Chapter 1 - Plant Life

It was the last summer for young Elliott Ellwood. The last time that he would be considered a regular boy, or at least as regular as any boy with a witch and a wizard for parents could ever be. While most eleven-year-olds were dreading the end of summer, Elliott was finally going to get his chance to become something great with the beginning of this new school year. Your time to prove your own worth has finally come, he told himself. He was determined to become something of importance for the first time in his life.

The July heat was clinging to the air as the days of the month came to a close. Elliott sat, daydreaming on a cool, moss-ridden bench just outside the family's cottage. He was accustomed to spending down time by himself and took this opportunity to appreciate the small estate. Old and overgrown were the most suitable words to describe it. The bricks of the house seemed to connect entirely without a set pattern and many of its walls were hidden beneath a mask of green ivy. The roots of trees grew mercilessly through much of the stonework, while their branches scraped and taunted the wide white windows. It was as if the house were alive and did not belong, as if it were an obstacle that nature sought to conquer.

Through the high wooden ramparts of the Gwydir Forest that surrounded the Chanticleer, Elliott could just make out the small, nearby town of Trefriw. It was a miserable little village, though Elliott had been there many times despite his parents warning against it.

"It's not good to associate with muggles, dear. They're a dreadfully boring lot anyway. And have you seen what they wear? Anyone with a fashion sense such as that is bound to be bad news," warned Elliott's mother, a woman who could be often found strutting around the house in what looked like a beekeeper's suit.

"Muggles are a bit like snargaluffs," Elliott's father would explain. "They require a certain amount of dexterity when dealing with them. You can never let non-magical folk catch you by surprise or you might find yourself being forced down an oral sphincter by prickly vines. Next thing you know, you're stuck sitting out the rest of your days being slowly digested by gelatinous green stomach acid." Sometimes Elliott wondered if his dad knew anything at all about how real people worked, let alone muggles.

Mr. and Mrs. Ellwood were herbologists. They were world-renowned for their published works in Flesh-Eating Trees of the World and for their discovery of a plant-based cure for narcolepsy. Much of the family estate was taken up by several large greenhouses, each filled with countless exotic and magical plants. To say that Elliott's parents were devoted to their work would be an understatement. Their work was their lives and Elliott was merely along for the ride.

It was for this reason that Elliott found himself sitting outside, alone on that very lazy afternoon, watching the sun slowly descend in the sky. It was 5 o'clock and nearly time for supper. Elliott assumed that Wingret, the family's house elf, was already preparing the meal. Maybe today mum and dad will have time to eat dinner with me, Elliott thought with a touch of sarcasm as he got to his feet and scurried into the house.

To his surprise, his wish was granted. As he sat there in the dining room waiting to be served, Mr. Ellwood entered and took his usual seat while ranting over the sickened state of his Mongolian Man-eating Rhododendron. "It didn't even take a snap at me once today," he proclaimed with frustration, "and I'm thoroughly disappointed by its lack of appetite. It must be that bogus 'refined' fertilizer that peddler in Diagon Alley sold me. I should've known better than to switch from my own personal organic brand."

"Where's mum?" asked Elliott, quick to turn the subject away from anything that might make him lack an appetite.

"Pakkun almighty!" shouted Mr. Ellwood, clutching his chest, "I had no idea you were sitting there, my boy. You shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

Elliott gave him a quizzical look before responding, "Then who the heck have you been talking to this whole time?"

"The auritiums of course," his father replied, gesturing to the ear-shaped flowers that made up the centerpiece of the dining table. "They're great listeners, you know."

By now the meal had been served, having appeared magically before them. Elliott knew that most of it was home-grown in the family's gardens. It consisted of an assortment of vegetables, some with a suspiciously meat-like consistency and others that anyone would expect to find on the dinner tables of your average wizarding family (peas, carrots, flitchmongaroons, etc). Mr. and Mrs. Ellwood were vegetarians, which Elliott always found somewhat ironic—but as with their many other quirks, he had grown to see it as normal.

"So," Elliott began after an extended period of silence, "where is mum?"

"Greenhouse 3 last time I checked. She's dealing with a particularly meddlesome Norwegian cactus that's proven difficult to keep in its designated pot. You know those frisky Norwegians, always getting a bit too touchy-feely with their neighbors. Did I ever tell you about that woman from Oslo I used to work with? No? She had an awful habit of nicking the buttons right off my waistcoats. I've never been entirely sure how she managed to do it. In fact, I didn't even realize it was her until I found a stash of them in a drawer at her desk. Oh-ho! You can imagine my reaction when I discovered what that wretch was up to! Anyway, she should be joining us shortly."

"The Norwegian woman?"

"No, your mother."

As if on cue, the door to the dining room opened, but it wasn't Mrs. Ellwood. It was the family house elf, Wingret, carrying a large stack of mail. The tiny creature shuffled across the somewhat grandiose dining room with soft, almost soundless footsteps. She came to a stop before Elliott's father, performed an elaborate bow, and then carefully handed him the bundle of envelopes.

"Thank you, Wingret. That'll be all for tonight," said Mr. Ellwood with a wink.

"Yes, Master Emrick." And with another, equally elaborate bow and a sudden crack, the house elf disappeared.

"Looks like there's something here for you, my boy," Mr. Ellwood declared as he shuffled through the mail. He smiled as he handed to Elliott a yellowish envelope addressed in emerald green font:

Mr. E. Ellwood

Second Story Bedroom, Three Doors Down, on the Left

The Chanticleer

Trefriw

Conwy County Borough

Elliott almost fell out of his chair in excitement. He'd been waiting for the day when his letter would arrive for weeks now. Elliott knew who it was from the moment he saw it, but the boy took the time to admire the purple wax seal on the back of the envelope anyway. It was a coat of arms displaying a lion, a serpent, an eagle, and a badger, with a large H emblazoned in the center. Elliott knew what it stood for. The H was for Hogwarts, and this was his Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Elliott looked up to tell his father the exciting news, but Mr. Ellwood had already fled back to his plant sanctuary. Somewhat disappointed but not wishing to wait any longer, Elliott opened the envelope, took out his letter, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc.)

Dear Mr. Ellwood,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Filius Flitwick

Filius Flitwick,

Deputy Headmaster

Elliott breathed a sigh of relief. Holding the letter in his hand was confirmation that he did possess magical abilities and that he was indeed capable of becoming a wizard. He quickly folded up the pages, brought his dishes to the kitchen sink in the next room, and ran off to find his mother to tell her the good news.

The inside of the Ellwood's home was a messy mixture of muted colors. The sponge painted walls of the hallway were a dark shade of textured blue, stark against the aged grey wooden flooring. However, what stood out the most were the elaborate bouquets scattered throughout the house. Grandiose flowers and vibrant plants stood posing around every corner.

Everything was in full bloom, including Elliott, as he ran through the halls and out the carved French door at the back of the house. The boy then raced through the yard, weaving his way through the elaborate fences and gates that framed the countless gardens his family cared for. The Ellwoods maintained a small plantation's worth of land riddled with greenhouses and gardens. For an outsider it might seem impossible for such a small family to keep up with it all on their own, but Elliott's parents employed a number of elaborate spells and charms to make sure the plants they studied were cared for. Their magic also helped keep curious muggles away. To the unsuspecting townsfolk, the Chanticleer appeared to be nothing more than a reclusive estate residing in the nearby forest.

The boy found his mother precisely where his father had told him. As Elliott threw open white paneled door of greenhouse 3, he immediately inhaled a fresh, acrid aroma. It was the kind of scent that would seep into your nostrils and make most people sick, but Elliott had grown up around these pungent plants. The smell no longer fazed him. The boy caught a glimpse of his mother amongst the foliage that dominated the greenhouse. She was wearing a dirty brown apron and a pair of black oversized gloves. Her mousey brown hair, tied up in a bun, was hidden beneath one of those large gardening hats with the drawstrings. Having heard the door open, she quickly glanced up from her wrestling match with the Norwegian cactus. It resembled a tree with a large trunk covered in thick brown bark, but instead of branches it had large obtrusive spines jutting out in every direction.

"What is it, dear? Can't you see I'm a little busy?" said Mrs. Ellwood, struggling with her words beneath the weight of the enormous prickly plant.

"Um, I got my Hogwarts letter today. It actually came, just like you said," Elliott replied, his excitement beginning to waver. He suddenly regretted running all the way over.

"Well of course it did, Elliott. What did you expect?" she said. Her back was to him now as she attempted to pile drive the cactus into its respective pot.

"I'm not sure. I guess I was worried…that it wouldn't?" Elliott was starting to feel silly. Of course he would have gotten a Hogwarts letter. Both his parents were wizards and he'd been showing signs of magic since he was a toddler. There was never any reason to worry.

"I'm assuming there's a list of supplies," his mother called over her shoulder, "We'll have Wingret take you to Diagon Alley this weekend."

"You aren't coming?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Your father and I have an inspection coming up and we haven't even started deadheading the meriflumps yet. Now if you'll excuse me, dear, I have a cactus to attend to."

On that note, Elliott slumped out of the greenhouse and walked back across the yard. I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, he thought. Elliott was well aware of the upcoming inspection. His parents had a research quota to meet if they were to be allowed to import so many dangerous magical plants. Laws were being more strictly enforced these days, for obvious reasons. To say the national crisis a few years back had caused a bit of a ruckus would be an understatement. But Elliott didn't care about that. All he could think about now was how strange he was going to look having his house elf chaperone his school shopping instead of his parents. The boy traipsed back into his ivy-covered home and took refuge upstairs.

Elliott's bedroom was exactly where his Hogwarts letter said it was—the second story, three doors down, on the left. It was quite spacious as far as bedrooms go, but it helped that his bed had been pushed out of the way and into to the far corner. His desk sat up against the window and was very neatly organized, while his closet overflowed with a messy pile of clothes. Books and parchment lay scattered across the dusty oriental rug that clung to the floorboards beneath. Elliott had made sure Wingret knew never to clean up his space. He worried that if she did he would never be able to find anything again. In general, the bedroom was a very musty place to reside, but it was the only room in the whole house where Elliott felt like himself. And it was the only room in the whole house that was completely devoid of plants.