A/N: A submission to Madame Pomfrey's One-Shot Triathlon 2012 by epiphany212 of Gryffindor House under the Picture Prompt of the Major Characters round.

---

He pressed his fingers into the dirt around the baby Venomous Tentacula, shoring up the soil around its base. It curled its maroon tendrils around his fingers and he rubbed its tiny vines fondly. It would be a few more years before it changed colors to a dark-red hue and began growing its venomous teeth. Until then, he saw no reason to discourage its affections... or to wear gloves.

"You know, I've never seen a Tentacula being more affectionate." Neville looked up away from his work to look into the eyes of Professor Sprout who leaned over him--she was staring at the Tentacula at first, but then caught his eye and winked. "You've a way with the ladies, hm?"

Neville flushed scarlet. "No more so than you do, Professor." He had quickly learned that his blushing earned him even more jabs--Professor Sprout enjoyed seeing what shade of purple he turned as her sense of humor became bawdier, but clever responses kept her fun to a minimum.

"O-ho!" she grunted. "You're getting better at those, Neville, though your delivery still sounds like you're a church-boy on the cusp of his first time." She grinned in satisfaction as his cheeks turned even darker. "And you still have that damnable blush." She pinched his cheek, a little too hard, and he winced and ducked his head. "Keep it; it's charming." She rose and began to walk toward the Mandrakes section, calling over her shoulder, "And how many times must I tell you to call me Pomona? You're not a student anymore!"

Neville smiled. It had taken him three years after the War to return to Hogwarts, under the pretense of completing the practical component of his Herbologist training. Though the greenhouse stores had been decimated during the reign of the Carrows his seventh year, the careful supervision of Pomona Sprout prevented any long-term damage, and as a result, Hogwarts still maintained one of the finest nurseries in the western hemisphere.

Gently extracting his fingers from the Tentacula's clutches, he stood, pressing hands to his achy lower back and staring up at the castle which had been his home for seven years. The one-year practical term would be over in a few weeks, and he was sure Pomona would give him a recommendation to anywhere in the world--that botanical garden in Malaysia would be fascinating to explore, he mused. Her reputation would carry him as far as he wanted to go, but to be honest, this felt like where he belonged.

"Neville!" Neville's head snapped up, his eyes searching for an emergency. "You're off for the day; it's half past five! If you're planning to meet your friends, you're already late!" Pomona called across the greenhouse.

Ah, right. Sometimes it felt as though the castle never changed, and weekly drinks at Hogsmeade stopped him from feeling as though the world--and his friends--were moving on without him. He cast off his gloves in the bucket by the door of the greenhouse before hurrying off across the field toward the road to Hogsmeade.

~.~.~

He spotted the auburn sheen of Ginny's hair across the crowd at The Three Broomsticks and fought his way toward his friends.

"NEVILLE!" Ron and Seamus roared, pints in hand. Neville smiled. Clearly the party had begun without him.

Ginny wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling away from Harry for a minute to give him a huge hug.

"We should pick a different day of the week, you know. Fridays are always the busiest," he commented before sitting on a stool that Hermione had saved him.

"But that's half the fun of it, Neville!" Seamus crowed, his eyes sparkling with good humor. "The rush, the people--"

"The girls," Dean chimed in, eyeing the group around him critically. "I mean, no offense, Hermione and Ginny, but you lot are spoken for, and it's not like I'd go for any of the rest of you."

Ginny chuckled, meeting Harry's eye and squeezing his hand for a moment. "None taken, Dean. I'm happy with what I've got, aren't I?"

Ron hid his head in his hands. "Ginny," he protested weakly. "Can you please save that for when I'm not around?"

Hermione shook her head, elbowing her boyfriend in the ribs. "Oh hush, Ronald. She's two years out of Hogwarts and even your mother's cast her lot in with Harry."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, that's just because she wants grandbabies sooner rather than later." Ron's face was a shade of puce, and Harry wasn't much behind. "Oh, boys, hold yourselves together," she snapped. "It's not like you're unhappy to practice the act; you should at least be able to listen to the potential consequences!"

Dean threw his arms around Ron and Harry's shoulders. "All right, enough about that, it's time for darts... I've been practicing."

Ron smirked. "Third time's the charm, eh?"

"Face it, Weasley, one of these days your winning streak is going to falter. Unless you've been at the Felix Felicis on the sly?" he jibed, dragging Ron off toward the dartboards as he argued back.

Harry chuckled as he watched the raucous pair make their way through the room. "Coming?" he asked Neville.

"You go on, mate. I'm going to sit here quietly and drink my beer, stay out of trouble."

"Suit yourself," Harry said before he and Seamus shouldered their way over to the other boys.

Neville went to the bar to grab another butterbeer and sat on a stool in front of Madam Rosmerta, who spared a smile and a nod for him before tending to all of her other customers. Back at their table, Hermione and Ginny were engrossed in a conversation--something about stockings, he had overheard--but he was all right with sitting on his own. His heart wasn't in this bustling bar, and his mind was moving a mile a minute.

They're all so happy, he thought. Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Harry... the love pours off them, you can see how content they are even when they bicker with each other. Even Dean and Seamus, they're each other's best friends...

"Hello," murmured a voice close to his ear.

He looked up from his drink, startled. "Hello," he said slowly, searching the face of the beautiful blonde who had perched herself on the stool next to his. How do I know her... damn, what's her name? His hands became a little clammy.

"My name is Veronica, Veronica Smedley," she offered.

"R-Right, I'm--"

"Neville Longbottom, I know!" she said, green eyes sparkling. "I've heard all about you."

He eyed her warily. This girl hadn't come up to him because she already knew him. He'd had encounters like this before, girls who adored him because he fought in the War, girls who asked a lot of questions about his parents, Dumbledore's Army, and killing Nagini...

"You led the D.A., right? And killed that awful familiar that Voldemort had? Tell me, what was it like, fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts? Were you very afraid? Did thinking of your parents make you brave?" she asked eagerly.

He blinked at the barrage of questions. "Um... I..." The last thing in the world he wanted to talk about or remember was the War.

"Neville! Hermione and I absolutely cannot decide whether we should get the pink drinks or purple drinks next!" Ginny cooed, sidling up to him and batting her eyelashes outrageously. "Do come and help us decide." She tugged on his elbow.

He bit back a laugh. "Sure, Gin." Glancing at Veronica as Ginny tugged him away from his spot at the bar, he said, "Lovely meeting you, Veronica!"

Her eyes shooting daggers at the redhead beside him, she turned her face to him with a beatific smile. "Oh, yes, me too, Neville. See you around!"

Neville collapsed into a stool at the table, placing his arms on the table and putting his head down for effect.

"Oh, Neville," Hermione said merrily, "it can't have been that bad."

Ginny arched an eyebrow at her friend before punching him in the shoulder. "Yes, it really was. This one's got absolutely no game whatsoever, I tell you."

"It's not that, you know," Neville said into his sleeve. He propped his chin on his forearm to look up at the girls. "Well, I mean, it's not completely because of that," he amended. "I hate it when girls ask me about the War. And they all ask. I'm not killing snakes or leading charges against Death Eaters in my daily life, now, am I? I'm pruning Flutterby Bushes or tending to Devil's Snare. It's like they want to know about the war hero, not me."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Dean and Seamus lap up that kind of attention, and Ron and Harry have never had an issue with it, because, you know, Ginny and I fought alongside them--"

"Merlin knows we saved their skins more often than not," Ginny interjected, grinning widely. Hermione smiled at her and nodded in acquiescence.

"But I never considered that perhaps the attention would take away from a new relationship. It makes sense--when we were in school, Harry hated people talking or asking about his scar for the very same reason, and I've experienced the same questions about the War, rather than my work, from new acquaintances in the Ministry." She looked at Neville, her eyes bright with empathy. "It makes conversations a little surreal, doesn't it? People don't get to know you at all that way."

Neville nodded jerkily. "Yeah. I mean, I've so much to be thankful for... we survived, first of all, and my practical with Sprout has been going so well. And I have you lot, of course," he said, looking at the two girls in front of him. "But I can't help but see you and Ron, or you and Harry and think to myself how lucky I would be to have someone to share it all with. Someone who doesn't expect me to be a war hero--be brave and gallant, make the first move, say charming things--but who understands me, the way you guys do."

"Great at Herbology, sweet, thoughtful..." Hermione commented.

"Never stops blushing, will leave your feet black and blue after a night of dancing..." Ginny added, winking at him.

He laughed, glad that they understood. "Exactly." He paused, staring down at his foamy butterbeer. "I wish Luna was here," he admitted morosely. "Things would have been different."

Hermione took a sip of her Pretty in Pink cocktail. "Don't be like that, Neville. She's having a blast searching the Amazon for moon frogs! She's taking advantage of her youth, and Merlin knows after being stuck in an office for three years, I can't blame her. She loves..." Ginny glared. "Us all," Hermione hastily added, "and she'll be back eventually. I know you miss her, but there's no reason you can't enjoy life while she's gone."

Ginny added, "You know, the only girls who wouldn't know about the War are people who weren't a part of the magical world at all."

"Muggles?" he asked.

"I don't know about that," Hermione commented. "Explaining magic to my parents was so hard at first, and they still don't ever completely get it. And having that power over them, using that Memory Charm on them..." Her eyes darkened, and Ginny and Neville grabbed both of her hands. She squeezed back before continuing. "To be honest, I don't know if they'll ever forgive me for that. I don't know, if our positions were reversed, if I could trust someone who had taken away my will in that way." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Merlin knows, Malfoy's attitude towards Muggleborns and Muggles in general was disgusting. I'm not saying they're inferior, that I'm inferior, in any way. But blending the two worlds together? Practically, that's going to be very, very difficult at best and impossible at worst. Is avoiding the war hero image worth the sweat and tears you'd pour into making a relationship like that work?"

At that point, the boys came back to the table, crowding around the corners. Dean looked triumphant, Ron shattered, and both Harry and Seamus were hiding smiles.

"So you won, then?" Ginny asked Dean.

"Nah, lost by a landslide," Dean said cheerily. "But this lady who works for Witch Weekly asked me if I'd be willing to model for their next year's Winsome Warlocks calendar. And Ron got told that he'd have been a shoe-in as their Scarlet September if he lost a few kilos! Guess being a war hero doesn't count for everything, eh, mate?"

At that, Seamus and Harry's poker faces finally shattered. Harry, ever loyal, wheezed through his laughter, "Ron... it's okay... the next drink's... on me!"

"Oh, Harry," Ginny gasped, tears of merriment shining in her eyes. "Don't enable him. You know how many calories are in butterbeer!"

Ron's ears turned a shade of scarlet Neville had never seen before.

~.~.~

Neville hurried through the aisles of B&Q, searching for a single item. This store is like a maze... okay, here's the gardening section... Professor Sprout insisted that turning the soil over by hand helped the baby Mandrakes to breathe fresher air and grow faster. As a result, though most herbologists would use a simple Tilling spell, she used actual Muggle tools. Neville paced up and down in front of a shelf with at least 20 different types of implements. Shovels of all sizes, rakes... where have they put the hoes?

"Oomph!" Neville looked down at the top of a brunette head. "Bollocks, sorry about that," he muttered.

A heart-shaped face turned up to him, tiny nose wrinkled slightly. "Oh, please don't apologize. I've been standing here for a ridiculous amount of time, anyway, this is probably just a hint from the universe to give up and keep moving."

He glanced at the shelf in front of her--pruning shears. "Having some trouble picking a good pair out?"

She sighed. "I have these huge hydrangea bushes in front of my house. They're beautiful, but they're getting so big that they're obscuring my windows. I spend most of my mornings looking out on the view of the sunrise comes up in front of my house, so the bushes have to go. I can't decide what size shear to get--the branches of the bushes are delicate, but there's so many of them... with a big set of shears, I could lop a lot of bush off at once, but with a smaller set, I could be more selective."

Neville pursed his lips, thinking. "Well..."

She blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Here I am rambling on about pruning shears--I'm a bit obsessive about my plants, and I tend to forget that other people have less odd priorities."

Neville smiled. "No, that's not it at all! I’m the same way about my plants. I think my choice would depend on what other plants you have in the garden that need pruning. If you have mostly large plants, buy the bigger shears; but if you're going to buy a large pair of shears just for these bushes and never use them again, pick the smaller shears. Whichever you can get the most use out of would be best."

"That's a good thought! I guess the larger shears it is," she said, plucking a pair off the shelf and tucking them under her arm. "I'm Sarah, by the way."

"Oh, I'm Neville. Nice to meet you," he said, reaching out a hand for her to shake. "Have you seen the hoes anywhere, by the way?"

"Yeah, they're in the next aisle alongside the bags of soil and fertilizer. I don't see why they're not with all the other tools, but maybe they think the only reason you'd buy a hoe is if you're also buying soil or fertilizer to rake into your garden? Anyway, I'll walk with you!"

As they started moving, he commented, "Most of the people I know use a sp--" Wait, she's a Muggle! "Um, use an... uh," he stumbled.

"Electric tiller?"

"Yeah!" He recognized the word "electric" and sighed in relief. Looks like 7th year Muggle Studies had its uses after all. "But I believe in doing things the old way... digging your hands into the soil, working up a sweat."

"Working up a sweat, hm? ... I guess it's good for the honeysuckle," Sarah mused.

How many people would know which types of plants thrived with a little bit of salt in the soil? "Actually," Neville said, without thinking, "I've got Fanged Geraniums." Shit!

"Did you say fanged?" Sarah asked, eyes wide. "I've never heard of that strain, is it tropical?" She tucked a strand of hair of her brown hair behind her ear to reveal a sparkly blue butterfly earring.

"Where on earth did you get that earring?" Neville asked incredulously.

Sarah beamed. "Oh, I make them. My niece, she loves all things shiny and pink, so I made her pair of pink butterflies and she insisted that I create a pair for myself so that we could match."

Neville laughed. "That reminds me of someone I know." He shoved down the lump that threatened to clog his throat and focused on the brunette head beside him. "How old is your niece?"

"She's four... her name's Angela. I don't know if I've ever met anyone who's given me more of a run for my money in the creativity department. Sometimes I think she must be a grown-up trapped in a little girl's body because of how clear and direct she is about her projects," Sarah said admiringly.

Neville stopped in front of the hoes and reached for one without really looking at the shelf. "Growing up... shows you many things about the world, and a lot of them make the way ahead less clear." He started walking toward the exit of the store, and Sarah came with him. "Things seem simple when you're young; it's easier to be decisive."

Sarah reached a hand out and rubbed his upper arm, smiling. "Words of wisdom about more than just pruning shears," she said lightly. "How'd you get to know so much about plants and people, Neville?"

He ducked his head. "These two lines for the register look free. I'll get in this one, you go over there?" he offered, not wanting her to see him struggle with Muggle coins.

She cast him a bemused glance, as if she knew he was trying not to blush. "Sure. See you out there."

She was waiting for him when he walked out of the store. "So it was nice meeting you, Neville. Listen, do you have a phone number that I could call you at? You know, in case I have some more trouble with garden tools." Her almond-shaped hazel eyes sparkled, the gold flecks in her irises catching the sunshine like faerie lights.

"Why don't I take your number and call you?" He swallowed. Ginny's voice rang in his head. Carpe diem, Longbottom! "I don't have a gardening excuse but I'd like to see you sometime."

She held out her receipt and Neville took it. A seven digit number was scrawled on the back side. "I was hoping you'd ask," she admitted, smiling slightly. "I'll hear from you soon?"

Neville grinned, relieved that he hadn't botched this moment. "Definitely." He watched her head toward her car before heading around the corner of the store to Apparate.

~.~.~

Hermione's head floated in the green flames. "Well, I don't see what you're going to do with a telephone number if you don't have a phone," she said exasperatedly. "I mean, of course you can use our house phone and I can show you how to dial, but what are you going to do if she doesn't pick up? You can't leave her our number to call back; imagine what she'll think of you if I pick up the phone when she calls."

Neville felt like throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. "Hermione, cut me a break, please. This is the first girl that I've felt remotely intrigued by in over a year. Can I help it if I met her in a Muggle store and all I have is a phone number?"

Hermione looked a little abashed. "Well... I suppose you can come over and try the line. Maybe she'll pick up."

"Thank you," Neville said, relieved, ignoring the doubt in her voice. "I'll Floo over shortly."

A few minutes later, he stood, receiver in hand. "So I just dial this number and put this end--" He waved the top end of the phone in the air. "--on my ear."

Hermione nodded patiently. "And then the phone will ring, like a beeping noise, and hopefully her voice will come on the line. She'll probably start with something like 'Hello.' Make sure to introduce yourself; unless she has caller ID--" Hermione paused at the perplexed look on her friend's face. "Never mind, she won't know who you are, so just say your name. And listen carefully to make sure it's not a machine answering the phone asking you to leave a message for her...in that case, it won't wait for you to speak and it'lll probably tell you to 'Leave a message after the beep.' If that happens, you hang up--"

"By putting this handle thing back in the cradle," Neville finished.

"Right. Good luck!"

Neville pushed the number buttons and waited... There's the ring...

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi, Sarah, can you hear me?"

"Yes, who is this?" The voice sounded a little wary.

"It's Neville. Um, Neville from the B&Q store."

"Oh hey, Neville, I was hoping I'd hear from you soon!" Now it was more chipper, reminding him of the time he spent with her in the store, how much they smiled. Yes, I definitely want to be doing this.

"I was wondering if you'd meet me for dinner sometime." Shit, I can't use The Three Broomsticks! Frantically, he waved Hermione over to where he stood, mouthing "Restaurant?" to her. She frowned and shook her head in confusion.

"Yeah, that would be great! I'm usually free any night after 8..." Scrambling for a quill, he scrawled one-handed on the receipt which held Sarah's phone number. Muggle Restaurant?? Hermione's mouth made an "O" of comprehension, and she snatched the quill from him, writing.

"Uh, sounds great! How about Friday?" He peered over Hermione's shoulder, trying to see what she was writing.

"Perfect. Where did you want to go?" Finally, Hermione shoved the receipt in his hands. He read quickly. No time. Get address. "Can I pick you up? Why don't you surprise me?"

"Why don't you surprise me?" he said a little frantically. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "If you give me your address, I can pick you up."

Sarah laughed. "Well, I normally make it a rule to meet guys at a place for the first date, for safety reasons, but I suppose we've already met, so why not? Got a pen and paper?"

Neville nodded, then realized this wasn't a fire-call and she couldn't see him. "Yes, I’m ready, go ahead."

"12 Pine Lawn, Cambusnethan, ML2 8XY."

"Wonderful." He could feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach, flitting their way up to his throat and threatening to raise the timbre of his voice to an embarrassing pitch. Time to end this, while it was still short and sweet. "See you Friday?"

"Yes. Until Friday, Neville," Sarah replied.

Neville dropped the handset into its cradle, just in time to receive a squealing Hermione's hug.

~.~.~

"So you told me about Angela... what about the rest of your family?" Neville asked as they started on the main course of the meal.

Sarah smiled. "Well, there's Angela's mother, of course, my sister Francie... short for Francesca, I always wished that she would have let me keep calling her Cesca, it's so whimsical, you know? And my father, Stephen--I was always a daddy's girl, probably always will be unless I find another man who's his equal..." She trailed off, smiling at him. "But don't let that scare you. I'm a little more hopeful about that than I've been in a long time."

"And your mother?"

Sarah frowned. "You really listen, don't you? My mother--I never knew her, I'm afraid." Neville reached a hand across the table reflexively, and she reached out to pat his wrist. "Oh no, it's not like that, nothing tragic. I'm afraid she just decided..." She raised her shoulders in a half-shrug. "She decided she didn't want to be a part of our family one day. Packed her bags and never looked back--I have no idea where she is now."

Neville bit his lip. "Sarah, I'm so sorry."

Sarah shook her head. "Don't be. I was four years old, as old as Angela is now. She couldn't have known me at that age, and I'm sure she knows that, just as I don't fully understand who Angela is yet. Her leaving... that wasn't about me. She left because of something in her. And my dad became my sister's and my everything after she left, he was a better father for it--we're a family, even without her." She paused, taking a sip of her wine. "Enough about me; what about you? Tell me about your family."

Neville drew in a deep breath. Girls at The Three Broomsticks didn't think twice about asking about the glories of the War, but everyone knew what had happened to Frank and Alice Longbottom and no one ever dared to ask about them. Normally, he was all right with that, but after what Sarah shared with him, he wanted more than ever to open up, to let her know what was closest to his heart.

"When I was growing up, I lived with my grandmother. It's not like you and your dad between me and her--honestly, half the time, I was terrified of her--my dad, her son, he was the apple of her eye. But I respected her a lot--she's the strongest woman I know, and the fact that she expected a lot of me... even though it made me nervous, I was probably better for it."

Sarah curled her fingers under his palm on the table. "And what happened with your mom and dad?" she asked quietly.

"They were..." Cursed. "In an accident when I was a baby. They're still alive, but..." He looked into Sarah's eyes; she stared back at him, unflinching. "They don't remember anything. Don't even really speak that much anymore, just mumbling that doesn't make much sense, shells of their former selves." He sighed heavily. Sarah's thumb rubbed against the back of his hand softly, back and forth in a simple, comforting gesture.

Neville was lost in his thoughts for a while, thinking back to memories with Gran and that photo album of his parents which he used to flip through every night when he was young. The images were burned into his mind--the sight of his parents happy, hopeful, in love. Finally, he picked up his fork again and took another bite of his pasta Bolognese, glad that he didn't need to move the hand which Sarah's fingers were still curled around.

"You know," Sarah said to him when he was chewing, "I don't think I've ever been on a date with a man more filled with caring and compassion than you. Strength isn't about charm or being suave or not blushing when a pretty girl talks to you--I don't think many people understand that--it's respecting your family and standing by the people you love no matter the circumstances. That's what your mom and dad did, didn't they? They were together during that accident. And even your grandmother, the way she took care of you when your parents weren't able to. I think the three of them must be very proud of you."

Neville couldn't find the words to say. He turned his hand palm-up on the table and interlaced his fingers with hers, squeezing hard, trying to show her how much that meant to him. He felt lighter and freer than he had felt in years, gratitude buoying his heart up until he felt dizzy with wonder.

She smiled at him. "Dessert?" she asked and he nodded without hesitation.

~.~.~

Neville sat at Sprout's kitchen table, parchment quivering between his trembling fingers under his professor's gimlet eye. A small glass of Firewhiskey sat at his elbow on stand-by. I'll either drink that to drown my sorrows or to celebrate, a few minutes from now, he pondered grimly.

"Oh go on, open the damn thing, it won't bite you!" Pomona urged. A glimmer came to her eye. "Unlike the Fanged Geranium you were playing with yesterday, lucky the interview happened before you got that bandage or else the Institute might have had a much different opinion of your skills in the garden," she jibed.

That comment jarred Neville into action. Tearing the seal quickly, he opened the parchment and skimmed the first few lines. "Thank you for your time... impressed by your qualifications... limited number of spots available..." he muttered. "... Congratulations..." He stopped, read again. "CONGRATULATIONS! You have been accepted under the position of Herbologist at the Institute of Magical and Mundane Plants , the London branch, effective September of this year; kindly complete and return the included form to indicate your acceptance of our offer."

"Atta boy," Pomona roared, slapping him on the back. "And London's the main branch, too. Oh, well done, Neville!"

He leapt up from his chair and caught her in a hug. "Thank you, Pomona, I--I couldn't have done this without your training; you've always believed in me more than anyone else--"

"You've always had talent, my boy," said Pomona gruffly. "The Institute's got a winner, and they know it as much as I do; I'll be sorry to lose you come September." She held her own glass of amber liquid in the air. "Now, drink up!"

A few drinks later, Neville felt as though he should head to bed. He put the bottle of Firewhiskey away and began to wash his and Pomona's glasses in the sink, too drunk to trust himself to use a wand, even for a simple Cleaning Charm.

Pomona leaned back against the counter, resting her elbows on its surface. "You've smiled more in this past week than you have in months, Neville. And you took that Muggle girl out to dinner a few days ago, didn’t you? Are you going to tell your old professor what's going on?" she asked slyly.

Neville glanced at his professor wryly. "Are you asking for or demanding information right now?" Pomona grinned widely and he laughed. "Yes, Pomona, dinner went well," he admitted.

"And?" the professor prompted.

"And I like her."

"You're smiling again," she observed gleefully.

He smacked her bare forearm with the towel he was using to dry the glasses. "I don't know yet. The last time I felt this way was..." He looked down at the sink and gulped.

"With Luna." The professor's voice was gently now. He shut his eyes, hating that she could see through his emotions so easily.

"And Luna's gone," he said roughly. "She followed her passions, followed her heart to a different continent. In all of her letters to me, she sounds ridiculously happy. And I don't begrudge her that--I don't--but it makes me wonder how she can be so happy doing what she loves. I'm doing what I love, and she's not here, and I'm lonely."

Sprout sighed. "Neville, you and Luna--she gave you what you needed. I won't deny that you were a good match; we all saw that during your last few years at school. But she's always been an independent soul and you can't ever nail her heart down. I'm not even saying that you expect that of her; you know very well how she is, and you never asked her to be anything different... you're a good man for doing that. But you're very different from her. You care fiercely for your loved ones, just as she does, but with that, you also get attached. I think you blame yourself for that, because you're different from her in that way, but there's nothing wrong with it. And not every girl is like Luna in that way--a lot of girls get attached just like you do. Could be that Sarah's one of those girls... there's no reason not to give her a chance."

Neville put the glasses back in the cupboard where they belonged and turned to his professor. Pomona Sprout had learned far more about him during the years she was his teacher than he had realized.

"Thanks, Professor," he said simply.

Pomona scowled and cuffed him on his arm. "What the hell happened to calling me Pomona? Just because I prove something to you that we both already knew--I'm much wiser than you'll ever hope to be--doesn't give you an excuse to slip back into these damn formalities!" He chuckled and gave her another hug. This time, she squeezed him hard before stepping back. "Away with you, remember the Mandrakes have to be repotted before sunrise tomorrow morning."

"See you tomorrow, Pomona," Neville replied as he stepped into the Floo.

~.~.~

"... Then I tossed the ring at him, and... God, I can't believe this happened, but it fell into my Venus Flytrap!" Sarah giggled gleefully. "A 2 carat diamond, gone, just like that, doused in poisonous venom! If we had been parting on good terms, I suppose he could have stuck around and waited for its mouth to open before fishing it out, but I don't think he was going to risk me throwing anything bigger than the ring at his head!"

Neville shook his head in awe. "So what happened to the ring?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, hemp earrings swaying. "Oh, I let the Flytrap keep it. I knew there was a good reason I kept that hideous plant around."

Neville smiled. "Sometimes the most hideous plants are the most fascinating," he said, thinking of the Venomous Tentacula growing in Greenhouse 4.

"Exactly!" she enthused. "And, you know, those are the only ones that can defend you against those who wish you harm." Neville and she shared a commiserating grin over their tiramisu.

She blinked. "Bringing up the taboo subject of plants worked out with you, but I probably shouldn't have brought up my ex on the fourth date, should I?" She cocked her head sideways at him, eyes searching out a reaction in his face.

"No, it's all right--it's a hilarious botanical tale, and we were talking about my encounter with a toxic vine just before that," Neville said reassuringly. "Besides, the ring's in the Venus Flytrap, not on your finger, so I assume I have nothing to worry about."

"Nothing at all, I promise! But going back to that vine, I can't believe I've never heard of a vine that wraps itself around people. You'll definitely have to give me the name of that botanical program you're studying under. If my art thing doesn't work out, I want to look them up."

Neville shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "O--Of course," he managed. "But speaking of art, tell me about how that fountain sculpture is going? Have you decided whether you're going to create it with clay using your hand or granite using a chisel?"

As Sarah began to recount the details of her progress since their last date, Neville took a sip of his wine, his attention elsewhere for a brief moment. That's five species of magical plants you've told her about and she hasn't stopped asking questions about them. And now she wants to know where you study? How are you going to explain those five day trips around the world to hunt for and identify plants if you take the job with the Institute? You can't keep hiding the fact that you're a wizard forever--it's a big part of your life every single day.

He looked at the joy that danced in every one of her hand gestures as she emphasized or demonstrated different aspects of her work. She shines so bright, brighter than anyone I've ever met other than Luna. I can't lose her because I'm afraid.

Ignoring the niggling voice in the back of his head--Hermione's voice, pointing out all of the problems that came with entering a relationship with a Muggle--he propped up his chin on one hand, determined to enjoy the rest of this night with Sarah.

~.~.~

Neville had been nursing the same butterbeer for a half-hour, listening to the conversation ebb and flow around him, thinking about Sarah. Ginny and Hermione had gotten him to admit last week that he had fallen arse over kettle for her, and since then, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head. Though it shouldn't have taken the girls' urging for him to realize it--he had a telephone line installed in his house after their second date, for Merlin's sake, and it was all he could do not to buy one of those cell phones Sarah kept talking about so that he could talk to her any moment he chose--talking about the two of them together to someone else had been like placing a lit match beside a dry bundle of knotgrass.

Seamus rose from the table. "All right, gents, ladies," he said with a slight bow to Ginny and Hermione, "it's time for this creaky old bastard to drag himself to bed. Got an early start tomorrow, practice in the morning."

"Are you actually going to practice throwing the ball through the hoops this time, Seamus?" Ginny asked innocently. Ron guffawed. Seamus' intramural Quidditch team was notoriously bad, having narrowly avoided a loss just last week to a group of 15 year olds who were home from Hogwarts for summer break.

Not even bothering to attempt a rejoinder, Seamus walked away. "Hey, Seamus, wait up!" Neville called over the group's laughter, snatching his coat off the table and hopping off his stool onto his feet. "Mind if I join you?"

Seamus paused in his long strides until Neville reached his shoulder and then kept walking. "Bloody jokesters," he muttered, "always having a laugh at me expense, aren't they? Anyway, you all right, mate? Anything you want to talk to me about?"

Neville ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "Yeah, actually... you know I'm dating a girl right now, her name's Sarah. And well, see, I don't know if you know this, but she's a Muggle."

Seamus placed a hand on his forehead to block the sunset, squinting at Neville. "And?"

"And I think I might be getting pretty serious about her. But I haven't told her about magic or anything yet, and I don't really know how that works, so I wanted to ask you about your parents."

Seamus tucked his hands into the pockets of his shorts, staring down at the road. "Ah, right. I see."

Sensing the change in Seamus' usually jovial tone, Neville hastily amended, "I mean, if you don't want to talk about it or something, I understand."

"No, it's not that. We're mates; I reckon I can tell you just about anything. I--Guess I'm just trying to figure out what to say about it, that's all," Seamus said.

Neville waited patiently. It was a long walk from The Three Broomsticks to Seamus' flat at the other end of Hogsmeade, and he could tell that this was difficult for Seamus to talk about, for whatever reason.

"Me mam and dad had a rough time of it at first," Seamus began bluntly. "She didn't tell him until after they were married, and I think my dad was ready to walk out for a day or two. Completely scared the poor bugger out of his wits. He still gets a little twitchy if me mam starts waving around her wand too much, and he won't come with us to Diagon Alley, missed the World Cup and all.

"I know they love each other," he said slowly, "else he wouldn't have stayed and me mam wouldn't be so careful to only use magic for the important things, like Apparition for long distances. And I guess, if that's the only person in the world you can love, a Muggle, then that's what you've got to do." Seamus shook his head and glared at the pavement. "But it's the biggest sacrifice you can make for someone else, compromising on your magic--it's a part of you that goes a bit missing, like. And I don't believe in things like 'one true love', so I don't think it's worth it to go through that."

Neville felt his stomach sinking like a stone, his feet getting heavier with Seamus' every word. "Thanks, mate, for letting me know what you think," he said solemnly, reaching out a hand for Seamus to shake.

Seamus grasped it and pulled him in to clap him on the back. "No worries, mate. Listen, you've... you've got to do what you've got to do, no matter how I see it. And if it's any consolation, this is the happiest I've seen you in months, so this girl--she's obviously doing you a lot of good. Don't take what I said too much to heart--the most important thing is to listen to your gut."

Neville nodded pensively. "Yeah, yeah, you're right," he mumbled. "Listen, I'm going to head back to the Three Broomsticks and try to catch the gang before they leave since I never said goodbye. I'll catch you later. Good luck with practice tomorrow."

"All right, Neville, catch you later." Brow furrowed in concern, Seamus watched the silhouette of his friend grow smaller and smaller until finally it disappeared over the horizon.

~.~.~

Neville stood outside of the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo's, waiting for the ward's Healer to wave him through the door. Quietly, his wand buzzed against his thigh. Sarah was calling his home phone, which he had keyed to his wand a few weeks ago with Hermione's help. Neville gritted his teeth and took his wand out of his pocket, placing it on the seat beside him where the buzzing was less evident. She had called twice in the past two weeks--she'd never been the type to stand on the ancient traditions of chivalry which claimed that men had to make all of the moves, and he had loved that about her at first. Now, he ignored her calls each time.

Hearing Seamus talk about his parents had made Neville rethink what he was doing with Sarah. Luna and he had had it all--she had been a witch, he had been a wizard; they understood each other's family dynamics; they had similar religious beliefs and were interested in each other's academic passions and career paths. Even after all of those factors stacked in their favor, their relationship had fallen apart. How could Sarah and he overcome the immense obstacle of bridging the magical and Muggle worlds? What was the point in investing so much emotion when the odds of failure were so high?

At Healer Strout's signal, he slipped inside and walked towards his parents' beds. Gran turned toward him, eyes glassy with tears and squeezed his forearm as she walked past him and out of the ward. They must be bad today. Augusta Longbottom was not a woman easily brought to tears.

"Hello Mum, Dad," he said quietly. At the sound of his voice, his parents turned their faces towards him for a brief moment, before going back to their tasks.

His mother was playing with something between her fingers. A flower. He glanced around the ward and caught sight of the pot of daisies sitting beside Priscilla Perkins' bed. Ah, a Healer must have given her one because they caught her fancy.

"Love. Not. Love. Not," his mother chanted, twirling the flower around her fingers. Neville swallowed. It was uncommon for his mother to do anything he recognized, but sometimes different things--especially rituals, things like childhood games--would lock into her brain for brief amounts of time... days, sometimes even weeks, he had returned to find her doing the exact same activity over and over again. It was too easy to hope that these recognizable actions meant something, but each time, eventually, she stopped and there was never any further progress.

He turned to his father. Today, Frank was quiet, not even a characteristic smile upon his face. He looked nearly dreamy, blue eyes fixating first on the light shining from his bedside lamp and then on the moving fan blades above his head, rather like an infant.

He sighed. What would they tell him about Sarah? He hadn't even thought to mention it to Gran. Would they be allright with him dating a Muggle? Would they have encouraged him or told him the same thing Seamus did? Looking at their empty faces, he was struck by a hopeless sort of despair, bordering on resignation. What kind of girl will treat them with the love and respect they deserve? He would probably never be able to share them with the person he built a life with.

Frank sat completely upright. "Alice," he stated loudly.

Neville stared at his father, eyes wide. "What?"

Silence.

"Dad, what did you say?" he pressed urgently.

Suddenly he remembered Sarah's words. Strength isn't about charm or being suave or not blushing when a pretty girl talks to you--I don't think many people understand that--it's respecting your family and standing by the people you love no matter the circumstances. That's what your mom and dad did, didn't they? They were together during that accident.

And here, twenty years later, his mother spoke of love, and his father spoke of his wife... even the barest shells of what they had been clung to the people they loved with a strength he had never realized they had in their fragile, damaged state.

Oh, he had been such a fool. This had never been about the odds. It wasn't about weighing this factor and that, about the practical things like science or, dare he say it, medicine. It was about love. It was about the choice to commit to that one person, to stand by their side no matter what, holding their hand across a dinner table or sitting beside them in a hospital ward.

He held his father's hand and squeezed it, causing Frank to turn to him. "Alice," he reaffirmed.

He reached behind him and grasped his mother's hand, turning toward her. "Love," he told her firmly. She smiled.

He held both of their hands, pressing the too-thin, delicate skin freckled with premature age spots against his cheeks, wetting them with his tears. "Thank you," he whispered, before he stepped away from his parents' beds and through the doors of the ward to the hospital's Floo.

~.~.~

"Hello?"

"Hi, Sarah, it's Neville." There was no response so Neville rushed ahead, stammering, "I-I'm so sorry I haven't called; I--well, to be frank, I panicked...it's a bit too much to explain why over the phone, but I'd really like to meet and talk with you now if that's all right."

"I haven't heard from you in two weeks, Neville." Sarah's voice was calm, measured... careful. He had never heard her sound more monotone, completely lacking expression. His stomach hollowed in dread.

"I know." He could feel his cheeks burning and was glad, for once, that the telephone didn't allow Sarah to see his face. "I'm really, truly sorry, Sarah. There's no excuse for it, but--"

"After nearly three months of dating, I deserved more than that. I know we never set any formal label on what we were doing; I figured you wanted to take it slow, and Lord knows I was more than happy to do that, but..." Sarah's voice was getting angrier, almost as if the rage had been hiding under a veneer of civility that was wearing thin as time went on. "We went from talking every other day to... Nothing! Do you have any idea how that made me feel?"

In his Hogwarts days, Neville would have been cowering, whispering--maybe even dead silent--by this point. But he knew he couldn't give up now. "Sarah, you have to know... as unbelievable as it sounds, I really care for you. A lot. It's why I got so scared, why I need to talk to you now. Will you please, please, just hear me out? For the sake of those three months, all the conversations we had, please give me the chance to explain," Neville pleaded.

Sarah sighed. "I always was a sucker for closure," she said grimly. "Meet me at the Starbucks close to my house in 20 minutes."

"Yes, of course. I'll be there."

Neville heard the click as Sarah hung up and sighed in relief. Throwing on a fresh shirt and running his hands through his hair, he glanced at the mirror hanging in the foyer of his flat before looking down at his watch. Five more minutes. Suddenly, he was struck by a quick burst of inspiration and he dashed out to his front garden to snatch one last item before Apparating to the coffeeshop.

Sarah was waiting there for him when he got there, caramel frappucino in hand. "Say what you need to say," she said, gesturing at the seat in front of her.

He muttered Muffliato under his breath before starting. "Sarah, the reason I was so scared of being so attached to you is because there's something very important that you don't know about me, that I haven't known how to tell you." She stared at him, unflinching as usual. "I should have realized, after the way you took the news about my parents and after all of the conversations we've had, that I could trust you with this. I’m sorry that it took me so much time to finally figure that out and I'm even more sorry--I can't find the words to explain how much--that I hurt you in the process of doing so."

He paused, unsure of how to explain. Gran used to say that the only place to start a story is at the beginning. "When I was eleven years old, I received an acceptance letter to a private school, the academy from which I graduated when I was 18 with enough qualifications to enter the botany program which I've talked to you about. The name of that school was the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Sarah's eyes flashed with anger. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me, Longbottom! You drag me out to this coffeeshop after two weeks of not speaking to me to tell me some bloody story about magic? Only a child could believe this!" She stood, grabbing her coat off the back of the chair.

"No!" he cried, standing up as well, stretching a hand out towards her. "Don't you see? That's the point! Only a child would believe such things, and that's why Hogwarts sends its letters out when kids are 10 or 11. There's no way anyone would ever learn magic otherwise."

Sarah shook her head, eyes wide. "Oh my God, you're actually serious--you believe what you're saying. How could I have missed the fact that you were completely off your rocker during the past three months?" She backed away.

"Just--just wait!" Neville said desperately. "Look, this will violate all kinds of laws in my world, but... let me show you. Please, just sit down for one moment. You've got to know that you're not in danger. I've been around you for months; I won't hurt you."

"I--this is crazy, Neville. I like you so much... it's scary, I actually want to believe you, I like you that much, but I can't. I won't sit down," Sarah said adamantly.

Neville sighed. "All right, all right... just stay where you are, then?" At her nod, he continued, frantically trying to think of the least innocuous form of magic he could show her, thinking every second of Hermione's comment about how magic is a form of power that you can hold over Muggles like her parents. "Okay, I got it. I'm going to say a word," he said quietly, "and this fork that's in front of me will rise up a few inches off the ground, all right? It's absolutely critical that no one sees me do this... you're blocking the barista's view right now where you stand, and the café's empty, so... Wingardium Leviosa!"

The fork flew up, and Sarah gasped. "How do I know this isn't some parlor magic trick."

Neville thought for a second. "Tell me what to do with it next, where to move it. There's no way I could have planned for all possibilities if this was actually just some kind of sleight of hand."

"Forward." The fork inched toward Sarah. "Higher. Turn it in a circle. Left. Down, until it's right above the table." She watched its every movement carefully. "I... I don't see how this is possible."

Neville laughed. "Exactly. It's magic, Sarah. I swear to you, it is."

They both sat down, the test at an end. "I still don't know if I believe you," Sarah admitted. "I have a thousand questions."

Neville chanced a smile, hoping against hope her anger had thawed somewhat. "Can you see why I was so afraid to tell you?"

Sarah tilted her head. "Yeah, actually, I do. If all of this is true, I really don't know you at all. Learning about your life will be even more difficult than if I were dating someone of a different religion or from a different country, I imagine." Finally, she smiled back.

Neville felt his heart soar. "I have so much that I've wanted to explain to you. The botany program I'm in... it's not botany, exactly, it's herbology, specifically the study of magical plants. And my parents, they weren't in an accident really, they were struck by a magical curse." He could see shock settling into her face. "I'm sorry; I'm oversharing--I've just been waiting so long to tell you the truth. But now that I've pulled my head out of my arse," he said self-deprecatingly, "we'll have ages and ages to learn all about each other." He reached out a hand across the table, adding, "If you're willing, that is. You're not running away from me, screaming; I suppose that's a good sign, though I had my doubts for a minute there. But I know it's a lot to handle."

Sarah sighed. "You come with a fair amount of trouble, Neville, but like I said on our first date, I don't think I've met a guy like you before..." He grinned as she clasped his hand in hers. "No more disappearing on me, though," she added sternly.

"I promise," he said earnestly.

They walked out of the café into the sunlight, and Neville put an arm around her shoulders. "I... I have one more thing to show you, if that's all right."

Sarah pressed a hand to her chest. "I don't know how many more surprises I can take today!" she said lightly.

"This one wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, his eyes sincere.

Impulsively, she went on tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Nah, not too bad. Someone with a very good heart came back to me today. I suppose I can brace myself for one more."

He walked her into the alley next to the café and wrapped his arms around her waist.

She eyed him supriciously. "I don't know what you have in mind, Mr. Longbottom, but I'll have you know--"

"No, no, nothing like that," he protested, blushing scarlet. "I... I want to take you somewhere I've always loved."

"The alley outside of Starbucks? Oh, it's beautiful, Neville!" she quipped.

"It's magic, again," he admitted. "We can transport ourselves through space using a magic called Apparition. It's like... it's like getting your driving license in your world; only adults are legally allowed to do it. Will you let me take you with me?"

She bit her lip. "I always promised myself I'd try things at least once," she murmured. "All right."

He tucked her head under his chin and squeezed her close. "It'll feel like you're being squeezed from all sides. It'll only last a second." Shutting his eyes, he imagined the fields behind his grandmother's house.

When he opened his eyes, he was looking straight into hers. He was lost, completely lost in the hazel for just a moment before she tore her gaze from his to look around them.

"Oh, Neville, this..." They were standing on a road, fields of wildflowers stretching out to the horizon on either side of them.

"This is a field near my Gran's house," Neville explained. "If we walked down this road, we'd be at her house in no time."

Sarah looked down the dirt road before turned her head up toward his. "I'd like to see it sometime. Meet your Gran," she said. It was the first time he had ever heard Sarah sounding shy; Neville couldn't help but be charmed.

"Of course. And now, for your surprise," he said, reaching into his bag.

"This place wasn't it?!" she cried delightedly.

"No," he said with a wicked smile, "I was just setting up the moment." He pulled out a bunch of yellow daffodils and handed them to her, holding her close with one arm. "I remember you saying that daffodils were your favorite flower, because it seemed to you like they embodied sunshine."

Sarah looked down at the bouquet. "Oh..." she said slowly. "Oh, how lovely! I'm sorry if I seem a little unexcited, it's just after all this--the magic, the Apparition, this field of wildflowers, I suppose I've just been oversurprised," she confessed, a little red-faced.

Without another word, he removed the Silencing Charm he had cast on the flowers.

"HONK. HONK. HONK. HONK." The yellow flowers blasted their siren's note into the air, peals of doom.

"OH MY GOD," Sarah screeched, nearly tossing her handful in the air, her mouth gaping in horror and shock. "NEVILLE, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

Neville burst into laughter, casting a wordless Silencio. "These," he gasped, "are Honking Daffodils." He slowly caught his breath and explained, "Distant cousins of the flowers you love, definitely magical, and something I thought would introduce you to the magical world quite wonderfully, considering our mutual love of plants."

Sarah glared at him. "Believe me, I have no love for these," she said, waving the blooms about.

"Careful," he said, laughing, "they'll shout at you even more if you startle them so."

She stilled her movements, peering down at them more carefully. "Exactly like daffodils," she mused. "But they have no organ to produce sound; I don't see a voicebox, no extra parts..."

He clasped her hands together, stilling her explorations, and smiled. "See? Against your own will, they fascinate you. They don't make sense; they'll probably frustrate you more often than not, but... they're magical, aren't they?"

She traced his cheek with her finger. "It sounds like you're not just talking about these flowers anymore," she murmured.

He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her close, answering her unspoken question with everything except words.

~.~.~ Fin ~.~.~