Chapter 11 - Weeds
The following morning, after they'd dispatched the stack of letters via Harry, Hermione turned to Neville and asked, "Is that offer a full tour of the property still good? I need something else on which to focus my attention."
"You're in luck. We have another tour scheduled to leave..." He glanced at a nearby Grandfather clock. "Right now, actually."
He motioned for her to follow him then showed her around the parts of the house she hadn't already explored. She asked loads of questions and listened with interest as he shared stories from his family's past. In one of the rooms she spied a picture sitting on a table of a very young Neville in a garden with his Grandmother.
She grabbed the photo and grinned. "Look at you! How old are you here?"
Neville cringed at the image. "Three? Maybe four. Not sure."
"You are so cute in that little red cap! Already sporting your future house colors."
"Oh, yeah. Quite the Gryffindor in that one. Hiding behind Gran's skirts because I was afraid of the photographer."
"That may have been the case back then but in the end, you were the truest Gryffindor of all," said Hermione decisively. "Like Dumbledore said, 'it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies but a great deal more to stand up to one's friends.' You were always willing to stand up for what was right, Nev. No matter what it cost you."
"So did you."
Hermione shook her head. "I mainly just found myself in impossible situations and did what I had to do to get us out alive."
Neville reached for another picture sitting nearby, this one of all the first year Gryffindors in his class, taken just after the sorting ceremony. He pointed to the two of them off to the side, looking equal parts excited and terrified.
"Hatstalls, the pair of us, remember? You arguing to be placed in Ravenclaw and me for Hufflepuff."
"I don't say this often enough but I've never been more grateful to have been wrong," Hermione admitted. "If we'd had our way we'd have been in different houses and I don't want to imagine what Hogwarts would have been like without knowing you as I did."
"Same here."
They stood looking at each other until Neville said, "So...That's pretty much the house. Interested in seeing the gardens?"
"Love to."
He escorted her outside and as they passed one of the neatly tended beds Hermione stopped to admire a group of deep blue, bell-shaped flowers.
"These are lovely. They're the ones you've been leaving in the vase in my room, aren't they?"
"Yeah. They're called Fairy Bells. The magical variety actually sounds like tiny bells ringing. Thought those might keep you awake so I've been using the Muggle kind instead." He blushed slightly and added, "I haven't been invading your privacy, just so you know. The vase in your room has a match in the greenhouse. I put the flowers in that one and they appear at your bedside."
"That's sweet, but it's your house, Neville. You can go anywhere you like."
"It may be my house but while you're here that room is entirely your space. I remember what it felt like to stay somewhere you never felt totally at ease. I want you to have a spot where you can relax and feel some measure of control over your environment."
She took his arm as they started towards the largest of the greenhouses. "That is very thoughtful, Neville. Thank you."
He opened the door and watched as she began inspecting everything inside with her typical curiosity.
"I'm ashamed that I never asked this but what got you interested in plants to begin with?"
"Don't ever remember not being interested. I suppose at first it was the colors and smells of the garden that drew me then I got fascinated by the whole process. Why some plants thrived in an environment while another didn't, the almost limitless number of uses for them, the life cycle in general. The idea that the soil I was digging around in had been here long before I arrived and would be here long after I was gone."
She raised an eyebrow. "Quite advanced concepts for a little boy."
He laughed and shook his head. "Can't say I was able to verbalize any of that when I was a kid. Back then it was just something I enjoyed doing that I wasn't rubbish at that also got me out of the house. It was a relief to be around something that never fussed at me or looked at me like I was a disappointment."
She smiled kindly at him. "You've never been a disappointment, Nev. Not to me."
"Thanks. Where were you when I was five?"
"Off somewhere feeling very much the same way, I suppose, only I found solace in books instead of gardens." She paused next to a tall plant with vivid pink flowers on the potting bench. "I like this one. What's it called?"
"Rosebay."
"Isn't that a weed?"
Neville shook his head. "Some call it 'Fireweed' but I don't like that term. What others call 'weeds' are just plants growing in a place that someone has arbitrarily decided they shouldn't be."
Hermione ran a finger lightly over one of its leaves and asked in a quiet voice, "Am I a weed?"
"I suppose but not in the way you're thinking."
"What do you mean?"
He picked up the plant and held it towards the light. "You know why some people dislike weeds? Because they don't fit in with that particular person's rigid idea of what's acceptable. But here's the thing - when a 'weed' wants to grow somewhere, almost nothing can stop it. 'Weeds' are tough, adaptable and damn near impossible to get rid of once they've taken root. They have a special kind of wild beauty all their own. They grow and flourish where others can't and they'll be the ones left standing when everything else around them has withered away. They're survivors and any herbologist worth his salt not only respects but cherishes them for that."
She stared at him for a long moment then threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. "Thank you, Neville."
He chuckled as he set the plant aside to return the embrace. "You're welcome. Never been thanked for comparing someone to a weed before."
She peered up at him. "Have you ever compared someone to a weed before now?"
"No. Can't say that I have."
She nodded firmly. "That's why then."
Neville smiled and made a mental note to change the flowers in the vase to Rosebay the first opportunity he had.