Sprout & Gimli

A/N: Hellooo. . . anybody out there? Does anybody remember me? I can explain, before you get out the pitchforks! (If there's even anybody out there to WIELD pitchforks). Ok, but my computer's been down with a virus, and unfair overbearing parents then grounded me from the computer, because they seem to think it was my fault. whistles innocently Yes, but IM BAAACK! And. . . I'm hoping that loony Kerichi doesn't come and get me for failing to email her and tell her what was going on. . . cowers But . . . on to the story! And pleeeeeease I BEG YOU, REVIEW!

She was pissed off.

Professor Sprout stalked into Greenhouse 8, leaving muddy footprints in her wake and pots trembling as she walked past. How dare Herbert go running off into the sunset with that hook-nosed hussy, leaving her behind in the dust! In fact, she was willing to be that that poor misguided girl didn't even know his real age! If she knew he was really 48- or was it 49?- she had a feeling the blonde bimbo wouldn't be sticking around.

Now before you get your knickers in a snarl, let me tell you, it wasn't true love. Yes, I had agreed to marry the scumbag, but I didn't love him. Can you blame me? At 37, with all her siblings married and with kids of their own, and her parents having given up their subtle hints like, 'Oh look, a singles bar! I hear they have wonderful Jazz! Don't you like jazz, snookums?', long ago, she had been a bit- to say it frankly- desperate. And at 37, you didn't have the time to wait around for your Prince Charming. You took whatever two-legged, cleanly shaved, decent man you could get. Besides, you had faced reality, well, except for that little part of you, in your heart of hearts, where you foolishly kept alive the small flame of hope that waited for your prince charming. But that's not the point. The point is- What man would want a frumpy old gardener anyway?

She slammed down the closest pot, uttering a string of curses she had heard from an inattentive sixth year who'd had a nasty encounter with the snapping perennials, when it broke. She picked up one of the bulbs lying close to her side and shoved it into a new pot, packing the soil viscously on top of it before she remembered the holes that needed to be present in the soil in order to provide enough oxygen for the plant. She threw her hands up in the air and uttered a muffled scream of frustration through her teeth.

Gardening usually helped her calm down, but it obviously wasn't working tonight. She shoved her cloak on, fastening it roughly, and went out the door, snapping the door shut behind her. She barreled down the path towards Hogsmeade and solace. A warm butterbeer and a nice long talk with Rosmerta was exactly what she needed.

She sighed in relief as the bright lights of the Three Broomsticks found their way to her eyes, and she took a large whiff of the familiar smells as she walked through the doorway, her anger quickly disappearing.

Heaving herself gratefully down onto a stool in the middle of the bar she raised her hand in a signal to Rosmerta. Their friendship being well worn over the years, the ample bar-witch only had to take a swift glance at the professor to know exactly what to get her. A pint of butterbeer with a generous helping of vanilla icecream. And one musn't forget the cherry on top, either.

Sprout pounced on the drink as soon as it was put down in front of her, heaving a long exhale.

She put the pint back down, now half drained, and looked around her surroundings. She moved her head to the left and came eye to eye with a pair of dark, penetrating black pupils.

"Fancy seeing you here," the stocky man said. The stocky man was none other than Gimli, Head of the Hogsmeade Garden Club, and her worthiest opponent in all things plants. Their debates, tended to get a bit out of hand, and their last one had ended with Gimli throwing a handful of soil in her face, which earned him a tidy little right hook from herself. She noticed with satisfaction that his nose was still slightly blue on the left side.

"Bugger off Gimli, I'm not in the mood for your dwarfish charm," she snarled back.

"So you admit I charmed you then, do you? Never met a witch- or wizard for that matter- who could resist The Charm," he chuckled merrily.

"I'm foregoing that last comment of yours for the sake of my sanity," the witch replied dryly. "But how did you assume that I was charmed by you?"

"You classified my actions as 'Dwarfish charm', therefore meaning you recognized them, at least subconsciously, as such. So recognizing them, even subconsciously, means that you had to have realized that I was charming you, meaning that you would have felt that I had charmed you. In short, you were charmed."

The witch snorted into her drink.

"Think whatever you want, dwarfy," she replied.

He chose not to comment upon her new nickname for him, and so they sat in silence for a few minutes. Not companionable, or even an easy silence, but a silence that made her wonder if she should perhaps try to start a conversation. She pondered this as she drank.

She didn't have long to wait. His offhand comment of, "Have you heard, Warblehead Waste was named by 'Magical Gardening Maladies' as the Fertilizer of the year," had her blood boiling in anger, or so she told herself, and they were off and running. Except something had changed. Indescribably and inadvertently, but it had changed. And instead of fistfuls of dirt and right hooks, their spar ended in laughter and bright cheeks, under the white flag of truce. For now.

They fell back into silence once again, and Sprout glanced up at Rosmerta. She saw her gazing back at her, a small smile on her face, and then saw her eyes flicker towards Gimli, winking as she did so. She buried her face in her drink, took a long sip, and heard the straw at the bottom. Consequently realizing the goblet was empty.

"Buy you a drink," the little man next to her offered.

She had a revelation. A somewhat horrifying, if exhilarating one. She was not angry as she had been the last time he had offered, and the time before that, and the time before that. It couldn't- it wasn't- possible that she actually wanted him to buy her a drink. . . was it?

She was not one for self-denial, so she admitted it to herself that she was not objected to this course of action. But nonetheless she had her duties, and so answered with an apologetic smile on her face, "Sorry, can't. Time for me to get back to the school."

And with that she stepped off the stool, grabbed her cloak, and walked out into the blustery night.

The next few days found Professor Sprout in a blizzard- literally- of before-winter examinations. There were the seventh year's papers to grade, the first years to clean up after, and the fifth years (who were already starting to get on her nerves with their paranoia about their owls) to tutor. Didn't these damnable fool students know that no matter how hard you worked, no matter how many OWLS or NEWTS you got, no matter what job you managed to snag, you were still over-worked, unappreciated, and under-paid?

It wasn't until her last student left Friday night that she had a brain cell to spare over the disagreeable topic of her despicable ex, or the much more agreeable topic (to her chagrin. . . or wait. . . maybe not. . . but to her surprise definitely) of Gimli.

She cast a gaze that would make Superman and his wimpy X-Ray vision back away in shame at the pile of papers waiting to be graded. Unconsciously lifting her chin defiantly in the direction of the said papers, she swung her cloak down from its hook and jauntily walked out of the door.

"I'm telling you, dragon dung is the only fertilizer you need! It's ability to retain moisture and nutrients is unsurpassed!"

"Woman!" Exclaimed Gimli, throwing his hands up in the air and motioning for another shot. "All you can think of is moisture and nutrients and nurturing! Ach! You make my head ache!"

"Don't I feel special. And here I thought it was just me that got to make you loony."

He groaned and ran a hand across his eyes, but denied comment. "It's the Warblebeard waste you want! It has the fastest results!"

"The fastest results don't necessarily mean the best! Haven't you ever heard the saying Quality over quanity? Dragon Dung's the one that'll get you the best plants!"

"Well maybe people aren't looking for quality! Maybe they're looking for a quick fix!"

"Who is the 'people' you're talking about? Men?"

"Yes! No! Men! People!" He threw his hands around wildly.

"Oh, of course. All men ever want is a quick fix. One day you'll plant the bloody thing, the next day you fertilize it, and for a while you have your bloody quick fix! But then suddenly one day it will wither and die in the snap of a finger. And then when that happens you'll be wishing you had gone for the dragon dung. You're going to wish you had taken the time and nurtured the plant, given it life and taken the time to care instead of running off with the first fertilizer 'Guaranteed the fastest results' in a flashy bag!"

Here she paused, breathing heavily. She poured the rest of what was left in her glass down her throat, then sat down unabashedly on the stool and gestured for another firewhiskey.

"Why do I get the feeling we're not talking about fertilizer anymore?" She heard from beside her.

The professor looked sharply at him but merely said loftily, "Trying to sidetrack the conversation are we? Because you know I'm right?" She ignored the fact that her voice seemed a bit deeper than usual, which tended to happen whenever she was nervous.

He shook his head, laughing softly, letting the subject drop though he continued to look at her strangely.

"I'll make you a deal," she said, for some reason not wanting their. . . debate. . . to end. "I've got two plants in the greenhouse back at the school. One was planted using Dragondung and the other with Warblehead waste. You can come and see them, and we''ll be able to find out once and for all which is better."

"And how do I know you haven't tampered with them?" He asked.

"They're my students, plus I haven't even been in that specific greenhouse for over a week."

"Well then, lead the way pretty-lady," he drawled in a pathetically Un-Cowboyish drawl.

She looked at him quickly over her shoulder, chinks slightly pink, though he couldn't tell if it was from the fire or his compliment. The door banged open in front of her and he stepped out of the building in her wake, watching as she pulled her cloak tighter around her form to ward off the snowflakes, giving him a bit of a, ahem, view.. He sent a quick prayer up to Merlin for cold weather.

The pair walked into the greenhouse, shivering and sniffling. The air in the greenhouse was unnaturally warm, due to the heating charm necessary for plant growth in the winter, so they took their cloaks off and cast them on a table nearby.

"Where are the plants," Gimli asked, looking around with intererst.

"Over in the corner," she replied as she swatted his hand away just before he touched one of the plants. "The students' plants are off-limits."

"Only the students?" He asked, winking at her. He stepped closer to her and rested his hand lightly on her cheek. "What isn't off limits, may I ask?"

"Maybe you should be more specific in what you are asking for access to, and I might be able to answer your question," she shot back, but didn't move.

"Your ruining the moment," he said jovially. "But I'll play along. What I ask for is access to a kiss, possibly, if this goes well, a relationship. And if this goes well, perhaps a longer engagement?"

"Are you asking me to marry you," she exclaimed incredulously.

"No, simply saying that if it goes well, we may consider the option. Now, do I have access?"

The torches flickered and went out.

The witch looked around wildly, and clutched both of Gimli's arms in her hands.

"Afraid of the dark," he commented nonchalantly.

She shot him an irritated look. Then she said quickly, "Access granted," and crashed his lips to hers.

Basking in the light of the warm fire emanating from the crisping herbs in the corner as well as . . . lover-ship, she now realized that his eyes were brown instead of black. And warm and benevolent instead of dark and penetrating.

This close, she could even see the stubble on his chin. She always had had a thing for rugged guys. It had bothered her to no end that her ex was always cleanly shaved and a bit too smooth for her liking. She liked her men big and dirty.

Just then she felt a strange sensation in her stomach. Could it be? No, there was no way- Damnit! She was getting the warm, fuzzy feeling inside!

A/N: Yes, I know, I know, 'access granted' was a bit James Bond-esque, but I liked it so deal w/ it. AND REVIEW!