Bloom and Gloom

"I am so thrilled you changed your mind," declared Professor Sprout while brushing her soil-encrusted hands down her leather apron. Grinning at him, she strode over and gripped his biceps as though he was a flighty dryad. "I had almost given up hope that we'd find someone like you, Neville. I was worried about retiring and leaving them in less than ideal hands, but you," she said while sliding her hands to his, "have the hands of a true master herbologist."

"Thank you, Pomona," he said. He felt his cheeks burn with the inevitable blush; they obviously hadn't been paying attention when he'd lectured himself on the need for maturity. It was a mild disappointment...he saw it as a portent of his imminent gibbering in the staff room when McGonagall introduced him to the other staff members! Sighing, Neville felt the blush subside and smiled.

"I'll give you a quick tour, and then, we can have a nice pot of tea in my office."

Neville glanced around the greenhouse while Pomona pulled off her apron. Everything was just as he remembered before it all went to hell. The windows were just as grimy, even though he knew they had been smashed out during the battle. The two long benches were as solid and just as marked: 'Tez woz ere' was still etched into the wooden worktop. The tentacular plant was a familiar sight, coiled in the corner, ready to unfurl its barbed vines at the unwary, and the place still smelt of peat and musky homeliness. It was so cosy.

It could be so easy to forget that anything from that terrible time existed at all. Could the very place that had held and almost broken him be the place where he would feel the safest? He didn't have the chance to ponder the paradox; Pomona's clean hand gripped his, and he was led on a tour.

He had thought the idea of a tour to be unnecessary, but some parts of the castle had been altered since the battle. New stone seemed to grow out from the older weathered rock, and some new features had been added: unfamiliar towers erupted from the earth, one at each of the corners of the inner courtyard, creating a rather pleasant cocooning effect. Several paths cut across the courtyard, dividing the area into smaller gardened sections. Oh! And a fountain was slap bang in the middle. It represented the Houses. An eagle with her wings spread seemingly circled a heraldic rampant lion, around which a snake was coiled, and at his haunches sat a badger looking wise and attentive. A column of water shot up between the beasts, magic twisting it into beautiful patterns, and droplets rained down upon the symbols of the Founders. Beautiful and functional: slender channels had been cut into the stone slabs, which ran from the fountain to the soil. The fountain worked to irrigate the gardens.

"You get the full effect of the garden from the towers," Pomona said as they walked past the fountain. "Each section grows different potion ingredients, healing herbs and flowers dedicated to the Founders."

Neville nodded and studied the flora. There were plants aimed at aiding intellect; those for increasing stamina and strength; sedatives and restoratives; and those used in cooking or potions. It was a lovely feature: what a way to unite the Houses!

Strolling across the courtyard took them towards the doorway to one of the new towers. He had expected the shift from sunlight to tower would be disorientating, but vines growing along the walls cast a subtle and calming light in the shadowed tower. The effect was beautiful. Awed, he studied the luminescent blossoms, admiring the delicate petals and the golden hearts. He knew these flowers: Clematis luminenta. But they were notoriously difficult to cultivate.

Turning to Pomona, he saw her face split into a wide grin, and she bounced from foot to foot as if fit to burst due to his unasked question. He raised an eyebrow; it was all that it took to make her pop.

"I know!" she said. "It took me three years to get the hybrid right. It's beautiful, isn't it?" She ran her hand lovingly over the shimmering blooms. "I never had the time while teaching to carry on with all the things that I wanted, but the year off while the castle was being repaired, my convalescence, and the decreased work load when the school reopened allowed me to pick up where I'd left off before teaching." Her exuberance waned, and she fell into a rare melancholy. "Strange how so much can come from so much grief and pain."

Neville felt that he'd been in some stagnating mire since Hogwarts, and he couldn't quite sympathise with her personally. He reached out to trace his fingertips over the petals, and he suddenly felt useless: while he had struggled, others had moved on to do great things. Had the last decade been a complete waste?

"Of course, it was Severus' contribution which made this a reality," she continued. "If he hadn't been able to devise the potion to speed up their growth, enhance their luminosity and facilitate food absorption, then they would be a pet project in my greenhouse."

"Professor Snape helped you with this?" he asked. "What he's managed to do is staggering! Look at the length of the stems," he declared, gesturing up the staircase. "They'd never be able to thrive on capillary action alone. The phloem must be magically enhanced to transport the nutrients along...what?...several hundred yards worth of stalk?"

At his question, Pomona nodded eagerly, her grin widening as he both demonstrated his knowledge and extolled the wonders of the flower. It was a delight to see him so enthused; last time they'd chatted, she had been concerned about the reclusive young man. Whatever or whomever had brought him out of himself needed some thanks.

"Six hundred, from root to tip, to be precise." She positively bristled with pride.

"The potion is mixed in with the fertiliser." His fingers stroked the velveteen flower, and he could picture the whole process in his mind; it was a glorious mix of Potion's know-how and Herbology wisdom. The potion surged along the plant's thin veins, suffusing each leaf and nourishing each bud. It coated the phloem and xylem to make them more able to transport nutrients and water along the myriad twisting veins. It was simply brilliant.

"Yes. Then, and this is the clever bit, it's distributed throughout the plant so that each flower has enough to make it glow all the brighter." She needn't have explained; Neville was lost in it, divining the theory and the results of Snape's work.

"Remarkable!" he sighed. "To think that a Potion's master could have done this."

"Severus has done a lot in the time he's been here," Pomona said almost in defence of the Potions master, and Neville couldn't help but smile.

"I didn't mean I'm surprised that Professor Snape did this," he said while raising his hands apologetically. "I'm amazed that anyone outside of Herbology could have been so insightful regarding plants."

"We all underestimated Severus."

Neville caught a glimpse of Pomona's pained expression. He could sympathise unreservedly with that sentiment.

"Well, we'd best not dawdle," she piped. "The meeting will be starting soon, and I'd still like that cuppa before we get there."

~X~

The staffroom had emptied quickly after the initial staff meeting and introductions had finished. Those familiar with the proceedings tended to be swifter about exiting when an opportunity arose, leaving the newcomers and those with no choice but to stay. In the good old days, Snape would have legged it too, but this time, he had a reason to stay. He felt in some way responsible for Neville's predicament, and also, as a senior member of staff, he was obliged to stay...even if he had wriggled out of it in previous years.

Neville was not the only new face at Hogwarts. A new Arithmancy professor had joined the ever-growing list of newcomers to the job, which was almost as jinxed as the Defence Against the Dark Arts position had been: of course, the reasons for leaving were not nearly as dire or as terminal these days.

Randal Rhine had presented himself as a more than competent Arithmancer, and although something about the wizard irritated Snape, he had enough academic acumen to easily secure the position, and Minerva had hired him almost on the spot. Minerva had asked it of Snape to keep an open mind about the newcomer, and for her, he would leave it slightly ajar. It could be that he was just naturally wary of tall, handsome, charming and broomstick-loving wizards with perfect teeth.

While he underwent the rituals of the 'First Day Back', Snape's eyes were predominantly on Neville. He had expected a degree of uncertainty or unease, but the man was handling the onslaught that was the 'Staff's Welcome' with amazing serenity. It rankled that someone half his age was coping better than he had: he recalled the sedatives and anti-emetic taken before his introduction as the re-instated Potion's master.

"Stop glowering," whispered a voice in his ear, and he turned to face Minerva.

"I'm merely warming up for the start of term," he replied dryly. Sitting back in his chair, he picked up his coffee cup and returned to watching Neville as he chatted to Flitwick and the new recruit.

"What have I told you about first impressions?"

"You only get one; they will come back to haunt you; they last; never trust them; make a good one..."

"That's the one!" she said sharply, interrupting his sarcastic drone. "You will be mentoring Professor Rhine for the first term; you could have least made his first few hours more pleasant so he wouldn't be terrified at the prospect."

"He's a good Arithmancer; he can divine the overall outcome of our meetings from his charts." He grinned at her. "He should know that he has nothing to worry about if he does his job well."

Minerva tutted and leant away so she could sip her tea. "You still have some doubts about Rhine?"

"As a teacher? No," he said simply.

"But?"

Gulping down some coffee, he shook his head and, through his long fringe, watched the man in question laugh out at something Neville had whispered in his ear. His thick copper hair shimmered in the sunlight as he threw back his head, laughing and exposing those dazzling pearly-whites...jammy bastard!

"I suspect that it is merely a personal matter. After almost sixteen years of teaching various Weasley's, I may have grown to be cautious about redheads. And he does remind me of another professor."

Minerva chortled at Snape's glib observation and patted his arm affectionately. "He does have a certain charm," she said in agreement, "but it stops far short of Gilderoy's suicidal ego. I think that he'll settle once he's taught a few classes and met some of the more rambunctious pupils." She took a dainty sip of tea and gently motioned to the far corner of the staffroom with her saucer. "And what about Neville?"

"I have no doubts about his passion for his subject, and I know that he will do well as a teacher."

"You sound as thrilled about that as you did for Rhine?" She studied his profile, noting the stern line of his lips. The teacup paused en route to her lips. She felt frustration flare; any problems with the new employees should have been addressed after the interviews and not during their first day. As if sensing her gathering dissatisfaction, he turned to her.

"Professors Longbottom and Rhine are fine candidates, and any problems will be erased by experience," he soothed.

They sat in silence, sipping their beverages and watching the last few faculty members congregate around the buffet table. It was generally at these and similar events when everyone got to see who actually worked at the school. Many of the employees only appeared in the presence of food, scattering at the first hint if possible socialising. He had been amazed at his induction at the number of unseen witches and wizards who had a hand in the smooth running of the school.

"I wonder what made him change his mind?" asked Minerva. "Pomona was so sure that he would never take up the role." Snape remained silent. "Are you still happy to be mentoring him?"

"Oh yes," he breathed, his smile growing.

Minerva watched his expression change, and she tried to place the expression. "You haven't told him that you'll be his mentor, have you?"

"I thought that it'd be a nice surprise for him," he said innocently.

"For shame!" she scolded, but her twitching lips gave her away...her sense of humour could be just as vicious as his. "I'm sure that he'll be overjoyed. Just be pleasant to them both."

Looking hurt, Snape placed his palm over his heart. "I am as pleasant as I need to be, Minerva. Trust me, when I'm overly pleasant, it just seems to worry people."

"It just worries the people who remember you, Severus." Minerva smirked and straightened her glasses. "They think you're plotting something."

Behind them the fire popped in the hearth, and as he twisted to face Minerva, his chair creaked. "Do you think that I'd be that transparent if I was plotting?"

Minerva sobered and her teacup rattled against its saucer. The firelight danced on the rim of her glasses, and behind the frames, her blue eyes scrutinised him. "No," she admitted gently. "But you are up to something." His features hardened, and his eyes narrowed; the playful smirk evaporated. "None of my business, I'm sure," she added, nonchalantly taking a sip of tea. "I just feel that a bit of plotting for the greater good, every now and again, does no harm."

Snape knew Minerva had received the letter from the Ministry. It grated that he couldn't keep his dependency upon the Ministry quiet. His only grace was that Minerva kept it secret, and she was a master at keeping secrets and disguising events. No one other than Minerva knew of his Ministry-induced plight. The fact that she had not asked to see him in her office should have indicated that the canny woman had seen something in his demeanour. Had he let something slip over the last few days? Or had she developed some hitherto unknown skill at Legilimency?

"I'll arrange cover for you for when you go to the Ministry."

Like a thunderclap, the words echoed in his skull; the force of them momentarily quietened every other thought. But he'd heard them before, and he'd never let any other kind of storm keep him down. He nodded in appreciation, but she paled and pursed her lips. It seemed for a moment she was going to say something else, but then she placed the cup and saucer on the table and stood. Snape quickly did the same.

"If by any chance you are plotting against this travesty that the Ministry has foisted upon you," she said in a harsh whisper, "then I wish you luck." Her eyes locked on his. "After all that you've done for us, Severus, I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Stunned by her response, Snape could only watch her as she strode away towards Neville and Rhine. In a way, he was utterly thrilled at her declaration of fierce support, but her acuity alarmed him. He had never thought that they had grown so close, and her ability to read him so easily generated a risk. He could feel a certain fire warming his belly...an excitement at the prospect of conniving once more...but he couldn't let it be known that Neville was involved. He hid his grin behind a sip of coffee: it was like the good old days, but without the constant threat of the Cruciatus and a horrible death.

~X~

He'd never thought that a pile of papers could be so big. It was daunting. Pomona had pulled out her lesson plans from when she had started teaching. On the table before him was a three-foot tall paper tower representing forty years worth of teaching. Sitting at the greenhouse workbench, he could barely see over it.

"The lesson plans will give you an idea of what needs to be taught, and over time, I've added to the lessons as my pedagogy has developed."

"Pedagogy?" Neville squeaked.

"It's basically the way you teach," she explained. "Every teacher has their own style that works around what is required to be taught. New knowledge always comes to light and the Qualifications Office is always meddling in the way we assess work, so we have to keep updating."

"Okay," he said while picking up the first inch or so of age-crinkled pages.

"You can use my plans until you get used to it, but you'll need to consider developing your own before I leave." She handed him a thin booklet, which he took warily, fearing that it would explode into another mammoth reading task. Studying the cover, he saw an impressive crest and the embossed lettering for the Qualifications Office. "That will give you guidance on grading pupils' work. It's fairly straightforward."

It was all rather overwhelming, and all he could do was nod. "When do you officially retire again?"

A gentle hand on his shoulder made him glance up towards Pomona's smiling face. "All of us found this to be terrifying when we first started. It's something that you can never really prepare for, and the best way to learn is to do. Don't worry about it so much. You're timetabled to stay with my classes, but I'd advise you to spend as much time in other teachers' classes too. You'll get to see different styles of teaching, and that will help you settle on one you'll find comfortable. Professor Rhine is new too, and he seems a nice chap, so I'm sure that you could chat with him about things."

"Thank you, Pomona."

"You'll do fine, Neville. Observe lessons, ask questions, take criticism, learn from others, and most importantly, show no fear." She squeezed his shoulder once more and then, sat opposite him. "There are some things that you should read through over the next few weeks: school policies, health and safety issues, the required teaching for Herbology, the assessment guide, the..." At his panicked expression, she stopped. "I know that it seems a lot, but they're fairly short and based on common sense, so you have nothing to worry about."

"I can't imagine Professor McGonagall or Snape being terrified," he said while dejectedly dropping the pages onto the work bench.

Across from him, Pomona chuckled, but left him to his thoughts as she began pricking out Mandrake into larger seedling trays. They were too young to be audible, and their faces were still unclear on the wrinkled root; they wriggled frantically as she transferred them, and he was sure that on a few, he saw tiny mouths open as they complained. He frowned as she soothed them...how odd, considering that when they matured, they'd be uprooted as potion ingredients!

Sunlight filtering through the leaves of the many plants lining the greenhouse cast beautiful moving shadows on the wooden bench, and the gentle gurgle of the irrigation pipes were so soothing, the tension just ebbed away, but that left him feeling rather empty.

This had been his dream job since before he'd left school, only the thought of Snape being here had kept him away. He sucked his teeth thoughtfully and wondered why he still felt uncomfortable and disappointingly apathetic. Shouldn't he be bursting with enthusiasm?

~X~

He knew magic could do it faster and leave him far cleaner, but that somehow seemed to contradict the idea of gardening. You should take your time, exert yourself, and be covered in soil no matter how neat you are: they were almost the rules.

The area to be cleared for planting had been quite rough, and without a decent rainfall in recent weeks, the soil had hardened into something akin to concrete. Whatever had thrived here had also leeched most of the nutrients from the ground and had clung tenaciously to it: numerous dried roots weaving through the pale soil had added to the difficulty. But after a few hours of hard work, he had turned the earth, removed the unwanted stones and dead roots, and added fresh soil and natural fertilisers.

Digging out deep holes along the back wall, he prepared the ground for the tall honeysuckle; they would cling to the wall as they grew, offering a subtle fragrance and blooms for the cauldrons. At their base, he planned to plant a line of purple brooms for coverage; this would be a cheap and effective way of hiding the spell-damaged stone throughout the year as they were evergreen. A swathe of marigolds would lead down from the broom to the smaller groupings of violets that would line the path. The flowers would be harvested, thus increasing the number of flowers, and when required, they could be uprooted so that stalks and roots could be used. There would be enough plants to disguise any losses. The marigolds would also help to keep wasps away from the classroom windows.

"Neville!"

Straightening, Neville looked around for the source of that shout. Rhine was trotting across the courtyard, waving a piece of parchment around. Using the back of his wrist, Neville wiped sweat from his brow and bent down to stick his trowel in the fresh earth.

"Oh, sorry," Rhine said as he approached and saw Neville's tools and the trolley holding numerous plants on the path. "I didn't think that you'd be working on your second day back."

His green eyes darted over the equipment and Neville's appearance, and his lips pulled back in mild distaste. Neville had to admit that he probably looked a mess, and the natural fertilisers did have a rather piquant aroma. Obviously, Rhine was no gardener, and judging by his impeccable clothes and fashionable tastes, only the threat of personal injury would compel him to try.

"It's okay," he replied kindly. "The stock needs replenishing, and this is an ideal time to plant."

"Ah, the right season and all that."

Neville chuckled. "That and the fact that there aren't any kids running around and getting in the way."

Rhine grinned and nodded. "Well, I won't keep you long," he said. "I've just been given the mentor timetable from Severus, and I've made you a copy."

Neville stared at Rhine...had the man just said 'Severus'? The thought of calling Snape anything other than... well... Snape was as easy to swallow as tree bark. Had Snape encouraged him to use his first name? What if Snape asks me to use his first name? How long would it take before my tongue cramps with the effort? Hang on! Mentor timetable!

"There's just one mentor?" he asked in a voice a few semi-tones higher than normal. He knew how his luck went. I can't possibly be that unlucky, he thought. I can cope working on the potion with him and knowing Snape will be a colleague, but as my mentor? He shuddered.

"Yes," said Rhine holding out the sheet of paper. "Here you go."

"Thanks," he said while ripping off a glove.

It didn't look that bad at first glance. They had weekly mentor meetings with Snape until half term and then, one every fortnight to the end of term, when they'd be assessed by a board of five faculty members. After Christmas, the meetings would be once a month until the end of the Spring term, and they only had two meetings in the Summer term with another faculty assessment. At the end of the academic year, they'd have a final meeting with the full faculty, not just the five members.

"I've been meaning to ask you something since yesterday," said Rhine while examining his clean and perfect fingernails. "You are the Neville Longbottom who helped Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Neville's head snapped up from the sheet, and his narrowed eyes latched onto green, inquisitive ones. Rhine's question had come as a complete surprise. After all this time, he'd thought that all those pesky and pointless questions had stopped. He thought that it had all died down.

"Obviously that was a tactless question," Rhine said with a wry smile, his slender face paling. Taking a few steps back, he lifted his hand in way of an apology. "Catch you later, maybe?"

Neville flashed a polite smile and nodded. He watched Rhine walk back the way he'd come. Would that happen when the students arrived? Would they ask such questions? He winced and felt nauseous. He had been hounded by people eager for the details for years after he had faced Voldemort. A grateful public had sent him all sorts of bizarre gifts. A few had even proposed marriage or offered their daughters. The sheer manic nature of their thanks had been overwhelming and frightening. And he hadn't been able to escape it!

He suddenly felt hot and bothered. His lungs didn't seem to want to work properly either. Despite it being chilly, perhaps working in the mid-afternoon sun had been foolish. He moved to sit on the edge of the trolley to catch his breath. Rubbing his hand across his damp brow, he tried to stifle the rising dread with stoic pragmatism.

Rhine hadn't been in the country at the time; in fact, he'd most likely still been at Durmstrang, studying for his equivalent of NEWTs, he thought to himself. He may not have had access to much of what had been going on at the time. It had been an innocent question. But it had stirred up so much and hinted at more to come. How come just when I think that I have things sorted, something comes along and threatens it!