Written for Hogwarts' World Cup Event: (job) teacher, Holmes Challenge: (color) yellow.
Also for the Summer Challenges: Days of the Year - June 4 2018: Old Maid's Day - Write about someone over 60, Summer Prompts: (weather) humid, Color Prompts: gold, Birthstones: Ruby - (dialogue) "It takes guts to be as gentle and kind as you are.", Shay's Musical Challenge: Dear Evan Hansen - write about someone with anxiety, Gryffindor Themed Prompts: (character) Neville Longbottom, Fire Element: (quote) "From a little spark may burst a mighty flame.".
Also for the Writing Club: Character Appreciation - (character) Astoria Greengrass, Book Club: Dante - (word) heart, (color) black, (dialogue) "I was upset because I thought you were different.", Showtime - Sex Is In The Heel: (dialogue) "Embrace it.", Amber's Attic: This Is Hip Hop - write about something being passed down to the next generation, Count Your Buttons: (object) sunflower, (dialogue) "I need you to let me touch it.", Lyric Alley: with hearts open wide, Sophie's Shelf: Josephine Anwhistle - write about someone who is anxious about everything, Em's Emporium: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - write about character growth, Lo's Lowdown: Gaila - (color) green, Eagle Day: Mandy Brocklehurst - (action) hopping on one foot, (spell) Aguamenti, Film Festival: (action) arguing like an old married couple.
And for Best Friends Day: (prompt), ginny weasley (character), "don't leave me" (dialogue), 'flowers bloom at midnight' (title), embrace (action), Star Trek: Year 1 - Spock: Quote: Live long and prosper, Word: Fascinating, Trait: Scientific minded, and the Gardening Assignment, Task 12 - Write about Pomona Sprout.
Word count: 3304
flowers bloom at midnight
.i.
If she's being completely honest with herself, Pomona will admit that she never really intended to become a teacher. It had never really entered her mind. In fact, she had left Hogwarts thinking she'd become the next great Herbologist — Newt Scamander, perhaps, only more female and with plants instead of creatures.
And, Merlin, she had tried.
Traveling had been amazing, and she had learned more about plants than she had ever dared to think existed, but in the end, she had missed Britain. Coming back for the summer and seeing that Hogwarts was looking for a new Herbology teacher had felt a little bit like fate.
But that was how she had ended up boarding the Hogwarts Express again five years after she thought she had taken it for the last time, her mind abuzz with lesson plans, instead of grabbing yet another Portkey out of the country.
And that is why and how she's now sitting in the Headmaster's — Albus' — office, a week before September, being offered the position of Head of Hufflepuff after only a few years spent working as a teacher, desperately trying not to go blind from how yellow Albus' robes are.
Albus' blue eyes twinkle behind his half moon glasses. "Well, what do you say, Pomona?"
It takes her less than the space of a heartbeat to decide. "Yes." She smiles, heart suddenly pounding in her chest. "Yes, I would love to."
"Very good," Albus says, smiling, and just like that, Pomona has gained responsibility over a quarter of Hogwarts' students.
It should feel frightening, but well, hardwork and perseverance are the pillars of her House, and she can't think of any better values to help her here.
"We'll announce everything at the next staff meeting then, unless you have any concerns?"
Pomona shakes her head. "Tomorrow, then?"
Albus chuckles. "Yes, tomorrow indeed. How time flies…"
Pomona leaves him to his reminiscing, retreating into her greenhouses.
She's one of the few teachers staying at the castle year round — she loves the House Elves, but none of them are qualified to take care of the plants she keeps around, and anyway, leaving would mean having to go back home.
Home, where her mother would ask her again when she's going to finally find a 'nice young man to marry and have children with', as though Pomona hasn't told her that she didn't intend on doing either of those things, even if she could.
Not that she has managed to find the right words to tell her mother that. She's tried, numerous times, of course. But she just knows that her mother would just go off into another 'your job is too dangerous' rant if Pomona confessed to the way an encounter with a particularly fascinating — if a bit vicious — strain of Venomous Tentacula in Tuscany had led to her becoming essentially barren.
That, or her mother would start pitying her.
Besides, it looked like she was getting kids anyway. Dozens of them, even, that she'd have to care for.
Her last thought before she finally steps into her favorite greenhouse is that it looks like her mother might finally be getting those grandchildren she wished for.
.ii.
As a teacher, Pomona tries very hard not to have favorites. She mostly succeeds, or at least, she likes to think so.
As a Head of House, she expects things to be more or less the same.
Minerva outright laughs in her face when she confesses that. Even Filius sends her some pitying looks at the assumption — Horace had been invited to this little informal meeting too, but he had refused, claiming to have a meeting already planned with some illustrious student of his.
"It's different when you're not just their teacher," Filius explains kindly.
Besides him, Minerva nods. "I tell the first years before their Sorting that Hogwarts will become their family — well, as Head of Houses, we're kind of like their parents. So be ready for your students to come to your with all their concerns."
Her words may sound a little dismissive — harsh, even — but Minerva's lips are curled up into a fond smile that Pomona finds herself easily returning.
"It's a little hard not to get favorites then," she continues.
"Right… So what you're saying is to, what, embrace it?" Pomona asks, a little dubious.
Minerva snorts. "Not quite how I would have put it, but essentially…? Yes. As long as you keep treating everyone fairly, no one will care."
This, Pomona knows, is a jab at their absent colleague, who somehow manages to get away with favoring the ones he thinks are 'skilled' — or in other words, well-connected.
"... I see. Any other tips?"
Minerva and Filius exchange a look before shrugging. Uncannily, they even do so in unison.
"Not really," Filius replies. His grin is wide and reassuring as he adds, "You know the main bits, and I'm sure you can figure out the rest for yourself."
Pomona turns to Minerva, who merely tells her, straight-faced, "Stock up on alcohol. You'll need it."
Pomona laughs, but as it turns out, they were right. Being a Head of House is different from being a teacher, she ends up with favorites, and the alcohol really is necessary.
.iii.
Every so often, Pomona catches an unlucky couple who thought that a greenhouse would be a great dating location. They probably think that the caretaker won't think to check there the way he does the Astronomy Tower — which is true enough, but only because Pomona does her own checking.
Truth is, she can certainly understand the appeal. The greenhouses are beautiful during the day, all green and gold as the sun refracts on the glass, but at night they become truly magical.
The silver moonlight makes the plants look like something precious, and the deep shadows it creates look like they could house entire worlds. They're also, unfortunately, why Pomona needs to have a way to keep track of who is inside her greenhouses.
It wouldn't do, after all, for one of her plants to maim a student while she'd been off sleeping.
Tonight, those alarms had rang particularly late. Just as she had been about to go to sleep, as a matter of fact.
It is lucky she resides right next to the greenhouses, or she might arrived too late.
At first, she only sees the abandoned picnic basket, only half-open and spread out over a checkered blanket. Her Lumos illuminates the scene, catching movement in the far off right right before she hears a shrill scream.
Pomona hurries over in that direction, where a dark-haired boy tugs uselessly at thick vines that bind his date, hopping around on one foot as he tries to avoid getting caught up himself.
Even though this is hardly the first time Pomona has stumbled into such a scenario, it never fails to make her heart stop for a terrible, terrible second, before her brain kicks back into gear.
"Potter, I swear to God if I die here tonight I will come back to haunt you!" Lily Evans swears, struggling as the vines start to lift her off the ground.
"You're not going to die, Lily-flower," James Potter replies bravely — Pomona recognizes him now. Minerva had started a betting pool on these two years ago, and Pomona had recently lost quite a few Galleons because of it too. "I'll be back," Potter is continuing to say, letting go of the vines after one last useless tug. "I'll just go get back, be back before you know it!"
"Potter, don't leave me here!" Evans yells back.
Sensing her moment, Pomona clears her throat, barely managing to hide a smile as Potter jumps in fright. The boy turns around, offering her a sheepish grin.
"Professor Sprout! How… surprising… to see you here tonight!" He laughs nervously. "What brings you around here?"
Behind him, Evans curses again. "Do you really think now is the time to try to talk your way out of trouble?!"
Poetter winces. "Maybe?"
Rolling her eyes, Pomona says, "Step aside."
Potter does and Pomona raises her wand at the plant currently tying up the Gryffindor girl. The light shining off her Lumos cause the vines to scutter away, and Pomona sighs.
"Just as I thought," she mutters to herself. "Devil's Snare."
She ignores her students' fearful exclamations as she switches from Lumos to Incendio. Usually, the first would be enough, but there are too many vines around Evans for mere light to be sufficient. She needs fire for this too, to dispel some the humidity in the air and bring on more heat than the plant can easily bear.
The Devil's Snare high-pitched screeching is painful to hear, but the plant will be okay. She can help it heal — she can't, however, bring a student back to life.
The process is mercifully quick, and mere moments after Pomona started her spell, she can end her fire. Evans falls to her knees on the ground, Potter hovering around her heaving shoulders.
Evans stays silent for a long moment — long enough that Potter turns to Pomona again, worry shining in his brown eyes — because she suddenly says, her tone biting, "This is the last time you get to plan one of our dates!"
Pomona chokes on a laugh as Potter's expression turns from worry to astonished delight. "I get a second date?" he blurts out.
Rising and dusting of her knees, Evans nods. "Which I will be planning. And no more asking Black for advice too, clearly all his ideas are terrible."
Potter seems about to protest, but then something shimmers in the darkness, and he closes his mouth with a click before pulling Evans into a tight embrace.
They turn around and freeze when they see her, Evans' cheeks suddenly a deep crimson as she steps back and out of Potter's embrace.
"I can explain," Potter blurts out.
Pomona sends them a pointed look, arching an eyebrow in the direction of the nearby picnic basket. "Somehow, I think I can figure it out on my own."
"Ah…" Potter's shoulders fall. "We won't do it again?"
"Of that I have no doubt," she replies dryly. "You will both have detention with our caretaker next week to prove it, however."
A dark look from Evans quells any protest the boy might have had, and, feeling more charitable now that the danger has passed, Pomona adds, "Now, Mr. Potter, I think you should escort your girlfriend to the Infirmary to get her checked out."
Potter nods, and Pomona escorts them out of the greenhouse and to the Hospital Wing in silence. The basket stays there — she'll get some of the Elves to retrieve it before her morning classes — and Pomona mourns the loss of her quiet night.
There is no way she'll fall asleep now, not with this much adrenaline coursing through her veins.
.iv.
Cedric Diggory, despite otherwise being a great student and a wonderful Hufflepuff, is actually terrible at Herbology. Surprisingly enough, he's still one of her favorite students, even if he causes her a to have a heart attack in almost every lesson.
Because Cedric isn't a terrible Herbology student in the way most students are terrible at Herbology, no. He doesn't kill his plants, doesn't cause them to get sick — in fact, his plants are usually some of the healthiest plants in his year.
But instead, he almost lets himself be killed by his plants. It would be fascinating if Pomona wasn't constantly so worried about him, having to check that while she's instructing a young Ravenclaw girl on how to water her plant, Cedric's own plant isn't trying to strangle him.
Or poison him.
Or stab him with his own shears, like they're doing now.
"Relashio!" she yells, wand aimed at the plant. Tentacle-like vines suddenly drop the shears, leaving them to clutter loudly on the table. The class falls silent if for the soft sway of green leaves in the air, and Pomona hurries over to her student, currently clutching his biceps, red blood already starting to seep in through his fingers.
"Thanks, Professor," Cedric tells her with a wide grin.
Pomona rolls her eyes as she gestures at him to give her his arm. "I need you to let me touch it."
Wincing, Cedric raises it to her level, and Pomona carefully parts black cloth to expose the wound. It's ugly, and bleeding, but it doesn't look too dangerous. She closes it with a quick Episkey before vanishing the blood. "You should be fine, but I recommend you go to the Hospital Wing anyway. Marshall, would you please escort Cedric there?"
Marshall, a stocky fourth-year Hufflepuff that Pomona just saw complete the assignment, nods and shuffles over to Cedric, chucking off his dirt-stained gloves as he goes.
The lesson continues normally after their departure, though Pomona is kind of amused to note that all the students are eyeing their plants more carefully now.
That night, Cedric proves once again why he's one of her favorites by knocking on her office door.
"Come in!"
Cedric offers her a sheepish grin as he enters, and Pomona abandons her pile of homework to grade to focus on him as he walks up to her desk.
"What is it, Cedric?" she asks kindly.
"I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay," he answers, showing off his arm. It's covered by his robes, of course, so Pomona can't really see anything, but he moves it like iit doesn't hurt.
"I'm glad," Pomona replies. "But please try to be more careful next lesson?"
Cedric nods. "Of course, Professor. I'll try." His expression turns mischievous. "About the homework you gave…"
Pomona huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. "No, Cedric, you may not be excused from it."
His face falls with mock disappointment. "Well, it was worth a try."
Shaking her head again, Pomona shoos him out of her office and returns to her grading.
Or tries to anyway. On her desk, Albus' latest notice that they have to pick the new Prefects for next year catches her eyes, almost taunting her.
"I know, I know," she mutters to herself. "He's going to be a great Prefect."
.v.
Over the years, Pomona had resigned herself to getting students that were more or less invested in her subject, and more or less good at it.
It was to be expected, she told herself. No one could be good at every subject, and Herbology probably didn't sound as thrilling as Charms or Transfiguration, or even Defense Against the Dark Arts. She had sort of lost hope in ever really getting a student as enamoured with her subject as she was.
And then she had gotten Neville Longbottom into her class, and that hope had rekindled. Suddenly, she had really understood what Minerva and Filius had told her years ago about favorites — because even though Neville wasn't of her own House, he was as good as.
He is perhaps the one student she trusts to wander around the greenhouses on his own — more so when he confesses to having his own at home.
He is more than a student to her, closer to a protégé perhaps, and she wants nothing more than to nurture him, to help him grow into his full potential.
But it's hard, especially when the world seems determined to crush his spirit before it can even grow.
The Carrows, Pomona knows, are merely the latest in a long list of people trying to do so, but she thinks they might be the most dangerous ones.
They're why she lets him use the greenhouses as a meeting place. Merlin knows no one ever thinks to check there, and besides, it's well-known that Neville takes care of the plants there.
Pomona pretends she doesn't know, of course. And for the most part, she doesn't — it's better that way, even if it kills her to be unable to protect her students.
But sometimes, she ends up inadvertently spying on meetings she's pretty sure she isn't supposed to witness.
It always surprises her — and she hates that it does — when she sees silver and green meeting with red and gold.
In the moonlight, Astoria Greengrass' hair looks almost white, offering a stark contrast with the orange of the last Weasley's hair. They argue in harsh whispers, Neville standing awkwardly by the side before Astoria steps back with a snarl.
"You're upset," he says quietly. By his side, Ginny lets out a derisive snort.
"I'm upset because I thought you were different," Astoria retorts, her tone full of contempt. "But no — you Gryffindors are all the same, unable to see further than the tip of your own nose. You see silver and green and all you can think about is evil. So screw you — I don't need you. I'll do this on my own." She raises her chin, staring at them defiantly.
Pomona's breath catches in her chest as she watches through dark foliage as Neville and Ginny exchange a long look.
"Alright," Neville finally says, his voice hard. "Tell us what you know."
Astoria opens up her mouth and Pomona really does leave then. the less she knows about what will undoubtedly be an action against the Carrows, the better.
She comes back an hour later though. She's not really sure why — maybe to make sure the students left no trace of their actions there, maybe just because she can.
She's expecting the place to be empty, but it's not. Neville is there, watering the plants in the dark. The moonlight streaming in through the glass ceiling is barely enough to reflect on the water streaming from the Aguamenti he's focusing on.
Pomona steps up to him quietly. She can tell the moment her presence registers. His spell fades, stuttering to a stop, and his shoulders are suddenly drawn in. She hates this too, how closed off he is now around her.
"I'm sorry, Professor — I know it's late and I shouldn't be here, I'll leave —"
"Are you alright, Neville?" Pomona cuts him off, waving off his concern with a kind smile.
For a moment, she thinks he won't answer her. Finally, he shrugs. "I'm fine." He lowers his wand back to his side. His eyes fixate on a spot off in the distance, but he stays silent.
Just as she's about to speak again, his voice breaks the silence. "Do you think I'm brave?" He asks, his voice almost too quiet to hear.
Pomona's heart breaks for him. "I think," she replies, "that it takes guts to be as gentle and kind as you are."
"Really?"
"Really."
He's still smiling when she escorts him back to his Common Room, and for once this year, she thinks she's finally doing something right.
.+i.
The want to retire sneaks up on her. She doesn't expect it at all, and yet, when she finds herself thinking more and more often about going back to the wandering of her youth, she can't help but mentioning to Minerva, who smiles at her and says, "We'll miss you."
Pomona arches an eyebrow. "What, you're not going to try to keep me here? I thought you hated hiring new teachers."
Minerva, seated at what used to be Albus' desk, arches an eyebrow right back. "And I thought you already had a replacement in mind."
Pomona's heart skips a beat. "I haven't asked him yet."
Minerva smiles and pretends to rearrange some papers on her desk. "Somehow, I can't imagine that he'll say no."
Yes, Pomona can't either.
Neville Longbottom, Herbology Professor. It has a nice ring to it, she thinks.