Putting On Shoes
"A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes."
—Mark Twain
A violent, profanity-laced shout cut across the greenhouse, making Neville whirl around. Amidst the crowd of sixth years that were just leaving their double period, he saw Albus Potter with his hand on Ansel Parkinson's collar, half-pinning him to the greenhouse door.
"Albus!" Neville barked. He could see a look of irritation flash on the prefect's face as he backed away from Parkinson, but once he sidled away with a sneer, Albus's expression became somewhat sheepish. The rest of his classmates tittered and giggled, slipping out of the classroom round him.
Neville stood in front of the chalkboard, manually erasing that day's notes for want of something to do while the students filed out. When at last the room was empty, and just Neville and his godson stood in silence, Neville spoke.
"Do you care to explain why you just caused a scene with Mr. Parkinson?" Neville didn't have to force the sternness in his voice—it was entirely natural. Albus had always been even-tempered, and even when he got upset, he was always well-composed. His previous behavior toward Parkinson was the most out of character Neville had ever seen him.
"Sorry Sir." Albus had the grace to lower his gaze. No matter how upset he was, the disappointment in Neville's eyes was enough to bring him back to reality.
Neville ran a hand over his face before moving to meet the boy at his desk. He perched on the corner and raised a brow.
"I appreciate that, but it still doesn't explain what happened."
Albus clenched his jaw as he remembered the wanker's face. He had purposely said it right in front of Albus. He had thought it was funny.
"He was bragging about Malfoy's date last night—about how jealous he was that Malfoy managed to Score and Split."
Neville's brow creased as he tried to grasp what Albus was saying. He caught the anger in the boy's voice, but still didn't understand it.
"Score what?"
Albus' nostrils flared and Neville knew even before it was said.
"Lily."
— — — — —
When he was finally alone in his classroom, Neville closed up shop with a wave of his wand and crossed the hall to his office.
Since the later days after the War, the times had been few and far between that Neville lost himself to bouts of temper. The first had been when his Gran had passed just a week before his wedding. Then there had been the time an ignorant oldtimer had told six-year-old Teddy Lupin that his dad had gone to hell because he was a werewolf. When Hannah had lost the baby and there wasn't a damn thing magic could do to change it, Neville had hardly recognized himself.
Finding out what Scorpius Malfoy was saying about Lily didn't reach those levels, but it was close.
Neville fell into his desk chair and resisted the urge to sweep his papers to the floor. His hand itched to reach for the closest paperweight—a figure of a Mandrake Harry had gifted him last Christmas—and hurl it at a wall. The thought of a humiliated, heartbroken Lily was nearly enough to make him do it. The impulse was squashed, however, when that image materialized in his open office door.
"Lily," he breathed. She looked awful. Her eyes were red, her hair disheveled. She had obviously tried to fix her makeup after crying, but a black ring of mascara still marred her blotchy eyes. Neville stood from his chair and met her halfway as she threw herself toward him.
"I didn't do it," she promised. Her face was pressed into his teaching robes, but he could hear the insistence in her voice.
"I know," Neville whispered into the top of her head.
"We just fell asleep." Her voice quivered and Neville felt anger inflate his gut. "We just went out to watch the stars. He was angry when we woke up. He said it was a mistake to even be out there together."
Neville held her tighter and repeated himself.
"I know."
"What did I ever do to him?"
Neville clenched his jaw. He was a teacher; there was no excuse for the ache in his hand that told him to find Scorpius Malfoy and punch him in the nose. He settled himself with the thought of giving him a week of mixing fertilized mulch for being out after curfew.
"You did absolutely nothing," he promised.
Things grew quiet for a moment. Neville waited for Lily to calm before speaking.
"Do you want to go down to dinner?" he asked, looking for something to say.
Lily shook her head and stepped back from the embrace. She swiped at her tears with a sleeve.
"You go ahead," she said, her voice surprisingly strong. "I'm just going to head back to Gryffindor Tower."
"To go sit by yourself and stew on the garbage Mr. Malfoy has been spreading? Hell no."
Lily's head jerked up, and Neville had to hide a smirk at the shock on her face. He was always getting on the Potter boys about swearing in school, and he was glad his hypocrisy had broken Lily from her slump.
"This is what we're going to do," he said firmly. "I'm going to call for a house elf to bring us dinner. You're going to move the chessboard to the couch, and we'll play while we eat."
Lily's gaze flew up to his.
"Just like we used to?"
Neville's mind drifted back to earlier days when he and an elbow-high Lily would take turns arbitrarily smashing each other's pieces. He could see her laughing as he assigned different voices to each position, acting out a tragic tale of war as the colors fought to the death.
"Yeah, Lily. Just like we used to."
A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! If you have a spare minute, please leave me a review or send me a PM with any comments or criticisms you might have :) It really helps me to better my writing!
A/N 2: On a more official note, I wrote this story as Captain of the Caerphilly Catapults in the first round of QLFC finals. We had to pick one character as a team, Lily Luna Potter, and write her with any secondary character of our choice. I chose Neville Longbottom. For judging purposes, the final word count for this story is 965.