Work Text:
The humid air of Greenhouse Three was stifling. The condensation on the glass walls was so thick that when Albus Potter looked out, he couldn’t see the Hogwarts grounds or castle but rather a wet, hazy swirl of colors.
“Is this a punishment?” Albus asked, staring back down at the row of pots on the long wooden table where he usually had his Herbology classes.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you Professor Longbottom right now? And if so, is repotting moonwort part of detention? Or are you Uncle Neville right now, and is this some ploy to try and offer me guidance or whatever godparents are supposed to do?”
Uncle Neville paused from his repotting to wipe the dirt from his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. The valiant effort only caused more dirt to appear on Uncle Neville’s sweaty face, “Do you feel like you need to be punished?”
Albus gave a heavy sigh and stabbed the soil with his spade. Why could adults never answer a question directly? Why did they always respond with more questions? The good thing about Uncle Neville was that he usually kept talking anyway if you didn’t answer.
“I’ve always found working with my hands to be a good way to clear my head.”
Albus couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his godfather. Sometimes, it was nice having family work at school. He didn’t have to worry about being overly polite around Uncle Neville. “My parents say the same thing about flying. That you can think better in the air.”
“Ah well, I’ve never been the best flyer- don’t forget to loosen the roots before you repot your plant - I think everyone has to find what works for them.” Uncle Neville summoned more empty pots from across the greenhouse, landing in front of Albus in a neat row. “Where do you do your best thinking?”
“Definitely not while flying.”
“That’s OK.”
Albus just shrugged and filled the empty pots with soil.
“Al, why did you hit Montgomery?”
Albus pointed his spade at Uncle Neville accusingly, “So this is a punishment.”
“I haven’t decided yet. You’re not usually the kind of kid to talk with their fists. You must have good reason to deck Montgomery like that.”
Again, Albus just shrugged.
Uncle Neville didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps he was so used to talking to unattentive students that he didn’t even notice Al’s lack of response. Or maybe he was used to Albus’s silent treatment. Whatever the reasoning, Uncle Neville filled the silence.
“Moonwort absorbs the magical energy that is more potent during the full moon. If a wizard or witch uses it in potion-making or incorporates it into spells during that time, it can amplify the effects. It's like a magical booster, but it's crucial to be cautious and precise in its usage. It's all about timing. It won't show its true potential if you pick it too early or too late in the moon cycle.
All plants are like that. It is important to understand their growth and when they are ready to show their purpose. Plants can have different purposes and usages in different stages of their life cycles, too.”
Uncle Neville waved his wand, and red clay pots that used to home the moonwort floated off to the large greenhouse sink. A big wooden handled brush began to scrub the dirty pots magically.
“So this isn’t detention if I had a good reason to punch Montgomery?”
Uncle Neville chuckled, “You’re very fixated on this detention thing. Can’t a godfather just want to hang out with his godson?”
“What if I just woke up this morning feeling like I needed to hit something, and Montgomery just happened to be the thing I hit.”
“Did Montgomery say anything to earn the privilege of your fist on his face?
“I’m just tired.”
“Of what?”
“Disappointing everyone.”
“Ah, yes, disappointing people. I know that feeling well. My Childhood was filled with people talking about how great my parents were. Gran and my various elderly aunts and uncles always compared me to them. It was hard. I felt like I was letting everyone down all the time. Didn’t even think I was going to Hogwarts because I wasn’t magical enough. I didn’t tell anyone about Mum and Dad when I got here. Everyone knew I lived with Gran. They probably thought I was a war orphan. There were quite a few of us in school at that time.
Then the Azkaban breakout happened, and the Daily Prophet put it in black and white, all about my parents' attack. It was hard for me. To live up to everyone’s expectations. I felt like a bumbling idiot who failed my parents.” Uncle Neville looked up from his row of pots and into Albus’ face, a slight smile curling at the corner of his lips, “Punched more than one Slytherin - no offense - who ran their mouth at me.”
Al said nothing, but Uncle Neville continued the one-sided conversation anyway.
“How did your careers talk go?”
“He said my father must be disappointed in me,” Albus muttered.
“Professor Williamson said Harry was disappointed in you?” Uncle Neville’s right eyebrow raised in an arch to the top of his forehead.
“No, Montgomery said that.”
“Oh,” Uncle Neville nodded, “that makes more sense.”
“He said the most powerful wizard of all time must be so disappointed by his poofy son.”
Uncle Neville’s usually pleasant demeanor grew dark, and he responded in a low voice Albus had never heard before, “Montgomery is an idiotic bigot.”
“Should teachers talk about students like that?”
“I believe teachers should always tell the truth.”
“Dad gave me a book.” Al paused in his work of separating roots, “It is about famous potioneers. He bookmarked the chapter on the evolution of healing potions. Did you know that some guy in our family originated Skele-Gro and Pepperup Potion hundreds of years ago? And my great-grandfather had his own potion company and invented Sleekeazy’s.”
“So you’re not the black sheep of the family after all. Potters can be potion brewers.” Uncle Neville summoned a watering can and handed it to Albus to water the newly repotted plants. “Your father wouldn’t have given you that book and highlighted those names for you if he didn’t want you to become a potions master. He is incredibly proud of you. We all are.”
They continued to repot the moonwort as the light grew dim inside the greenhouse. Sounds of scraping metal spades against the clay pots filled the damp and warm greenhouse until the light was dim, and Uncle Neville had to conjure blue floating balls of light so they could see what they were doing.
“It's getting late.” Uncle Neville interrupted Al’s work and looked at the gold watch on his wrist, “You should get back to your dorm, and I need to get home.”
Al helped his godfather clean up the greenhouse, ensuring it was ready for the next day of classes. Just as Al opened the door and embraced the cool evening air, finally free from the greenhouse's wet, hot, repressive air, he heard Uncle Neville call his name.
Albus turned around, his hand still on the door handle, “Yeah, Uncle Neville?”
“See you tomorrow after dinner for more repotting. Bring your dragon hide gloves. The plants we're working with tomorrow are known to bite.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t detention.”
“Did I? I don’t recall that.”
Uncle Neville hummed a familiar tune as he returned the clean pots from the sink on the shelves. Albus waved goodbye and headed back to the castle.