I'm doing a rewrite, so I'm deleting all of my old chapters. I was thinking about where I was going in the story (I know there have been no updates since EVER, sorry) and I realized there were so many things I wanted to include from the beginning. So I am starting over.

Also, grammar errors probably exist. I have no beta.

I'm personally hoping Snape is good, but for the purpose of this story, he's a bad bad man.

However, thanks to the people who reviewed before! I love you: GargoyleSama, mooneasterbunny, HeLl HaVe No FuRy LiKe A wOmAn, Mammypooh Teh S3x, Spinereader, medieval woman2, Airlady, and kaededainecalwyn.

-----

The Seduction of Neville Longbottom

I. Recruitment

September first had come and gone, but Neville was not at Hogwarts.

Ever since he had received his Hogwarts letter, he had dreamed about this last year. Most importantly, it had meant that he wasn't a Squib after all, that the Sorting Hat hadn't made some fatal mistake by placing him in Gryffindor, and that he hadn't flunked out of his classes. Seventh year was supposed to be a vague, pleasant blur of red and gold. Neville had tried not to think of NEWTs at all, though he supposed they would be in there somewhere, too.

But, instead of the familiar sounds of the common room, he was surrounded by the muted but unsettling din of an out-of-control greenhouse. Well-cared-for plants never made that kind of noise, after all. The glass panes rose majestically over the expensive, marble-tiled workroom, but any light was obscured by a thick layer of dirt- as was the floor, coincidentally. Professor Sprout would have had a coronary.

"Just what exactly did you want me to do?" Neville said weakly. A few inches from his left trainer, an infant devil's snare snaked a few immature tendrils around a feebly-struggling bulb. The devil's snare itself was growing wild in what appeared to be tropical red ginger, and the devil's snare must have budded from a larger, parent plant that was suspiciously nowhere to be seen.

Harry used his shirtsleeve to wipe a section of glass clear of grime, before shooting a sheepish glance at Neville from the corner of his eyes. "Er … fix it?" he replied, a hopeful tone in his voice.

"Er, Harry. How long has this place been abandoned?"

Harry paused, thinking. "Since before Sirius was born. His parents weren't much for potions, he said, and their house elf was barmy … so, fifty years?" Harry chuckled as Neville groaned aloud as he surveyed the massive amount of damage. It was awful. It was beautiful. And it was his. Neville had never felt so possessive- even greedy- over anything in his life.

"Can I get first-years to have their detentions here? Or any year, even. I'm going to need an army to get this place in shape."

Neville had been joking, but Harry turned to look at him, an alarmingly serious expression on his thin, weary face. "How many would you need?"

"Huh?" Neville was taken aback. "Harry, I just-"

"I'm going to be honest, Neville, we really need this. You're the best bet we have to get a secure supply of ingredients. The war is going to get a lot worse, and soon, and the Order is going to need trustworthy potions. We can't keep using Hogwart's greenhouses."

Neville nodded, his eyes still drinking in the mess that was his greenhouse. "Too many students have access to them. And Snape-"

"Him,"Harry replied, his voice a low growl. "We've an even bigger need because of that traitor. Tonks tested some of the potions he left behind, and every so often she found a contaminated bottle. We had to throw the lot away, and start fresh." A brief pause, and then an awkward hand landed on his shoulder. "Neville, please. The Order needs you."

The bulb was putting up a valiant struggle. Neville crouched and plucked it from the devil's snare. The bulb was well-formed, he saw, and would do well once transplanted away from grasping vines. The devil's snare could easily be nurtured to full size, provided that they could remove its roots intact.

"Neville?"

Neville stood, dusting his hands off on his trousers. "At least three," he told Harry.

"Three?" Harry repeated, confused.

His mind was already racing with the possibilities of organizing his own greenhouse. "Helpers to clear this place. We'll divide it into four sections. One for standard potions ingredients, one for dangerous plants, and one for things like this devil's snare. The last is backup space, in case of an emergency." Seeing Harry's relief, Neville smiled. "Did you think I would say 'no' to you, Harry?" As proof, Neville worked his hand into his pocket, and pulled out his DA galleon coin.

Harry's grin lit up his entire face. He extended a hand, and Neville shook it.

That evening, amid many of his own friends as well as those of his parents, Neville Longbottom joined the Order of the Phoenix.

-----

After two long weeks which involved very little sleep, the section of the greenhouse that housed "normal" magical plants was operational. Between the volunteer work of the Hogwarts "dropouts," as well as any Weasley who happened to be around, the greenhouse was now sparkling clean. As for the final section, the Weasley twins were still attempting to create some sort of containment net that would restrain the two-storey high devil's snare that lurked in the darkened west corner. Their prototypes had not been successful on the devil's snare, but the culls of their experiments were often sprung on unsuspecting Order members.

Molly (as he was supposed to call her, though he was too afraid) was particularly unimpressed with the Nastily Netty Nabbers. However, despite the fact that the nets stuck to everything and had to be scraped off of walls with a trowel, she had to admit that the twins had invented something useful. Mad-Eye Moody ("Stop calling me Professor, Longbottom") had ordered everyone to carry one around at all times, even while in Headquarters.

Neville had been surprised at the variety of dangerous plants that the Blacks had maintained, but as both Harry and Gran had reminded him, the Blacks had been Dangerous People. And from what he'd seen of the house, Neville had to agree. He, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and occasionally Professor Lupin had spent the greater part of their weekend looking up counter-curses for the more obscure traps left in the guest rooms. Thanks to their efforts, Neville was now ensconced in a small bedroom, with a closet that no longer tried to lure him into its clutches.

His room was far from isolated, as more and more Order members decided to move into the relative safety of Grimmauld Place. The Weasleys evenly divided their time between the Burrow and Headquarters, and, to the amusement of all the witnesses, Tonks had loudly abandoned her posh studio apartment in favor of Lupin's bed. Harry and Ron shared a room a few doors down, though Hermione had simply set up a cot in the Black library. While he was used to being the proverbial third-wheel, Neville missed the camaraderie of the Gryffindor dormitory. But, as Neville often reminded himself, he was among friends, and useful, and so he didn't really mind being a little lonely.

-----

By mid-October, the Order was desperate for a full-time Potions brewer.

It wasn't as if they weren't doing fairly well on their own. Neville himself had stayed clear of the cauldrons, but between Hermione and Tonks, the Headquarter's stock of healing potions had been largely restored.

"Except for wolfsbane," Hermione had moaned over breakfast, her chin propped dejectedly in her hand. "Something different just goes wrong, every time." Hermione visibly wilted. "We can do the standard potions, but the wolfsbane requires the kind of delicacy that comes from practice."

Entering the kitchen wearing only Remus's shirt, Tonks plopped down on one of the creakier wooden chairs. "I got a bloody Outstanding on my NEWTs, and I still can't stir the thing right. If the silver rod touches the sediment on the bottom of the cauldron even once, the whole thing loses all potency."

Everyone except Hermione and Lupin were now intently studying their plain, beige oatmeal. "Nymphadora," Lupin began, with a discreet little cough. "As fetching as you look in my shirt, perhaps it would be best to wear more clothes."

"I've got knickers on!" Tonks protested. Neville, who was taking a bite of his porridge, began to choke.

Ron had turned an astonishing shade of purple, while Harry sunk lower into his seat, muttering something about "bras" and "silencing charms."

"Oh, Tonks, stop showing off," Hermione said, grinning at the antics of the three teenage boys sitting next to her. "We all know he's yours now. I think you're hurting Harry and Neville and Ron. They're impressionable," she added loftily.

"'S not fair," Ron bellowed, knocking his bowl to the floor in the process. "You're a girl, and Tonks is a girl. I bet you wouldn't take it so well if one of us ran around the house with our naughty bits flying about." Harry sprayed milk across the table, onto Lupin.

There was a long, empty silence as Ron's brain began to register what his mouth had said, and as Hermione began to silently mouth angry words. Neville considered ducking under the table, preparing to protego any projectile that might come flying his way.

"You!" she finally spluttered. "I'm going to get ready. If you aren't ready in half an hour, I'll- I'll-" she fumbled, at a loss for words.

"You'll hex Ron's naughty bits off?" Harry wheezed, before succumbing to laughter. Tonks howled and fell of her chair, displaying bright orange knickers that clashed frightfully with her pink hair. Hermione spun away in a huff just as Neville and Lupin finally lost it.

Ron's frightened "Do you think she'd really- my bits-" only set them off again.

Much, much later, Tonks wiped her eyes free of any mirthful tears and stood. "Well, I'd better go get dressed. Those records aren't going to read themselves."

"Records?" Neville asked, also standing, gathering the dirty dishes.

"Harry asked old Scrimgeor very nicely if he could look at the Ministry's records of sold and confiscated heirlooms," Tonks replied, scourgifying Ron's spilt oatmeal. "I have three-day permits for myself, Harry, Hermione, and Ron to look into the archives." She sighed. "Three days, and fifty years of stodgy purebloods' rubbish. And they won't even tell me what they want with the junk, either." With a swirl of faded cotton, she turned to leave the kitchen, stubbing her toe once on the doorframe.

"Oh." Neville felt just a bit left out.

Lupin saw his look, and took pity on him. "We're going to be interviewing some possible recruits for the Order's new potions maker. Would you like to come?"

Uncomfortably, Neville shrugged. "I suppose. If I won't be in the way," he added.

"You won't be," Lupin told him kindly. "In fact, it would be a help. We need at least three Order members to witness, and as far as I know, only Minerva and I are going to be there. If you don't want to, I can always snag one of the Weasley twins," he offered.

"No, I'll come." Neville said, feeling proud to be included as a full Order member. "Professor Lupin?"

"Remus."

"Er, Remus, I wasn't interviewed when I joined."

Lupin smiled a bit at that. "Neville, that was different. We knew you. This time, we have a few people- acquaintances, really- who have some skill in potions. Also, we're trying to be more careful. Neville," he told him, gravely, "it might be uncomfortable to witness. Minerva is going to use Veritaserum, and possibly the Sorting Hat. If for any reason something goes wrong, you need to be ready to stun them."

Neville swallowed. "I'll come," he repeated.

---

A/N: I really didn't mean to write the breakfast conversation. It just came out. My inner Hermione was, of course, outraged, while my inner Ron paraded around naked.