Chapter 49: Plants and Stuff

Neville always enjoyed spending his free periods helping out at the greenhouses, even if Professor Sprout was busy with another class. There was always something to do, plants to tend to or supplies to organize, and he always felt like he knew his place among the greenery.

That said, at this moment, he really wished he'd chosen to go to the library or the common room or anywhere other than here, working with a tank of gillyweed and perfectly positioned to overhear the upperclassmen talk.

Because Neville really didn't need another reason to dread Defense Against the Dark Arts.

After what had happened in the last class—having to watch that spell being used to torture a living creature, even if just a spider—he could honestly say it was his absolute least favorite subject. He had thought that it couldn't get any worse.

"I can't believe Professor Moody got permission for that!" exclaimed one of the sixth year Hufflepuffs, fuming while he pulled on his gloves and other protective gear. "I mean, they're called Unforgivables, aren't they?"

It seems Neville had been wrong: Defense Against the Dark Arts certainly could get worse.

"Absolutely," another agreed. "He shouldn't have been allowed—"

One of their Gryffindor workmates snorted. "Come off it, Anthony. You're just embarrassed that he made you pirouette around the classroom, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, he made you sing a lullaby to the whole class!"

A third Hufflepuff—one Neville actually recognized, Cedric Diggory, a prefect—jokingly added, "And what a lullaby it was, I don't think I'll ever fall asleep again!"

The group chuckled.

"Besides, you should count yourself lucky," he continued. "I heard he Imperiused one of the fourth years to dance and sing."

"Yeah! I heard about that, too. Abbot, right?"

Neville twitched, almost dropping the entire bag of fish scales into the gillyweed tank. It wasn't just a lesson for the upperclassmen, something that would probably be off the class schedule by the time he would be a sixth year. Even the fourth years—meaning later this semester—would be put under the Imperius curse.

So, great, a new reason not to look forward to that class.

"Well, at least he only made me jump up on the desk."

"Oh, good for you," snarked the one who had apparently been made to dance.

"Why couldn't I have gotten the same as that snake?" another person grumbled, plainly jealous about something. "He got to ditch the rest of class!"

"Wait a second…" Looking around, Diggory asked, "Doesn't he take Herbology with us, too?"

The Gryffindor had a mean smile on his face. "I bet the slimy snake didn't even get hit with the Imperius, and he just ran for it 'cause he was too scared."

Before Neville could hear any more, his eavesdropping was interrupted by a gentle nudge on his shoulder. Startled and not quite fast enough to catch himself this time, he accidentally spilled a lot of scales into the water; it's a good thing that gillyweed can't really be overfed.

Professor Sprout smiled, shifting her grip on the box with which she had poked him. "Can I ask you to run a quick errand for me, Neville?"

"Oh, yes, let me just…" He folded up the bag of fish scales and re-covered the tank. "How can I help, Professor?"

"Here."

Taking the offered box from her—it was not as heavy as he had expected—he noticed that it had three jars filled with shining beans and six bottles of some sort of glittery powder.

Though pretty sure he knew what they were, Neville asked, "Are those Puffapod beans?"

"And spores, quite right!" The professor dusted off her hands, sparing a glance at the class to check on her students. "Poppy… rather, Madam Pomfrey was asking for some. Could you take these over to the Hospital Wing?"

"Of course!"

"Thank you, dear. You're such a great help to have around."

He flushed with pride, plus a little bit of embarrassment from the compliment. Still, it was always nice to know he wasn't being a bother by spending his free periods here. Neville immediately turned to leave, sliding past the rows of students and plants before pushing through the greenhouse doors to head for the castle.

Though he didn't make it very far, as he had to double back to put away his gloves and gardening apron. This was also embarrassing, even if he was fairly sure that nobody really noticed him, and Neville quickly ducked back out.

And then he was off again, following along the very familiar route to the Hospital Wing: a few stairs, a couple of hallways, left, right, and he's there. When he actually arrived, however, he found that no one else was in the infirmary at the moment. This was, in his not-inconsiderable experience, a fairly rare turn of events.

Gently setting the box down on one of the beds, he called, "Madam Pomfrey?"

From the closed office door, he heard a somewhat harried, "Emergency?"

"Uh…" Neville glanced at the jars and bottles he'd brought. "No, ma'am. I don't think so."

He didn't get an answer, which he just assumed meant he should wait. As his eyes wandered around the room, looking for something to pass the time, he noticed the door to the hall looked a bit more… blue than usual.

Before he could consider getting up to investigate more closely, the door swung open just barely enough for a small figure to slip through.

"Sans?"

"oh, hey," the first year greeted. "what's up, neville?"

"Just running an errand for Professor Sprout."

"huh."

The conversation petered away as quickly as it had begun, and the two of them stood in awkward silence for a little while.

"so… what's in the box?"

It was essentially the same ice breaker that Sans had used back on the train, but… well, it had worked then, hadn't it?

"Puffapod beans, mostly, and some bottles of the spores." Neville eagerly—but carefully—pulled out one of the bottles. "Did you know that the spores can make you dizzy? And trolls are actually allergic! I don't know why Madam Pomfrey wants them, but I guess maybe they… can be…" He realized he was rambling, and drifted off.

Apparently unbothered, Sans just grinned. "sounds neat. think pomfrey wants to make something with them?"

Neville, though still hesitant at first, took that as an invitation to wax on about the properties of the Puffapod plant. Then the topic shifted, becoming a discussion about how some magical flora can produce completely unexpected effects simply by combining or even just preparing different components of the same plant.

"Like, take the Mandrake," he said. "Its cry can knock you out, or even kill you, but stewed Mandrake is a pretty decent general antidote to other potions."

Sans hummed. "poisons can be all 'bout the preparation, i suppose." Then he smiled, already pleased with himself even before getting to the pun. "a pinch is medicine, buttercup-ple of spoonfuls is deadly."

"Oh, because… buttercups are poisonous and…" he paused, thinking his sentence through, and then finished, "aconite eat it…? Like, er, 'I can not'…"

Neville was decidedly not practiced with pun delivery.

But it would seem that the first year didn't mind, as he chuckled appreciatively. "nice. so aconite's another poisonous plant?"

"Oh, yes, extremely!"

It looked like Sans was going to say something else—and, by his grin, it probably involved a pun or two—but at that moment, the office door swung open.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Skelton," said Madam Pomfrey, stepping from her office.

Neville returned the greeting, and noticed that Sans very pointedly did not.

She spotted the box. "Would that happen to be the Puffapods I asked for?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The nurse strode over, pulling out a jar of beans and two bottles of the spores. "Very good timing, then. Although…" She glanced at Sans, whose crooked grin looked suddenly nervous, and then back to Neville. "Could I have you prepare them for me, Mr. Longbottom?"

"Prepare?"

"Yes, grind them together." She flicked her wand toward her office, which opened to let a cart wheel out. "It's quite easy: one part bean, two parts spores." Another gesture pulled open a drawer and withdrew a mortar and pestle. "They'll clump up into a paste after a minute or so, but I'm pressed for time at the moment, I'm afraid."

"I can do that, I think." Neville was fairly certain he could handle that much, though as always a niggling doubt whispered misgivings.

"Excellent, thank you." Madam Pomfrey then turned her attention to the pale first year—more pale than normal, in fact, and looking very much like he wanted to be elsewhere. She said, "Mr. Skelton, if you could please step into my office for a moment?"

"oh, gee, i don't think—"

"Mr. Skelton," she said, tone both patient and scolding all at once.

"okay, okay, fine." Sans begrudgingly headed for her door, and they both vanished into the office.

Now alone, Neville turned his attention to the Puffapod beans and spores. Simple preparations like this were really hard to mess up, even for him, but he still made sure to triple check his measurements before doing anything. Pulling the heavy mortar a little closer, he poured in a cup of the spores and half as many beans, then set to grinding them together.

It was easy work, methodical and repetitive. After a few minutes, he had to pause briefly to go riffle through the cabinets for an empty bowl to put the mash in when he finished. And even that extra bowl was starting to look quite full by the time Madam Pomfrey stepped back out.

"—telling you, i'm fine," Sans said, following her. He still had his usual grin, but there was a tilt to his eyebrows that made the smile look just a bit strained. "it's not really a big deal."

The nurse gave him a hard look, unwavering. "I'm the mediwitch here, young man," she said, as if that would shut down the argument that had probably been going on the whole time they had been in the office. "Neville, have you finished making the paste?"

He startled, not expecting the quick shift of attention to himself, and he tripped over his reply. "Wha— oh, uh… Yes, ma'am."

Neville held up the mortar, filled with the colorful and thoroughly mashed Puffapod bean-spore mixture. Madam Pomfrey looked it over closely, even going so far as to scrape a little bit onto one finger for a taste test.

Watching her critical examination made him nervous. "So… uhm, did I do it right? Is it fine?"

"Hm."

"I-is… So I did something wrong?"

"No, not at all," she reassured, to his immense relief. "I was just thinking. You've done a wonderful job, Mr. Longbottom, thank you."

With a flick of her wand, the paste obligingly rolled itself into a dozen knut-sized pellets. A muttered incantation dried them out, making them looked vaguely like a collection of shiny pebbles, and Madam Pomfrey gathered them up into a small tin.

"what're those?" Sans asked.

"These will help to whet your appetite," she said, holding out the small container. "Eat one before lunch and dinner."

Looking like he'd rather do almost anything than take the pills, he took a step toward the door. "look, i told you, i just don't need to eat all that much."

Madam Pomfrey remained unconvinced. "You are a growing boy, Mr. Skelton—"

That got a peculiarly amused-annoyed expression from the first year.

"—and as such," she continued, "you need to eat more than ketchup and toast! If you find you lack the appetite to eat, for your own health, something must be done." Gesturing to her office with the tin of pills, the nurse added, "Or would you rather take all of your meals here, with me, so that I know you won't keel over from malnutrition?"

"no," came the near-instant reply.

"That's what I thought."

Though plainly still reluctant, Sans took the tin of pills.

Neville blinked at him, wide-eyed. "Ketchup and toast?"

"and milk," he defended, inching toward the exit. "but i'll have you know that i have eaten other things."

"I should hope so!"

"well, anyway…" The door opened behind him, and Sans stepped back all the way into the hall. "bye, neville."

And the large door swung shut again.

"That boy…" Madam Pomfrey sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. "I can already tell he's going to be trouble."

Neville was still partly boggling at the idea that the first year had been surviving off essentially only bread and condiments. They may not be friends, exactly—they'd really only talked on the train—but he couldn't help but worry. "Can I… help? At all?"

The nurse gave him a thoughtful look. "You two are friends, aren't you?"

"…Yes?" He wasn't sure he could claim that, actually, but he did want to be friends.

"It would be best if you—and the rest of his friends, of course—make sure to look out for him," she said, as she worked with him to tidy up the mortar, pestle, and various empty jars. "Somebody has to make sure he's eating enough."

Given they were both in different houses and sat at different tables, Neville wasn't sure how he could do that. But maybe… Well, he was pretty sure he'd seen a Hufflepuff sitting with Sans at the Ravenclaw table. Maybe he could join them, too.

Maybe.

Since he wasn't sure if he could work up the courage to leave his House table, Neville made a mental note to at least buy him something from the candy shop in Hogsmeade on the next weekend trip. It would be something, though candy was no substitute for a good meal.

"I'll try," he said.

The nurse smiled at him, before quickly shooing him out into the hallway.

It was a bit abrupt, but he was used to it: Madam Pomfrey was very particular about healthy people wasting time in her Hospital Wing.

Balancing the box of now-empty jars and bottles, he turned to head back toward the greenhouses. After he finished with this, if he still had some time before his free period ended, perhaps he would stop by the library and—

"Oof!"

He had just rounded the corner, and straight into another student. Neville stumbled and tripped over himself, falling back less because of the crash and more due to his own clumsy footwork. The box spilled with a clatter of glass, though thankfully he didn't hear anything shatter.

"Sorry," the other student said, offering him a hand. "I was… kind of distracted."

"I probably should have been paying more attention, too." Neville accepted the help, standing and dusting himself off. Then he looked up.

It was a Slytherin.

And an upperclassman, no less.

At a loss for how he should react to that—a Slytherin, and no snide insults?—Neville turned to the mess he'd accidentally made and hurriedly began gathering up the scattered items.

The older student also turned to the spilled jars and bottles, then (honest to Merlin) he picked some of them up and put them back in the box. He even gave a flick of his wand to vanish the traces of spores that had spilled.

"Uhm…" Even if his brain was still lost by this turn of events, Neville at least managed to remember his manners. "Thanks."

The Slytherin had the strangest expression: as if he wanted to smile back, but the only line his mouth could take on was a worried grimace. "Don't mention it."

Neville was fairly certain he meant that literally.

He began to walk away, clearly planning to leave it at that, but the older student only made it a few steps before turning back around. "You… hang out with Potter sometimes, don't you?"

Neville swallowed drily, suddenly nervous again. "Y-yeah, so?"

"Do you know Sans Skelton?"

That question took him by surprise, and he found himself answering before he could really think it through. "Yeah, I know him. Why?" His mind caught up with his tongue, and he added, "W-what do you want with him? I-if you try anything—"

"I just want to know where he might be." The Slytherin carded a hand through his hair, and Neville suddenly realized that the older student looked somewhat out of sorts. "I need to ask him about… something."

"…Oh."

"So do you know where he is?"

Neville shook his head, still somewhat marveling that the conversation hadn't devolved into insults yet. "No, though he was just in the Hospital Wing. I imagine he's gone back to class now."

"If you see him—" He cut himself short, as if second guessing himself.

"I… I guess I could tell him you were looking for him…?" Shrugging, and consequently almost dropping the box again, Neville added. "If you want, I mean."

"That would be helpful."

And then the weird Slytherin was gone.

"That was… odd," Neville muttered to himself. Then he groaned, annoyed with himself. "Ugh, I didn't even get his name, dang it."

Still, he had never seen a Slytherin act so… non-Slytherin-y.

"I wonder what he wanted with Sans, anyway."

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

AH-HAH! Consider yourself bamboozeled, readers, for the last chapter was just a bonus chapter!
Happy April Fools!

(Actually, I think I already pulled this same twist back in, what, 2017? Oh well.)

Also, wow, I really chose a bad time to miss an update.

I hope you are all staying inside, and washing your hands regularly. Maybe watching YouTube or playing games, right? I recommend Hermitcraft, if you enjoy watching people play Minecraft—days worth of good content there.
For those of you who still need to go out and face to world right now, good luck and godspeed! I appreciate all that you're doing to keep the cogs turning. Don't forget to look out for yourself too.

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