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Neville Longbottom normally woke with the sun. It filtered through his window blinds and fell across his face in warm golden stripes, golden like the honey he bought from the farmer’s market last week, golden like the wildflowers Ginny had brought him for his kitchen table when he moved in. Golden, and slow, like his morning routine, the best part of his day — before he had to answer to anyone but his plants.
Today Neville did not wake up with the sun. Today was the morning of Halloween, and Neville woke to the frantic sound of Harry’s voice.
“Neville, I need you to come, quickly.”
“Harry?” Neville asked, voice thick with sleep, but Harry kept talking over him.
“I’m at Nott Manor. I think you’ve been here before, but if not I can meet you at the Ministry.”
Neville raised his head and squinted into the dark room. Standing at the foot of his bed was Harry’s Patronus — an enormous silver stag, bright and blinding. It lowered its head to look him in the eyes. Harry’s voice came again, low and urgent.
“I hate to bother you this early, but it’s an emergency. I think it’s another attack. Come as soon as you can.” With that, the stag bowed its head and faded into wisps of silver mist. Neville sat up and rubbed his face. Their former Slytherin classmates had been the target of recent attacks claiming to be against Death Eaters, despite the war having been over for two years. Neville heaved a sigh, threw aside his quilts, and shoved his feet into a pair of sturdy boots. His morning pancakes and honey would have to wait.
***
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting — some sort of poisonous plant, maybe — but it was certainly not the sight that greeted him as soon as he stepped onto the grounds of Nott Manor. The house was just as big as he remembered, dark and foreboding in the early morning light, with arching windows like gaping mouths. This time, though —
This time, there were trees growing out of it.
Tall oak trees, with thick trunks and full branches of leaves, had grown right through the middle of the house. Their roots buckled the foundation, their trunks smashing through floorboards and fireplaces to come shooting out of the roof. Neville gaped up at the sight, wondering how in the world it had happened. There were at least ten mature trees, the kind normally found in ancient forests — not growing in the middle of a house.
As he watched, a window on the highest level crumbled and fell with a shower of shingles, drawing a shout from the two figures standing by the front of the house. He hurried towards them.
“Harry!” Neville said, recognizing the bearded man closest to him. “I got your message.”
Harry turned and grinned at the sight of him. “Neville,” he said in relief, and embraced him, thumping Neville on the back a bit too vigorously. “Glad you made it here okay.”
“Glad you called me. Where’s Draco?”
“Draco?” Harry said, a little too quickly. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s… your partner, Harry. I thought he would be on the case with you.”
“Oh,” said Harry, his shoulders relaxing. “Right. There’s no immediate threat, apparently, so they just sent me.”
Neville hid a smile. “What are we looking at here?” he said, craning his neck to look up at the trees again. He felt his chest squeeze; they towered over him, taller even than the house itself.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Harry said with a sheepish grin. “Nott called the Ministry as soon as he noticed, about an hour ago. It was lucky he even woke up before his room collapsed on him.” He grimaced. “We’re looking at destruction of property, trespassing, intent to harm — but I have no idea what kind of spell would do this, or how we might track that.” Here he stopped, looking at Neville hopefully.
Neville looked back at the trees to avoid Harry’s gaze. “Honestly, mate, I’ve never seen anything like this. These trees are — just, wow. I doubt a simple spell could do all this.”
“Dark Magic?”
“Unlikely. Herbology and Dark Magic don’t play well together, and certainly not to this degree of complexity.”
Harry frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not sure. But these trees, they feel… I don’t know. I need a closer look.”
Harry studied his face for a moment, then nodded and turned to the second figure in front of the house. “Nott?”
The sun pulled away from the horizon and light spilled over them, highlighting the figure a few paces ahead. At Harry’s word, the figure turned, and Neville squinted against the sudden glare.
Theodore Nott. Tall, curly hair, dark skin, impeccably dressed, and just as handsome as ever. Neville felt his knees go weak and was thankful for the sturdiness of his boots.
“Can we go in?” Harry asked, pulling Neville out of his thoughts. Theo nodded and gestured for them to follow him.
“Watch your step,” he said as they passed through the door, his voice rich like chocolate, but quiet, reserved. Neville told himself to stay focused. Beside him, Harry was muttering under his breath, spindly white threads curling out of his wand to reinforce the cracked ceiling and walls. They passed through the entryway, the floor slanted at an angle, and into what must have been the sitting room. Now it housed the trunk of a massive oak tree. Neville’s breath caught in his throat, and he must have made an odd noise from the way Nott was looking at him, but he didn’t care. He could actually feel the magic coming from this tree.
“Neville, I wouldn’t —” Harry said, but Neville had already stepped right up to the trunk. “Bloody hell,” Harry whispered behind him, and raised his wand just in case.
Neville only had eyes for the tree. It hummed with life and energy. He lifted a hand and rested it gently on the bark, closing his eyes. He could feel warmth seeping from the tree into his fingers, a steady flow of curious magic that pooled in the ridges of the bark and then fell, filling the room around them. It felt old — centuries old — as if it had been displaced out of time.
Suddenly Neville felt a stinging pain in his arm, and he stumbled backwards with a yelp. Harry was there as soon as he did, grasping his shoulder.
“Neville, you alright?”
Neville rubbed his arm. “What was that?”
“A Stinging Hex. You weren’t responding to us for a good couple minutes, mate,” he said with a shaky laugh.
Neville just stared at him. “I don’t think this is from a spell, Harry. I doubt this is the work of any wizard, actually.” Harry made a small noise of disbelief. “These trees don’t seem like the type of thing to grow based on anyone’s whim.”
“What are they, then?”
Neville bit his lip. “I can’t say for sure. I’ll have to do some research. They seem much older than anything I’ve ever encountered, though.”
Harry’s eyebrows quirked up. “Even though they grew last night?”
Neville gave him a look. “I doubt they grew last night.”
The ceiling groaned, and they headed back out, Harry continuing to bombard Neville with questions. He seemed disappointed but not entirely convinced this wasn’t the work of an anti-Death Eater wizard.
“I just need to do some research, Harry,” Neville finally said. “Maybe ask around. This is — the strangest thing. I don’t have any explanations for it.”
Harry nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Let me know if you find anything. In the meantime, do you have anywhere to stay, Nott?”
Theodore was silent for a moment. “Is there no precedent for this at the Ministry?”
In a rare instance of Neville’s mouth moving faster than his brain, he blurted out, “You could stay with me, if it’s convenient.”
Theodore looked at him in surprise. Neville blushed. “It’s just, I have a guest room? And it might be easier to research the trees, and understand what’s happening,” he said quickly. “But I understand if you’d rather not.”
Theodore frowned. “I don’t want to inconvenience you,” he said.
“It’s really no trouble.”
“I’d hate to interrupt your routine.”
“Really, I don’t mind.”
After a moment, Theodore gave a jerk of his head. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Harry watched the exchange with a small smile. “Well, now that that’s settled… I’ve got to head out. Call me directly if you need anything, Nott. Neville, I’ll ask around at the Ministry about this, too. Let me know what you find out.”
“Will do, Harry,” Neville said, and couldn’t resist adding, “Tell Draco I said hello.”
Harry flushed, but simply nodded and turned on his heel, Disapparating in a whirl of scarlet Auror robes.
“Well,” Neville said after a moment of silence. “I can Side-Along you to my place, if you like, Theodore.”
“Please, call me Theo,” he said. “I suppose that is acceptable. I will get my things.”
***
Theo disappeared into the guest room as soon as Neville had finished showing him around. Neville stood by the door for a moment after it shut, wanting to knock and ask how Theo took his tea, wanting a lot of things, actually, but eventually resolved to leave him be. He spent the next few hours ignoring the rest of his work in favor of researching the grove of oak trees, but to no avail. They weren’t mentioned in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, or Goshawk’s Guide to Herbology, or even — thankfully — Flesh-Eating Trees of the World. He then sat down at his desk and sent off as many letters as he could, to everyone from Luna Lovegood, currently traveling in search of rare magical creatures and plants, to Newt Scamander’s grandson Rolf Scamander, noted magizoologist, to Professor Sprout, who was preparing to retire but still retained a near-encyclopedic knowledge of the plant kingdom.
Several hours later, a knock on the door interrupted him. Neville looked up. The sun had already set while he had been working. Theo was at the door, and Neville, embarrassed, showed him around the kitchen and offered him leftovers.
The silence around the table was awkward. “I was working on your case,” Neville said, desperate for a topic of conversation. “Nothing so far about the trees.”
Theo nodded, and after a moment, asked, “What is it you do again?”
“I’m a consultant for the Ministry right now,” Neville said. “For cases that involve Herbology. I’m thinking about applying for Sprout’s job, though.”
“You’d be good at that.”
Neville smiled into his dinner, and tried to hide it by clearing his throat. “And what do you do?”
“I…” Theo trailed off. “Not much, at the moment.”
“Ah,” Neville said. The silence returned.
“I have quite the library at the Manor, if you want to take a look,” Theo said suddenly. “For your research.”
“Sure,” Neville said, surprised. “It wasn’t destroyed?”
“It’s the most protected place in the house,” Theo said. “I made sure of that.”
“Alright.” Neville smiled at Theo, who didn’t smile back.
After that first night of wild growth, the trees stabilized at Nott Manor. Neville and Theo visited it as much as they could over the next few months. They spent hours in the library, in awkward, eventually companionable silence, opening books at random and skimming through the pages. Desperate to preserve the grove, Neville tried caring for the trees how he would any magical plant, taking notes of what worked for them and what didn’t. They always seemed to perk up when their visitors came, anyways, even though Neville often tripped on their roots and had to be caught by Theo.
Meanwhile, an easy silence developed between them at Neville’s home. Theo took to following Neville out to his garden, and sitting at the kitchen table while he prepared meals. He didn’t speak much, but Neville found it comforting to share the space with someone. Even as the mystery of Nott Manor’s trees remained unresolved, and letter after letter returned with apologies and no new information, Neville learned more and more about his housemate. And with each new piece of information, Theo learned something in return.
Neville learned that Theo was a terrible cook, and resolved to make all their meals himself, despite Theo’s protests. He didn’t mind; he was good at making things, at growing things.
Theo learned the names of all the plants in Neville’s garden, crouched down beside him in his expensive cloaks, apparently not caring if they got dirty. He recited the names under his breath, and Neville beamed to himself when he heard.
Neville, in turn, learned the names of the insects in his garden, something which Theo knew a surprising amount about.
Theo learned how Neville took his tea, and prepared it for him every morning afterwards; he was always the first one to wake.
Neville learned to watch for moments when Theo’s hands shook, to take him out to the garden and put his hands in the dirt and wait for his breathing to slow. He learned that he wanted to be the dirt that Theo touched at times like this.
Theo learned that Neville was friends with their former Slytherin classmates, and relearned that they were still his friends, too.
Neville learned that Theo liked to read. He would sit at the table while Neville cooked, every night a different book open in front of him. “What are you reading?” he asked one night, as the wireless played softly in the background and the setting sun reflected gold off the pan on the stove.
He didn’t think Theo would answer, but after a moment he put down the book and smoothed out the cover. “Sherlock Holmes.”
Neville turned to look at him in shock. “The Muggle book?”
Theo shrugged. “It’s a classic.”
“Is it any good?”
“This is the fifth time I’ve read it, so I would hope so,” he said, with a small grin. Neville cheered, internally. He was keeping notes in his head of everything that made Theo smile. So far the list included books Neville had never heard of, the sprouting of a seedling in the garden, and the time Neville tripped over the hallway rug.
“Well,” he said, turning back to stir the soup. “Will you read me some of it, then?”
Behind him, Theo’s brows quirked up, but after a moment, he opened the book again and read aloud. This became part of their routine, too. Neville learned that Theo liked Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie and Jane Austen, and he tried to learn about the stories but most of the time just listened to Theo’s voice.
Just like that first night, Theo learned that Neville often got lost in his work. He learned how to offer him food when he had forgotten to eat, how to convince him to take a break, and how to clean the house with simple wandless magic while Neville slept on the couch.
Eventually, Neville learned what Theo did during the day, when he disappeared three times a week. “I volunteer at this Muggle library near my house,” Theo said, looking at the floor, ready for Neville to laugh at him.
But all Neville said was, “Can I join you, sometime?” And when he did, he learned that Theo loved helping the children look for books, and he learned, too, that the butterflies in his stomach wanted more than a short fling with this man.
The months passed, and the air turned colder. Theo had a surprisingly lacking winter wardrobe, and Neville forced him into thick jackets and gloves, and laughed at his affronted look when he did. The awkward silence between them had thawed into something else, something softer, just as the world around them froze.
It was as if the trees could tell they had finally begun to know each other, and, mission completed, were ready to give up the mystery; because finally, after months of searching, Theo found what they had been looking for. In his library, in one corner, was a small, aging book that was missing the front cover. On the very last page, in small lettering, he saw the word “trees” and nearly fell over. Theo ran into the other room with a shout, holding the book aloft, and Neville rose from where he was crouched over a small sore on one of the tree’s roots.
“Neville!” he said. “I found it — something — I found something.”
Neville’s eyes lit up. “You did?”
“Yes, here —” And Theo read aloud:
“‘While very little is known about the Cleonatral grove, it is believed to have originated when magic first began, in ancient times. It is embedded with ancestral magic that may be harnessed for healing, growth, knowledge, or power, depending on the ability of the wizard communicating with the trees. The grove only appears once every century, and marks a period of great change, sometimes even for an individual. Although they often go without notice, they hold wisdom that wizardkind can only dream of.’”
Silence fell over them. Neville looked up at the tree beside him. It was nothing more than what he already knew, and yet, the words made it real. “Amazing,” he whispered, and Theo murmured his agreement. After a few seconds, Neville added, “We have to protect it, right?”
Theo nodded. “We have to.” Neville knew he was thinking of the Ministry, too. Even though the war was over, and their friends were doing their best, bureaucratic change came slowly, and it would be a while until they trusted the Ministry again. This kind of power — this couldn’t fall in the wrong hands.
They spent the next few hours mulling over their next steps, sending out letters to a select number of people, and rereading the same paragraph so many times they memorized it. Finally, exhausted, they ventured into the cellar — with strengthening charms for the ceiling — and found a bottle of wine. They sat on the floor, drinking it straight from the bottle, and Neville tried to see how much he could make Theo laugh. It turned out he could make Theo laugh quite a bit.
Later, they decided to climb on top of the roof.
“This is a bad idea,” Neville said, but they did it anyway, finding a way up and laying on the shingles, side by side, looking up at the night sky. It was crisscrossed with tree branches above them, splintering the darkness into fractures with shimmering stars peeking out at them. Neville summoned up enough of his Gryffindor courage to brush his hand against Theo’s, his heart in his throat, and Theo curled his pinky around Neville’s. Neville blew out his breath in relief, and Theo laughed quietly and interlaced their fingers together.
Above them, it started to snow. Snowflakes blotted out the sky and dropped down through the branches to hit their face and neck and hands in small spots of ice. Neville laughed, squeezed Theo’s hand, and shifted to face him.
“I think we picked the wrong night for this,” he said.
Theo turned to look at him. His mind seemed to be somewhere entirely different. “Do you know what day it is?”
What day it was? “Tuesday?” Neville asked.
“… It’s Wednesday, but that’s not what I meant,” Theo said, his smile back. “It’s Christmas.”
“It is?” Neville said with a start. He really did lose track of time. “Oh no, I told the Weasley’s I would join them for dinner tonight —”
“We can worry about that in a minute,” Theo said insistently, and gave Neville’s hand a squeeze. “It’s Christmas, and I wanted to give you something.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Neville said, heart pounding. “I didn’t get you anything.”
Theo leaned closer, eyes tracing Neville’s face. “I don’t mind.” Neville held his breath. And suddenly, miraculously, they were kissing, and it was snowing and Theo’s hand was in his hair and it was months coming, really, but it was finally here.
Theo broke away first and rested his forehead on Neville’s. “Happy Christmas, love.” Neville kissed him again, wanting to taste the word "love" on his lips. He had tried not to dream about this, had never thought it could be possible — but it was. Everything was. He smiled at Theo, who smiled back, eyes shining.
“Happy Christmas, Theo.”