Professor Sprout's little speech about Herbology lingered in Theodore's mind.
Each House had its specialty:
Gryffindor clearly shone at Transfiguration—the last two Transfiguration professors both lions by crest. Dangerous work, very on-brand for adventurers.
Ravenclaw's ace was Charms—runes, theory, the sort of first principles that set little eagles aflutter.
Slytherin owned Potions—Slughorn and Snape, both masters. Prestige, influence, liquid magic pulsing like blood… very serpentine.
And Hufflepuff's crown jewel? Herbology.
Soil and seedlings never betray sweat. Badgers might not be the boldest, brightest, or most ambitious, but through steady effort they'd turned Herbology into a harvest.
Neville wasn't thinking about any of that. When Sprout awarded him points—him—his mind went blissfully blank. He had never imagined he could add to the House Cup, much less be named as someone others should copy.
"I have to write Gran," he babbled to Theo even after class. "She's always worried I'll be expelled—but I earned points for Gryffindor! By Merlin, she might actually cry!"
Theo clapped once, smiling. "Told you: Herbology prodigy. Professor Sprout agrees. Believe it now?"
"Before the letter—look there." Theo pointed to a notice by the greenhouse door.
It sought student assistants to help maintain the greenhouses. Requirements: Third year or above, strong Herbology marks.
"This is the finest greenhouse in wizarding Britain," Theo said. "If you work here, that's a golden line on any CV. Your gran and your uncle won't be worrying about expulsion—they'll be proud."
Neville's face flickered—hope, doubt, old habits of self-mistrust. "It says third-years only. And marks. I've had one class. What if that was a fluke? What if next time I—"
Theo didn't let him finish. He towed him back inside.
"You don't know till you try."
They marched up to Professor Sprout as she quietly fixed the disasters left by less-careful first-years.
"Professor Sprout, may I ask a favour?" Theo began.
Sprout jolted—and snapped, with surprising speed, "No."
Theo blinked. Neville's small spark dimmed.
Then Sprout whipped out a battered, time-dark little booklet—the Herbology chair's "secret manual," apparently titled:
ONE HUNDRED GRYFFINDOR HERBOLOGY PRANKS: DO NOT LEND PLANTS TO GRYFFINDOR
"Devil's Snare seeds? No—and do not plant them in the bathrooms!"
"Mandrakes? Absolutely not. If anyone hides one in the Sorting Hat to make it sing during the ceremony, I will push your head into the compost."
"Chomping Cabbage? Less than no. Not the small ones either. And you will not pelt your classmates' occiputs with them."
"And as for grafting Whomping Willow cuttings in the dormitory—perish the thought."
Theo stood there, mouth slightly open.
…Gryffindor predecessors—what, exactly, have you done?
(For the record, Theo had just been considering asking for a handful of Chomping Cabbage seeds. In certain games, the mature version could chew trolls. Request pre-denied, apparently—by centuries of lions before him.)
He cleared his throat. "We're not here for seeds, Professor. We saw the assistant posting. I was hoping Neville could try. He wants to make his gran proud."
Sprout's eyes gentled, a glint of sorrow tucked behind the kindness. The staff knew the Longbottom story. Neville's parents, tortured to madness under the Cruciatus; little Neville witnessing too much; the Memory Charms afterward. Forgetfulness and clumsiness didn't spring from nowhere.
She hesitated. "Greenhouse work is exhausting, patient work—knowledge-heavy. Even upper-years struggle. We've never taken a first-year."
Then she smiled—brisk, bright, and very Pomona. "But I suspect many traditions will break this year. I don't mind breaking one more. If you want it, Mr Longbottom, you may try."
Her tone turned stern enough to root plants. "It is hard. You'll start by cleaning upper-years' tools and learning slowly. You must earn O in Herbology every year. And mind your time management."
Neville lit up, almost incandescent. "I don't mind hard work. And I won't forget this!"
Sprout waved them off, lips twitching.
A pane slid across Theo's sight:
[You and Tu Xingsun arrive at the medicine fields tended by Perfected Jade Cauldron.
You help Tu Xingsun earn his notice.
You've formed a faint connection to Perfected Jade Cauldron—deepen it for boundless benefit.]
Sprout as Perfected Jade Cauldron—the Golden Immortal who twice saved the anti-Zhou host with medicine—fit almost too well.
Shame it wasn't enough for a bond rank; professors weren't quick wins. His McGonagall shortcut had been a blessed fluke.
But a loss in the west, a gain in the east: after this, his bond with Neville clicked up.
[Your relationship with the young Tu Xingsun has reached Close Friend.
Reward: Earth-Spirit Core (Talent).
Claim now?]
Neville was still thanking him in circles.
Theo grinned. "We're roommates. That's thanks enough. Besides, I already received the best thank-you."
Neville blinked. "Eh?"
"Nature calls," Theo said gravely, and ducked into the lavatory.
In the stall, he eyed the backlog of glittering claim buttons—from last night to now—and breathed once.
"System: Keen Ears, Clear Eyes; Crane-Form Lightness; Ten-Thousand Transformations; Tiller's Touch; Earth-Spirit Core… claim them all."
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