Author's Note: I do not and never will own Harry Potter.
Written for the Occasion-a-Day Competition/Challenge. September 30 Prompt: Write about a seemingly stupid character.
Taking one last clumsy hop, he finally fell through the door of the nearest greenhouse, landing on the dusty ground with a painful thump.
"Again?" Professor Sprout said sympathetically, waving her wand and un-sticking his legs. Neville nodded, face crimson and tears standing in his eyes.
"It was- you know who," Neville muttered, clambering to his feet. He felt wobbly and hot all over, so he quickly sank down onto the nearest stool.
"I got a new plant in," Professor Sprout said, distracting him.
"What is it, Professor?" Neville asked excitedly.
"A Mimbulus Mimbletonia," she said, directing his attention to a plant that looked like a small grey-coloured cactus, save that instead of spines, it was absolutely covered in what looked more like boils.
"Wow." Neville's mouth gaped open. "Those are really rare, aren't they?"
"Indeed," the Herbology professor said, looking quite pleased. "You've been doing some extra reading, Neville?"
"You know it." He grinned, previous exhaustion forgotten. "They squirt Stinksap, don't they?"
"Yes, so be careful and don't touch it," Pomona directed. "You can help me take care of it too, though, if you like."
"Yes, please," Neville said, nodding shyly. Professor Sprout smiled and handed him a pair of gloves, his usual pair. She'd even written his name inside the cuff, which had been a pleasant shock for him when he'd noticed the black ink.
"Got to treat my special assistant somehow, don't I?" she'd said, with a look at him that made him feel like she wanted to ruffle his hair. He'd been privately relieved that she hadn't. His grandmother had sent him along with proper gloves, of course, but these were from his favourite professor, the one who should have been his Head of House, so it was different.
In the greenhouses, it was like Neville was a different person. He knew how the rest of the professors thought about him. How the rest of the students treated him. Poor, stupid, bumbling Neville. He melted his cauldrons in Potions (and how could he not, with Snape breathing down his neck?). Despite Hermione helping him with counter-curses, it was still painfully easy for Malfoy to jinx him, and he couldn't stand asking his year-mates for help anymore. They always struggled not to laugh and while he appreciated that they stopped themselves, the fact that they wanted to was enough to drive him away.
Professor Sprout didn't laugh. She gave Malfoy detentions (for carefully contrived reasons that the Slytherin still hadn't figured out had to do with Neville). She showed him new plants that she'd got in, she asked for his help in taking care of them, even the dangerous ones. Everyone else barely trusted him with a lit candle, but she blithely showed him how to set up the Puffapods (and he never dropped them- well, almost never) or how to soothe the Screechsnaps.
"I wish I was in Hufflepuff," Neville mumbled, more to himself as he washed up before the walk back to the castle.
"The Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason, you know," Professor Sprout confided. He jumped, nearly knocking a flower pot to the ground. "Sorry, lad," she said. "Thought you heard me."
"It-it's okay," Neville stammered, turning pink. "Just. How do you know, Professor?"
"The Hat always has a reason," Pomona said. "I wanted to be in Ravenclaw myself. I was so angry when I was put in Hufflepuff, I wanted to rip the Sorting Hat in two. But you know?" A slightly wistful smile crossed her face. "I'm glad it put me in Hufflepuff. You'll be glad one day."
"If you say so," Neville replied doubtfully, putting everything back in its place.
"I do," Professor Sprout said. "Now go on, it's time for dinner." She motioned him out the door and he went, nearly tripping over the door sill.