Chapter Two: Karma Police
It occurred to Pansy later that she should've threatened Longbottom to ensure he didn't blab to the whole school that he'd seen Puggy Parkinson bawling her eyes out on the stairway, but as things turned out, she didn't have to worry. Longbottom, apparently, never said a word, and life went on as usual. She exchanged snide remarks with Blaise and Daphne, completed her homework in the Common Room, bullied the Gryffindors – oh, the bullying to be done, even with Potter and Weasley gone, the void that Draco's absence created! – and tried to get an idea of what to be when she grew up. Until last year she'd figured she'd just be a wealthy Malfoy, but now she wondered if she could be any good at Healing. Charms was probably her best subject, and she understood Transfiguration more than her poor marks let on…. With everything going on around her, the only time she'd seen Longbottom so much as glance at her since that night in the Tower was the day she'd been giving the red-haired Widow Potter a bit of what she deserved and he came upon the scene, told Pansy to stuff it, and left before she could fire back.
Double Herbology always seemed to occur on days that were at least misty, if not outright raining. The draft in the greenhouse the seventh-years were working in seemed worse to Pansy than usual, but it could've been the simple fact that the students were on their knees fertilizing Spitting Thornbush for an entire hour without reprieve. Her mood was undoubtedly sour, and having to work with her arms extended fully to keep the plants from stinging her face wasn't helping.
"Excellent!" Professor Sprout exclaimed when the class was complete. "Next, some Whomping Willow treelings need repotting. You'll be working in partners; mind to hold the branches tight for your partner when switching the pots, they don't take kindly to being shuffled around…."
Pansy turned to Daphne, sighing in a long-suffering manner. "Why can't we ever work on anything nonviolent these days, like some nice trumpeting daffodils?"
"Beats me," Daphne replied, removing her gloves and slapping them against her thigh.
"So, Daphne," Blaise interrupted, sliding his arm over the girl's shoulders, "shall we get cracking? I'll hold the branches."
"What are you doing, Blaise?" Pansy asked. Daphne worked with Pansy, not Blaise. Blaise was always happy to go off and strain relations with the other houses (he was too competent a student to make anyone actively unhappy to work with him).
Daphne flushed. "I was thinking I could work with Blaise this time. You know, because he's strong enough to hold the boughs," she added hastily.
"You're abandoning me?" Pansy asked in disbelief. Because Blaise was strong, her teeth. Because Blaise and Daphne were slapping at each other more and more often, because Blaise and Daphne had begun staring at each other more than was prudent, yes.
"You're so dramatic, Pansy," Blaise teased with an easy grin, beginning to steer Daphne away.
Pansy was seething. Thrown over, just like that, for some idiot bloke. Millicent would never have done this. Draco would've told Crabbe and Goyle to partner for the assignment, even if they ended up failing, to save her from the indignity she was facing now. Daphne always had been wishy-washy, she reflected wrathfully.
"See, McMillan and Longbottom are floundering around right over there," Blaise continued with a mirthful snort. "You – oh, McMillan's gone. Maybe you can make a new Gryffindor friend?"
Pansy hefted one of the clay pots and hurled it at Blaise's head.
He ducked in time, and the pot smashed satisfyingly against a large plant with tropical, leafy fronds. Blaise turned back to her with a look of great surprise on his face. "What was that for?" he said, initial shock giving way to disgust at her lack of restraint. Behind him, the plant began to hemorrhage a yellow, slimy substance and a rancid-butter smell began to permeate the greenhouse.
"Miss Parkinson!" Professor Sprout screeched, trundling up the walkway and pushing right past Pansy. "Do you have any idea how- oh, why do I bother?" She cast Pansy a withering look over her shoulder. "Detention for the rest of the week, Miss Parkinson, and thirty points from Slytherin for abject carelessness and attacking another student! Longbottom, assistance if you please!" She had already begun collecting some of the slime in a pot and Longbottom lurched over to help, nearly kicking another pot into the plant in the process.
Now there were an odd number of students. She walked over to Blaise and Daphne, but they literally turned their backs on her. Daphne, too? What was her problem? Pansy hadn't done anything to her!
"You can work with us, Pansy," Morag MacDougall offered quietly.
"Thanks."
Morag's partner was Granger.
She'd had it with Daphne. This insult could not be borne. So that left her with, what, zero friends? A twig whacked her in the eyebrow.
"Sorry, Parkinson," Granger said insincerely.
She was so frustrated now that her breathing was erratic. Professor Sprout had given Pansy another dressing-down when she returned to the greenhouse for detention, and finally assigned her to re-pot Afferburrs, the most repulsive looking plants she'd seen since the Mandrakes they'd handled in second year. They seemed cemented to their pots, and neither charm nor trowel could remove them. She was quite sure that this particular repotting was doing them more harm than good; three plants had already been destroyed. A major stem snapped off her fourth specimen and she cursed under her breath. Grabbing the very base of the plant, she finally just yanked and twisted. The Afferburr flew out, a clod of dirt hitting Pansy's open mouth, and she was left holding the freed plant from her numb fingers, a second stem bent. Peering into the vacated pot, she observed that she'd done major damage to the root system as well. Pansy slumped in defeat, dropped the plant in its new pot, and started to tamp in the new soil. She could stick the stem in the dirt to make the plant look less pathetic…Sprout would have her hide if she saw what Pansy was doing….
As if on cue, the greenhouse door clattered open. Pansy hastily thrust the broken stem in the soil and bent over her work, tipping the old pot full of broken roots so it faced towards the table. "Hey, Pansy."
Pansy brought her head up over the other Afferburrs. "Longbottom?"
He seemed immune to the hostility in her voice. "What are you doing?"
"You know very well what I'm doing," she snapped, "what are you doing?"
"Checking on the Nanaban you damaged in class," he answered affably, "and then going over to Greenhouse Two. Professor Sprout has some very interesting cacti I'm helping to care for."
Pansy let her rolling eyes speak for her. Go away, Longbottom.
But Longbottom didn't leave. "Afferburrs?" He poked at the errant stem in Pansy's half-repotted plant. It dropped like a felled tree. "What are you doing to them?" he asked, mildly horrified.
"Repotting," she answered shortly. "They're right horrors."
Neville picked up a second Afferburr and tugged at it experimentally. It didn't budge. He drew his wand.
"I tried to hex them already," Pansy muttered under her breath.
"Agua." Neville let a stream of water drench the soil, then pocketed his wand and pulled the plant from the pot effortlessly. "There's your problem, Pansy, the soil's too dry." He showed her the inside of the pot, which was slick and glistening. He then showed her the other pot still holding bits of root. "See this goo? It comes from the roots. If you dilute it enough, the plants can't stick anymore and should come right out."
Pansy did her best to scowl at him, but it was difficult when she was beside herself with relief. She was going to get out of here before midnight after all. "Thank you," she said primly.
"Do you need some help? I could water them for you."
"You can't help me. It's detention."
"You're going to be late for supper as it is. Besides, I've already helped you." As if to settle the debate, he placed his Afferburr in a new pot and dumped potting soil around it.
"Longbottom?" she asked in a small voice.
He stopped his ministrations and looked at her. "Yes?"
"Why are you helping me?"
His level, benign gaze didn't waver. "I like plants."
Pansy had to look away first. She gave her repotted Afferburr a last pat. "You've got some dirt on your face," she heard him say, and when she reached up to scrub at her cheek she was surprised at how warm it was.