Theodore blinked in mild surprise.
Tu Xingsun—first disciple of the Golden Immortal Julu Sun under the Chan Sect; small in stature, odd in bearing, but unmatched in the arts of earth. In the Investiture era, his Earth-Burrowing shone brightest.
The System tagging Neville with Tu Xingsun… made sense. Both boys began under mockery and self-doubt—and both, in time, would rise late and great.
New panes cascaded from that bond:
Acquaintance — Talent: Tiller's Touch. Your affinity for soil deepens. You can "read" any earth at a glance and have an instinct for cultivating crops within it.
Close Friend — Talent: Earth-Spirit Core. Your concord with the leylines surges. Standing on ground, you may draw on the breath of the earth, gaining all-round buffs and passively sipping spiritual energy—very helpful for cultivation.
Life-and-Death — Divine Ability: Earth-Slip. Merge with the ground, travel through soil, and cross miles in a blink. Short of someone using Point-the-Ground-to-Steel, few arts can counter it—one of the Investiture era's premier escape techniques.
Theo's eyes brightened. As advertised, Tu Xingsun's path was earth, earth, and more earth.
Tiller's Touch looked basic—but it was the doorway to the others. To borrow the earth's power, you start by knowing the dirt itself. And that "basic" had a delicious horizon: rare plants, targeted soil, higher yields. In lean-qi Britain, pills and tonics might one day matter more than raw cultivation.
Earth-Spirit Core was the real prize: strength now, cultivation later. Compared to his current qi-sipping tool (Dining on Wind & Drinking Dew), this ran on an entirely higher tier. Pair it, someday, with Sun & Moon Essence (Owl Roberts) and the Black Lake's Where Dragons Stir, Qi Flows, then fuse—perhaps a top-shelf cultivation support talent would be born. With luck, something approaching Adamantine Body, Unclouded Mind in grade.
As for Earth-Slip? Nice to have. But in wizarding Britain, very few threats still made Theodore think run immediately. He could pick it up later.
He squeezed Neville's shoulder. The boy's eyes were still wet, but steadier now.
"Come on. Herbology next," Theo said. "Believe yourself—you've got this."
Neville nodded hard and trotted beside him toward the greenhouses.
Theo had seen them in films; reality made the films look stingy. The greenhouse complex sprawled like a living maze—rows upon rows, humidity rich with leaf-breath, beds and benches running so far the eye gave up. No wonder Hogwarts kept minting Potions prodigies, and why its Potions chair was traditionally a master—for researchers, this was a treasure vault.
(Professor Slughorn, during his brief stint, was said to loiter near Greenhouse Three trying to charm Professor Sprout into growing pineapples for his candied stash. For a Potions Master to pine like that said enough about the soil here.)
Hufflepuff's greenhouses fit Hufflepuff's soul: steady work, vital results, little fuss.
Pomona Sprout—Hufflepuff's Head of House—led them in, hair haloed by errant pollen, eyes kind and shrewd. Pomona: Roman patron of fruit and orchards. Sprout: to germinate and grow. Fitting.
Five minutes in, Seamus Finnigan unveiled his calling, somehow persuading a nutrient tonic to bubble ominously. Professor Sprout didn't dock a single point. She only twitched once and announced, very calmly,
"Mr Finnigan, for Herbology lessons, leave your wand at the door. First row for you—where I can see your every move."
Then, for the rattled, she produced a tin of pumpkin pasties from beneath the bench.
"Try them. Grown from my own patch. The feast pumpkins never come close."
By the time sugar did its work, she was back to business.
"All right—continue tending your tubers. Be meticulous. It's difficult, but I want every fine root properly cared for."
She paced between benches, nudging elbows, correcting grips, praising good touch.
When she reached Theodore and Neville, her smile deepened.
"Textbook work," she said to Theodore. "Five points to Gryffindor for Mr Ashbourne's technique."
Her gaze slid to Neville. He froze, nearly knocking a tray. Sprout bent, studying his plant.
The boy who had fumbled every ritual since the Sorting—was gentleness itself with roots. Every whisker-fine thread was teased free, cleaned, and set back as if it were porcelain.
Perhaps this didn't require the showy "talent" the world cheers; perhaps it required patience, care, and refusal to cut corners. Who says that isn't a talent? In Herbology, Sprout considered it the highest kind.
"Ten points to Gryffindor," she said warmly, "for Mr Longbottom's care and diligence."
"You may not copy Mr Ashbourne's hands today," she added, eyes twinkling, "but you can all learn from Mr Longbottom's attitude."
"In most of life, effort may not be rewarded. Herbology is an exception. Soil and plants will not ignore your sweat. They do not offer empty promises. I trust you'll understand that more deeply as we go."
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◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 60 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/StrawHatStudios