Firgun

Firgun

Disclaimer: Me, makin' dosh fae this keech? Awa' bile yer heid, ye windae-licker.

Translation: Scottish – Me, making money from this rubbish? Don't be silly, you idiot. (literally: Go away and boil your head, you window licker.)

Dark hair flopped in his eyes as he tamped compost down around plant roots, and Neville brushed it away with the back of an earthy hand, wiping the sweat from his brow at the same time. Working in the greenhouse was dirty, sweaty work, but it gave him a chance to think. As his shoulders and arms started to ache from heavy lifting and digging, the young man was able to let his mind wander away from the task in front of him.

The start of the school year had been difficult for him. Returning to Hogwarts to find his best friends hadn't arrived back at school and seeing their names on the Ministry's list for interrogation, Neville had found his anxiety levels rising. Without his close friends, he had felt his confidence, which had built gradually since he had joined Dumbledore's Army during fifth year, slowly erode away. And being chosen as Gryffindor house representative had been the last straw. Neville had dropped Potions as a subject as soon as he could, and the thought of having to face his Boggart, Severus Snape, on a regular basis again had made his stomach churn. He had developed a stammer, raging acne and a slight tic, which flickered irritatingly at the corner of his eye. Just what a teenager needs to completely destroy his self-confidence.

In the first week of term, Luna Lovegood had found him sitting on the front steps of the school, staring morosely out at the falling rain. She had sat beside him, laying a hand on his constantly wand-twirling fingers in a gentle, stilling gesture.

"I worry about them, too," Luna had said, gazing out at the drifting rain, and Neville had known exactly who she meant. "They'll need someone strong to watch their backs for them, someone who's good at defence to provide a protective shield or a diversion when the time comes. Who do you think would be the best person for that, Neville?"

Unable to answer her, the young man had shaken his head dumbly and shrugged.

Leaning against his shoulder, Luna had squeezed his work-toned biceps with her small hand and had murmured, "Such hidden strength." She had hummed quietly to herself before asking, "Do you still have that interesting coin you got in fifth year?"

Neville had answered with a simple nod.

"Well, there we are then," she had said, getting up and leaving him sitting alone in the cold on the stone steps.

It had taken a fair bit of thought for Neville to eventually come to the conclusion Luna had been suggesting re-forming Dumbledore's Army. The corollary had been she believed he was strong enough to lead them.

Now, as he worked in the warm and pleasant environment of the greenhouse, watching the rain bouncing off the roof and streaming down the glass walls, he realised what a clever witch she was. The two of them worked well together with Luna's intelligence and tangential thought patterns and Neville's practical skills. Few of the staff believed the bumbling Gryffindor or the Ravenclaw daydreamer capable of organising a piss up in a brewery. Others, like McGonagall and Snape, seemed to view them with some interest, but, more importantly, the Carrows overlooked them completely.

He had been surprised by how many people Lovegood recruited. Obviously, Neville had spoken to students in Gryffindor, but Luna had managed to enlist the intelligentsia of Ravenclaw and a crowd of 'head down, bum up,' hard-working Hufflepuffs, as well as a couple of surprises from Slytherin, including the weedy nerd, Theodore Nott.

Initially, Neville was sceptical of Nott's authenticity, but having worked together for long hours he had changed his opinion of the quiet loner. Nott, who rarely spoke unless asked a direct question, had opened up in the non-confrontational situation of working at the potting tables, talking to Longbottom about his fear of his Death Eater father and his concerns for the rest of his family in the current volatile climate. Repeatedly, he amazed Neville with his vast knowledge of plants used in dark potions and ingredients required for use in antidotes. When the question arose of why he had ended up in Slytherin rather than Ravenclaw, the skinny boy shrugged diffidently, pushing his specs up his nose, and asked where else a Death Eater's heir could be placed.

It was Nott who currently worked alongside Neville in the nursery, his muscles growing with the physical work as they tended Professor Sprout's magical plants.

Pomona was aging, and painful, arthritic hands meant digging and planting were no longer a pleasure for her. The Herbology professor had been most grateful when Longbottom had asked shyly if he might be of some assistance to her and even more appreciative when he and Nott had taken over full control of the greenhouses, preparing and setting out specimens for her classes in one of the smaller glasshouses closer to the school's door. It meant she could just turn up for a teaching session, knowing all she needed would be there, and her arthritic knees, which ached in the persistent damp weather, didn't have so far to walk.

This left the other glasshouses unsupervised, and Longbottom and Nott were making the best use of space, interplanting the school's curriculum plants with as many medicinal and useful potions ingredients as they could. Indeed, it had been Theodore who had suggested contacting Hannah Abbott, via the DA coin, for advice about companion cropping, saying she understood all about creature interdependence. Neville remembered her vividly for multiplying a ferret into a flock of flamingos in Transfiguration and breaking down crying during her Herbology O.W.L., saying she was too stupid to take her exams.

With this in mind, he had wondered how much help Hannah could be and was pleasantly surprised to find, when not under exam pressures, her advice was well considered and useful. Hannah Abbott definitely wasn't too stupid to pass exams, just very nervous when sitting them, which struck a chord with Longbottom. A gentle smile lit Neville's face as he ran a thumb over his DA coin, glad that with long-distance communications Hannah didn't have to see his blushing, spotty face or listen to his stumbling speech.

Their 'conversations' had developed from exchanges of Herbology facts and school news to more personal messages. His smile broadened with the memory.

A nudge in the ribs from Theo brought Neville back to earth, and he sighed, looking out through the rain-splashed windows to where the other boy was pointing.

Halfway across the grounds between the castle and the greenhouse, Luna Lovegood was skipping towards them, her hands above her head. Any normal person would have their hands up shielding themselves from the rain, but Luna's hands were twisting and turning in dancing patterns as if playing with the raindrops as they fell. A small smile flitted across her lips, and her large eyes danced with sparkles of joy.

Behind her, standing at the top of the steps in the lee of the large doorway, stood Draco Malfoy, arms crossed, blond hair falling across steely, grey eyes and scowl firmly in place. His stance suggested immense irritation as he glared at the joyful, dancing witch.

"What's Malfoy standing there for?"

"We're not allowed gatherings of more than three students outside classes, remember, Neville." Indicating the fuming Malfoy with his chin, Theo continued. "He seems to be tailing Luna at the moment, and with both of us here, he can't follow her down to the greenhouse."

"We'll have to be careful if he's lurking about."

Theo frowned with thought. "He isn't hanging about in the common room with his old gang of cronies any more. Blaise Zabini has taken over as ringleader, so I'm not sure where Malfoy's allegiances lie nowadays. In the meantime, it might be a bit of a lark to wind him up a bit, the arrogant, Death Eater tosser."

"Look who's talking with the Death Eater jibes," Neville commented.

"Yeah, well, we can't all follow in our fathers' footsteps, can we?" Nott hung his head and looked away, swallowing hard.

Feet shuffling a little with embarrassment, Neville cleared his throat. "I'll... um... go and wash my hands... and...ˮ

Theodore's voice was very quiet as he spoke again without lifting his head, lank hair obscuring his eyes. "You know it wasn't just the Lestranges who tortured your parents, don't you?"

With a sharp intake of breath, the young man at his side rubbed the back of his dirty hand across his forehead. "As you said, we don't all follow in our fathers' footsteps, Nott. I'm just trusting you know where your own footsteps are falling." Without looking at his companion, Longbottom turned and walked away.

"I'm sorry, Neville."

"As am I, Theo, but it wasn't you who did it, so there's no need for you to apologise," Neville replied, pausing part-way down the glasshouse's damp path. "You're a great guy to work with. I hope you'll do the honourable thing and won't let us down."

The other wizard's head hung down as he exhaled a long, slow breath, shaking with emotion. "No-one's been so accepting of me before, not even my fellow Slytherins, which gives you some idea of my family's pedigree. Thank you, Neville."

"Don't thank me; thank Luna. She's the nutter who trusted you in the first place. Speaking of whom..."

The greenhouse door slid open as the blonde came giggling in out of the rain, shaking droplets from her hair as she entered.

"Hi, boys!"

"Luna!" Theo smiled and hugged her enthusiastically, ensuring as he did so he was in full view of Malfoy, who glowered back at him.

As soon as she was released, Luna peered at the plants they had been potting up. "Oh, look, you clever things, Nimbus Nibble...ˮ

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," the pair said in unison, breaking into laughter as their voices clashed in the air.

"I'm just leaving, Luna. Any news for me?"

"Our go-between tells me the redhead is no longer camping, and the remaining two are overrun with Horny Gollochs, but has no other information."

"That's a worry, isn't it?" asked Longbottom as he washed soil from his hands.

"Mmhmm," Luna agreed.

"Wait a minute; you're talking about Har...ˮ

Luna laid a finger tip on Theo's lips and frowned very slightly, shaking her head. Leaning in close, she whispered, "Trust no-one. Plants have ears."

Nodding conspiratorially as she pulled back, her large eyes stared around the greenery in the enclosed space. Nott glanced over her shoulder to Longbottom, who smiled and shrugged, making a twirling motion with an index finger next to his temple.

"Anything else, Luna?"

"He says the peripatetic witch is missing our flame-haired friend, so he's spending more and more time with her. Says he's trying to keep her spirits up, but I think the old duffer has a bit of a crush on her."

"Who's your amazing go-between who can find Ha... the trio... duo, when You-Know-Who's whole army can't find the runaway teenagers?" inquired Nott.

Luna replied with a dreamy smile and a small tap of the finger on the side of her nose.

"Must dash." Drying his wet hands on a clean portion of his robes, Neville leant in to give the witch a quick kiss on the cheek. "Catch you later," he called from the doorway before running out into the rain and heading for the castle.

"Can you help me finish this potting?" Theo asked.

Prodding a finger into the dirt at the base of the nearest plant, Luna's nose wrinkled delicately. "I'm not too good with green things."

"Here, let me show you. Give me your hand, Luna. All you need to do is push down a little more firmly. If I come behind you, I can show you more easily."

By the time Malfoy arrived in the greenhouse, slamming the door open with barely concealed fury, Nott's arms were both around the girl with his hands gently manipulating hers in the loamy soil. A firm grasp on his shoulder wrenched him backwards.

"Malfoy, how may I be of assistance?" Theo kept his tone quiet and light. His words implied deference, but his eyes sparked with defiance.

"Let her go!" The blond wizard's voice was low with a threatening edge.

"I'm not detaining Miss Lovegood. We were merely..." Theo lifted a shoulder ambiguously.

The tall blond had him grasped by the lapels in an instant, almost dragging him off his feet. "Do not touch her!" Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth.

"Draco, don't be silly."

Malfoy's eyes snapped to Lovegood as she spoke, then back to the boy held in his clenched fists. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers and with the flats of his hands patted Nott's lapels, giving him a slight push backwards. His lip curled in a disdainful sneer. Turning away in a swirl of robes, he strode to the door. Without looking back, he snarled before stepping out into the rain, "Hurry up, Lovegood. Must I remind you we have a meeting to attend?"

Following Draco with her eyes as he stalked away across the grass, Luna brushed dirt from her hands and patted Nott's arm. "Trust issues," she muttered. Turning her sharp-eyed gaze on Nott, she continued. "Stop being naughty, Theo; I know witches aren't your thing. If you wind him up, he may snap and hurt all of us."

She was soon running after Malfoy, pulling at his sleeve as she caught up with him. Nott watched as the two blonds interacted. The tall boy loomed over the witch, hands gesticulating wildly, eyes ablaze and obviously shouting. The girl, on the other hand, smiled benignly. Finger pointing and angry arm movements from the boy were answered by gentle nodding and smiling from the witch. Luna's hand went to her mouth as if to stifle a laugh, and Draco's aristocratic shoulders drooped in defeat. She then grabbed his hand and dragged him back up to the castle, talking all the way.

Interesting, thought Theo, turning his focus back to finishing his job. He pushed his glasses up his nose with the back of a hand and frowned as he remembered Lovegood's perceptiveness then, recalling Draco's ire, he smirked. Nott concluded, after years of being the Slytherin whipping boy, a little payback was well overdue, and he hummed as he completed the last of the potting.

~*~

"Miss Granger."

Hermione jerked awake from her fitful sleep. Pushing tangled hair off her face, she rolled over on her camp bed to face the picture frame sitting propped up on a nearby chair, the heavy locket sliding across her chest as she moved.

Since Ron had left, she had sought solace in conversations with Phineas Nigellus. With just two of them sharing the Horcrux, life was miserable. When Hermione had it hanging round her neck, she fell into a deep hole of depression, and when Harry had custody he lay unmoving on his bed, virtually mute. There was no-one else to talk to, so the sharp-tongued ex-headmaster had become her only company.

"Miss Granger, where are you?"

"Right here on my bed."

Hermione heard him tut and imagined him rolling his eyes behind his blindfold. She knew he was angling for information on their location, but she was determined to keep that secret. In fact, some days she wasn't even sure herself. They had moved down south for warmer weather, but found there were more people, increasing their risk of capture.

Currently, they were somewhere in the wilds of North Wales, but even here they could hardly escape human contact. She smiled at the memory of Harry moving them to the top of Snowdon, Wales's highest mountain, thinking it would be deserted only to find a railway station and restaurant on the summit. At least they hadn't had to forage for food that day and had cautiously enjoyed a pie and a pint amongst the hikers and day-trippers on top of Britain's busiest mountain.

Tonight they planned to pack up and move north again to Scotland. She was already preparing for the return to cooler climes, looking out extra jumpers, hot water bottles and scarves. With both of them so debilitated by the constant proximity of the Horcrux, they had been too dejected to renew heating and cooking charms, focussing only on their immediate security and little else. The interior of the tent was becoming colder and damper as time wore on. Hermione's mind added gloves, long johns and thermal vests to the list of necessities.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione sat bolt upright, smacking her head on the underside of the bunk above. Her wand was drawn, and she scanned the dim interior of the tent, looking for the source of the well-recognised voice.

Phineas Nigellus sniggered when he heard the thudding contact of head against furniture followed by swearing.

"This is ridiculous." That voice again.

Hermione leapt from her bed, eyes scouring the room and wand raised for action. She could see no-one, only the blindfolded portrait of Phineas, whose shoulders were shaking with ill-suppressed mirth.

"Headmaster Black, what's so funny? Can't you hear him?" She hissed tetchily, her mood irritable with the Horcrux's proximity.

"Miss Granger, pay attention."

"Professor Snape?"

"Indeed."

"I can't see you." Hermione knelt in front of the portrait, leaning her forehead against the glass and trying to look around the inner edge of the frame.

"Of course you can't, you silly chit, he's back at Hogwarts talking through my other portrait."

"He sounds so close, so real and... and crushed velvety."

"Headmaster Snape can hear you, Miss Granger," Black reminded her.

"Oh!" She squeaked.

"Miss Granger, you will report for your first lesson on Saturday morning at ten o'clock."

"Lesson?" Her brain felt leaden.

A heavy sigh from the depths of the portrait reminded her of Snape's classroom demeanour. "Potions lesson."

"Oh, yes, my lesson."

"Saturday, in the box room."

"The box?"

"Our time together will be most tedious if you're always this repetitive and slow on the uptake." Snape's voice conveyed a sneer.

"You may have to go easy on the young lady, Headmaster Snape. Something affects her from time to time, but she won't tell me what it is."

The current headmaster took a deep steadying breath, and Hermione was sure she could hear him pinch the bridge of his nose. "Very well. Are my instructions clear enough, Miss Granger?"

"Lupin's place?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. Ten o'clock in our box room."

"Yours?"

"For goodness sake! Black, you speak to the dunderhead and make sure she gets the message."

Hermione heard his receding footsteps. Dragonhide boots, her brain whispered.

She heard his final words as if he was speaking from the far end of a large room. "I can't believe I agreed to work with someone so obtuse."

Phineas Nigellus winced at the sound of a heavy door slamming. "Well, that went very much as expected."

Hermione slumped back onto her bed. "Can you remind me on Friday, Professor Black? I'd hate to get on the wrong side of Professor Snape."

Black's painted eyebrows arched with surprise. "Fawning lickspittle!"

His comment lacked his usual venom, and the tired witch exhaled a soft snort.

Phineas waited for her breathing to even out into the deep regularity indicative of sleep before he slipped the blindfold from his eyes. Taking time to have a good look about his surroundings as much as he could, he was unable to find any indication of where they were camping. Finally, he brought his gaze to the young woman sprawled haphazardly on the bed in front of him. He looked her over in appraisal before stepping to the edge of his painting and disappearing.

"I can't believe so much depends on such inexperienced youngsters. Let's hope you're smarter than you look, because currently you look like something the kneazle coughed up," he muttered as he left.

A/N: If you don't know by now who does my beta duties, you haven't been paying attention

Translation:

Firgun – Hebrew – An act of saying nice things or doing nice things to another person without any other purpose, but to make the other feel good about what he is or what he does.