When Concern Clouds Judgment

Most Muggle souls were emerald green, touched with a soft silver glow, like fireflies on a summer night.

Wizard souls were water blue, also giving off a silver glow. They looked beautiful enough to awaken her appetite. The young wizard following behind her had no idea what danger he faced. She wanted to eat him because he possessed a pure, delicious soul.

"Don't waste your talent, Pomona." Frank Longbottom of Gryffindor stood with his hands behind his back, speaking to her like a pure-blood aristocrat. "Don't just tend plants."

"Do you know... how beautiful you are?" The Slytherin whose face had always worn expressions of sarcasm, mockery, disgust, and indifference looked at her like a lion eyeing its prey. "What a pity. No one's taken you to the dance."

Pomona thought he might have seen the sensation another half-blood Veela had caused at school, then done something foolish like any young man, thinking he could ask out a half-blood Veela. He happened to know one, so he had invited her in this clumsy way.

Men liked to win, especially when it came to women. Where had this loser, who had never won in that regard, found the confidence to challenge something so impossible? Or did inferiority become arrogance once it reached a certain point? Would his pitiful self-esteem be wounded if she rejected him?

"I won't waste my time going to the dance with you." She tried to go around him, but he blocked her in the middle of the corridor.

"Then how about a different reason?"

"Perhaps." She said coldly, "I'll give you three chances."

A dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. It was unlike the pure, kind smile he wore when he was with Lily. It made her feel slightly sick. At that moment, he looked like a thief who had successfully picked a pocket.

"No one but me has asked you out, right?"

"If you mean at school, then yes." She tried to get around him again. "But if Sirius could appear in public, that wouldn't be true."

That thoroughly enraged him. Just as he tried to keep pestering her, her savior appeared. He drove off that little thug from Spinner's End.

"Professor?" Neville asked tentatively. He was slow and foolish, far less aristocratic than his father, but he was adorable. He was still wearing sweaters even now.

What is it, Neville?

"I'm Hogwarts's Herbology professor now." He spoke somewhat slowly. "I've been taking care of them the way you taught me, but those plants still miss you. Why did you leave Hogwarts?"

An indescribable emotion welled up inside her.

She was happy. Though they had lived in seclusion with only the two of them, that life had given her a long-lost peace—until she encountered Peter Pettigrew lying in the snow, seemingly frozen stiff from head to toe.

"Was it because of Professor Snape?" He paused. "They said you were pregnant. Professor Snape said the child wouldn't be kept. Was it because you were afraid it would be like me?"

No, darling, it wasn't.

She wanted to speak, but she still could not open her mouth. Fortunately, her hand could still move, so she gripped his tightly.

That former little thug, now an old villain, lacked the ability to love others. He could not love someone who brought him painful memories, even if that person was Lily's child.

"I looked it up in books. The connection between mother and child is especially strong during the first two or three years after birth. When Bellatrix tortured my mother, I could feel it. I just never told anyone." Neville clasped her hand in return. "Professor Snape made the right decision."

I wouldn't reject it just because it was a Squib or simply a Muggle.

But Neville said he could feel Alice's painful memories when she was tortured. He had only been one year old then. She did not want it to be born carrying such pain for its entire life.

Maybe she could cast Obliviate, but she did not know whether it could erase the painful memories caused by the Unforgivable Curses.

"I heard from Cedric that, during the year of the Triwizard Tournament, he once saw Professor Snape coming out of your private room. Was that when you started?"

Pomona clenched Neville's hand tightly. She wanted him to help her up.

That old bat always slammed doors shut. In the silence of night, one could imagine how loud that sounded. She could practically picture him striding through the Hogwarts corridors in those eye-catching black robes, full of vigor and pride, as smug as a dog with its tail in the air. He had finally beaten the four Marauders in one respect, but her reputation had paid the price!

"Harry said that one night, while sneaking around the corridors, he ran into Professor Snape and Professor Lupin at the same time, along with Peter Pettigrew. He was in rat form then, of course, so no one knew. But that was the year before the Triwizard Tournament. I'm confused. Can you tell me what happened?"

In fact, because of that "joke" in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, that old bat had held a grudge against Neville for an entire year. His heart was just that narrow.

A vindictive, revenge-loving Slytherin—if she had not controlled the supply of his potion ingredients, he would have filled Neville's entire life with shadows, rather than merely finding some excuse to make Neville squeeze leech juice for a month and calling it over.

If you can't figure it out, then don't think about it, you poor little thing.

Pomona wanted to hug him. Mrs. Longbottom was very strict. She tightly controlled Neville's life and would not allow him to escape her control as Frank had. She had nearly lost her son; she could not lose her grandson as well.

"Neville, is this the female teacher at school who took such good care of you?" she heard an old woman say.

"Gran!" Neville immediately grew nervous.

Then she smelled expensive perfume, reminding her of a certain flower that bloomed in the Forbidden Forest. It was not a potion ingredient, so she had never thought to pay attention to its name.

"Neville, leave me alone with Professor Sprout for a while."

Neville hesitated before leaving. As his footsteps faded away, he shut the door behind him. Then she heard the loud scrape of chair legs against the floor to her right.

"I can tell you're a decent person," the old lady said softly. "But I don't want Neville to come see you anymore. Being Harry Potter's classmate was already enough to keep me on edge. Later, I heard he even used a sword to kill the Dark Lord's pet. He told me it was some kind of Horcrux? I'm already very old. I had no strength to protect him, which was why I let him teach at Hogwarts. And he still isn't married. The Longbottom bloodline cannot end with me. I'm sorry you've become like this, but I absolutely cannot let anything happen to that child. If you truly care about Neville, then you should understand why I'm saying this. He isn't Harry Potter. Oh, I heard Harry is an Auror now. Whatever you need, go find him. Don't drag Neville into your affairs."

Pomona forced her eyes open. Before her stood an aristocratic woman whose face was weathered by hardship. She wore a green hat with an owl on it, but she was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Promise me, Pomona, that you'll keep Harry alive."

A red-haired woman looked at her with green eyes full of pleading.

"I promise, Lily. I'll do everything I can to protect him," she said softly, but she had almost broken that promise.

At the end of July, only one of the two children born to families that had thrice defied the Dark Lord could live. Dumbledore had made his choice.

Harry had already died once. Did he have to die a second time?

That old snake had said he would not protect Neville. He could not even be bothered to protect Harry. Why were men always useless when it truly mattered?

She wanted to get up, but she truly had no strength left. Her body was so heavy. She could barely bear it any longer.