Author's notes: A story for Jaelle n'ha Gilla, after a call for prompts on the 19th December 2006. Many thanks to Mordyn4 for the quick beta. :-) All remaining mistakes are mine.

Concrit and feedback are always welcome.

To Speak Your Mind

"Professor Longbottom, sir?" The girl in the front row of the class put her hand in the air, as eagerly as her mother had done twenty years ago.

Neville smiled to himself with the remembrance, and nodded his encouragement.

"Yes, Ms. Weasley?"

"I forgot my homework, sir." She didn't even blush, though both of them knew that this was the fifth day in succession. The previous weeks hadn't been much better.

Neville suppressed a sigh. "Ten points from Gryffindor! And this is only because you had the courage to tell me in advance, instead of trying your luck. Is there anybody else lacking their homework?"

Nobody was, and Neville collected the rolls of parchment with a flick of his wand.

"Now, class, I think you will remember where we left off last time?"

Several hands flew up. Neville nodded to a slender boy with tousled blond hair. "Mr. Potter-Malfoy?"

"We were discussing the precautions necessary for dealing with the Green Praying Mantis."

"As there are?"

"For the juvenile forms, a mild Sleeping Charm is enough. The adults have to be controlled with a combination of a spray of Insecticide Potion with a Bubble Head Charm, to prevent the wizard from breathing in the Potion."

"That's correct. Five points to Slytherin. Now let's think about this issue in more depth. How would you deal with a Green Praying Mantis which has de-rooted itself and gone wild?"

Patty Weasley lifted her hand.

"Yes, Ms. Weasley?"

"One should take no risk and kill it."

Neville nodded his agreement, waiting for her to elaborate further.

"You can kill the Green Praying Mantis with a prolonged exposure to the Insecticide Potion, by bashing it with a big rock using Levitation, or with the use of the Killing Curse."

The class fell silent. Three years after the war, talking about Avada Kedavra was still an issue.

Neville's mind shot the memory of a long gone DADA lesson at him, the image of a spider, tortured and killed in the pretence of teaching. Blinking, he looked at the thirteen year-old witch in front of him. Rebellion was lifting her chin, and something he couldn't quite grasp burned in her eyes. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"A very thorough answer, Ms. Weasley. Five points to Gryffindor. And now I want you all to pair up and practice putting those young Green Praying Mantis to sleep."

The students scrambled across the greenhouse, and soon, the busy atmosphere of waving wands and practising spells filled the air. Neville was left to wandering around, correcting a movement or preventing a young Mantis from being treated too harshly. After all, these plants were unbeatable for dealing with garden gnomes.

The minutes passed quickly, and soon the lesson was over. Neville watched the students trailing away. Patty Weasley was one of the last.

"Ms. Weasley? Would you please stay behind for a moment?"

The girl turned around, facing him with earnest eyes. "Yes, Professor Longbottom?"

"What is this with your projects? You know all about the subject, and I wonder why you lack the engagement I've known you to show in class."

She shook her head.

"You don't know either? Child, I want to help you, as your teacher and your parents' friend, but I can't, if you don't let me."

Her face crunched up in an effort to control her emotions. "You can't! Nobody can! It's useless!"

"Helping you is useless?"

"No! Learning is." She sighed. "I know you want to help, Professor, but you can't. Because … you won't be able to change them all."

She paused, and Neville waited for her to go on. She was studying her hands and absentmindedly rubbed at a smudge of earth on the back of her thumb. Finally, she continued with her explanation.

"They'll still flinch, whenever someone mentions the Unforgivables, or the war. They don't want to talk or hear about it, and you can't change that. You can't change them wanting to forget!"

"But you, Ms. Weasley, you don't want to forget?" Neville asked in a low voice, to soothe her agitation.

Her next words exploded into his ears. "I shouldn't! It was the Cruciatus Curse that tortured my dad, and it was the Killing Curse that murdered my mum. And in the end, it was her sacrifice and another Killing Curse that ended the war. And if … and if … and if I forget, who will remember?"

"You talk about this with your dad?"

She shook her head, and her hair flew in wild strands. "If I do, he'll be sad again, and I don't want him to be sad."

Neville had had his own share of sadness, knowing what she was talking about.

Sad – one word to cover the painfully silent evenings at the Burrow as well as the occasional night when her father would come home late, with the stench of firewhisky on his breath. One word to cover her fear, when his sobs filled the darkness of the house with a nameless threat.

Neville remembered a freckled boy with red hair and a wild laugh. He also remembered a young man, who'd fought, reckless and fierce, alongside his friends. The images had nothing in common with the broken and reclusive man who Ron had become after the war.

"You're taking care of him. You are protecting … all of them, aren't you?"

A sob shook her strangely rigid posture, and she covered her face with her hands. Neville sat in silence. He let her cry awhile, and when her sobs finally lessened, he produced a handkerchief from one of his robe pockets.

"Here, use this to wipe your face. You can also wash yourself at one of the water taps over there."

She accepted the cloth with a 'thank you', and followed his suggestions.

"Are you done? … Good. Now, let me tell you something… You know the small garden behind the greenhouse, the one where I keep my own plants, yes? … Feel free to go there, anytime you like. You will find a field of wild flowers. One species for every one of them who died. The sunflowers are for your mother, Ms. Weasley. They are bright and upright, just like she'd been, and as I will remember her for the rest of my life."

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing, and so he continued.

"I planted them myself, right after the war had ended."

"Who else is there?"

"All of them…Hyacinths – Lucy Lovegood's mum, Saffron – the Patil twins, Riddling Roses and Margaritas – your uncles Fred and Percy, and many, many more. Do you know that Justin Potter-Malfoy's fathers visit the flowers every time they come to Hogwarts?"

"Draco Malfoy? And Harry Potter himself, the war hero? He was friends with my dad, until the end of the war, wasn't he?"

"They were best mates, and I guess that deep in their hearts, they still are. But…"

"… my dad …"

"… I don't want to speak badly about him …"

"… is still angry, because my mother …"

"… Hermione took the last Killing Curse to protect Harry."

She sighed. "Sometimes I think he wishes he would have died in her stead."

"But he hasn't, and he has a lovely daughter who looks just like her mum did when she was your age."

She beamed at him. "Do I really?"

"You do, and you have your mother's wits as well. And you father's stubbornness."

Her face fell a little. "My dad, he isn't a bad person. He is just very sad."

"I know. But I think he has to learn that his life cannot go on without him." Neville stood up. "Now, go to your next class, and tell your teacher that I apologise for your delay, but I had to talk about a particular project with you."

She nodded. "Thank you, Professor. And I will try not to miss my homework in the future."

"I'm glad to hear that. And I know you will."

She smiled, and then strode out of the door, her steps again confident and energetic.

Neville checked his satchel for parchment, quill and ink. He had a letter to Ron to write, and he didn't know of a better place for this task than the field of wild flowers in his garden.