Written for the hp_refugees Yahoo group's February prompt-fest, "Through the Eyes of a Child."
Specifications: Exactly 500 words, character under 13 years old, uses a canon spell or magical item/creature. My prompt was Pomona Sprout/lost homework.
A/N: In the absence of canon dates for Pomona Sprout, I have made her six years younger than McGonagall. The year is 1942…
From Tiny Acorns…
Pomona Sprout had a shameful secret. For years she had guarded it as carefully as her stock of Galivanting Sprottle seeds. She owed her career to Tom Riddle…
"Alihotsy, Buboweed, Gillytuber," she chanted. "Alihotsy, Buboroot, Gurdyweed - ? No, start again. Gurdytuber, Gillyroot - ?" Her stocky legs pumped like mottled pink pistons as she marched to the rhythm of the unfamiliar names. "Alihotsy, Tuberweed, Gillygurd…" Herbology had never held any interest for her, but the test was tomorrow, and she was giving it her best shot. "Ow!"
A sudden biting pain forced her to drop the plants she was carrying, while her homework list slipped from her grasp and fluttered to the grass.
"Now look what you've made me do," she muttered, squatting to gather up the leafy stems. She sucked her thumb where the barb had dug in, and tasted a mixture of blood, bitter sap and earth. As she reached for the list, she heard a boy's voice behind her, cold and peremptory.
"First Years aren't allowed down here."
Pomona bounced up. She could see his Prefect's badge glinting.
"Who were you talking to?" he demanded.
"Nobody." Shading her eyes against the low September sun, she grinned. "Hello. My name's Pomona Sprout."
"You were talking to those plants," the boy accused, ignoring her grubby outstretched hand. His thin lips curled.
"It's a Fanged Gerontium. It bit me," she said robustly, holding up her punctured thumb and hoping to distract him. A detention in her second week at Hogwarts wouldn't look good on her report. "We did them in class with Professor Leiff. D'you know, if the main plant dies off, you can dig up the root and split it into pieces and they'll grow?"
"You don't say."
"And this is Flotterbroom." She scooped up the other wilting stem. "They say it makes a splendid pot plant. But its leaves look like Devil's Scare. Just imagine if somebody gave you a pot plant and it was Devil's Scare!"
"Imagine that."
"Best tootle off then. Cheerio." Pomona congratulated herself on a lucky escape. She stooped to pick up the sheet of paper, but it flipped out of her reach. "I say! Are you doing Wingardium Whatsit? I didn't even see your lips move. Can I get it now, please?" But every time she bent down, the list danced away, skipping from her clutching fingers until it hopped into a muddy puddle and sank. "Hey! That's my homework!" she exclaimed in dismay. "What did you do that for?"
"Because I can."
"It's jolly unfair. You're a big bully, you are. I'll tell Professor Leiff."
"No, I think not." Unhurried and self-assured, the boy aimed his wand at her chest. "Obliviate!"
Pomona blinked at the tall, dark Fifth former.
"I should be going," she said cheerfully. "It's been so nice talking to you. I love a good chat."
The boy's stare seemed to probe her skull.
"If I were you, Stout," he said, "I'd save it for the plants."
~ # ~
Note: The title is taken from the old proverb 'From tiny acorns mighty oaks do grow'. Many thanks to my beta Cecelle without whom there would have been fewer commas!