Work Text:
At the beginning of each class, the first thing Professor Neville Longbottom did was to return scored exams or homework assignments from the previous class. This time around, it was an exam. He was careful to pass each out face-down, so the marks at the top couldn’t be seen by anyone glancing over. After laying the paper down on James Potter’s desk, Neville watched closely out of the corner of his eye. James glanced at the paper then stuffed it into his back without changing his expression once. But he clearly must have seen the D for “Dreadful” at the top and the note beside it to “Please see me after class!”
For today’s lesson, they were learning how to remove buds from a Hindocrin Waterplant. Each worktable had its own tub filled with the plants and the trick was to cut the buds off without dropping them in the water, where they would expand and the valuable magical petals would be rendered useless, but all the while leaving buds on the plants so the plant would live and produce more. Hindocrins left without any buds shriveled up and died within a matter of hours, as if they had nothing left to live for.
It was a standard lesson for students of O.W.L. level, as they learned about working in harmony with plants beneficial to wizards, not just using plants for their benefits and leaving it at that. However, it was a lesson he thought one of his students might relate to quite nicely. He was sad to see, however, that James Potter remained disengaged and removed from his lesson.
The boy hunched over on his stool, hands in his lap or fiddling with the cutting tools, not touching a single Hindocrin all lesson. Granted, several of his classmates inadvertently clipped through two buds at once, dooming their poor little plants to short lives. And a number of little buds fell into the water, causing tiny explosions of petals and coloring the water yellow from the pollen held within. So doing nothing at least meant doing no harm. Still, Neville had to mark him down with a 0 for the day for not participating or producing a small container of cut buds at the end of the day.
Neville accepted the marked containers from his students, piling them up in a crate so he could go through them later, and looked up just in time to see James heading for the door.
“Mr. Potter, I’d like a word with you, please!”
James paused, as if trying to decide whether to pretend he’d heard or not. Finally, he turned and leaned against one of the tables, waiting for the room to empty. He didn’t approach Neville or apologize for forgetting to stay.
When the greenhouse had cleared and Neville had collected all his things, he called back out to James. “Mr. Potter, would you help me carry these crates over to my office? It will be easier with two and then we can have some tea and talk.”
James didn’t answer, but he did go over and scoop up one of the boxes. He didn’t drop them or damage them, but he didn’t take the sort of gentle care Neville did with the box he carried. Neville took the box from him when they got to the greenhouse Neville used as his office, fearing he might casually drop it hard enough to make the buds burst open.
Neville had been offered a proper office in the castle, adjacent to his quarters. But he preferred having this one out in the greenhouse traditionally used as a storeroom. He could do his grading surrounded by plants and not carry stacks of papers and samples all the way to the castle and back again. And it was nice to have some space of his own to grow his own plants. A Mimbulus Mimbletonia still sat on the edge of his desk, a direct descendant of the one he had acquired during his fifth year at Hogwarts. What a year that had been. He wondered how much of it James knew about.
“Don’t want tea,” James muttered, collapsing into the chair in front of Neville’s desk and crossing his arms over his chest.
“I won’t make you drink it, then. But I’m still making enough for two, biscuits included, and would be happy if you joined me.”
James ended up nibbling on a biscuit and putting it down again, looking ill at the thought of finishing. Come to it, the kid looked skinnier than normal. Neville made a point to watch him during meals from now on. “I would like to discuss the issue of your grades. You are an excellent student, but your marks in my class have slipped to dreadful levels. And as your head of house I have been informed that the same can be said for all of your classes, not just Herbology. Would you like to tell me why?”
James remained silent.
Neville tried again. “Grades are important for—”
“Grades don’t matter,” James interrupted. Interrupting a professor was not the best strategy, but Neville overlooked it, glad to hear something out of him for a change.
“Grades show future employers where your aptitudes lie. Grades show that you have learned the information being taught to you.”
“And what if I don’t care about all that? About working or learning or grades or jobs or any of that. Is there something wrong with me to not care?”
Neville took a sip of his tea and thought about it a moment. “Do you know what I was thinking about as we walked in here? My own time here at Hogwarts. In my fourth year, there was a Yule Ball. I do love a dance, but I wasn’t dating anyone. So I asked your mother to go as a friend. She was a wonderful dancer and we had a fun time. In my fifth year, there was this… unofficial Defense Against the Dark Arts club. I was rubbish at some of the even basic spells. But your mother partnered with me often and encouraged me to keep at it. In my sixth year, Hogwarts was attacked and your mother and I were amongst a handful of students who stood our ground with the adults and Aurors, defending the school.”
“Professor, why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s not just that your mum went to school here. It’s that she was part of Hogwarts. And she always will be.”
James turned his head away sharply. Neville saw his nostrils flare, as though he were sniffing but didn’t want to be heard. He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “So you heard.”
Neville put his teacup down. “I have Christmas dinner with your family every year. Of course I heard. And it’s fucking unfair.”
James flinched at the word, as if not expecting to hear it from a professor.
Neville paused, considering his next move. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“No!” James shouted. This time, Neville heart him sniff. And, angrily, he rubbed at his face. Despite himself, and with a weak voice, he said, “Wizards aren’t supposed to get cancer.”
“Wizards are human too.”
“But mothers aren’t. Mothers are supposed to be indestructible.”
Neville thought of the gum wrapper collection in his bottom drawer. “You have no idea how much I wish that were true.”
James sniffled again but the crying was making his rubbing useless. As soon as he dried one cheek, it was wet again with tears.
Neville had hugged him a dozen times before, at Christmas or other family gatherings to which Neville was invited, but knew it wouldn’t be right to go to him now. So he sat and let the boy come to him in his own time. Neville wasn’t sure he would, but at least it was something James had some control over. James turned in his chair and buried his face in his sleeve, his arm on the armrest. His body shook, but he cried silently, and Neville could understand that; he’d done the same thing at James’ age, not wanting Gran or any of the boys in the dorm to hear him. Neville got his hanky out just in case, but waited patiently.
It was a while before the crying let up. James wiped his face as best he could and looked up, eyes red. “Do you want me to call your brother or your sister?”
Looking horrified, James shook his head emphatically. “Don’t want to bother them. I have to be the strong one; I’m older.” He turned to Neville, eyes wide. “You’re not going to contact my parents, are you?” His voice caught in his throat and he took a quick breath and held it, fighting off more tears.
“If your marks don’t start improving, I will have to.”
“Mum… she doesn’t need to be worried about me.”
“James,” Neville said softly, “Keep this up and we’ll all worry about you. But I want you to do your work because you want to. This wasn’t a threat. And I know your head isn’t always going to be on your work. But you’ve got to try to keep up. That’s the only way I can help you.”
He nodded and reached for his tea. He took a few sips. Then a few more. He seemed to calm and relax. He even had another bite of the biscuit. “Please don’t owl my mum. I’ll start doing my schoolwork again. Only… I’ve fallen so far behind… might not matter now.”
“There’s still plenty of time let in the semester. I’ll talk with your professors and I’ll sit down with them and with you. Maybe there are some extra assignments you can do and some private study sessions you can make.”
James nodded again, not optimistic or convinced, but not tearing up. And Neville considered that a good start.
“If you’re truly committed to putting in an effort, you can help me organize Greenhouse Six on Sunday morning to make up that mark on your last exam.” It sounded like manual labor, a punishment, when in fact Neville intended to make a list of all the plants and locations and have James identify each one with reference books to make sure they were placed in the right place, relocated with proper soil, water, and food. It would be a good test to see how much James had retained during the year. And Neville would be on hand to answer any questions James had and fill in the blanks.
“I’ll be there,” James said. “Thank you, Sir.”
Neville nodded. “And, James, please know that you can always come to me if you need to talk or need some time to compose yourself. I know you want to be there for your brother and sister, but there’s no shame in feeling how you feel right now. Plants don’t tell if you cry a little, and neither will I.”
James gave him a weak smile and stood to leave. He wasn’t halfway before he turned back, put his arms around Neville, and hugged him. Neville reached down, patting the boy’s head, hair as extraordinarily dark and messy as his father’s.