The early autumn sunlight slanted through the glass of the greenhouse, filtering through the leaves of the climbing plants that had made the wooden and metal supports their home. When a sunbeam caught a leaf just right, the leaf nearly glowed, a verdant green banner of life, veined and proud as it basked in the warmth.

Well, it probably didn't care much about the warmth. He knew it was only interested in the light necessary for it to undergo the complex chemical reactions that would turn that light into food. When the professor had told him about that he'd been absolutely fascinated, and had pored over every book he could find on the subject. Photosynthesis was a vastly ignored topic in Herbology, being considered more an aspect of Muggle science, but he couldn't see how anyone could possibly be interested in Herbology and not want to know how plants made their own food from light - and it wasn't magic that did it. That was the amazing thing.

He glanced around the greenhouse. He'd call it silent, but it really wasn't - plants rustled as they jockeyed for a better position in the light, spreading their leaves to take full advantage of the last hour or so before sunset. Water dripped from a tap in the corner. A tank of brilliant purple ladybirds chittered quietly on a potting bench, no doubt the subject of a lesson on symbiosis for the older students later this week.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, he let a small smile play across his face. When he'd started at Hogwarts, he'd wrinkled his nose at the musty, damp smell of the greenhouses, and getting his hands and robes dirty had been distasteful at best. How he'd changed in just two years! Now that earthy smell of life was one of the most calming things he could imagine, and his robes were frequently in need of laundering. His escapes to the greenhouses were so ubiquitous that the professor had taken to leaving at least one unlocked for him, so long as he was back in the castle by curfew.

Being surrounded by the living green helped him to think. And thinking was something he needed to do dearly at this moment.

He settled himself on the ground, leaning back against a raised bed of Calathea elantris, which murmured in surprise for a moment before it recognised him and settled back into whatever vegetative thoughts it had been having. From his schoolbag, he pulled a quill and a bound journal, but he had to dig for an ink pot. It wasn't until he'd dumped the bag out completely that he groaned. Someone must have nicked his ink. Again. This was the fourth time this month and he was only two weeks in.

Why did he make such an appealing target? This was not the first time he'd mulled over this question in the greenhouses; he'd taken it out and examined it so many times that the edges were getting dog-eared. He'd stopped reacting to the various attempts to get his ire up, and the only result to that had been an increased effort to rile him. The stealing of his possessions was fairly new; the Slytherins in particular seemed to delight in a contest of who could make off with his various school supplies without him noticing, making it an anonymous harassment with no proof that he could complain about. So far, they'd not taken anything of value, but not having ink when he needed it was getting very tiring.

At least they'd stopped being outright cruel. No one had turned a wand on him yet this year, though to be fair, it was only October.

He heard the creaking of the greenhouse door and his heart jumped into his throat. Everyone knew he came here. Thus far, no one had dared test the mettle of the only teacher who had no qualms about setting harsh detentions for bullying, under whose jurisdiction the greenhouses fell, but there was a first time for everything.

Thankfully, the figure that stepped into the greenhouse was far too tall and bulky to be a student, and he recognised the silhouette immediately and relaxed. He began stuffing his school things back in his bag hastily and was on his feet by the time the teacher's shadow fell over him.

"Aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" Professor Longbottom sounded amused.

"Still a bit early for me," Scorpius said, brushing off the front of his robes. "I was going to do an essay, but -"

The corner of Professor Longbottom's mouth quirked in a smile, and from one of his pockets he drew an ink bottle. Scorpius's jaw dropped.

"How did you know?"

"Mr Baxter and Mr Malone were having a game of catch and boasting about nicking it from right under your nose." Professor Longbottom handed the tiny bottle over and Scorpius took it solemnly.

"Thank you. I didn't really want to go all the way back to the dormitories just to get ink."

"It's not getting better, is it?"

The bluntness did not surprise Scorpius; Professor Longbottom was always blunt. "Not really, no."

Professor Longbottom heaved a sigh. "I can't help feeling like I've failed you. It was all supposed to stop."

"The worst parts did," Scorpius insisted. "And I've got a place to go, now, where they won't follow me."

The professor still did not look pleased. "I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to run and hide in order to feel safe, but... I'm glad you feel like you're safe here."

Nodding absently, Scorpius looked around the greenhouse. "It's hard to not feel safe here. It's like I can forget I'm at school altogether. It's warm and the air is..." He could not think of a proper word for it. "Thick," he said finally, though that didn't carry the right meaning at all. "And there's green everywhere, but it's different to the green in the dormitory. That's like a glass green, all hard and slick and..." He trailed off again, and at the look of bemusement on Professor Longbottom's face, gestured around them. "This is different. It's alive. It's like it's listening."

"Some of them are listening," Professor Longbottom said wryly.

"You know what I mean," Scorpius said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes. I do." The professor looked around them, and an unmistakable pride gleamed in his eyes. "I've always found it to be a very comforting sort of atmosphere, myself. When I was your age, I'd come to the greenhouses to escape, too."

Curiosity won out over manners. "Escape what, sir?"

Professor Longbottom chuckled. "Your father, for one." Obviously seeing Scorpius's face fall, he coughed. "But mostly people in general. I've never been a very social creature. The clamour of the common room was exhausting, sometimes, and when you don't fit in..." He shrugged, suddenly seeming embarrassed. "It took a lot of effort to be in the common room most evenings. It took none at all to be here. I'm lucky that Professor Sprout understood that."

"I'm lucky, too," Scorpius blurted before he could think. Suddenly feeling very warm, he continued with his half-formed thoughts. "You get me. You've been there. You - my dad wouldn't understand. He doesn't know what it's like, being everyone's favourite punching bag."

The professor appeared to be thinking very hard. "I wouldn't cut your father short so quickly," he said finally. "School is difficult, and your name makes it more difficult in this day and age. But I imagine having that name isn't any easier out in the adult world, either."

Scorpius could feel his brow wrinkle. "You're always defending him. After all he did to you. Why? He still doesn't like you, you know."

"I am startlingly aware of your father's disposition towards me." Professor Longbottom studied the vine of a Blue Creeper for a moment, as though pondering his words. "I never knew my father," he said slowly. "And I never had what you would call a 'father figure'. I guess it just strikes something to see you and your father so distant. He and I don't get on, it's true, but it makes me very sad to think that you and he are almost strangers, because of who you both are."

"We're never going to be close," Scorpius said, borrowing some of the professor's bluntness.

The professor sighed. "I suppose not. Still..."

The conversation lapsed, the professor continuing his study of the Blue Creeper. Scorpius shifted his bag on his shoulder, turning the bottle of ink in his hands.

"It'll be dark soon," Professor Longbottom said after a moment.

"I know."

"You might want to get some dinner before the house-elves clear the tables."

Scorpius checked his watch. "I've got an hour and a half. Now that I've got ink, I thought I might do my essay."

Professor Longbottom nodded thoughtfully. "I've got to water the beds. Don't let me stop you, though."

"Would you like some help, sir?" The offer had left his mouth before he'd fully thought about it.

The professor looked at him slightly oddly. "I thought you had an essay."

"I do. But I'd like to help."

Scorpius felt as though he was being measured to the ounce under Professor Longbottom's steady gaze. "If you'd like to get the Philandora vines along the east wall, that'd be a help. There is a mister on the potting bench near them." He paused for a moment. "You... don't have to, you know."

"I know. I just feel like I should give something back." Scorpius tried for his best cheeky grin, aware that it appeared far too sincere but not particularly caring. "We Slytherins hate leaving a debt unpaid, you know."

"And what debt would that be?" The professor's eyes were still piercing.

Scorpius shifted. "You know."

"Maybe. I wonder if you do."

The sudden scrutiny made a flush creep up Scorpius's neck. "This is a safe place. I want to help keep it that way. I... want to belong somewhere. I feel like I almost belong here."

After a moment of consideration, Professor Longbottom nodded. "Close enough. Go stow your bag in my office; it won't do to have it soaked through."

"What do you mean, close enough?" Scorpius asked, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder.

Professor Longbottom shrugged. "There's no debt if no one's collecting." He tugged a browning leaf from the vine. "The plants don't care overmuch about who tends them. They'll welcome you, whether you care for them or not."

Licking his lips, Scorpius took a breath. "I wasn't talking about the plants, sir."

The small, sly smile was back on the professor's face. "I'm not a debt collector, either. I'd rather someone be here because they want to be, not because they feel beholden." He looked squarely at Scorpius. "So which is it?"

He didn't even have to think about it. "I want to belong here."

Abandoning the Blue Creeper, Professor Longbottom rested his hand on Scorpius's shoulder for a moment. "You already do."

Scorpius looked around at the foliage that surrounded them; it almost seemed as though they'd abandoned the last rays of light to lean inward and listen to their conversation. A hundred thousand subtle shades of green, all eager to hear the judgement of their master.

It was probably his imagination, but he could swear that the waves of green were more... attentive. Reverent.

It had taken two years, but he'd found somewhere he belonged at Hogwarts.