Title: For the Love of Herbology
Author: fayetonic
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No money is being made so please don't sue me. Harry belongs to J.K. Only the plot ideas are mine.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Neville/Luna
Spoilers: PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, FBaWtFT, Maybe QTTA.
AN: Here's chapter one/prologue… Hopefully my other chapters will be much longer.
abababa
"Fix your tie boy! And, tuck in your shirt while you're at it." Gran snapped at me.
We were in the living room of the Longbottom house. One could describe it as non-inviting but it was my home. One couch was adjacent to another, an oak coffee table in the middle. Pictures of my father littered the walls covering the dulling yellow wallpaper. It wasn't much, but it was home.
Sighing, I complied with her request. It would do no good to anger her further.
"Honestly, Neville! You want your Daddy proud of you, don't you boy?" she said, adjusting her fox-fur scarf around her neck.
"Yes Gran," I replied automatically, my mouth moving on its own accord.
It was like second nature for me. Gran would guilt me using my father for bait. Then, she'll go on and on about how non Longbottom-ish I am. Apparently, I have more Prewett blood in me then Longbottom blood. I don't know what Gran's all about, from what I've overheard in her tea parties, the Prewetts were good decent people. I never know anything with Gran, though.
Standing awkwardly in front of the fireplace, I waited for Gran to unlock the urn of Floo Powder that was sitting on the nearest end table by the couch.
Gee, paranoid much?
"Where is my wand?" she muttered, rummaging around in her red handbag searching for her wand.
"Uh Gran? Your wand is on the mantle of the fireplace." I pointed out and she nodded sharply a faint pinkness rising to her cheeks.
Was that embarrassment I saw on her face? Looking closer, I was met with the cool mask that she always wore. I wish I were as quick to control my emotions as she is. If I did, I wouldn't be able to let everyone see how I hurt when they taunt me.
"Come on, Neville. You know the drill." Gran said, holding out the urn filled with the silvery powder.
Grasping a handful, I threw the powder into the lit fireplace. I watched in satisfaction as it burst into emerald green flames. Stepping into the fire, I tried not to laugh as the flames tickled my sides. I spoke my destination loud and clear.
"St. Mungos!" I yelled, tucking in my elbows and closing my eyes.
Although my eyes were closed, I still felt the twirling sensation from going to one fireplace to another. Not even a minute passed before I was thrown from the fireplace onto the cool gray floors of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
"Are you okay, lad?" a middle-aged man asked, holding out a hand for assistance.
I accepted it gratefully.
Standing up, I grinned sheepishly at the pale-eyed man. I couldn't quite put a finger on it but he seemed very familiar. He looked the stocky type build-wise, although he was a couple of inches shorter then me. In a way it made me feel superior to be taller. Thank Merlin for puberty.
I must have looked like quite the sight. I was practically covered head to toe in soot and I was pretty sure my face was streaked with ashes.
"Thanks," I said, while starting to dust off the soot from my shirt.
Great, just what I needed! A dirty white shirt! I told Gran that I didn't want to wear one, especially a brand new shirt, but she insisted. I really didn't need an angry old woman yelling at me right then. I started to cough. Damn those bloody ashes.
"Sorry," I apologized between wheezes.
My face felt warm and it probably was. Merlin, I really needed to learn how to floo the correct way. Although, I heard from Seamus who heard from Dean, who heard from Ron, that Harry can't floo that well, either. At least I'm not the only one.
"Don't apologize, child. You've done nothing wrong!" the man assured me, a warm smile on his face. "Besides, back in my day I was known as Freddie the Frightful Flooer. I was a horrible at flooing, and I couldn't wait to take my Apparition test."
"Gran's going to kill me for getting my clothes dirty." I commented mainly to myself.
The nice man must have heard what I said for the next thing I know, I was being Scourgified not once, not twice, but three times. It must have worked, because I was feeling as clean as I was before flooing.
"Thanks," I said once again.
"Your welcome, lad. Don't you have somewhere to be?" he questioned, eyeing the watch that Great Uncle Algie gave me for Christmas.
Looking down at the watch, I groaned. The words 'You're Late' were flashing up at me. Gran was going to kill me.
"Thank you for your help, sir. I have to go though. It was nice to meet you!"
And with that I spun around and took off to the opposite direction, ignoring the receptionist's glare that was burning at my back.
abababa
To Be Continued