This was originally intended to be an entry in Herbology in the O.W.L.S contest at Lumos on LiveJournal, but as one of the rules was that the piece be no longer than six hundred words and I am naturally verbose, it never got entered. The rules of the contest were to pick two or more characters from a limited list, a place from a similar list of options, and mention at least three plants.
Foxglove. Digitalis purpurea. Highly Toxic. Other common names: Witches' Gloves, Dead Men's Bells, Fairy Thimbles, Bloody Fingers. And bloody hard to keep alive , Hermione lamented silently, lifting the pot up to examine the black, wilted leaves. "Oh, balls."
Four days until her herbology final project was due, and she'd yet to manage a single, viable plant. It had all seemed so easy to her foolish, six-weeks-younger self. Poisonous plants simply thrived in the greenhouse. She would need only to plant the seeds and stop in to water and feed them at the end of each day. And then, for the first time ever, she could pass Herbology with better marks than Neville Longbottom.
She glared at her unwitting nemesis as he worked on his own project, something that appeared to be a new breed of carnivorous pumpkin. He tickled the stem of the monstrous thing and a wide mouth— reminiscent of a jack-o-lantern but for its gleaming, white fangs— opened and a great, red tongue lolled out to snatch a stake of plant food from his hand.
Ugh! Typical, that Neville's project would be coming along swimmingly while she stood at the scene of a mass plant murder with soil on her hands. She glared at the barren pot that should have held Atropa belladonna and sighed. It wasn't that she disliked Neville. She just disliked losing. Oh, she'd heard too many times as a child that school wasn't a competition, that the only person she needed to measure herself against was herself, but that was a load of fertilizer if she'd ever heard it. Of course being the best, the smartest in every subject was a prize to strive for.
Except for Divination. That was just supernatural chicanery.
Across the table, Fred Weasley used the end of a pencil to tousle the verdant leaves of an Aconite plant. "Monkshood. Last ingredient."
"Snitch some and let's go," George urged, holding the mouth of dirty, burlap sack wide. Something in the bag made a rattling, hissing sound, and Hermione turned her attention pointedly away from it. As long as it doesn't get loose in the common room, I'd rather not know about it.
"How goes the gardening, Hermione?" Neville, apparently finished bonding with his pet squash, came to stand beside her. He plucked a few dead leaves from a pot of Bryonia dioica and made a disappointed clucking noise. "Too bad for this one. The soil was clearly too acidic."
"Yes, clearly," Hermione snapped, snatching the pot up and moving it away from him. "Well, if that's all—"
"You know, if you want some cuttings, I have loads of White Bryony. I've actually had to thin it out some." He picked up another plant and squinted at it. "And this Henbane would really thrive in a larger pot. The roots aren't holding as much water as the other, that's why the leaves are all yellowed and crumbly at the edges."
"Look, if all you're going to do is criticize—" Hermione stopped herself. "I'm sorry, were you…. you did just give me advice, didn't you?"
"Well, yes," he replied, looking from the plant to her, his squint more pronounced, as if she had gone all yellowed and crumbly at the edges. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Because…" Because I'm trying to better than you, and you should want to stop me. "Because you have your own project to worry about."
"Oh, Pete? He'll be fine. I'm actually looking forward to sending him off to my cousin. To be honest, I find the tongue a bit creepy." Neville shrugged. "Unless you don't want my help."
"No. It's not that. It's just—"
"Herbology is my best subject, so I like to, you know, help out," he plowed on as if she'd never spoken. "Because we're friends and all."
Hermione's protests stalled on her tongue. How many times had she bossed Harry or Ron about their Potions homework, or criticized their Transfiguration study habits? Always because she worried about them and wanted them to do well.
As long as they didn't do better than her.
She wasn't sure if she should be grateful for Neville's help, or insulted that he didn't consider her a threat. But maybe Neville really didn't see it as a competition. Maybe he was sincerely trying to help a friend. And friends weren't something Hermione had in spades.
She nodded, a reluctant smile coming to her face. "Yes, Neville. We're definitely friends. Now, what do you know about root rot?"