Neville sprinkled water over the flowers in greenhouse 3, tending to Ginger Leaf Poppies and venomous Arboreal Jumping Lilies at Professor Sprout's request. She'd known immediately that he had talent in Herbology and offered to let him help in his spare time, which he'd taken up without much fuss shortly after starting at Hogwarts.
It was calming here.
His hands shook trying to tie his tie this morning, with his fork at breakfast, holding a quill during classes, and fixing the gloves to his hands so the lilies didn't bite him. But they didn't shake while watering the flowers, their lively petals curling happily as it hit their soil and they drank their fill. You could always tell when they'd had enough, as their leaves fluttered a bit as if waving off any more for now.
When all the flowers were waving at him except one in the back, he gently spared that last one a few more drops, and she joined her sisters in waving silently, as if thanking him.
He set the water jug down, hands shaking again.
He would wave back, but then the flowers would see how his hands would shake.
Then again, flowers tended not to judge. Well, the poppies might, but the lilies probably wouldn't.
And he could take vengeance on the poppies for their judgement, picking them with a neat slice of a magical silver blade he kept on hand for dealing with particularly bratty plants and putting them into a vase where they'd wilt slowly over time in enchanted water. Their bright, beautiful red would be a great gift for Harry in the hospital wing. He was fairly certain red was Harry's favorite color… if he had something like that, as Harry seemed to like a lot of color, all at once.
On any given day, Harry could be the color of any flower, but his hair always reminded Neville of the poppies. There was nothing like poppy red.
Nothing quite as poisonous either, so maybe they weren't a good hospital gift, no matter how pretty they were.
Roses might work too, but they had thorns and Hogwarts didn't grow any variety of them for now. They were hard to grow, and took years to do it right.
Then again, he had seven years here, he could ask Sprout to let him do it as a work study. He didn't know if there were magical roses, as normal roses always seemed to captivate even witches and wizards just fine. He thought he remembered Harry saying he'd tended roses in his aunt's garden.
He could look into it, see if he could find magical roses, and if not then he'd grow regular roses. They were hard to do and he wasn't good with challenges, but this was the one thing he could probably do.
Probably.
And if he couldn't do this one thing… he probably couldn't do anything.
Not that that was a new feeling.
He turned back to the poppies where they were fidgeting in their soil, demanding attention.
His hands were steady in his gloves as he went about tending to them.
000
Harry really didn't want to wake up.
There were mornings like this, when the air outside your blankets was chilly and inside your cocoon of sleep was warm and toasty, and sleep itself was like a ten ton weight dragging you down even as your mind flickered out of dreamland and told you that you were awake against your wishes.
The temptation to roll over and ignore that flicker and sink right back into cozy sleep was like a drug. Like putting a five-course meal in front of a starving man and telling him not to eat.
Harry was 100% ready to do just that, but then suddenly he remembered he had to do something. He couldn't quite remember what it was, but his whole life he'd had practice forcing himself out of bed if he had something to do, because it was usually doing some chore for the Dursleys and if he didn't do it then he'd regret it far more than he'd regret leaving the sweet embrace of his bed.
So with a very annoyed sigh he forced his eyes open, displeased about how hard even that tiny movement was and not looking forward to actually getting up all the way. What was it he had to do again? If he could remember maybe he could bargain five more minutes in bed if it wouldn't take that long to do…
But when the light above stopped making his eyes sore and he actually took in what he was seeing, he didn't recognize the top of his cupboard or—ah, not even his Hogwarts four-poster bed as that was the more common sight these days. That was right, he didn't live in a cupboard or a shed for now, that was good.
But that didn't explain the vaulted ceilings he was staring at. And no matter how much he stared, they remained unfamiliar to him.
Hm, that was weird.
Now more awake and realizing he didn't recognize his surroundings, he made an attempt to sit up.
It didn't go well.
His whole body felt like it was under a thick layer of dense water, kind of warm and fuzzy but heavy like someone had filled a blanket with lead pellets and dropped five of them over him to keep warm. It wasn't a matter of strength, but a lack of sensation that made it really hard to even lift his arm to make sure his still had all his limbs attached since everything felt so remote he couldn't be sure he hadn't lost something without realizing it.
Not that he learned anything because despite maybe managing to lift one hand a bit, he couldn't actually lift his head either to glance down at it.
Ugh, it made the feeling of wanting to roll over and go back to bed all the worse. Only he wasn't sure he even could roll over right now with how his body seemed totally dead to the world. He really should be more alarmed by his apparent paralysis, however the fuzzy feeling also extended to his brain and made it hard to panic.
"Mr. Potter kindly refrain from whatever it is you think you're doing right now." A sharp voice froze him in his tracks, and he automatically slumped back from his attempts, blinking widely to see where that warning had come from but not being able to move his head much to see.
"Uh… sitting up? Am I sitting up or did I hallucinate that?" He asked the voice, his own voice coming out a little foggy from sleep but not nearly as scratchy as he thought it might've been, and then a woman walked into his field of vision above him, so that his eyes could find her easily. She had McGonagall's no-nonsense expression on so maybe cracking a joke didn't exactly help him.
True to his suspicions, she clicked her tongue in disapproval. "You're going to lie right there for the time being, no attempting to move! You went through quite the ordeal and you're not healed yet." She ordered, and maybe it was the old-fashioned nurses uniform she had on but even his addled brain made the connection.
"You're Madam Pomfrey." He realized, not that he needed to tell her that, given her expression.
"Yes. I prefer it if no student ever meets me, nor sends others to meet me. I am familiar with your work with Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy."
Oops.
"Right, my bad." He apologized emphatically, watching her lips press into a thin line.
"Do you know why you are here, Mr. Potter?"
Now that was a question. Why was he here? What did he remember…? Well for starters he remembered the Halloween feast because heck yeah, and then… and then walking to find Hermione and…
Oh right.
"Something about a super ugly twenty-foot tall guy with a club?" He offered and the Madam was not amused.
"A troll, Mr. Potter." She confirmed his suspicion.
"Yeah, that. And um… do you know why one was randomly wandering in the hallway?"
The older woman's eyes flickered, the tight line of her lips dropping a bit. "You didn't hear the announcement?"
"What announcement?" he blinked honestly. "There was an announcement? Does Hogwarts have like, a PA system or something I wasn't aware of?"
"I don't know what a PA system is, but Professor Quirrell announced during the Halloween feast that a troll had escaped the dungeons. All houses were to immediately return to their dormitories. Some voiced the opinion you heard such a thing and went after Ms. Granger to alert her."
"No way—I mean maybe if it'd gone like that, but I probably would've told Professor McGonagall too because she'd rip through a troll rather than let a Gryffindor get squished and I know like two spells." He admitted, Madam Pomfrey's eyebrows shooting up to her hairline at this confession. "But like no, Neville told me Hermione was crying in the girl's bathroom because Ron was being a prick earlier so I brought her candy and was trying to get her to cheer up and then I turn around ugly was just standing there and well… the rest is history."
"That explains why the bathroom was wrecked then."
"Yeah, first attempt before trying to outrun a troll was to hide but apparently they have a good sense of smell? Which is surprising since they reek." Harry blinked, recognizing he was kind of rambling but it all just felt so weird…maybe he was still in shock. "So yeah we tried to hide in the stalls and then the thing kind of wrecked them anyway so we ran."
Bright flashes of color filtered through his mind, remembering running into the teachers (and now that Harry knew the school aside from him and Hermione was on high alert for a stray troll, Harry realized it made a lot more sense for a bunch of teachers to have just been standing around in a hallway in a group like that) and them all shooting brightly colored spells to down the troll. That part was incredibly hazy for some reason, aside from the colors which seemed to have been burned into his mind's eye.
Also that nagging feeling about a green light refused to go away now too, and he knew it was somehow familiar.
But that wasn't really important right then, with a more pressing concern presenting itself.
"Is Hermione alright? Wasn't she there to say all this?"
The Madam shifted back, looking less grouchy and more concerned now as she answered. "Ms. Granger was a bit distraught, having witnessed what she did. I gave her a calming draught, promptly followed up by a sleeping draught that put her out for a day. She did say you came to cheer her up, and although she didn't think it so, didn't have confirmation on if you'd come to her before or after learning about the troll."
Harry smelled a rat.
"And who exactly thinks so badly of my intelligence they'd assume I'd go after a troll alone?"
Pomfrey looked a bit taken aback, then smiled in a very small, wry way. "I don't think it was your intelligence he was questioning, and more his assumption that your heart was in the right place as a Gryffindor who may like to jump first without thinking hard on the consequences. I think the intent of suggesting such a thing was said with you in very high respect, Mr. Potter."
"Who." He demanded shortly, and she sighed in defeat.
"The Headmaster, dear. Don't blame him though, it was an easy mistake to make. It's clear to all that you treasure your friends."
Well isn't that nice, except it's absolutely wrong. I love Draco more than anyone here and would've never talked to him again for the crap he pulled last month—oh and by the way I'm not actually friends with Hermione. I like her well enough but we're classmates at best. Where the snitch did Dumbledore get this insane idea?
Oh wait—he thinks I'm the Boy Who Lived. He has no idea who I actually am, and this kind of proves it.
What an idiot.
Harry was ticked, but there wasn't much he could do about it. It was a nice sentiment or whatever, that Dumbledore believed he was some righteous, heroic, impulsive Gryffindor that lived up to the books and stories written about the Boy Who Lived that Blaise loved to embarrass him by regaling him with, but in reality if this were actually true, the Headmaster had been setting him up for detention for the rest of the freaking year.
Because McGonagall would've had his hide and made him suffer in detention until further notice for being so damn stupid as to go after a troll alone. Hell, even Madam Pomfrey had seemed pissed at him until she realized it wasn't his stupid fault for getting hurt.
If he'd actually done something wrong, then fine bring on the consequences, but he didn't appreciate the Headmaster sticking his nose where it didn't belong and fabricating some romanticized tale about his heroics that, while seemingly helpful and flattering on the surface, only served to get him in trouble with the people he actually respected.
He bit his tongue, but the ire itched at him unpleasantly.
"Well I didn't do anything—if I'd known there was a troll I wouldn't have got cornered by the stupid thing. And also, I may be in Gryffindor but the hat thought long and hard about putting me in Slytherin so I'm not thrilled the Headmaster essentially told the teachers I'm an impulsive Gryff, like I only have a heart without a brain behind it. I mean it's nice and all but he essentially called me thick, isn't that what it sounds like?"
Pomfrey blinked in surprise and then bit down on the smile he knew she was about to give him, brushing down her apron and changing the subject quickly.
"Well, it's good you seem to at least have a clear memory of the events that transpired. You hit your head a bit so it's good to see no lasting damage."
Harry acknowledged what she was trying to do and let her do it, moving topics and frowning a bit at her words. "I don't clearly remember everything exactly. I mean I know the troll grabbed me but… I remember the teachers flinging a lot of spells and a lot of light, but not really much else until Professor Snape tried to help me up. I mean then everything hurt but there was a huge gap of time that's all really fuzzy." He explained.
Her face crumpled in concern, but not surprise. "That is not so out of the ordinary, I'm afraid. It was a traumatic event and in cases like this it's not unheard of for the mind to cling to one thing vividly, meaning the one thing your heightened awareness allowed you to perceive while all your other senses were under fire. Honestly it's good you only remember the color, as I'd assume most everything else might've been a bit too much."
"What exactly happened then?"
"Mr. Potter… the troll did in fact grab you, and apparently it squeezed very hard." She explained gently, and Harry's mind went blank.
I…think I should be really happy I don't remember that.That sounds…really bad. But wait— I'm NOT dead?
"I don't really remember feeling pain. It was only after, when Professor Snape tried to move me." He confessed, trying to think back before he realized that was a bad idea. He was pretty sure he didn't want to remember the specifics of that event now that he knew what'd happened. "How… exactly how am I injured again? Because I don't feel anything right now."
"That's by design," She told him like she thought he was a moron, lying here thinking she'd let one of her patients feel pain, which, you know, Harry had to give to her. "It was extraordinarily unfortune the troll managed to grab hold of you, however you're extremely lucky that all the damage you sustained is very fixable. Your shoulder and arm were shattered and your rib cage was collapsed inwards; it punctured your lungs and several other organs, not to mention you had a case of whiplash from what the professors tell me is the troll dropping you. For your life I prioritized your organs and for your comfort I fixed up your shoulder and arm. The bones are still settling there and the ones in your hands are extremely delicate in nature so you're not to use that arm for a gosh darn thing for the next week which is why I bound it up to remind you. Your ribs were a little trickier and are still out of alignment, but after you've rested some I'll take a look at finishing them up later today and you'll be here for the next three days until I'm sure you're not going to put too much strain on them while they're so tender. I am aware you're on the house quidditch team—Minerva has explained it to me at length—so if you rest properly for the next week then come the following weekend for a check up you will be permitted to participate in that match. If I so much as sense you're not taking your health seriously though, I will petition the Headmaster to ban you from all activities for the next month."
Three days to fix all that damage—four counting the day he'd already been unconscious. Magical medicine was truly a miracle. While he was not thrilled with three days of being stuck here, he figured it was a fair trade for his life and not spending the next six months breathing through a straw—on top of the fact that two weeks away was his first quidditch match ever and he wouldn't have to miss it even though he'd literally almost died not too long ago.
This was a strange world he'd fallen into.
"It doesn't hurt," He admitted again because he couldn't think of anything else to respond with and maybe he was a moron. She nodded in agreement to both.
"Of course not, I've given you enough pain reducing potions to numb a hippogriff. After that ordeal I'll not have you go into shock on top of it!"
"Oh." Well, that made sense at least.
"Just because you don't feel it doesn't mean you can move—your ribs are still very much broken until I can see to it later today so just lie still. Also, your shoulder muscles are a bit inflamed from the healing so you'll tear something if you over-extend before they've cooled off after some rest, so just be patient."
There wasn't really a good response to that other than the 'yes ma'am' on the tip of his tongue. He wasn't going anywhere and he had no desire to put up a fight against the woman who'd saved his life, so he switched topics blatantly.
"What's a hippogriff?"
Pomfrey's stern look finally softened a bit, giving him a slightly amused sigh.
"You'll learn about it in one of your classes, I'm sure."
"What day is it?"
"It's Saturday November 2nd , 7:39 in the morning."
"How exactly does one become a Healer?"
Now she looked very amused. "You become very good at potions and charms, and have a desire to put up with children who ask too many questions."
"Ah…" she made a fair point, and he grumbled as she patted him gently on the head while he was helplessly still very much numb and unable to move, which he thought was a little unfair.
"I know you're still tired, so perhaps sleep a little more if you can. You've had quite a few visitors while you were asleep and I'm sure they'll all be making another appearance throughout today, especially when word spreads that you've regained consciousness. You don't want to be falling asleep on any of them, do you?"
"Guess not…" He allowed, and it wasn't like he didn't feel tired as hell. The fuzzy, sinking feeling of wanting to go back to sleep hadn't really gone away yet aside from the brief moment he'd been angry, and it wasn't hard to sink back into it easily.
"I will wake you later regardless to see to your ribs, so off you go." She soothed as she passed by his bedside again, and once she was out of view and Harry no longer had something to focus on, his eyelids got heavy.
He was out before he even considered disobeying her.
000
It felt like seconds later he was drifting back up from where he felt like he was still floating in those pain reduction potions, and it only took a second to realize it was because of voices echoing in the high ceilings of the infirmary. Harry felt far more awake than before—still sleepy and mind moving like molasses as he stirred from slumber, but the intense desire to want to go back to bed was a lot easier to ignore.
It was taking a lot of effort to open his eyes though, his mind clearing in the fog as the voices got loud enough to shake him from his rest.
"Mr. Zabini, if you can't keep your voice down I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He heard Pomfrey's voice from what seemed like a distance away.
"See what you did?"
"What I did?"
"Guys, maybe let's not do this now?"
"He started it!"
"What are you, five?"
"And you're telling me you're friends with Harry, and that's why you're here. Really."
"I never said anything of the sort. Giving gifts to invalids is polite and I'm a Slytherin. I'm nothing if not polite."
"There's a word for people like you, Blaise." Harry finally opened his eyes, amused at the interaction going on around him—and even more amused when all four people around him had heart-attacks when they realized he was awake, including Blaise who Harry had never seen look more than slightly miffed, much less outright shocked.
"Harry!" Susan all but shoved Lu out of the way even as he opened his mouth to say something, her auburn hair flailing around him as she made an awkward, aborted attempt to hug him before realizing that was probably a bad idea. "You're awake! We were so worried!"
"Oh good, he's not dead. Well, my job here is done." Blaise commented lightly, flashing a grin as he lifted up a neatly wrapped envelope and placed it on the bedside table beside Harry's bed that he didn't have the energy to turn his head and see. He stood with a flourish and winked at Lu, who turned a bright shade of red in fury. "Best be off then!"
"Aw, and here I thought you were here to visit me." Harry mock pouted, the tall Slytherin rolling his eyes automatically.
"It is the polite thing to offer gifts to invalids, as I said, and as an acquaintance I had both the obligation to do so and the advantageous position in which it would be socially acceptable for me to visit. All of Slytherin wants to know if you're dead but wouldn't actually lower themselves to come on their own, so here I am. And since you're awake and I know it before anyone else, I'm now atop the rumor mill: I've only got a couple hours to bank on this and daylight's burning." He brushed it off delicately.
"I feel used." Harry complained but Blaise just waved over his shoulder as he walked away.
"You'll get used to it dear." He called, and then he was gone, leaving Harry very entertained and the remaining three pink-cheeked from indignation at Zabini's sass.
"And you actually like him?" Hannah demanded, taking Blaise's vacated seat to be closer, and Harry would've shrugged, if he was able to at that moment.
"He can be entertaining. Also, Draco likes him and I'm not allowed to comment on my friends' choice of friends, because that'd be hypocritical." He said by way of explanation, and while he saw most of them mentally wonder why he was friends with Draco in the first place, none of them voiced it.
"Really though, it's good to see you awake. You gave everyone a right heart attack, when we heard what happened." Lu huffed, settling down some when it was clear Blaise had done a great job of getting on every last one of his nerves in a very short amount of time.
"Poor Neville too," Hannah lowered her voice considerably, and Harry felt his stomach twist.
"Where is he?"
"Probably in the greenhouses still. He's spent most of the time since we heard over there, aside from classes." She frowned worriedly.
"Dean said he was already back at the Gryffindor dorm when they got back after Professor Quirrell warned everyone about the troll. He had no idea what was happening—he freaked out and no one realized it was because he knew where you were." Susan explained.
"Seamus thought he was just scared of the troll and tried to keep him in their room to calm him down but by the time anyone listened to him it was kind of already too late." Hannah sighed wearily, definitely looking guilty despite not having been anywhere near Gryffindor tower that night to be at fault.
And Harry knew why—despite them getting closer thanks to playing football every so often, Neville was still kind of… the wallflower of the group, honestly. He knew people didn't take Neville seriously, but that…. I mean even Seamus, who was definitely one of the nicer guys of their whole year by like a lot. The Hufflepuff girls were nice, but definitely the gossipy, judgmental types like most preteen girls were, and he knew for a fact that despite liking him, they'd both probably had some unkind thoughts to their slightly outcasted group member.
Even Lu, who was pursing his lips a bit, probably hadn't been mentally charitable towards Neville either. He was a Ravenclaw after all, an athletic one at that. Neville was neither athletic nor Ravenclaw-ish in any way, and his bad luck in mist-cast spells and his struggling to perform most magics meant his grades were not Ravenclaw-standard either.
But Neville had tried to help and no one had listened to him, and while Dean and Seamus weren't here to give their sides of the story, it was clear everyone else was feeling a little bit of proximity guilt. They weren't exactly to blame at all for what happened—even Neville's warning might not have changed anything—but they'd been complicit in creating the attitude they all had that Neville wasn't credible.
Harry mentally winced. He hadn't really talked to Neville in weeks—the blond wasn't one to bring things up on his own but Harry had known he had issues with Draco and kept it to himself. He had issues with the Slytherins, with the flying incident, with Harry's fight with Draco… Neville had been right there and clearly been keeping his thoughts to himself.
Harry suddenly felt a bit guilty, having noticed it but not taking the time to ask. Neville wasn't exactly going anywhere, so Harry had always thought he had time to get around to it.
And that kind of made him a terrible friend.
He winced visibly.
"You okay?" Lu sat up alarm, seeing that.
"Yeah, my shoulder just hurts," he lied immediately, not willing to get into the guilt he felt itching at his stomach. He hadn't had any regrets since coming to Hogwarts… actually, no, he hadn't had any regrets since he'd decided to be on his own side, refusing to let anyone manipulate or beat him into following any path that wasn't his own.
He hadn't been expecting to actually care about someone like he cared about Draco, and to realize he couldn't be as cold or as calculating as he was with his Slytherin friends was an uneasy feeling. Draco got it when they didn't speak for weeks, and he figured out how to get around it—he was off fighting his own battles with Slytherin's politics in any case, and so Harry didn't have to think about him all too often other than to enjoy his presence when they were together and slowly piece together his 'operation fox' idea. Harry could be himself with Draco, which meant he could live his life the way he pleased, Draco doing the same and living his own life, and the two of them would still be there in the moments they wanted to enjoy each other. But neither of them had to lean on each other or depend on each other to live those lives.
Everyone else… while Harry liked them, his attitude to them was always the same. Don't interfere with my life, and I won't bother you. Simple, logical, and he didn't have to get attached or become influenced by others, which would interfere with his dedication to putting himself first.
And yes, it was selfish. Harry already knew that.
But if you only got one ally in your life, yourself, Harry wanted his only ally to be a good one. He didn't want to have to lean on people and he most certainly didn't want to be beholden to anyone. Draco was enough, and he already felt an obligation or connection to him more than he felt to anyone else, but it had absolutely never changed the way he chose to act and he wanted to keep it that way.
It kind of sucker punched him in the gut to realize that, without even noticing, Neville had somehow inched closer than Harry was consciously willing to let people get.
And now he felt bad about his actions towards the meek blond, and he distinctly didn't like it. He'd gotten too used to being unashamed for this to be a kind reminder to what he used to feel, before he'd decided he was worthy of being loved by himself.
Just because he was keen on being on his own side, didn't mean he couldn't also be objective with who he was as a person. He knew he was selfish, he knew he was probably a little vain, but he hadn't realized he was a bad friend until now. He was fine with the first two, but not the last one.
He was going to have to fix that somehow.
"Maybe we should let you rest then, we just wanted to check on you. Madam Pomfrey said you'd wake up today and we had gifts to deliver." Lu took his pained expression to mean he was literally in pain, and Harry was fine with the assumption.
"Gifts?" He blinked.
"Didn't you see your table here?" Susan grinned, pointing something out of his periphery, but his drugged state didn't let him move his neck more than tilting his head to the left an inch.
"Ah, I think Madam Pomfrey stunned me or something so I don't break anything else: I can't move." He admitted.
"Wouldn't shock me." Lu grinned. "The whole school heard about what happened of course, so you got a lot of well-wishers visiting. You've got tons of things here—candies, cards, some wrapped gifts, and uh… a toilet seat for some reason." He helpfully explained, although was looking rather baffled at that last one.
"Um… not sure what the joke is, but I'm willing to bet it was the twins doing." Harry suggested, and the three of them nodded at that point. "Well that's nice of everyone, I'll have to thank them some-"
WAIT. The twins!
If Neville was already back at the tower, where were the twins!?
"Harry?" Hannah broke him out of his sudden panic—all three of them looking concerned at whatever expression he had on.
He tried to focus himself quickly. No one had mentioned anything about someone else getting hurt so far, so maybe they got away with it somehow. I mean, they'd delivered him a toilet seat as a joke (he really hoped it was them at least, or someone was going to owe him a very good explanation) so clearly they hadn't been killed at least, and didn't hate him enough to stop being friendly/pulling pranks on him. He decided to keep his mouth shut about it just in case, not wanting to give them away, although he felt ice cold from the realization that he might've risked the twins' lives on top of his own. Not that he'd known about the troll, not that he could've ever known, but he felt guilty anyway.
It really had been a horrible night, and now he felt guilty over no less than three people. AND he was hospitalized.
This sucked.
"Sorry. Just a little tired." He deflected their concern, although it didn't nothing to sooth them as he let them incorrectly assume he was still in pain.
"Maybe we should go, let you rest some." Susan frowned.
"No, that's fine… I'll let you guys do the talking though. Tell me about what's happened since I was out," he offered, and they hesitated a bit before settling down once more. Hannah and Susan had a novel ready to go on school gossip of course, with Lu chiming in occasionally about more interesting things concerning school life, and Harry let his guilt fall to the back of his mind as he enjoyed their visit for the time being.
He had work to do later, but he could at least enjoy this now.
000
It was very much after dinner when footsteps alerted Harry that he had another visitor. Draco had spent dinner with him in here, having brought his own food from somewhere as Madam Pomfrey had finally fixed his ribs and helped him sit up to eat his own meal. Magic really was wonderful, and as the last of his pain potions wore off, despite being sore as hell and his shoulder aching fiercely, he wasn't in extreme pain despite knowing he'd very nearly been dead about 48 hours prior.
But his organs were back to healthy enough to have treacle tart and his bones fixed enough that he could feed himself, so he could handle another day or so of ache for now.
Draco had clearly heard from Blaise already that he was alive, and being raised in a magical family probably had more faith in magical healing than Harry himself did, so he wasn't shocked so to say… he wasn't happy but he was clearly keeping his snarkier comments to himself until Harry was at least out of the hospital wing. Instead they'd spent the meal going over the class notes Harry missed while he was out—the only class he'd missed actually, which was unfortunately potions.
Apparently Snape had given him a zero for both attendance and the classwork, and Draco had said not to even bother trying to ask for a make-up. Harry hadn't pegged Snape for the lenient type anyway, even if the man had been there to see him literally get crushed by a troll only the night prior. Draco hadn't bothered do more than go over the potion they'd covered with him briefly, already focusing on the next one since he'd have to get high scores for the rest of the semester in order to ensure his grade didn't drop too terribly.
Harry paid close attention to Draco's notes on yesterday's potion though, already having a sinking suspicion that it was going to pop up on an exam or even their final eventually.
Much later though, when even Draco had given up drilling potions into him and turned in for the night, when curfew couldn't be that far away, he heard shuffling footsteps and propped himself up on his bed now that he could do such a thing to look for who it was.
He kind of already knew who it was though, and so just smiled when Neville peeked his head around the curtain divider.
"Hey Neville." He greeted, keeping his voice down because he had a feeling it was late enough for Madam Pomfrey to feel the need to kick visitors out.
"Hey Harry." The blond greeted just as quietly, also glancing around for the infamous nurse before slipping closer and taking the seat beside his bed. "I would've brought flowers but the ones I'm tending to are poisonous."
"While I think that'd be interesting, Pomfrey might throw a fit." He grinned, and Neville nodded a bit too seriously. Having already met the woman and been under her care this year, he likely had a healthy respect/fear of her. More so than Harry's self-destructive snarky mouth did, at least. "You okay? I mean-"
"I should really be asking you that." Neville cut him off a bit, which Harry was both surprised and kind of pleased with, somehow.
"Well, hopped up on pain reducing potions and with Madam Pomfrey's assurance I'll be right as rain in a day or two, so you know. Happy you're here entertaining me because it's right boring here."
Neville offered a weak smile at that, but didn't really answer either. There was a long pause in which Harry realized this was kind of the moment he had to step up as a friend. He took a breath.
"Neville, forgive me if this sounds a little self-absorbed… but this isn't your fault, you know that right?" He tried to keep the concern out of his voice, laying it there matter-of-factly for his friend to hear and address as he liked.
But it was important he knew. Him asking Harry to go look for Hermione, no one believing him back at the tower… it was absolutely not his fault that any of it had happened. But Neville had a kind heart, and Harry worried he won't see it that way.
The blond kept his head down, and there was a long silence as he seemed to take that in. Harry, for once, kept his mouth shut and patiently let him work out whatever it was he was building to say.
And then:
"Would you hate me if I said I know?"
Harry blinked.
Wait… what?
"Uh… no? Not at all actually. I just worried…I mean that sounds arrogant if you know what I mean, but it's good if you don't. You shouldn't."
"Worried I'd feel guilty for asking you to check on Hermione." Neville was looking at him now, blue eyes wide but not alarmed. Calm and facing forward… and Harry actually felt a little uncomfortable to be put on the spot like this. That was… new.
"Well, yeah." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Just to reiterate you shouldn't so we're on the same page. That's good. Uh…yeah."
Neville didn't really react other than nodding slightly. He tilted his head a bit as he spoke again, in the same clam, even tone.
"If you hadn't been there, Hermione might've died." He intoned blankly.
Harry stared at him.
"Well… she's an impressive witch. She could've-"
"Harry." Again, he was cut off and the gentle, but no-nonsense tone Neville had to have inherited from that terrifying grandmother he talked about shut Harry up immediately. If he thought the quiet Gryff had killer mother-hen eyes, that paled in comparison to this kind of slightly-disappointed-parent tone he had on now. "She could've died, and probably would have."
He ducked his head a bit, hands closing around themselves in his lap tightly as if retraining himself physically. "If I were to regret something, it's that I didn't go check on her myself earlier in the day. I should've—I noticed she didn't come back to classes. I should've done it before dinner, because I noticed. But I didn't."
Harry was at a total loss and not really feeling like he was doing the comforting here anymore. It kind of sounded like Neville had already made up his mind which was… kind of cool, but threw him for a wild loop.
"You don't really know Hermione like I do. It was reasonable to wait until dinner and ask me."
Neville met his gaze again, the frown on his lips the sheer definition of disappointed that Harry could say such a thing now and Harry felt himself flush a bit in embarrassment.
"She's never been anything but kind to me. I owed her more than that."
Harry was totally speechless.
Who knew Neville had such a strong sense of morality?
"If I had to do it again, knowing what I knew at the time, I still would've asked. Because she's our friend and she deserved someone to go after her. If I'd known there'd have been a troll, I'd still have asked, but I'd have gone with you." Neville continue, his voice hard and even and solid as a stone that refused to move in the face of the river crashing around it.
Harry was surprised, but he felt a smile forming on his lips unwillingly, as a warmth and fond amusement hijacked his heart.
"Or we could've been clever about it and told a teacher." He pointed out, biting back a grin when Neville seemed to jolt out of his serious persona for a moment to blush heavily at that obvious point he'd missed. Neville was the kind of Gryffindor that Dumbledore tried to paint Harry as after all—the brave at heart one who would do anything for his friends before thinking twice about if there was an easier or more logical answer. "I do appreciate the sentiment though. And in the end, there was no way anyone could've called a freakin troll wandering the hallways."
Except Dumbledore, but that's another matter.
"I don't like that you got hurt, but sometimes people just get hurt. I'm more relieved you'll be okay than anything." Neville admitted. Harry noticed he didn't even mention what had happened back at the tower, and he gave a silent sigh. Neville was… probably too kind, if that was a thing.
"Thanks Neville." He smiled, not bringing it up for now. There was a ton of things he probably could've used this moment to bring up, all the things he'd been avoiding, but… maybe one heart-to-heart conversation per day was a good start. He didn't want to come off as pitying, or like this near-death experience had shocked him awake into being a better friend. I mean that was technically what happened, but it would feel cheap somehow, and the implication would always be there that he'd forget about Neville when the shock of almost dying wore off.
If he wanted to be a better friend and mean it, it wasn't going to be a conversation they had. If he wanted to apologize it would have to be through his actions showing that he was sorry, and from here on out just being better than he had been before. And maybe someday he'd bring up the apology he owed Neville, once he'd already proved he really meant it. An apology with nothing behind it showing you meant it, showing that you legitimately regretted it enough to change your actions, meant absolutely nothing after all.
So, he made a vow and started plotting, but he didn't bring it up for now. Operation Lion had a nice ring to it.
"Now what about that Transfiguration homework? McGonagall will probably give me a pass but then again, she's McGonagall and even being attacked by a troll might not sway her and I didn't have a chance to finish what she assigned last week. What was it on again?" He tactlessly changed the subject, and Neville smiled in his small, kind little way that he had when he knew Harry was being…well, Harry, and patiently indulging him.
He pulled out some notes from his bag and Harry happily picked holes in his homework to improve his arguments, and Neville just jotted them down obediently.
Things would change, Harry was sure of it. He would see to it, that is… and he'd take it one day at a time.
000
"You are the most unfortunate lucky person I've ever met, Mr. Potter."
Oh I know that prim and disappointed tone anywhere!
"Professor McGonagall!" he chirped, grinning as she came around the curtain to his hospital bed. It was probably lunch break Monday judging by the time, and Harry felt pretty much healed apart from the fact Pomfrey wasn't about to let him go until tomorrow—or the fact his arm was still bound up so tight he couldn't really use it (it didn't hurt, but Pomfrey assured him it was magical, and not because he was no longer injured). As it was he was he was upright in bed, reading Dell's journals and several transfiguration books Neville and Draco had brought him so he didn't get bored enough to consider a jail break before he was healed.
For once, both Gryffindor and Slytherin were on exactly the same page as the two of them seemed to have the same exact thought independently of each other.
"What about an unfortunate lucky person?" He tilted his head as she came to stand beside his bed and give him the same stern looks she always had. Like he was up to some mischief somehow no matter how innocent his smile.
"Most students go seven years at Hogwarts without ever running into a legitimately dangerous creature without being carefully monitored by a teacher first, and you manage to run into a mountain troll within weeks of getting here. Most adults never run into mountain trolls in their lives."
"If I had a choice in the matter I very much would not have chosen to do that though." He pointed out, and her sour look worsened. Oops.
"As it is, when we were cleaning up we found a large mass of molten metal where the confrontation with the troll went down. Ms. Granger said you transfigured its club; can you explain?"
Ah, transfiguration. He could talk on this subject all day, even if he was suspicious about why she was here to talk about it.
"Well I panicked really, and I only know a couple spells. We were working on perfecting changing matches into needles and wood-to-metal was the first thing that came to mind when I pointed my wand at it." He admitted. He saw no reason to lie to her, as she was the only adult who treated his arguments and thoughts as valid. He could only respond with the same respect.
She raised one eyebrow pointedly.
"You show a great deal of promise in my classes with your control, however that stunt proves you have a significant amount of power at your disposal too. You still need a lot more practice as if you'd done it correctly that club should've been solid metal—in this case it works out as that would only have done quite a bit more damage." Harry felt sweat pop up on his brow as he imagined that—clearly he hadn't thought it through, but he'd panicked okay!? "Still, it's a rare witch or wizard who leans on transfiguration first, in a battle-like setting, instead of a charm or an offensive spell. In any case… thirty points to Gryffindor, for an excellent show of Transfiguration. Keep at it, Mr. Potter."
And just like that, she gave him an indulgent smile before turning and walking away before Harry could close his jaw enough to respond.
He only just barely managed to perk up and shout after her just before she left the hospital wing.
"Thank you professor!"
In all his eleven years of life, Harry could not remember feeling this warmth ever before, but he immediately decided it loved it.