Pomona Sprout prided herself on being completely and totally in control when it came to her greenhouses, thank you very much. There was never a time when you could visit the greenhouses and find her anything but cool and collected. Any day of the week she could heal a ailing Abyssinian shrivelfig in a thrice, calm an angered Devil's Snare in less than ten minutes, and raise a batch of Mandrakes to adulthood with no trouble to herself. Yes, Pomona stood for absolutely no funny business in her domain.
"Pomona, could I trouble you for a bit of sneezewort? I need to make a befuddlement draught." She nearly jumped out of her skin at the deep voice behind her. Managing to drop an armload of puff pods, which immediately burst into full bloom on the floor, she turned to face him. Her face was bright red and she stuttered out, "um… um…yes of course, just a moment…"
Long after he had billowed his way out of greenhouse number four she sat fanning herself on a table. She didn't understand. Pomona prided herself on her self organization and the fact that she was never muddled. And yet every time that man walked into the room she found herself stuttering like a first year. To be giggling like a school girl at her age, it was absolutely incorrigible!