The Houses Competition

Ravenclaw

Charms

Standard

Prompts: [Character] Neville Longbottom; [First Line] "The smell of thawing earth tickled [his/her/name's] nose"

1478 Words

AN Alternate Universe (Neville has an aunt)


The smell of thawing earth tickled Neville's nose as he prepared the ground for Professor Sprout's latest plants. The gentle scritch-scritch of the garden hoe helped to drown out the cries of his peers in "Defense Against the Dark Arts", even if only for the moment. Without Harry, everything just seemed so… hopeless.

Sure, he and Ginny had kept the DA afloat, but it was a tiny rebellion, one borne from the wish to do something rather than the opportunity to actively fight against the tyranny. Learning how defenceless Dumbledore's Army really was when it came to protecting their own had been a hard lesson for them to learn. Speaking out only gave more victims for them to target, and their paranoia kept magical attacks from making a mark.

So, in between lessons and DA meetings, Neville played up his status as near-Squib by helping Professor Sprout and smuggling in potion supplies to help the injured.

At least, that's the image he strove to cultivate. As Neville gently handled dittany seedlings, he remembered his aunt Beatrice, Mum's sister, and his summer at her house when he was eight.

"No doubt the Longbottoms have begun to bemoan that dear Frank produced a Squib," his aunt had begun, never one to mince words.

"Yes, Aunt Beatrice."

"I imagine they've been filling your head with horror stories of how defenceless and useless you're destined to be. Stories of how it'll fall to dear Augusta to set you up with some mediocre means of protection," she'd continued.

"Yes, Aunt Beatrice." The woman, who looked like a more vibrant and lively version of his own mother, had torn the little boy to shreds with that brief overview of his life. Tutting at his sniffles, Aunt Beatrice had bade him follow her into the garden before placing a spade in his hand and declaring:

"Poppycock!"

"Ye–what's poppycock, Aunt Beatrice?" Neville remembered asking, his hands handling the spade much more expertly now than they had almost a decade ago.

His aunt had continued to lecture, "The thing about wizards is they're awfully shortsighted. Attack them with a wand, and a good wizard will know at least two or three spells to deflect the attack. Attack them with mundanity, and they're as likely as not to never even realize something's wrong until it's too late. Take this plant, for example." She pointed to some sort of vine. "Not a magical property to its name, but get some in your knickers, and you're in for a world of hurt."

Neville spied a rather familiar vine at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. If he just so happened to drop off a bit to the house-elves responsible for laundry while he delivered spices to the kitchens, well, who would know?

The subtle squirming of certain elders at the head table that week was quite sweet even if shorter tempers led to more frequent 'detentions' with the sadists.


Neville was just flipping through Herbology Monthly, one of the few periodicals that could make it through the Death Eaters screening their owls, when his next plan for rebellion bloomed with a word of caution from the aunt of his memories.

"Squibs are looked down upon because they do the jobs others are too high and mighty to do. Once you establish yourself with a job that others want or need to be done, don't draw attention to yourself. Only then can your enemies be the vehicle of their own demise."

So he made a point to seek out Professor Sprout while Alecto Carrow was with her.

"Professor," he began. "I've been reading up on the beneficial properties of the Flor de Mayo on magical production and would like permission to cultivate some in one of the greenhouses."

"Wha–"

"Please, Professor. It could help me get ever so much stronger in my magic. I'd be forever grateful. Besides, aren't the blooms beautiful?" He showed an image to the two ladies.

Professor Sprout frowned before putting the pieces together. Luckily, she played the part. "I don't know, Mr Longbottom. It's somewhat unfair to your fellow students, to say nothing of the responsibilities involved with caring for such a fragile plant…"

As he'd hoped she would, Alecto Carrow spoke up, "Let's not be too hasty. The scion of such a proud Pureblood family ought to have the opportunity to…improve himself as much as possible. I say let the boy have a small plot. He deserves it, and perhaps once his magic has improved, he'll be more amenable to joining the elite of the elite. Isn't that right, Mr Longbottom?"

Schooling his face to the best of his ability, Neville gulped and nodded, the picture of malleable weakness. "Yes, Professor Carrow. Thank you, Professor Carrow. Professor Carrow? N-not that I think you'd ever want or need such a crutch, but w-would you like a clipping for your rooms? Even ignoring its magical properties, the bloom is quite beautiful, and I'm told it smells divine."

The woman bought it hook, line, and sinker. "I suppose a bouquet in honour of my assistance would not go amiss, Longbottom," she replied airily before leaving him with Professor Sprout to discuss the details.

One Muffliato spell later, Professor Sprout confirmed, "You realize that that isn't a picture of Flor de Mayo, right?"

Neville grinned.

"And that Flor de Octubre, for all it resembles its cousin, is more likely to take away from a subject's available magic than add to it?"

He nodded, and Professor Sprout grinned. "Well, Professor Carrow did request an entire bouquet. Keep them in Greenhouse Six for now, and keep your time in there to a maximum of one hour per day, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Aunt Beatrice always did speak of the value of playing up one's weaknesses to destroy enemies. As Neville prepared the earth for the seedlings that would arrive later that week, he wondered if he could laud the benefits enough for Carrow to share the plants with some of her peers. A little push here, a minor pull there, and perhaps He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's forces could be taken down a peg or three.


During the Battle of Hogwarts, a side of Neville that few knew existed came to light. Oh, those in DA knew that he was better than the near-Squib persona he cultivated around the professors, but even they only knew about the skills he'd gained with a wand.

And if there was one thing Neville had learned at Aunt Beatrice's, it was the value of being able to handle more than one weapon. As Death Eaters spilt in from the Forbidden Forest, Neville lured his enemies into Greenhouse Six where the air was inundated with pheromones that made casting difficult. With a speed and skill that only came from spending hours in the magic-dampening fog, Neville proved the folly of scoffing at a garden hoe as a weapon.

By the time he had to leave for his own safety and pulled a sword out of the Sorting Hat, Neville's hands were painted red, and he was ready to end anything that stood in the way of a peaceful future.

Shoes digging into the dry earth beneath him, he swung at the Dark Lord's familiar and thanked his aunt for teaching him how not to do things like a wizard.

A decade later, Neville Longbottom, sick and tired of the fame he'd gained at the final battle, would write his memoirs and give credit where credit was due.

When I was a child, I spent a summer with a mad woman, my aunt Beatrice. For three glorious months, my presumed status at the time of being a squib wasn't a source of shame. Rather, my aunt taught me to stand as tall as any eight-year-old could, regardless of my magic ability, and more importantly, she taught me how to get one over those who would shame me for being 'lesser.'

During my seventh year at Hogwarts, I performed a number of rebellions. Some, like helping to run Dumbledore's Army, are known. Others remained under the radar and are only known to a select few. One of those, the gifting of certain bouquets to the enemy, helped children to successfully defeat a formidable foe whose magical strength and stamina ought to have outstripped our own.

Sadly, the training and lessons I gained from Aunt Beatrice were deemed too dangerous and outlandish to remain, and by the end of the year, she'd been carted off for abuse of a minor while my memories were blocked until I reached the age of majority. Thankfully, said dangerous memories unlocked a month before I returned to Hogwarts and served to guide my actions throughout that year. If I am a hero, it is through my aunt Beatrice's influence. Build the Squibs and near-Squibs in your families up. You never know the power that may be hiding inside.