Author's Notes: Slightly spoilery! Takes place AFTER Order of The Phoenix, but before Half-Blood Prince. Neville Longbottom ponders his place in life, and his transition into manhood.
Neville moved silently between the long, low tables of the greenhouse. He breathed deeply, and let his lungs fill with the damp, earthy air. Most of the other students hated the smell of the Herbology department greenhouses; a fact that wasn't entirely perplexing to the young Gryffindor. After all, Dragon Dung fertilizer isn't the most pleasant of aromas. But for him, it was the smell of comfort, success and self-esteem.
This is where Neville finally felt at ease. He wasn't awkward or clumsy here. He never dropped his equipment or tripped over hoses. Working with the plants filled him with confidence. Granted, it had taken him a while to hit his stride, but by his 3rd year, Neville excelled at Herbology. Not even the flawless Hermione Granger got better marks in class than Neville. A point that he took great pains to keep quiet.
Some students are loud and boisterous about their successes. But Neville had so few of them, he chose to savor them in private, where they were incorruptible. If people like Draco Malfoy don't know about his passion, then they can't destroy with teasing or trickery. If it remained a secret, it couldn't be taken from him.
But the boy had faith that it wouldn't always be necessary to hide his talent and passion.
After suffering some rather serious injuries at the Ministry of Magic, Neville was a little braver and little more competent than before. He supposed that facing the worst of Lord Voldemort's Deatheaters, and surviving was bound to give a chap a bit of a boost to the ol' self-esteem!
Come to think of it, that was the day Neville stopped thinking of himself as a boy, a child, and started honestly considering himself a man. And what a spectacular coming-of-age it was! So many grown adults, talented wizards all of them, had faced the same set of circumstances and died in the process. Just look at his own parents. No matter how brave and worldly they were, LeStrange seemed to have little trouble torturing them into insanity. Neville was determined to make sure he didn't meet the same fate himself.
Towards the back of the greenhouse, stood a row of metal school lockers. Each one had a little slot where Professor Sprout could slip in a piece of parchment with a students name. The fourth locker from the wall had a small plaque with Neville's name on it. He skirted the mandrake plants, not wanting to wake them, and approached his locker. "Alohamora!" he whispered. The door slid open, as it would only do for Neville. He smiled a crooked smile. The locking spell had been his idea. It was fairly simple, even if he did need a little help rom Hermione. Every year, Professor Sprout would assign the lockers to students that needed them, and after she set the spell, only the student to whom the locker was assigned could open it. It was one of Neville's proudest achievements, if that's saying much.
It was fortunate that he was the only one able to open his locker. The contents would surely betray the darker, more sinister side of his personality. Normally a quiet and shy bloke, Neville found that it wasn't talent or intelligence that he lacked. His D.A. participation certainly proved that. Harry, who had become Neville's most trusted friend in recent months, said that he was incredibly impressed. Neville couldn't imagine any higher praise.
Speaking of Harry, Neville thought that Ginny Weasley was a lucky girl. It seemed plain as day to him that Harry and Ginny would one day be together as long as Harry got smart before some other chap turned Ginny's head. Neville hoped that, someday, he'd find someone as perfect as Harry. After spending so many days alone, missing his parents, it would be nice to have a home again.
He sighed, and removed a heavy canvas tarp from his locker. Hiding under it, was a small, bulby, purple plant with deep waxy green leaves. It's pot was barely larger than a teacup. The bulb in the middle of the plant moved a bit, and made a high pitched growling noise. It knew that being removed from the darkness of the locker meant that food and water would be in short order. Neville removed a small bit of roast beef from his bag and held it out in front of the plant. Suddenly a long dark tentacle erupted from the plant, and wrapped around the meat. With a quick tug, the tentacle pulled the food towards it gaping maw. Several rows of tiny razor like teeth could be seen before the plant closed around it's supper.
The plant was terribly rare, and even more dangerous. It was, strictly speaking, against Ministry Of Magic rule to own it. However, restrictions on certain plants were rarely enforced because the Ministry never imagined that anyone would ever be able to cultivate them. This plant in particular was terribly difficult to care for, and it thrives under rather specific conditions. This was the third time Neville tried to grow one, and he was getting better with each subsequent attempt.
Of course, the plan was to someday capture Bellatrix LeStrange and feed her to his little beast of a plant. The Death-Eaters would pay for the life-time of suffering they've caused him. They'd pay for the deaths and insanity. Neville was determined to avenge his parents. They brought him into this world, and it was his duty to see that justice was served. It would be his contribution to the Order.
And when that was done, maybe he'd finally be able to live a normal life. He wanted to experience the other end of the range of human emotion. Finish school. Fall in love. Have a family. Smile, for once in his life.
He placed the plant back in the locker, gave it a few drop of a growth potion, and covered it with canvas again.
As he closed the locker door, he finally broke the silence.
"We can do this, you foul little thing. You're every bit as vile as I'd read. And me? I'm not your average horti-fucking-culturist."