Set in the same... er... Universe as Beneath the Silk.
The worst thing about having a successful first chapter is that you are terrfied that the second one will be absolute bull. At least, if you're someone like me, then you'd understand... ; )
I don't particularly care at the moment - because I'm slightly tipsy, actually. Just had some of my mum's Nigerian palm wine. But I'm not drunk *hic* Not drunk at all... - if I've got the seating arrangements in their Herbology class wrong. But I will when I'm fully sobered up. *hic*
*
Chapter Two
He was almost a Squib.
There was nothing special about him. In fact, there was something decidedly *un*special about him. He couldn't even fly a broomstick because he'd get so scared of the height that he'd be scarce able to breathe. And then he'd faint. Which didn't help in the slightest.
But here he was, in Greenhouse Three, with Professor Sprout nattering on about how to take care of whatever plant she was talking about, surrounded by songs and screams alike, all from the plants.
He was only ever any good at Herbology, and that only barely. He'd be so busy getting his fingers stuck right into the moist, dark soil, ready to absorb the nutrients and moisture within it or listening to the Leashed song sung by all seeds and beans alike, that he would trip or spill something and then get scolded.
His one talent, therefore, hardly amounted to anything.
Throughout the lesson, Neville had hardly been aware of the fact that his hands were obeying the commands of Professor Sprout. His mind was on other things: what he'd really wanted to do was to talk to Mandrakes without dying.
In their second year, he'd deliberately put on his earmuffs so that they didn't block out all of the Mandrake's screams. One of his more foolish moments, as one of his Aunts would say. He had tried to see if he could find something to share with them, as he did to most other plants, but he'd been so startled to find that many of their inly voices were so human, that he'd forgotten that baby Mandrake's screams were capable of rendering you unconscious and panicked.
He had fainted.
"I thought Snape was going to tell you off yesterday, you know," Hermione was saying. "The look on his face! He never smiles, that's the thing. Not properly at any rate." She poured a bottom-full of a test-tube of the thick, blue potion into one of the seed pots.
Neville sighed in relief: unlike the orange potion and the green one, the blue one didn't react negatively with the seed at all.
Hermione took out another test-tube. It was bottom-full of a lavender coloured potion. The colour immediately took Neville back to wandering the gardens at his Grandmother's...
All the ugly herbs - and fruit trees, now he came to think of it - were aware that their pride was in their Deaths. Being only plants, they thought that by making their Dying song as spectacular as possible, they were achieving their true greatness. They didn't realise - particularly lavender - that it was their smell, mainly, and the very substances that coursed through their stems or the fleshy cases for their seeds, that made them so important. For example, Neville was sure that the only time he'd ever heard lavender be boastful, was when it was singing it's Dying song. Even then, their self-depraciating tunes of Life were still evident.
They reminded him of himself, except for that he had no talents. Even if he were to die.
**Stop that. You have Gryffindor now**
As usual, his heart began to swell with pride.
The Herbology lesson went on.
~
Despite the fact that he wasn't teaching here anymore, Neville always felt a bit braver whenever he knew that Professor Lupin was somewhere within the Hogwarts school grounds.
"How're you getting on, Neville?" The adult asked, looking down at Neville with a gentle gaze. It seemed to Neville that something about Professor Lupin had changed. He was being too quiet, for one thing and any feeling in his grey eyes was muted.
"Oh! Fine, Professor..."
Lupin chuckled. "I'm not your teacher any more..."
"Sorry, Prof-I mean, sir..."
"Hm," Lupin was still smiling.
At the end of his third year, Neville could recall the rumours that were flying around the school concerning Lupin. That Lupin was a werewolf, Neville still wasn't sure whether he ought to be believe it, though when he'd asked Hermione, she'd responded as if to reassure that Lupin really was.
"Severus tells me that he saw you sketching a very rare flower, yesterday," Lupin continued casually.
"Ermm... yes... I saw him..." Neville shrugged.
"He was going to ask you a question, but you'd already run off," the man went on. "Surely you're not still scared of him?"
"I'm not *as* scared of him, but he still..." Neville shuddered, then grinned aplogetically.
"Well, that's something."
"I suppose so," was the careful reply. It had often been used against the giggling Ladies with pink lips that his Grandmother would occasionally invite round.
"Tell me: I know you have a book about the properties of certain herbs and various sea dwelling plants of the Mediterranean, am I right?"
"Yes..."
"And you've had it for two years running?"
"Mmm... yes...
"Ah... well, I was thinking," here, Lupin looked thoughtful, a slight frown on his face. "I've heard that you're proving very talented in Herbology... and I have a .. er... *friend* who could get you similar books, perhaps even at discount prices..." Lupin smiled at him. "If you want me too," he began again, "I could get you one of them; I'll get the bookstore's magazine that's got all their range in it," he looked expectantly at Longbottom. "That is alright, yes?"
"Yeah! It's fine!" Neville grinned back . "Thanks!"
"Good... I knew you'd really appreciate it, anyway."
At that, they walked their separate ways. Howeve, Neville suddenly turned round and called out, "Who told you about that book, anyway, Professor?"
With a smile in his voice, Lupin had replied, "A little raven told me."
~
McGonagall inhaled deeply, counting to ten as she did so. Neville knew why. He hung his head, knowing that his chubby cheeks hardly helped matters, especially when they were a flaming crimson.
"Try again," she said simply, eventually, before striding off to show everyone how well Hermione had done.
Why couldn't he have Professor Moodys and Professor Lupins to teach him all the time?
And what was Lupin's little raven, anyway?
*
Sorry the chapters are so short. The minute Neville is apprenticed, the chapters get longer, believe me. Thank you very much for the reviews!
The worst thing about having a successful first chapter is that you are terrfied that the second one will be absolute bull. At least, if you're someone like me, then you'd understand... ; )
I don't particularly care at the moment - because I'm slightly tipsy, actually. Just had some of my mum's Nigerian palm wine. But I'm not drunk *hic* Not drunk at all... - if I've got the seating arrangements in their Herbology class wrong. But I will when I'm fully sobered up. *hic*
*
Chapter Two
He was almost a Squib.
There was nothing special about him. In fact, there was something decidedly *un*special about him. He couldn't even fly a broomstick because he'd get so scared of the height that he'd be scarce able to breathe. And then he'd faint. Which didn't help in the slightest.
But here he was, in Greenhouse Three, with Professor Sprout nattering on about how to take care of whatever plant she was talking about, surrounded by songs and screams alike, all from the plants.
He was only ever any good at Herbology, and that only barely. He'd be so busy getting his fingers stuck right into the moist, dark soil, ready to absorb the nutrients and moisture within it or listening to the Leashed song sung by all seeds and beans alike, that he would trip or spill something and then get scolded.
His one talent, therefore, hardly amounted to anything.
Throughout the lesson, Neville had hardly been aware of the fact that his hands were obeying the commands of Professor Sprout. His mind was on other things: what he'd really wanted to do was to talk to Mandrakes without dying.
In their second year, he'd deliberately put on his earmuffs so that they didn't block out all of the Mandrake's screams. One of his more foolish moments, as one of his Aunts would say. He had tried to see if he could find something to share with them, as he did to most other plants, but he'd been so startled to find that many of their inly voices were so human, that he'd forgotten that baby Mandrake's screams were capable of rendering you unconscious and panicked.
He had fainted.
"I thought Snape was going to tell you off yesterday, you know," Hermione was saying. "The look on his face! He never smiles, that's the thing. Not properly at any rate." She poured a bottom-full of a test-tube of the thick, blue potion into one of the seed pots.
Neville sighed in relief: unlike the orange potion and the green one, the blue one didn't react negatively with the seed at all.
Hermione took out another test-tube. It was bottom-full of a lavender coloured potion. The colour immediately took Neville back to wandering the gardens at his Grandmother's...
All the ugly herbs - and fruit trees, now he came to think of it - were aware that their pride was in their Deaths. Being only plants, they thought that by making their Dying song as spectacular as possible, they were achieving their true greatness. They didn't realise - particularly lavender - that it was their smell, mainly, and the very substances that coursed through their stems or the fleshy cases for their seeds, that made them so important. For example, Neville was sure that the only time he'd ever heard lavender be boastful, was when it was singing it's Dying song. Even then, their self-depraciating tunes of Life were still evident.
They reminded him of himself, except for that he had no talents. Even if he were to die.
**Stop that. You have Gryffindor now**
As usual, his heart began to swell with pride.
The Herbology lesson went on.
~
Despite the fact that he wasn't teaching here anymore, Neville always felt a bit braver whenever he knew that Professor Lupin was somewhere within the Hogwarts school grounds.
"How're you getting on, Neville?" The adult asked, looking down at Neville with a gentle gaze. It seemed to Neville that something about Professor Lupin had changed. He was being too quiet, for one thing and any feeling in his grey eyes was muted.
"Oh! Fine, Professor..."
Lupin chuckled. "I'm not your teacher any more..."
"Sorry, Prof-I mean, sir..."
"Hm," Lupin was still smiling.
At the end of his third year, Neville could recall the rumours that were flying around the school concerning Lupin. That Lupin was a werewolf, Neville still wasn't sure whether he ought to be believe it, though when he'd asked Hermione, she'd responded as if to reassure that Lupin really was.
"Severus tells me that he saw you sketching a very rare flower, yesterday," Lupin continued casually.
"Ermm... yes... I saw him..." Neville shrugged.
"He was going to ask you a question, but you'd already run off," the man went on. "Surely you're not still scared of him?"
"I'm not *as* scared of him, but he still..." Neville shuddered, then grinned aplogetically.
"Well, that's something."
"I suppose so," was the careful reply. It had often been used against the giggling Ladies with pink lips that his Grandmother would occasionally invite round.
"Tell me: I know you have a book about the properties of certain herbs and various sea dwelling plants of the Mediterranean, am I right?"
"Yes..."
"And you've had it for two years running?"
"Mmm... yes...
"Ah... well, I was thinking," here, Lupin looked thoughtful, a slight frown on his face. "I've heard that you're proving very talented in Herbology... and I have a .. er... *friend* who could get you similar books, perhaps even at discount prices..." Lupin smiled at him. "If you want me too," he began again, "I could get you one of them; I'll get the bookstore's magazine that's got all their range in it," he looked expectantly at Longbottom. "That is alright, yes?"
"Yeah! It's fine!" Neville grinned back . "Thanks!"
"Good... I knew you'd really appreciate it, anyway."
At that, they walked their separate ways. Howeve, Neville suddenly turned round and called out, "Who told you about that book, anyway, Professor?"
With a smile in his voice, Lupin had replied, "A little raven told me."
~
McGonagall inhaled deeply, counting to ten as she did so. Neville knew why. He hung his head, knowing that his chubby cheeks hardly helped matters, especially when they were a flaming crimson.
"Try again," she said simply, eventually, before striding off to show everyone how well Hermione had done.
Why couldn't he have Professor Moodys and Professor Lupins to teach him all the time?
And what was Lupin's little raven, anyway?
*
Sorry the chapters are so short. The minute Neville is apprenticed, the chapters get longer, believe me. Thank you very much for the reviews!
