16. The Black Sheep

"Aren't you tired of me yet, Professor?" Callie asked Snape on the day of her Hogsmeade detention. He had tasked her with sorting through fruit fly eyes, separating red from white. They were miniscule, and she had to be careful not to crush them with the little tweezer-like object with which she picked them up. It was maddening.

"That ship sailed long ago, Warbeck," Snape said, sighing. "Unfortunately, you just don't seem to be capable of learning from past mistakes."

"What have I done, really?" she asked. "Defending my friends when you call them names or try and kill their pets?"

"Your loyalties seem a bit skewed," Snape said. "Perhaps you'd have friends in your own house, if only you'd extend the same courtesy to them as you did to everyone else."

"That door swings both ways, Professor," Callie countered. "No one in Slytherin's every been loyal or courteous to me."

A moment of silence passed, and Callie could feel his eyes on her. She continued with her work but was on high alert; though she was almost positive he wouldn't actually hex a student, it wasn't entirely comfortable having her back to him.

But he came to stand before her, looking down at her with a derisive smirk on his face.

"Pitiful girl," he said. "So quick to play the victim - it's pathetic."

"I'm not playing the victim," Callie argued.

"What would you call it, then? Whining to anyone who will listen that your housemates are cruel to you, that you were sorted wrong. You won't even stand up and defend yourself as a Slytherin when your so-called friends ridicule your own house right in front of you. You're a joke."

"Better than being supremacist swine," Callie shot back.

"There are plenty of half-bloods in Slytherin," Snape argued. "Stop using that as an excuse."

"All right, then how about the fact that they're always looking down on me, spreading rumors about me, teasing, calling my mother an animal? Why should I have any respect for anyone or any house that doesn't respect me?"

She was practically shouting at him, and it was a miracle the words "detention Saturday" hadn't come out of his mouth yet.

Instead, what he said was, "All right. If you can't manage a bit of common decency for your housemates, then you ought to at least show a bit of respect for your house. After all, you're not as ill-suited for Slytherin as you like to think."

"No?" Callie said. She was very prepared to argue against that.

"No. Your own sense of superiority rivals that of your pureblood supremacist housemates. You're vicious when you want to be, rebellious. To say nothing of your... healthy appetite for dark magic."

For a brief second, her eyes shot over towards that damn Greek cannibal book that had fascinated her so.

Smirking, Snape concluded, "Dare I say that if you'd been around fifteen years ago, you'd have had all the makings of a future Death Eater."

She shot him a look of disgust, unable to come up with something "vicious" enough to counter that. Trembling slightly, she bowed her head and went back to sorting red eyes from white.

After a moment, Snape sighed. "You're right," he said, "I am tired of you. Stop what you're doing and go make yourself useful somewhere else." He sauntered off back to his desk, leaving Callie a little bit stunned.

"Is this a test?" she asked.

"I'm in no mood for games at the moment," he said. "Nor do I much care to spend another Saturday shut up with you. Go."

She stood and made to leave. Turning back to him, she asked, "Can I go to Hogsmeade?"

"No," he replied. "Consider that your punishment."

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Although it was selfish of her, Callie was suddenly grateful that Neville had also been barred from visiting the village.

The week before, Sirius Black had made another appearance in Gryffindor Tower, having actually gained entry to the boys dormitory. Neville, forgetful as he was, had written down all the passwords to the Gryffindor common room, and somehow Black had gotten his hands on the list. McGonagall was livid, and had banned the boy from anymore trips into Hogsmeade for the rest of the year.

At present, Callie headed to the library in the search of him, but he wasn't there. Then she realized, Of course, the greenhouses! Sure enough, he was in there tending to something big and ugly and toothy. Coming up behind him, she said, "Venomous Tentacula."

Startled, he spun around to face her, but then smiled. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Snape let me off the hook - kind of," she said. "Still can't go to Hogsmeade."

"Sorry," he said. "You were right though, it is a Venous Tentacula."

"See? It's the small victories that keep us going," Callie joked.

They spent the next half hour or so wandering about, Neville tending to the various plants and fungi as though it were his own personal garden. Every so often she'd ask him to clarify something, or else he'd quiz her on which species was which, but for the most part it was less of a tutoring session and more of a casual hang out. Callie smiled to herself, watching him work. He was so in his element here, so relaxed. Confident.

"Still have that tiger's eye?" she asked, and he pulled the stone out from his pocket to show her.

"Haven't let go of it yet," he said with a smile.

Callie was wearing a silver chain around her neck, at the end of which was a stone that hung down into her coat. She pulled it out, revealing the aquamarine Neville had given her during their first Hogsmeade trip.

"Had it made over Christmas," she said. "Hope you don't mind."

He shook his head and said, "Looks nice on you."

"Thanks. So, do you feel like it's working, the crystal?"

He shrugged. "Thought maybe it had, for a while. Actually managed to score an E on that Doxycide, but that was probably more thanks to you than the stone."

"I didn't help you with that one," Callie countered.

"No, but in general, Potions has gotten a bit easier - just a little - since you've been helping me."

"What can I say, I'm a miracle worker," Callie joked.

Neville was quiet for a minute, before he said, "Everything kind of came crashing down though... after the password thing."

He looked so ashamed and disheartened when he said that. Callie jumped to his defense. "Look," she said, "nothing really bad happened, nobody was hurt. Anyway, it was Sir Cadogan that let the bloke in. If anyone ought to be blamed, it's him."

Neville didn't look convinced.

After a moment, Callie said, "That Howler was brutal. That was your grandma?"

He nodded.

"Bloody hell, Neville, she sounds like a real..." she paused, searching for the right word. Shaking her head she concluded, "Sorry. Can't think of anything nicer than what I had in mind."

"She isn't so bad," Neville said, "ordinarily. Most of the time. Think she just wishes I was more like my dad."

Neville didn't talk about his parents, or why he lived with his grandmother instead of them. Callie got the feeling that there was an unhappy story behind that, so she was hesitant when she asked, "How so?"

Neville paused, looking as though he regretted bringing up his dad.

"Sorry," Callie said. "Didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's all right." He took a moment, presumably debating with himself about what to share with her. "My mum and dad both fought in the Great War," he finally said, surprising her. "They stood against people like Sirius Black every day, and they didn't shake. They were so unlike me - brave, heroic..." He trailed off, then concluded, "They were true Gryffindors."

Callie pondered his words and said, "I'm guessing they weren't thirteen when they did all that."

He shrugged his shoulder in a dismissive sort of way, then continued. "Gran always talks about them with so much pride. I'm proud too, of course, of what they did, and being their son." He paused, before concluding, "I just wish I could make them proud too."

"Neville," Callie said, her tone a mix of sympathy and reasoning, "they're your parents. Of course they're proud of you."

He shook his head. "My aunts and uncles and cousins," he said, "they're all so talented, so accomplished. But I didn't even show any signs of magic when I was a kid. One time my uncle Algie threw me off Blackpool pier to see if I would float, and I almost drowned."

"Bloody hell!" Callie exclaimed. "What if you'd have died?"

Neville shrugged. "Guess he figured, if I couldn't do magic, it would be no great loss."

Callie was both horrified and outraged. Neville had said that his family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but she figured they must not have been so awful if they'd produced a boy as sweet and good as him. But somebody willing to kill their own nephew, just because he might be a Squib? She could only imagine what the Longbottoms must think of muggles.

"Gran was amazed when I got my Hogwarts letter," Neville went on. "So was I, for that matter. Uncle Algie said that it might just be better to keep me at home, rather than shaming the family in front of everyone."

"God damn it, no wonder you don't have any confidence!" Callie yelled out. "Bloody hell, if my parents said all that stuff to me, I'd want to kill myself!"

"It's true though," he argued, and Callie had never seen him so sure of himself, so insistent. "I know you think I'm better than I am, or you say it at least, but I'm not like you or Hermione, or the rest of my family. All my life I've been-" he paused, searching for the right way to explain it. "I've been like the black sheep of my family, and of our class. The reason my uncle and Snape and everyone thinks I'm worthless is because it's true. I'm nothing!"

Callie was stunned into silence. Finally the boy showed some backbone, some aggression, but it was only to argue about how incompetent he was.

After a moment, he seemed to gain control of himself. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to shout."

"I can take it," Callie said. They were both quiet for a few minutes. He seemed rather embarrassed for having lashed out, avoiding her eye as he went back to work on a pot of Devil's Snare.

How could she get him to see that he wasn't worthless? She'd been trying to build up his self-esteem for five months, and apparently her words had fallen on deaf ears. But she wasn't going to let him walk out of here thinking he'd won this argument. Neville Longbottom was not nothing, and she had to make him realize that, somehow.

"Neville?" she said. "Do you think of me as a... typical Slytherin?"

He turned his attention back to her, seemingly caught off guard by the apparent change of subject. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"The rest of my house," she explained, "Parkinson, Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe... do you think of me the way you think of them?"

"No, of course not," he replied as though that should've been obvious. "You're nothing like they are."

Callie nodded, and went on, "I always felt like I didn't belong in Slytherin. From day one, I just-" she shrugged "-didn't think I fit. Everyone else was so vile - so was Salazar Slytherin himself. Everyone knows that my house has turned out more wicked witches and wizards than any of the others, and I didn't want to be associated with that. Plus I never got along with any of my housemates." She paused, meeting his eye. "You wanna talk black sheep? I was a black sheep. Still am, and I always will be, as long as I'm here."

"But-" he began, and she held up a hand to shush him.

"But," she continued, "I'm still a Slytherin. Whether I think I belong there or not, somehow the Hat thought I did. Must be true then, right?"

Neville hesitated, before replying, "I don't know? A thousand years, who knows how many people... Bound to be wrong every once in a while."

"I don't think so. Dumbledore said I belonged in Slytherin. I don't know why but... I trust his judgment." She thought back on the headmaster's words to her the year before. Self-assured, determined, even a little aggressive... sounds like a Slytherin to me.

Then there was Snape - Vicious when you want to be, rebellious. Your own sense of superiority rivals that of your housemates.

Christ, she did sound like a Slytherin. Only difference was that she wasn't prejudiced.

"Point is," she said, "I don't fit. Not with the others, at least. And not with the image you all have about what a Slytherin looks like."

"So... what are you saying?" Neville asked.

"I'm saying I don't fit the Slytherin standard, just as you don't fit the Longbottom one," she explained. "But that doesn't mean I'm nothing, and neither are you!"

He shook his head. "It's not the same."

"It is though. Look, maybe you're not a war hero like your parents were, and you didn't show magic until you were older. But you're still every bit as capable as anyone else - if you weren't then you wouldn't be here. Hell, you know more about Herbology than some of the seventh-years. Sprout even trusts you to tend to the greenhouses. Clearly she sees something in you, even if your family doesn't. And you're a good teacher. I never got an O in Herbology, 'til I met you."

Now Neville looked a bit stunned. As dogged as he'd been in putting himself down, he was no match for Callie, who'd had more practice arguing with others than he'd had.

"You don't have to be just like your parents or your aunts and uncles to be worth something," she said. "I don't have to be a prejudiced git to be a Slytherin. And if your Gran doesn't think that you're someone to be proud of, then... fuck her."

The corner of his lip twitched at her bluntness. He bowed his head, fiddling with his fingers as he pondered her words.

"Bloody hell," he said quietly after a moment. "You're tough. I'd love to see you go head-to-head with the woman."

Callie chuckled. "Maybe one day," she said. "I'll set her straight."

Moving close to him, she grabbed him by the shoulders and said. "I'm not going to keep trying to boost your ego," she said. "You oughta try that yourself. But I never wanna hear you put yourself down again. Got it?"

She was sure that he thought that'd be a challenge, but he nodded and whispered, "Okay."

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They were just coming out of the greenhouse as Hermione made her way back from Hogsmeade, carrying several shopping bags. "Here's your sweets," she said, handing one of them to Callie. "And-" she glanced at Neville "-the other thing."

"Thanks," Callie said, pocketing the change from her items.

As they made their way back to the castle, Neville gestured to the Gladrags bag and asked, "What's that?"

Callie hesitated, feeling a blush across her cheeks. But she didn't really care to conjure up a lie, and said matter-of-factly, "It's bras."

There was that bashful red face she'd come to know so well. She couldn't help but smile at his innocence.

Suddenly her conversation with Hermione from a couple weeks ago came to mind.

And Neville? Ever seen him looking?

Not at your boobs or your butt. He keeps his eyes up here.

"Neville?" she said as they came to the front steps. Turning her back on him, she asked, "What color are my eyes?"

"Huh?" he said in confusion.

"My eyes, what color are they?"

He was silent for a second, but then replied, "Greenish-blue. Sometimes they look greyish, though. They kind of change with the light."

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That night at dinner, she stopped by the Hufflepuff table to ask Ernie Macmillan the same question.

"Er... hazel?" he guessed.

But it was Susan Bones, behind him, who answered correctly, "Blue-green, you moron!"