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Not many people knew that Pansy’s favorite subject in school was Herbology. It was one of the few she even bothered getting her NEWT in. And it wasn’t until her seventh year that Neville, the best Herbologist in their year, finally took notice of her. It was a terrible year. For everyone, not just the Muggle-borns and blood traitors. The Carrows weren’t picky about who they tortured, and it didn’t take Pansy long to figure out she wasn’t really cut out for casting Cruciatus Curses at first years.
That was actually how Neville finally took notice of her. She was spending all of her free time in the greenhouses, happy to be out of the castle and generally out of the Carrows way.
They didn’t bother to come down to the greenhouses unless they had to. An arrangement Pansy was perfectly fine with.
Her hands were wrist deep in Hippogriff manure as she transplanted some fickle arrowroot when he spoke to her for the first time.
“You’re here a lot,” was all he said.
“I am,” Pansy agreed, knowing exactly whose deep voice it was. He stood behind her, she could half see his shadow in the light that was gently swinging in the breeze from one of the upper windows left open. She didn’t turn to look at him. She didn’t want to see those dark eyes trained on her.
The second time he spoke to her, it was because she had made a mistake with one of the vampiric vegetation pods.
“Fucking Salazar,” she swore as she dug a fang out of her hand. It went right through the dragon-hide gloves she was wearing.
“Here, let me,” he hurred across the greenhouse with his wand clutched in his hand.
She tugged off her glove, as it was filling with blood and winced when he tapped her hand with his wand, but a moment later the sting was gone and the wound closing over.
“Thank you,” she murmured to his chest, still afraid to look him in the eyes. She didn’t want to see scorn on his face. Or her own dark deeds reflected back at her. Not every student in her year was as adept at defying the Carrows as he was.
“Why are you afraid to look at me?” he asked, his voice gentle in a way she wasn’t used to from boys her age.
Pansy’s brow furrowed and she dropped her head further, but he reached out a hesitant hand and cupped her cheek, drawing her gaze to his at last.
“I don’t want to see my failures reflected back at me,” she said quietly. But that’s not what she saw in his eyes. Those beautiful, dark eyes that seemed to see right into her soul. No, they seemed to be reflecting something else entirely.
“You’re not a Gryffindor. I wouldn’t expect you to act like one,” Neville Longbottom said quietly. “I don’t imagine you have it any easier than us.”
Pansy let out a quiet snort and smiled. “No. Even I don’t like to torture firsties.”
Neville’s gaze darkened. “The Carrows are going to pay for what they’re doing.”
And Pansy believed him.
~Fin~