The right side of the greenhouse was packed with plants,
that was Sean's first thought,
and they were thick, sturdy too.
His second.
So he stuck close to the plump professor's heels,
just in case she vanished into the leafy sprawl without warning.
Professor Sprout, trowel in hand, led Sean briskly between two rows of plant racks,
pausing now and then to pinch a leaf,
or sniff a petal.
"This is the Bubotuber patch—through here, and we'll be at the real action."
Professor Sprout's voice rang out hearty but soothing, like a lullaby.
Bubotubers?
Sean peered at the vines of varying girth, laden with plump pink pods
that glinted with beans inside.
He'd read about these magical oddities—supposedly, the beans burst into bloom on contact with anything solid.
"These Bubotubers will ripen soon enough, and then the racks'll be crawling with bouncing bulbs..."
Professor Sprout enthused, walking Sean through it,
his green eyes sparkling.
Perhaps the greenhouse light was too bright, or maybe a first-year's earnest focus just had that effect.
Either way, Professor Sprout's steps quickened with fresh pep.
Lovely... New sprouts always bring new hope.
That was what Professor Sprout cherished most.
"Over here, dear—time to tackle these daisies."
She halted at a broad, sturdy workbench,
its center stained dark from plant sap and soil.
Sean hurried up, watching as Professor Sprout fetched several pots of daisies from beneath.
If there was any difference from your garden-variety posies, it was the thicker roots.
And at twenty Knuts a root in Diagon Alley.
Wickedly pricey.
"Don't woolgather—watch close: yellow daisies, cut three inches below the petals..."
Professor Sprout sliced neatly, milky sap welling from the root,
which she caught deftly in a glass vial.
"Only at this time of year do the daisies yield their sap,
cut too deep and you'll stunt the poor flower's growth;
too shallow, and it won't do for Shrinking Solution."
The professor explained with care, then flicked her wand—a paring knife and vial appearing on Sean's bench.
"Give it a go, Mr. Greene."
Sean nodded, tools in hand.
"Wrong angle, Mr. Greene—a touch more tilt..."
"Too light now, Mr. Greene—bold strokes..."
"Oh, Mr. Greene—no, don't cut! Off the mark..."
Time slipped away in Sean's blunders.
He clocked quick: no green thumb for Herbology, either.
On his fifteenth flop, brow furrowed in thought,
a gentle voice broke in:
"Spotting your lack of gift and grabbing the trowel anyway? That's where Herbology truly begins."
Sean looked up—Professor Sprout's face shone soft and profound as sunlight.
And so,
...
until Professor Sprout's stout shadow slanted long, Sean grasped the knack of daisy processing.
Force, angle, spot—all vital; botch one, and no proficiency tick from the system.
[You have fully processed a daisy to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
The system's chime rang like heavenly bells; with the method down, Sean's drive surged fierce.
[You have fully processed a daisy to apprentice standard. Proficiency +1]
[You have fully processed a daisy to novice standard. Proficiency +3]
...
Sun dipping low, thirty pots of daisies neatly stacked—Sean wiped sweat from his brow,
his eyes bright as the professor's beside him.
"Well done, Mr. Greene,"
Professor Sprout clapped softly—nothing beat watching a sprout thrive,
"Off to supper now. Oh—and take this."
Sean found a chunk of pineapple preserve stuffed in his arms, just as the dinner bell clanged.
Hogwarts mealtimes ran like clockwork—miss it, and you'd go hungry.
Sure, some first-years roped in mates for takeaways, but Sean hadn't prepped for that.
Starving at Hogwarts? Unthinkable.
He thought, bidding Professor Sprout a hasty goodbye and legging it to the Great Hall—
if his body held up better, he'd have bolted.
"Next time, some special ingredients."
As Sean turned to go, Professor Sprout called; his eye caught the workbench's pile of tooth-like bits.
Those, maybe?
...
After the Great Hall's feast,
Justin was getting an earful from Hermione—for not clocking that he had Herbology that afternoon too, paired with Gryffindor,
so when she spotted him in Greenhouse One,
Miss Granger went spare.
"You did that on purpose!"
"I did..."
Sean, locked in battle with the Hungarian goulash, missed Justin's pleading glance.
Soon enough, pumpkin juice in hand, he checked the day's haul.
[Herbology Knowledge: Locked (59/90)]
Thirty-three proficiency from the daisies—solid.
[Apprentice-level Herbology Knowledge: Unlockable—Herbology domain apprentice title]
The title dangled close; make good use of the evening, and he might claim it yet.
Those tooth-things? Sean matched them up—venomous snake fangs, most like.
No clue why Sprout was prepping them,
but spot-on for his needs.
One key bit for the Cure for Boils: venomous fangs.
Plate cleared, Sean slipped from the hall,
leaving Justin and Hermione blinking.
"Sean!
Sigh, he's quick on the draw—
I wanted to drag him to the library,
bet he could've cracked our ripe dittany conundrum.
Truth is, I've no clue how to tackle the Herbology essay."
Justin slumped a bit—magic was trickier than he'd banked on.
Sprout had said do your best, but as a Hufflepuff? Who wouldn't crave her nod of approval?
"I wouldn't count on it,
but the Hogwarts library's got thousands of tomes—we'll unearth the answer."
Hermione shook her head, wry but brimming with grit.