Chapter 25: Professor Sprout
Phineas Fawley yawned loudly as the morning sunlight spilled through the window, casting a warm glow across his blanket.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and glanced around. All of his roommates were still sound asleep. With a performative sigh, he shook his head dramatically.
"Unbelievable. Ravenclaws, sleeping in like sloths… No wonder Slytherin's been winning the House Cup five years in a row. Well," he said, puffing his chest, "that all changes now that I'm here."
Then his gaze fell on the empty bed in the corner—and his smirk froze.
Someone had gotten up earlier than him.
His expression darkened immediately. "Hmph. A little clever, aren't we? Guess the early bird really does flap harder."
He grumbled to himself, pretending not to care, but deep down, the blow to his ego stung.
---
For Ravenclaw, the first class of term was Herbology, scheduled to begin at 10:15 a.m. It was only 7:30, still hours away.
Meanwhile, Russell had no intention of going back to his dorm. Instead, he strolled leisurely toward Professor Sprout's greenhouse behind the castle.
He figured the good professor must have her hands full preparing lessons, and he wanted to offer his help — and maybe sneak in a few questions about how to cultivate biting roses.
It took him quite a while to find the right greenhouse.
When he finally pushed open the door, the earthy scent of soil and fresh leaves filled his nose. Inside, a short witch with flowing gray hair was bent over a potting table, tending to a cluster of peculiar plants.
She wore a patched, oversized hat and robes so muddy they could have belonged to a gardener instead of a witch.
Focused entirely on her work, she hadn't noticed him enter.
"Professor Sprout?" Russell called softly.
"Hmm?"
She straightened up at once, turning toward him. When she saw the young boy standing in the doorway, her face brightened with surprise and warmth.
"Ah… Mr. Fythorne, is it?" she asked kindly. She hadn't expected a first-year to show up this early.
"You do realize class doesn't start for another two hours, right?" she chuckled, brushing some soil from her gloves. "You could go back to rest—or, if you don't mind a little dirt, you're welcome to stay and have a cup of tea."
Such a kind and gentle witch, Russell thought. If this were Snape's classroom, no one in their right mind would ever show up early — not even his precious Slytherins.
Reaching into his robe, he pulled out a small envelope sealed in black wax. "Aunt Morticia asked me to give you her regards, Professor."
"Oh, heavens!" Sprout's eyes lit up like a child's. "From Morticia? How wonderful!"
She quickly removed her gloves and hurried toward the back of the greenhouse. "Give me a moment, dear — I must wash up before I touch it."
Russell smiled, watching her disappear into the back. Then, hands behind his back, he began to wander through the greenhouse.
The warm air hummed softly with life.
On his left, rows of Mandrakes snoozed under a layer of moss, their faint snoring just audible. On his right, a cluster of Venomous Tentacula waved lazily, their tendrils twitching as if testing the air.
He passed by a shelf of glass jars — each one holding strange seeds, pulsating faintly as if alive.
The greenhouse felt alive, magical in its own quiet way.
And in that moment, Russell thought — yes, Hogwarts might be strange, unpredictable, even dangerous at times...
But it was also, in its own eccentric way, wonderful.
Before coming to Hogwarts, Russell had spent most of his time practicing spells, but he'd still skimmed through One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Of course, he'd only paid serious attention to the parts about edible mushrooms — he'd wanted to use them for hot pot.
The greenhouse, however, was on a completely different level. It was practically a miniature botanical garden, filled with plants of every imaginable kind.
He didn't recognize most of them — and for safety's sake, he kept a respectful distance from everything that twitched.
Caution, he thought, is the cornerstone of survival in the wizarding world.
---
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Fythorne," came a warm voice behind him.
Professor Pomona Sprout emerged wearing a fresh set of robes and carrying two steaming cups of tea.
"Thank you, Professor," Russell said, taking one politely. He examined the contents curiously — the leaves were triangular, patterned with faint white runes that shimmered in the light.
He took a cautious sip. The first taste was faintly bitter… then came a mellow, lingering sweetness that blossomed on his tongue. His eyes lit up.
"Delicious," he admitted.
Sprout chuckled, her eyes crinkling. "I'm glad you like it. It's a new tea strain I've been cultivating myself — still a work in progress."
Russell nodded appreciatively and handed her the black-sealed envelope he'd been carrying. "This letter..."
"Oh, heavens! I haven't heard from Morticia in years!"
There was genuine warmth and nostalgia in her tone. "She was the top student of Hufflepuff in her year — won the House Cup three years in a row for us. Such a remarkable witch."
Russell smiled faintly. That sounds exactly like her.
Sprout finished reading the letter, carefully folded it, and tucked it into her robe pocket. "So, Russell — may I call you that?"
"Of course, Professor."
"Well, Morticia tells me you have quite the natural talent for Herbology," she said, her eyes twinkling. "And that you've even earned the affection of a Biting Rose. That's no small feat."
Russell scratched his cheek, modestly embarrassed. "Yes, that's actually why I came today. I wanted to ask you how to properly cultivate one."
From his pocket, he produced a delicate pink seed, smooth and faintly pulsing with life.
He'd already stored the other two seeds safely away. He figured that since the Biting Rose was considered dangerous, Professor Sprout wouldn't allow him to grow it in his dormitory.
So he'd brought this one as a gesture — fully expecting her to keep it in the greenhouse until he was older and more experienced.
Sprout's expression softened, though her tone carried a note of warning. As Russell had expected, she spent several minutes explaining the hazards of the Biting Rose — its volatile temperament, its tendency to lash out at unfamiliar scents, and the strict care it required.
But finally, she nodded. "If you truly want to raise it, you can keep it here in the greenhouse. That way I can help monitor its growth."
Russell agreed readily. "Thank you, Professor."
Sprout fetched him a clay flowerpot and handed him a small watering can.
"The early stages are simple," she explained. "Plant the seed and water it regularly. Once it sprouts, you'll need to start fertilizing. Dragon dung makes an excellent base."
She leaned in slightly. "When the flower buds form, that's when it needs to be fed — a drop of animal blood each day. Dragon's blood is best, though rare. Just one drop will do."
Russell's expression didn't so much as flicker, though inwardly he was already memorizing every word.
"If you care for it properly," she added, "it will grow accustomed to your scent and eventually recognize you as its master. Once that bond forms, it will obey your commands."
Russell nodded seriously, committing every detail to memory.
He was already planning to visit the Room of Requirement that night to nurture all three roses at once.
"Thank you, Professor Sprout," he said sincerely, placing the pot carefully in a quiet corner of the greenhouse.
"Professor, is there anything else I can help with? Aunt Morticia told me to lend you a hand whenever possible — she said it would be great practice."
Sprout beamed. "You're such a good lad. Well then, why don't you help me loosen the soil for these plants?"
"Of course, Professor."
She handed him an apron and a pair of dragon-hide gloves — far superior to the cheap ones he'd bought in Diagon Alley.
As he slipped them on, the earthy scent of the greenhouse filled his lungs.
For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Russell felt… at peace.