Everything connected.
Sheen looked at his timetable again.
Ravenclaw — First Year:
Monday morning: Potions, Potions.
Monday afternoon: History of Magic.
Note: First-year classes run Monday to Friday. Morning sessions 9:00–12:00, afternoon sessions 14:00–15:30.
By any measure, the first-year timetable was light. From half past three onward, the day was entirely one's own. Which meant the expectation was self-directed study — and a great deal of it.
With half a roast chicken still to go, Sheen chewed thoughtfully.
Herbology was different from Potions.
There were dangerous specimens, certainly, but dangerous ones could simply be avoided. The safer varieties — Dictamnus, common daisies, plants that wouldn't fight back — were perfectly usable for building up practical familiarity.
He wouldn't need to touch anything that bit.
He would just need to find Professor Sprout and persuade her to let him into the greenhouses. Helping out with odd jobs seemed the most natural approach.
At that moment, three older Hufflepuffs passed behind him, deep in conversation.
"Keep moving — Professor Sprout's getting Greenhouse One ready for the new first-years, she'll want us there."
"Every year. Not that I mind helping the Professor, honestly — I just hope we're not dealing with those serrated three-leaf plants again. Do you even know what those are?"
"Hang on — you were sneezing for three weeks and you never looked it up?"
"I thought you two were talking about me behind my back."
"We were talking about you behind your back, but no one can keep that up for three straight weeks. Much like you can't stay in a relationship for three straight weeks."
"Can you please stop bringing that up—"
"If you hadn't put Itching Powder in our hats and our—"
"All right, all right, I was wrong, I'm sorry—"
Sheen was on his feet before they had fully passed, his head appearing above the long table.
"The serrated three-leaf plant would be Sneezewort. It's mildly toxic — mostly used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts, and the dried leaves go into Sneezing Powder. If you don't want to be affected, stay at least two metres back. The pollen travels."
His voice was clear and unhurried — young, but certain. All three Hufflepuffs stopped.
"A well-read little Ravenclaw. You're new this year, aren't you?" The one with the loose brown hair looked amused. "Though I have to say, you really shouldn't have told Bruce the truth. He deserved every sneeze."
"Can you not say that directly in front of—" the short-haired one said, pained.
"If you hadn't put Itching Powder in our hats and our—" the slightly stockier one started.
"Are we really still doing this, I said I was sorry—"
He didn't look remotely sorry. If anything, the expression on his face was something closer to fond recollection.
"Oh yeah, thanks kid" the short-haired one said, turning back to Sheen. "Three weeks of sneezing was not enjoyable. We've got to go, but next time I see you — Bertie Bott's, on me."
The three turned to leave but Sheen quickly grabbed the short-haired boy by the wrist before speaking.
"I've been wanting to learn more about magical plants. Could I come with you to help Professor Sprout? I've memorised everything in the first-year textbook. I might be useful."
He presented his case concisely but with a tad bit of desperation. Truly acting the part of a child that yearned for knowledge. Hopefully his cat-like eyes will work as well as an actual cat's.
Even if they said no, he could find his own way there.
"...uhhh?" The brown-haired one looked up to his friends with uncertain eyes.
"You actually memorised that whole brick of a textbook?" Bruce stared.
"Bruce — Professor Sprout never said we could bring anyone along!" The brown-haired one, apparently named Leon, recognised immediately where this was going.
"Relax, Leon. Greenhouse One has nothing dangerous in it, remember? And another pair of hands would get things done faster. I've got Divination this afternoon — I am not missing Tarot afternoon tea for this."
The short-haired boy — Bruce, apparently — studied Sheen with genuine interest.
"I'll need to ask a few things first. Just to make sure you're not the kind of first-year who turns a greenhouse into a disaster." He had the decency to look apologetic about it. "Ready? What's the common name for the Alihotsy tree?"
Think fast-.
"The Hyena Tree."
"Leaf shape of Dictamnus?"
"Elliptical to oblong, sometimes oblong-lanceolate."
"What does mistletoe produce?"
"Mistletoe berries — white berries, valuable in brewing common antidotes and Forgetfulness Potions, among others."
Bruce seized Xian's hand with both of his own, expressions entirely serious. Beside him, Leon and the one called Piste both looked startled.
"Please, I'm begging you, come with us." Sheen was startled himself, he gulped, how had the situation gone from him asking to go to the greenhouse to them begging him to go to the green house-
"I'm Bruce. Those two are Leon and Piste."
"Sheen Green."
He wouldn't question this opportunity.
—------------------
And so Sheen found himself with an invitation to Greenhouse One, where the three older students were expected to help Professor Sprout with pre-lesson preparation: clearing out weeds, harvesting mature specimens, and dealing with the encroaching tendrils that crept in from Greenhouse Three.
"Those dangerous ones always seem to have a soft spot for Greenhouse One,"
Bruce said, spreading his hands philosophically, then fixing Sheen with a more serious look. "It doesn't happen often, but if you spot anything coming through that shouldn't be there, don't touch it — get the Professor. Immediately."
Sheen committed this to memory.
Then, in the mild afternoon light of the Scottish Highlands, he followed the three of them out of the castle and across the grounds to where three domed structures stood in a row, each a different size, their curved roofs made up of broad panes of glass fitted together like the sections of an enormous lantern.
"One more thing," Bruce said, as they approached. "Greenhouse One is the first one — the one right in front. If you somehow walk into the wrong one, just pray Professor Sprout is nearby…Joke. Mostly. Run fast and you'll be fine."
He'd been talking the whole walk over — practical details, things worth knowing — and for all that he seemed constitutionally incapable of staying serious, he hadn't glossed over anything that actually mattered. Leon and Piste had been nodding along, which said enough.
Bruce pushed open the wooden door. It gave a long, complaining creak.
A wave of warm, damp air rolled out to meet them — thick and green-smelling, the kind of heat that pressed against the skin.
Piste's glasses fogged over instantly.
Inside, in every direction: plants. Layers upon layers of green, dense and overlapping. A vast knobbled specimen shaped loosely like a pumpkin.
Sneezewort in terracotta pots, nothing visible above the soil but the topmost tuft of its noisy leaves. Along the outer walls, a timber frame threaded through with interlocking vines.
The shelves were crowded with pots of every shape — some exhaling thin curls of coloured smoke, some with leaves that pulsed slowly like a heartbeat, some bearing fruit that glowed like polished gemstones set in the dim.
Between all of this, a single narrow path ran through the centre.
And standing in the middle of it was a short witch with a magnificent quantity of grey hair.
(End of Chapter)