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Neville hadn’t truly expected the charms he got permission to put on his vegetable garden to work, and even now, he imagines some animal has set them off rather than some Being. The garden gnomes all know how to avoid setting them off, and-
There’s a hag in his garden.
“Er, hello? This is private property,” comes out before he can think of what might be a good idea to say or do or not say or do.
Suddenly, looking at the glaring hag hanging upside down, he thinks of Millicent Bulstrode. He’d heard rumours she was part-hag, but he’d never been sure whether to believe it. After all, she’s in Slytherin, and Slytherin is hard on muggle-borns, never mind non-human Beings. Aside from Malfoy’s occasional mean comments about her, she seems to get on well enough with all the others in her House.
Looking at this hag, though, he sees Bulstrode in her.
Bulstrode who always wears robes in worse shape than any of the Weasleys. Bulstrode who, despite her big-frame, always has a gaunt face whenever the school year first starts.
“Just a minute,” he says.
Remembering how much Bulstrode likes beets, he’s suddenly glad he decided to plant some this summer. Picking all the ripe ones he can find, he loads them and all the other grown vegetables up into a basket.
He has no idea what he’s going to tell Gran- maybe, she won’t come out in the garden until enough stuff has grown that she won’t realise anything is missing.
When he’s finished, he comes over to let the hag down, and the way she’s been completely silent- definitely Bulstrode’s family. Once, Malfoy was loudly complaining about how creepy Bulstrode can be since she’s always so quiet and has a murderous face and never joins the others in the Great Hall.
Malfoy was just saying what plenty of people must think aloud, but- he wishes he’d been brave enough to point out how little House loyalty Malfoy was showing.
Once she’s right-side up, he holds the basket out.
Turning her nose, she starts to walk away.
“Hey, wait!” Grabbing her wrist, he tugs until she turns back around. “Millicent Bulstrode is your granddaughter, isn’t she? I go to school with her, Mrs Bulstrode. We’re not friends, but I don’t want her, her mum, or you to be hungry. I never want anyone to be hungry, but in this case, I can help. Just take it, please. I’ve never talked to her, I won’t start now. And I don’t talk about people behind their back’s either. No one needs to know where you got this from. Just take it for her and her mum.”
Piercing eyes study him for a long moment, and he tries not to fidget.
Then, digging through her robes, she holds out a package of fudge flies. They’re unopened, but he can tell they’ve been in a rubbish bin recently.
Bulstrode, from what he knows, doesn’t care for chocolates, and he hopes neither her mum or grandmum do, either.
Taking them, he hands over the basket. “Thank you.”
Giving a sharp nod, she quickly walks out of the garden.