, but feeling that they can't really do anything about it. Heck, even I feel like I can't do much about it, except support those who have that sort of power; people like Albus and even Severus. I've made an effort to help much more with the daily running of the school, making sure that everything is fine in the kitchen's, dealing with troublemakers that I would normally take to Albus myself, running the prefect's meetings and sorting out Hogsmede visits. I can't see the change it may be making, but I believe that somewhere along the line it's helping the cause.

I look at Neville, realising a little belatedly that I should have responded by now to the letter he read out. Trouble is, I'm at a loss of what to really say. I'd like to swear and shout and rage at the whole affair, but that's not going to help anybody at all. Instead, I try my hardest to put a more upbeat spin on it all.

"I know…we don't know the facts Neville, lord knows the ministry are hopeless, but – to me – it sounds as if your Grandmother died with…with pride."

"No! No, she didn't!" I raise an eyebrow in surprise at the outburst. "She didn't die with pride – my parents, if they'd been hit with the cruiacous curse any more times they would have died. They would have died with heart failure too! That's what happens, I know, I read up on it in the fourth year. By the time she died, she would have been mad like they were, she wouldn't even know what pride is! So…so, just don't lie – I know, I'm not –"

"I didn't mean it that way at all. Listen – Neville, listen to me –" I grab his shoulders to make him look at me, instead of gazing at a spot of moss on one of the glass panes, "we don't know if death eaters were involved at all, but…you don't want me to lie, so I won't. From my experiences in the past, you-know-who only targeted pure blood witches and wizards when they held information that he wanted. Your Grandmother knew a great deal about certain things that Dumbledore is doing against him, and it looks to me like they wanted that information, but she wouldn't give it up. She didn't lose her pride. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

He looks miserably away from me. When I don't get an answer, I take that movement as a yes. I let silence envelop us again, just to give him more time to think, to try and sort his thoughts into some sort of order. As for me, I let myself come up with what I'm going to say to the ministry in my forth-coming howler. Something along the lines of 'you miserable, incompetent bastards' seems the likely message that I'll send. And Fudge, yes, I'll send him a letter too just to make sure he knows that his blunders aren't being missed by the public and that he can't hide you-know-who's return for long, because people just aren't that stupid. Maybe I'll even use you-know-who's proper title in both of these. I hate saying…it, Voldemort. It gives me shivers and makes me feel physically sick, but there is sense behind the way that Albus encourages us to say that damned name.

As well as reducing our fear of him, it's also going to be a way of getting one up on people who are too afraid to use it. There's nothing that would make those people at the ministry stand up and take notice of what I have to say, than the word 'Voldemort' being bellowed around all buildings first thing in the morning. As any Herbology teacher can tell you, scare tactics can be useful at times; if it weren't for them all of my pupils would think it safe to touch any plant that's in my greenhouses. It's a lot easier just to tell them that certain plants can bite your hand off and poison you to your death, but the trick is not tell them which ones – that way, they won't touch any of them.

"Professor…"

"Yes?"

"I'm really sorry for taking up your morning like this…I didn't think about how this must be taking up your free time…sorry."

I sigh and try to think of a way to get through to him that people do actually worry a lot about him and like him enough to give up their free time to help him. It's one of his faults; he needs to have things like that affirmed a lot else he stops believing them. When you're not in a good mood, that need can often border on the annoying side – when you're having a rough day, the last thing you'll want to do is bolster someone's confidence. Luckily, today is not one of those days and I have all the time in the world to do this. "This morning, I spent my free time before breakfast, dealing with a stupid first year of mine. I wouldn't be surprised if I spend my evening giving a lecture to someone who's broken school rules. I'd rather spend my time helping someone like you, who actually needs my help, than playing twenty questions with a time waster."

"But…I am wasting your time…really." I give him a look to tell him to go on. "Because, I mean…they've killed my parents and Gran…it doesn't take a genius to figure out who's next." I can feel my throat close in shock, as I just gawk at that horrifying little thought. "Maybe it's good – I mean, at least I know how I'm going to die now…I would have preferred to die quicker but –"

My senses shout at me to wake up again and to make him stop. His voice has taken on an emotionless monotone as he keeps going, moving on to say about how a couple of hours isn't that long really and that he might get lucky if the death eaters realise that he's not worth their time. But behind that blank mask, you can slowly hear his voice cracking and his head droops to hide his eyes from people like me, just in case I see through his words and god forbid, see how he's really feeling.

"Neville Longbottom!" I raise my voice and straighten out my stance, "Don't you ever talk such nonsense ever again – you get that? Nobody is going to let you die whilst you're at this school and under our care! And I'll be damned if I'd just sit back and watch you get tortured to death whilst your not here too! The same goes for the rest of the staff as well! We can't solve every problem you have, but don't you give us a reason to stop trying!"

It becomes painfully obvious that I've said – hollered – the wrong thing the moment it left my mouth. I've said what was on my mind, but there's so much more to saying things; you've got to have the right tone of voice, you've got to come across in just the right way for every situation. I've just shouted at a boy who's already a right state emotionally, and now he's on the brink of collapse. Chest hitching, angry hands smudging streaks of un-shed tears across his face and finally a chocked sob leaves his mouth.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe Minerva should have been the one to help him. Losing my temper is not the way to solve anything. Or was that really my temper? Perhaps it was much more my own fear for him, rather than anger over him that triggered that part of me off. Either way… it's a fine mess of things I've made over here.

"Oh lord…come here – I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted…but everyone here cares about your welfare, do you understand that?" I let my voice soften as I sling a, hopefully comforting, arm around his shoulders. A few seconds later, he's collapsed onto me sobbing for all it's worth into my robes. "I thought you weren't the sort of person to just give up on life like that. You're a fighter in life, one of the strong ones who'll hold on till the end – whether you think so or not."

"I – I just –" He chokes on his sobs again. I murmur soothing nothings too him; 'it's all right Neville', 'shh, it's ok', 'I know…I know…' None of them are completely true, but when I was a child that's what my mother used to say to me and it's something I picked up off of her. Just to reassure someone that you're still there has a way of helping. "Why is it always me? I don't –"

He breaks off for a gulp of air and starts to move away from me a little, still trying to get rid of his tears on the sleeve of his robe. I pat my pockets a little, hoping to find a tissue or something, but only turn up with a scrap of parchment. Well, I'm not a witch for nothing – I pull out my wand, transfigure the parchment into a handkerchief and hand it to Neville. It's the best I can do; I don't have an answer for him. It's always him because his family are powerful. Because Voldemort's a bad man. Because his Father killed so many death eaters. Because his Gran was sly enough to out-run the lot of them. Because his mother was an excellent nurse. Because it's not always him – hell, you only have to look at Mr Potter to see that. There's a difference between the two of them for sure, Harry's struggles are ones that people conceive as heroic whereas Neville's are much more hidden, but it hurts them both just the same. Neville isn't the only person who struggles in this school.

"You want to know something really horrible?" He whispers and I wonder what could be more horrible than hearing him talk about his own death. "All I can think about is myself. I mean, how selfish is that? I'm supposed to be crying over Gran's death, not feeling sorry for myself, but I can't help it, I'm not like her – I can't just get a hold of myself like that however many times she told me to."

Lord knows that's natural, it's just that most people don't even realise it when they're grieving. This sort of selfishness is an instinct for us all, because sitting around wasn't going to help any humans survive – you had to think of yourself and what's happening to you first.

"It's not only that I don't have anywhere to live though." He admits, gazing at his hands. "I mean, it is that…but…Gran always used to owl me reminders and things I'd left at home to school. At home…I knew what I was doing there, but now, I don't know. It's stupid, I know it is and it doesn't make any sense…they didn't even know who I was but – but - I wish they were here. When I was little, I used to hate the way they never answered me back, but…I got used to it, I liked it. I didn't let them down every time I opened my mouth…I could tell them whatever I liked and it didn't matter.

"I just… I never thought they'd die. How brainless was I? But I thought they wouldn't…I thought I could be as old as Gran i-was and still be visiting them and now I can't. And Gran can't either. It's just…they never changed, things never changed there and now they have and…I want them back. I want my parents back."

It was always a little odd to us all, when Neville Longbottom seemed totally unaffected by his parents' death. Course, we all thought that he probably was affected, but popular belief was that he'd talked to one of his friends about it all, Neville's not one to bother teachers if he can help it. But there's an edge to his voice, a certain rawness in the whispered confession that speaks miles more than the words themselves; I don't think he's confided in anyone about how he's felt through it all. It makes me feel very guiltily…somebody should have noticed something, some difference in his behaviour or just realised that to not be affected is so unlike Neville.

I look at him trying to see if there's anything else I've missed along the way about him, but all I see is the same Neville, staring back at me, red eyes and all. "You should have told someone – keeping things bottled up like that isn't good for any of us. Why didn't you tell any of your friends? They're more understanding than you think sometimes."

He looks positively mortified at the idea. "I – I, um…I don't want to worry anyone or anything and everyone's so busy with their own lives…its'…nothing. I don't think anyone knows that I even have – had parents anyway." He gives a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

"Well…have you ever told them?" I know full well that he hasn't ever told anyone before. I got talking to Albus last year, who was surprised as I was to hear that Neville hadn't told his dorm mates about and both of us are as confused as too why he didn't. We could make mad guesses, but the only thing that stuck was that nobody had ever asked him before…and it's not really something to brag about to your friends. "You've worried a lot of people this morning Neville, and it's not your fault, but…think on a it a little won't you?"

"Professor – who…who was looking for me this morning? When you came in, you said that someone was looking for me around the greenhouses and I was wondering…"

"Mr Potter and Mr Weasley." To say he looks surprised is an understatement. "I overheard them contemplating whose wrath would be worse – Professor Snape's if he found them, or Miss Granger's if they didn't find you."

He wagers a small smile at that, emotionally, I have no doubt that it's the best he can muster from his dredged resources. "Now then, I think you'd be best to get back to the castle where it's warm – if you'd like, you can rest in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend, you look as if you could do with a good dose of Pepper-up potion."

"I-! I'd rather stay here, just for a bit please, Professor, if that's all right with you. I don't really want Madam Pomfrey to fuss or anything…"

I sigh and take a glimpse over at my poor Mandrakes. Well, it can't hurt all that much and if he doesn't want fuss, then he probably doesn't want to face the interrogation that Albus will be giving him. Better give him a chance to ready himself for that.

"Right then, up you get, earmuffs on." I say, heaving myself up from the ground and brushing some excess soil off my robes. Neville stays put, looking up at me in confusion. "My Mandrakes have got rotten frostbite over here, and you might as well help me while you're here. You can go back to the castle once we're done. Now then, we're going to put re-pot and water with that potion down there. I'll start to re-pot, you need to finish off the potion – it only works when freshly brewed."

"Oh no," He says quietly, so I tap my earmuffs to indicate that the volume needs to go up a notch. "I'm no good at potions Professor, I'll ruin it!"

"Nonsense, now heat it up, chop those earwigs in half and add twelve bits to the mixture. Make sure you chop them vertically else it won't work." It's a strange thing really, Neville's lack of skills in potions. It really should go hand in hand with Herbology as neither of them involve all that much wand work and need much more practical skills than anything. He's got the knowledge of what he's adding to the mixtures, he knows what shouldn't be put into hot solutions and he knows how certain plants complement each other when trying to make healing potions, but yet…it somehow doesn't click. I'm just about to pot my fifth mandrake, when the greenhouse door slides open. Neville, in surprise, almost knocks the entire cauldron off of the worktop.

"Ah! Mandrakes! That explains that dreadful sound coming from over here." Albus smiles benignly at Neville, and myself before Minerva catches my eye from behind him as if to say 'I kept him away as long as I could'. I have no doubt about that, but Albus can be a very persistent old man at times. "Professor Sprout, I was wondering if I could borrow Neville for a while"

Neville gapes at me, in some sort of silent plea to get him out of it. "We're in the middle of treating my Mandrakes Headmaster. Perhaps he could join you after we've finished – the potion he's brewing for me is at quite a critical stage." I say that to keep Albus at bay and as a small hint to Neville that it's starting to turn lumpy and needs another earwig added to it.

"I'm sorry, but I really must insist that he comes with me." We stare one another down for a moment, but he ultimately wins. Trying to stare down Albus is like trying to touch a ghost – virtually impossible.

"You better be off then Neville, remember what I said won't you? And Headmaster, make sure that before anything else this boy gets some pepper-up potion – I shan't be pleased if I hear he's collapsed later on today."

"Of course, of course! Well then Mr Longbottom, if you'd like to follow me…" Neville resignedly follows Albus, earmuffs still on his head. Minerva stays with me and adds that another earwig to save my potion.

"How is he?"

"As you'd expect; unhappy, tearful, confused, angry, lonely. He's dreadfully worried about what's going to happen to him now his Gran's gone. Didn't much fancy going up to the castle either, so I thought he may as well help me with these." I nod my head at the mandrakes.

She gives me a wry grin in return. "Severus seems to think that you have a bit of favouritism towards him you know – told me as much on his way back from searching the dungeons."

Why, of all the hypocritical, unhelpful things that man could say! "He's got some nerve! First he denies my house second place in the house points and now he accuses me of favouritism! As if he doesn't do the same with his whole house – I just care for the lad, that's all."

"Tell me, do you know what the situation is with Enid? There's something in the daily prophet this morning that looks rather worrying…knockturn alley has been sealed shut by order of the ministry and they refuse to say why."

"It doesn't look good." I tell her, frowning myself. Two events so close to one another…if they're both connected with Voldemort, which I have no doubt that they are, then activity is increasing and so is his power. "The dark mark was above their house – the ministry are trying to blow it off as a fluke, but even Neville's not stupid enough to believe that."

She sighs in defeat, mimicking my exact thoughts earlier – it's terrible, but what can we really do about it right now? We're best carrying on our jobs and preparing these kids for what life gives them, we can't solve every single problem in this world, as much as we'd all like too. We can comfort, scold, teach and intrigue the pupils, but we can't stop events from, happening in the first place.

"By the way Ivy, Dennis Creevy has been looking for you all morning – something about soil types I believe."

"More like lack of homework about soil types on his behalf. It was due in Thursday afternoon, and I didn't hear anything from him yesterday, therefore, the detention was issued this morning."

"Not another one…I'm going to have to have a word with that boy about the lack of homework he seems to be handing in – it's starting to affect the whole house. It explains why his brother was after you as well though – wants to know if he can take some photos of his brother when he does his detention, or at least I think that's what he said."

I grumble to myself and push a pair of earmuffs Minerva's way, before wrenching the mandrakes out of their pots once again. I like to think that I've been amiable towards Colin, but after the last lesson I had with him, I don't think that camera's have any place in a Herbology lesson. I refuse to take responsibility when the plants try and eat his film again. I look out of the steamed up pain of glass in front of me when I hear a voice not too far off and muzzy shadow pass the door.

"Look after that potion," I note to Minerva before storming out of door seven and see the backs of three heads scoot away from me. Three familiar back's of heads at that too. "Messer's Weasley and Mr Jordan you have been spotted, I suggest you stop this instance!"

I rip my earmuffs off of my head, as the three stop mid dash. I wouldn't be surprised if there is a dungbomb waiting to go off behind me, or perhaps some joke plants planted round the borders of one of the greenhouses. I've had a stressful morning with Neville, but it feels like I've done something worthwhile with myself, I think I've done some good this morning. It's amazing how quickly your day can go back to the everyday pleasures; after all, I've done my good deed for the day – now, I think I've deserved to have just a little bit of fun.