For public services, task 3: write about a teacher/professor
Word Count:659
Pomona walks the length of the greenhouse, bright eyes taking in the explosions of color set against the earthy background. A small smile tugs at her lips. She's going to miss this. Though she'll still have her own little garden to tend to, this has been her life for thirty-two years. Turning and walking away from everything almost feels like some deep betrayal, like she's meant to always be Professor Sprout for the rest of her life.
She pauses in front of the Flitterbloom, gently running her fingers over its green tentacles. It responds with a slight twitch. "It isn't that I want to," she says quietly. "I'm happy to be here."
Most wouldn't understand Pomona talking to the plants. Though they will acknowledge that they're alive, people tend to assume plants don't have feelings. Pomona has always thought differently, and talking to them has always brought her a bit of a comfort.
Her journey continues over the greenhouse. She has cared for these plants and so many others before them. Over the years, she has watched her students fall in love with her subject, and she has seen the way Herbology had become something so much more than just getting dirty and tending to weeds. She has inspired a love in the new generation, and it feels like maybe she should find the next path to take. Hasn't she come full-circle now? She still remembers being thirteen years old when Herbology suddenly just made sense, and she has grown so much since that day.
There's a knock on the door, and Neville Longbottom steps inside, offering her a bright smile. "You wanted to speak to me, Professor?" he asks.
He's come a long way. Pomona remembers the chubby, awkward eleven-year-old from so long ago. Now, at twenty-two, he's all grown up, and it breaks her heart.
Pomona nods and gestures him forward. Neville appears at her side, affectionately brushing his thumb over the deep purple Shrivelfig. "Hey there, friend," he says brightly, and Pomona's heart melts. It's so clear that Neville loves plants as much as she does. "You're looking good today. Could do with a little water, huh?"
In that moment, Pomona knows she is making the right choice. No one will ever care for the subject the way Neville would. She can't think of anyone better for the job, and she grins as her heart swells with pride.
"Neville? I'm curious as to what you think about teaching."
Neville considers, dark brows knitting together. He taps his finger against his jaw, lips pursing. "Haven't given it much thought, Professor," he admits with a chuckle. "I've just been helping Hannah get settled in the Leaky Cauldron."
"I heard Tom left her the place. How's that going?"
Neville laughs and shakes his head. His fingers brush over his grey jumper, picking small tufts of lint from it. "It's an adventure," he says. "Can't say I've gotten particularly used to it yet."
"I plan on retiring," Pomona tells him, looking around at the vines and grasses and blossoms she's called her home for decades. "I've put a lot of thought into who I would like to take my place."
The young man doesn't answer straight away. Pomona watches in faint amusement as understanding slowly dawns on his face. He rests a hand over his chest, eyes wide. "Me?" he asks. "You'd honestly want me?"
"Honestly," Pomona confirms. "You could teach below me for the rest of the year, then transition next year to the post."
Neville swallows dryly, wringing his hands together. "You're sure? I mean, surely there must be someone better for the spot."
Pomona smiles and shakes her head. She's seen the way his face lights up whenever he sees a new plant. No one could ever compare to his love for the subject, and she thinks he is the perfect person to carry on her legacy.
"I can't think of anyone else I would trust more."