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She clenched her jaw, pulling her gaze from the floor to his freckled, scarred face. “So the willow that weeps blood, or the vines that shoot thorns when I’m near?”
“Treacherous and foul, sure, but,” he shrugged, “not cursed.”
“If you’re awful at your job, just—”
Bill chuckled, threw up his hands. “Hey, by all means, waste your galleons on a second opinion. Or… I can set you up with my guy.”
“So he can run up the bill?”
“Pretty sure he’d sooner charge you in plant cuttings than money.”
Pansy sighed, resigned. “Your guy better come with nicer shoes and less mud.”
-❁-❁-❁-❁-❁-
Neville had worse shoes, and much, much more mud.
“Well,” he sighed, pulling a dirty rag from his pocket to wipe his hands. Pansy watched as more dirt fell to the floor. He followed her gaze, foot lifting away from the mud he’d trekked in.
“Oh, sorry.” He drew his wand, charming the mess clean.
Pansy straightened, crossing her arms. At least he had better manners than Weasley. “Well?”
“Bill’s right, not cursed.”
“I’m aware. What’s to be done about it?”
Neville’s face hardened at her harsh tone, his own sharpening. “What kind of magic do you think your family used to care for those plants?”
Pansy faltered. It certainly wasn’t the ‘light and love’ kind.
Neville nodded. “Right. Those plants were dangerous before the last decade of neglect, now they’re feral and vicious, too.”
“Do spare the lecture,” Pansy spat.
He rubbed his jaw, frustrated. “You’ve two choices. One; I take my time undoing all the dark magic and set the place right.”
“Or?”
Neville sighed, almost in defeat. “Or; you burn it down and salt the earth.”
He glanced back at the overrun greenhouse, grief touching his features. “In which case, I must insist you allow me a few months to work on some of the plants first, so I can transfer them. There are some… rare and beautiful things in there.”
Pansy scoffed. “Everything in there’s loathsome and laced with spite.”
“Like I said.” He looked her straight in the eyes when he said it, sending a shiver down her spine and a warmth to her gut.
“Take what you want and burn it,” she snapped, turning on her heel and strutting further into the house.
-❁-❁-❁-❁-❁-
“I need your blood.”
Neville returned a few days later—armed, armored, and much too excited. Pansy had a feeling he’d have shown up at dawn if he thought the wards would let him.
Now he stood just outside her conservatory, dripping with sweat and streaked with dirt, asking for her blood.
“Absolutely not!”
He started to follow her in, but she shot a glare over her shoulder.
Neville stopped, looking down at himself. “I’ll just… stay out here,” he grumbled.
That suited Pansy just fine. She grabbed the tray of refreshments and followed him to the table outside.
“I don’t need much.” Neville reached for the plate of tea sandwiches, hands still filthy. Pansy cleared her throat, eyeing them. He sighed and held both palms out.
“Much what?” Pansy asked, noting the small cuts on his palms and weaving in a little healing magic to the cleaning charm.
“Blood.” Neville responded, glancing at his hands, the evidence of his last four hours of work erased. He glanced up at her.
She remained impassive. “I’m not in the habit of giving out my blood, Longbottom.”
“Your magic, then. The plants don’t trust me.” He held his arm up, twisting it to show off the smattering of cuts as proof.
-❁-❁-❁-❁-❁-
In the greenhouse, Neville kept a quick pace, giving Pansy little time to linger on her fear if she wanted to keep up with him. And she very much did, as there was no knowing what these plants would do to her.
She had few memories of the place from childhood which were murky, at best. But at some point they stopped visiting and she’d eventually just assumed it was cursed.
Until she’d decided on the greenhouse as her next renovation project. The weather was warming up, she was tired of being indoors, and really, how cursed could it be?
Then she ventured inside and things started snapping and grabbing at her.
Just like something was trying to do right now! Pansy wasn’t proud of the sound she made, or how she curled into Nevilles back.
Neville stopped, chuckling as he looked over his shoulder.
“It came after me!” she defended, pushing him forward.
Soon they were in the middle of the greenhouse, on a large circular patio with a curved workbench along one side and an ornate iron dinette on the other. Neville walked to the workbench, where a large pile of eggshells waited next to a mortar and pestle.
A plant shifted near Pansy and she quickly stepped away from it.
“They’re just curious.” Neville nodded at the bench, an invitation.
She crossed her arms, eyeing the greenery behind him. “About what?”
Neville looked confused. “About you .”
“Me? What about me?”
Neville’s brow furrowed, then slowly relaxed as something dawned on him.
“What?” she snapped, hating that look of pity.
“Pansy,” he let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is a generational greenhouse. Some of these plants are over a hundred years old. This place has been sustained by your family’s magic for ages.”
Generational? As Pansy looked around, flashes of memories came back to her.
A little girl running along the brick pathways, a barbless vine racing next to her. A mother pointing out a placard next to a large, bulbous plant, a grandmother’s name etched on it. A couple who look an awful lot like her parents at the dinette, having tea, enjoying each other’s company.
They’d cared for this place, once. What changed?
A weight dropped in her stomach.
Voldemort.
By the time she’d been old enough to grasp the significance of something like this, he’d long infiltrated her family and stolen her parents. Nothing else mattered to them after that.
They’d abandoned the greenhouse, then they’d abandoned her.
Another thought struck her and she narrowed in on Neville. “You were going to let me burn it down!”
He had the good sense to look afraid. “I didn’t want to! But, I-I thought you knew an—” he reached for her hand again.
Why was everything always reaching for her!?
She smacked his hand away. “You thought I knew and still wanted to burn it down?”
Neville’s fear quickly shifted to defense. “Right, next time I’ll just assume I know your family better than you do.”
“Don’t get snide with me, Longbottom!”
“Don’t lash out at me, Parkinson!”
Pansy knew he was just mirroring her tone, even if the plants didn’t. A small vine struck out, slicing a thin line of blood along Neville’s forearm. He hissed and covered it, looking at her as if the attack proved his point.
Pansy looked on in shock as the vine retreated.
Neville sighed. “You’re family, and they haven’t seen family in a very long time.”
She looked around again, seeing now the obvious signs of neglect; wilting, curling, browning—they were everywhere. Her chest ached.
“Are they starving?” she whispered, afraid if she spoke any louder her voice would crack.
Neville heard the hurt behind her words anyway. “Oh, no. Pansy—” He did more than reach for her then, resting his hands firmly on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “This place is a self-sustaining ecosystem, and there’s enough magic in the grounds, in the wards. They’re not starving, they're just not… flourishing .”
Pansy blinked back tears and took a steadying breath. “You said you needed my blood?”
A smile spread across Neville’s face.
-❁-❁-❁-❁-❁-
Dusk had settled by the time they left the greenhouse.
“Once things level out, you can just add a few drops to the misting charms every few days for maintenance.” He tried not to sound too hopeful as he added, “if you were keeping it, I mean.”
Pansy looked back at the sprawling glass monstrosity, full of sharp and vicious things that only wanted their family back.
“Look, Pansy, I don’t want to push you, but I just need you to know that this is one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. It might actually kill me to see it razed.”
She took another moment, weighing her options, letting him sweat it out a bit more. “Alright, then. You’re hired.”
Several conflicting emotions cycled through Neville’s face. “I’m relieved, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll be back at Hogwarts come autumn.”
“Is this not your job?” Pansy gestured to the greenhouse, the grounds.
Neville chuckled. “Uh, I teach, Pansy. This,” he pointed over his shoulder, “is Bill repaying a favor.”
Bill, who’d seen a glasshouse full of venom and spite and instantly thought of Neville, perhaps the only person who would look at them and see beauty instead of danger.
Neville, with cut up arms, burn marks on his shirt, and several beads of sweat cutting a path through his dirt streaked neck.
Neville, a bumbling boy from her youth, now grown and more than willing to suffer a death by a thousand cuts just to care for her plants.
What would she do come autumn? Would the greenhouse be tame enough to accept anyone else by then? Would there even be anyone willing to take it on? Anyone skilled enough?
“What if I spend the summer showing you what to do?” The words tumbled out of his mouth as if he thought she might change her mind.
She hesitated. She’d never been able to keep anything alive, let alone an entire greenhouse. Would one summer really make a difference?
“And I can check back every couple of weekends, if you need.”
Pansy finally relented. “Fine. But if everything’s dead next summer it’s on you.”
-❁-❁-❁-❁-❁-
Nev,
Come at once. I found something for the greenhouse!
P.S. Bring dinner, and pumpkin pasties!
Neville glanced out of the window above his desk, it was pretty late for dinner. But if she called, he would go.
A few moments later Neville slipped into the greenhouse, leaves crowding overhead in deep greens and bruised purples, pale lantern blossoms lighting the way along the winding paths. Something small and sharp nipped at his ankle but he hardly noticed. So much had changed in the last two years, and the plants were thriving better than he’d ever imagined.
“Pansy?” he called, voice low through the green hush.
No answer but the rustle of foliage.
“Pansy?” he tried again, nearly to the back wall now.
This time her voice curled back, smooth and close. “Back here.”
He pushed away a large fern and his breath caught in his throat.
Nestled in a hollow of lush, dark leaves and soft, fragrant blooms, covered only by a mountain of fluffy white bubbles, Pansy reclined in a large, gleaming clawfoot tub. The bubbles shifted as she slowly lifted one long glistening leg from the water.
“Do you like it?” she asked, hands running the length of her soapy leg, slow and deliberate.
Neville drank her in, hunger in his eyes.
“I found it in a muggle antique shop,” Pansy purred, resting her chin on the edge, gaze steady and dark.
Neville smiled in response, his brain having turned to mush. His jumper was off in a single motion, belt following after. He continued stripping, leaving behind a trail of clothing as he walked.
Bright laughter burst from Pansy, unguarded and brimming with delight as he crawled in behind her.
-❁-❁-❁-❁-❁-
In the coming years, Pansy’s favorite joke would be that Neville only married her for her greenhouse.
“Rare and beautiful, indeed,” Neville would say, kissing her hand, temple, lips.