Requested Ficlet: "Summer Flowers"
Feb. 10th, 2013 10:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nevannaFandoms: Harry Potter and Scott Pilgrim
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I do not profit from their use.
Summary: Eight-year-old Neville Longbotton makes a new friend and faces unspoken fears about his own future.
Words: c. 1145
Written for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
baaing_tree, who asked for Neville Longbottom and Ramona Flowers, with the prompt "stability."
Summer Flowers
The summer that Neville turned eight years old, his best friend was a girl whose parents were renting the house down the hill from his grandmother’s. The day he met her, he was hiding from his relatives in the shrubbery, and saw her before she saw him. She was wearing a purple wig, carrying a diary with a spangled cover, and peering at him through the gate to their garden.
She was about his age, and called herself Ramona Flowers, although she admitted that she’d chosen a new surname for herself when she moved to a new place. “It’s all right,” Neville told her. “I like flowers.”
She giggled. “I didn’t know any other kids lived around here. What else do you like to do?”
With Ramona by his side, he ventured into the woods at the bottom of the hill, and she lent him a pair of roller skates and taught him how to use them. She told him about her school, though he only understood about half the things she was talking about, and asked him question after question about how England was or wasn’t like the books she’d read. Whenever he had money for sweets, he shared them with her, guessing that she’d never seen anything like them before. On his birthday at the end of July, she gave him a card with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” written in curling letters with a bright blue pen.
She had him round for dinner at her house one day in August. Neville had to keep himself from gawking at the Muggle kitchen with its mysterious fixtures and food that had to be chopped and stirred by hand, just as he’d had to stop himself from telling Ramona about Exploding Snap cards, or the reason why owls kept flying over her house in the daytime, or the truth about what happened to his parents. There were secrets that all Wizarding children learned, as soon as they learned to talk, to keep from any non-magical people they might meet.
Her parents seemed more like what Neville pictured when he heard people talking about Muggles. They wore ordinary, drab clothing – no spangles or wigs – and their hair was an ordinary brown, although her dad was losing his. He wrote books, and her mum did something with numbers that Neville didn’t quite understand.
He wasn’t sure if all Muggle parents quarreled when they thought that their children couldn’t hear. He and Ramona had barely slipped outside into the back garden before he could hear her parents’ voices rising from inside, louder than the crickets and tree frogs.
“…The boy seems nice. She needs some stability right now.”
“She needs it the rest of the time, too. Her teachers say - ”
“I wasn’t the one who dragged her – dragged both of us – halfway across the world because his ‘muse’ abandoned him!”
Neville looked over at Ramona, but she didn’t seem sad or bothered. Maybe this sort of thing did happen every day. “What’s ‘stability’?” he whispered.
“I think it’s when things are the same all the time. Which is pretty boring.” She was watching the fireflies flicker in the grass and leaves around them. “They look like fairies,” she said. “Mom sometimes says that she thinks the fairies left me on their doorstep.” He wondered how fairies – which are supposed to be tiny, and not very smart or very strong – could lift her, but she continued, “I think that means that I’m not like the rest of my family.”
“I’m not like the rest of my family, either,” he told her. The last time Great-Auntie Enid had tea at their house, she had talked over his head a lot about “making arrangements for the boy’s schooling” and “should have shown at least some signs of accidental magic by now,” and “you have to let go of him, Augusta.” Gran had nodded, but her face looked like it did whenever Neville knocked over a set of dishes or tripped over the cats (which was often), or whenever an owl arrived from the hospital where his parents were staying, and he knew better than to ask her what that look meant.
“I can give you my address when we go back inside,” Ramona said now. “Do you want to be pen pals when I go home?”
He returned home with her American address scrawled in bright blue ink on a page torn from her spangled notebook. His grandmother was sitting in her favorite chair, knitting something large and pinkish-red and soft-looking. Neville tiptoed up to her, his throat suddenly very dry. He wished that Ramona were here with him. “Gran, can I ask you something?”
“What is it, Neville?”
“What does Great-Auntie Enid mean about sending me away and letting me go?”
Gran put down her knitting. “I’ve explained this to you; don’t you remember? Sometimes a child without any magical power will be born into a Wizarding family. We call those people Squibs.”
“People like me.” If being tossed off a pier by his great-uncle hadn’t frightened him into doing magic, he was beginning to think that nothing ever would. He would never learn to fly on a broomstick (not that he thought he’d be much good at that) or make his toys dance. He would have to get used to roller skates, and electricity, and sending letters through the post office instead of by owl, and never seeing his family again. Gran could be a little scary sometimes (and not just to him), but not having her would be worse.
“We don’t know that,” Gran said firmly. “Your great-aunt thinks that it’s best to send you to a Muggle school and encourage you to start a life in the Muggle world, that you’ll always be treated as lesser here. I don’t disagree with her, but nevertheless – ”
“What happens…” He stumbled over the words. “What happens if I go to a Muggle school?”
Gran thought this over. “I expect that you’d visit me during the Christmas and summer holidays, for as long as you wanted.”
Something tight inside his throat loosened a bit. “I would?”
“Don’t be daft, boy,” Gran said sharply. “Of course you would. Being a Squib wouldn’t mean that you weren’t my grandson anymore.”
“All right. That’s good.” Neville realized that he was smiling. “Gran? Does ‘stability’” – he tried to remember the words that Ramona had used “ – mean that things always stay the same?”
Gran sighed. “Some things do, and some things don’t. If something is stable, that just means that it won’t fall apart for now.”
Neville nodded. Ramona might think that it was boring when things didn’t change, but if she still wanted to be “pen pals” with him when she left England, and if he still had a grandmother who wanted him whether or not he was magical, then that was good enough for him.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I do not profit from their use.
Summary: Eight-year-old Neville Longbotton makes a new friend and faces unspoken fears about his own future.
Words: c. 1145
Written for:
baaing_tree, who asked for Neville Longbottom and Ramona Flowers, with the prompt "stability."Summer Flowers
The summer that Neville turned eight years old, his best friend was a girl whose parents were renting the house down the hill from his grandmother’s. The day he met her, he was hiding from his relatives in the shrubbery, and saw her before she saw him. She was wearing a purple wig, carrying a diary with a spangled cover, and peering at him through the gate to their garden.
She was about his age, and called herself Ramona Flowers, although she admitted that she’d chosen a new surname for herself when she moved to a new place. “It’s all right,” Neville told her. “I like flowers.”
She giggled. “I didn’t know any other kids lived around here. What else do you like to do?”
With Ramona by his side, he ventured into the woods at the bottom of the hill, and she lent him a pair of roller skates and taught him how to use them. She told him about her school, though he only understood about half the things she was talking about, and asked him question after question about how England was or wasn’t like the books she’d read. Whenever he had money for sweets, he shared them with her, guessing that she’d never seen anything like them before. On his birthday at the end of July, she gave him a card with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” written in curling letters with a bright blue pen.
She had him round for dinner at her house one day in August. Neville had to keep himself from gawking at the Muggle kitchen with its mysterious fixtures and food that had to be chopped and stirred by hand, just as he’d had to stop himself from telling Ramona about Exploding Snap cards, or the reason why owls kept flying over her house in the daytime, or the truth about what happened to his parents. There were secrets that all Wizarding children learned, as soon as they learned to talk, to keep from any non-magical people they might meet.
Her parents seemed more like what Neville pictured when he heard people talking about Muggles. They wore ordinary, drab clothing – no spangles or wigs – and their hair was an ordinary brown, although her dad was losing his. He wrote books, and her mum did something with numbers that Neville didn’t quite understand.
He wasn’t sure if all Muggle parents quarreled when they thought that their children couldn’t hear. He and Ramona had barely slipped outside into the back garden before he could hear her parents’ voices rising from inside, louder than the crickets and tree frogs.
“…The boy seems nice. She needs some stability right now.”
“She needs it the rest of the time, too. Her teachers say - ”
“I wasn’t the one who dragged her – dragged both of us – halfway across the world because his ‘muse’ abandoned him!”
Neville looked over at Ramona, but she didn’t seem sad or bothered. Maybe this sort of thing did happen every day. “What’s ‘stability’?” he whispered.
“I think it’s when things are the same all the time. Which is pretty boring.” She was watching the fireflies flicker in the grass and leaves around them. “They look like fairies,” she said. “Mom sometimes says that she thinks the fairies left me on their doorstep.” He wondered how fairies – which are supposed to be tiny, and not very smart or very strong – could lift her, but she continued, “I think that means that I’m not like the rest of my family.”
“I’m not like the rest of my family, either,” he told her. The last time Great-Auntie Enid had tea at their house, she had talked over his head a lot about “making arrangements for the boy’s schooling” and “should have shown at least some signs of accidental magic by now,” and “you have to let go of him, Augusta.” Gran had nodded, but her face looked like it did whenever Neville knocked over a set of dishes or tripped over the cats (which was often), or whenever an owl arrived from the hospital where his parents were staying, and he knew better than to ask her what that look meant.
“I can give you my address when we go back inside,” Ramona said now. “Do you want to be pen pals when I go home?”
He returned home with her American address scrawled in bright blue ink on a page torn from her spangled notebook. His grandmother was sitting in her favorite chair, knitting something large and pinkish-red and soft-looking. Neville tiptoed up to her, his throat suddenly very dry. He wished that Ramona were here with him. “Gran, can I ask you something?”
“What is it, Neville?”
“What does Great-Auntie Enid mean about sending me away and letting me go?”
Gran put down her knitting. “I’ve explained this to you; don’t you remember? Sometimes a child without any magical power will be born into a Wizarding family. We call those people Squibs.”
“People like me.” If being tossed off a pier by his great-uncle hadn’t frightened him into doing magic, he was beginning to think that nothing ever would. He would never learn to fly on a broomstick (not that he thought he’d be much good at that) or make his toys dance. He would have to get used to roller skates, and electricity, and sending letters through the post office instead of by owl, and never seeing his family again. Gran could be a little scary sometimes (and not just to him), but not having her would be worse.
“We don’t know that,” Gran said firmly. “Your great-aunt thinks that it’s best to send you to a Muggle school and encourage you to start a life in the Muggle world, that you’ll always be treated as lesser here. I don’t disagree with her, but nevertheless – ”
“What happens…” He stumbled over the words. “What happens if I go to a Muggle school?”
Gran thought this over. “I expect that you’d visit me during the Christmas and summer holidays, for as long as you wanted.”
Something tight inside his throat loosened a bit. “I would?”
“Don’t be daft, boy,” Gran said sharply. “Of course you would. Being a Squib wouldn’t mean that you weren’t my grandson anymore.”
“All right. That’s good.” Neville realized that he was smiling. “Gran? Does ‘stability’” – he tried to remember the words that Ramona had used “ – mean that things always stay the same?”
Gran sighed. “Some things do, and some things don’t. If something is stable, that just means that it won’t fall apart for now.”
Neville nodded. Ramona might think that it was boring when things didn’t change, but if she still wanted to be “pen pals” with him when she left England, and if he still had a grandmother who wanted him whether or not he was magical, then that was good enough for him.
