(Disclaimer: Anything that can be found in the Harry Potter books or HP Lexicon is not mine. I pride myself on the fact, though, that the Snapping Dragonwort and the Creeping Tentrillandus are!)

Chapter Five: Into the Greenhouses

Virgilia, although she was an uncommon dog, had very little magical power. Indeed, Lord Balfour had yet to find any magic in her at all. When he had scoured the crates at the Magical Menagerie for something to keep him company while he traveled, the amber Great Dane had immediately caught his eye. Yet, what the puppy had been doing in the magical shop, Balfour had never figured out. Now, a full nine years later, it was common knowledge that most days, the two were never found apart.

On this beautiful July summer day, though, Virgilia had other things on her mind.

Lying on of the stone tablets that led up to the enormous glass doors of the Lesser Greenhouse, she appeared to be sleeping. Her legs spread out on one side of her and one of her ears fell over her face in an exhausted way.

A hawk's shrill cry echoed above the trees, startling her. She sat up, every nerve alert, but realizing it was only a bird, she lay back down again, put a paw over her eyes, and gave a very dog-like groan. Not even thirty seconds later, she had fallen back asleep…a dog's bliss.

It was, however, short-lived.

Balfour, with Morgan in tow, was just wondering what it would take to shut a girl up.

Ah, not that I mind it, really. She does paint a flattering picture of me.

Indeed, Morgan had been for the past ten minutes. Then, with all the put-upon exaggeration of an indignant six-year-old, she managed to show her surrogate uncle just exactly what her mother had done to make her wait so impatiently to help him.

"…And then she braided it, Uncle Balfour, see? And it took forever! And I had to wait a long time! So are we going to pot them now?"

He slowed so she could keep up with his long strides. They were walking across the grass to the two long greenhouses behind the Mansion.

"Yes, we are. But, first, we need to stop off at the Lesser Greenhouse. It's time to deadhead the Creeping Tentrillandus again."

"Ooh! Okay!"

There were many members in the Hesperus household who thought that Morgan took on her newfound hobby with too much enthusiasm; and as much as he loved his own hobby and job, Balfour had to agree with them.

Virgilia could hear Morgan's squeals a mile off. She immediately sat up, her tail wagging; she loved the Rosier children ---- though the twins were a bit too much for her ---- and would guard them to the death, just as she would her own master. By the time Balfour and his charge were at the doors, the faithful dog was waiting to follow them inside.

Though they didn't look very big from the outside, both greenhouses were enormous. The glass roof of the Lesser reached to a peak high above their heads, about half as tall as the Mansion itself. There were rows of plants of every color and size. Odd flowers bloomed ecstatically, and rare herbs gave off mixed odors in the shyer half of the building. Ferns in large pots giggled and squirmed when they passed, daffodils honked rather loudly, blue roses opened in the sunlight and other fenced-off bushes tried to disentangle their knotty branches, tugging quite furiously as they did so.

One vine in particular was growing extremely fast. It covered the far wall completely and was now creeping along the skylights, trying to peek out of an open window. Morgan could see the ends slithering about above her head. They reminded her of the little green worms in Mum's garden at home, wriggling and looking for food. She giggled.

It was to the base of this vine that Balfour strode. Morgan followed along behind him, picking her way through the rows of potted plants. She stopped every now and then to coo at a little flower bud or stroke the ticklish ferns.

When she finally reached Uncle Balfour, he had already fed the overbearing leafy foliage a gallon of Herby Shrub's Slow-Grow and was now pointing his wand upwards, trimming off the dead stems and leaves, working his way down. Morgan watched him for a whole five minutes, asking questions like "Does it hurt them?" and "Are they sleeping now?" before growing bored of it and wandering away.

She made the rounds throughout the entire greenhouse, greeting her favorite plants and tucking the fertilizer dragon dung around them comfortingly. By the time she worked her way back to the door, she had saved the best for last.

In an urn to the left of the glass doors, the unicorn plant stood.

Morgan's unicorn plant.

Its beak-like white flowers poked out lovingly, as though they were just waiting for the girl to kiss them.

Which she did. Then she sat down to greet each flower individually with the names she had given them when they first opened their little petals.

"My, you're quite bright today, Hestia, dear," She cooed at the one on the top. "And John! I haven't seen you for a long, long time. Did you have a good nap, Johnny?"

But much to her combined dismay and pleasure, there appeared to be a new bud just breaking out between Marmie and Toby. She was very happy about it, to be sure, but she was also running out of names.

"Hmmm, let's see now…I think you look like a…boy! What shall I name you, my little man?"

Though she just couldn't think of anything that suited him. Charles wouldn't work…neither would Harold…and he didn't look like a Benjamin, either…

"Uncle Balfour, what should I name my little baby?" she called across the room.

Balfour raised his eyebrows.

I shouldn't ask, he decided.

"Girl or boy?" he finally answered.

"Itsa boy! A white one! But grayish, too. An' I'm all outa names! Is there anyone you know in purticalur?"

Balfour thought for a moment and then grinned. "Does he look like an Albus?"

Morgan scrutinized her flower, and brightened. "Yes! Yes, he does! Thanks!"

Uncle Balfour just laughed in return.

Morgan went back to loving her little babies. "Oh, you're a sweet little flower baby! Yes, baby Albus you are! And Vanny…!"

After the fiasco in Hestia's room, things went back to what passed for normal.

Balfour and Tobias had successfully got rid of that doxy, after Tobias had tried and failed numerous times to tame it and make it one of his pets. After a lot of compromising, and an agreement with Irene, Balfour and Tobias decided to stick it in a cage and send it to a friend of Balfour's who made hobbies of this sort of thing. Tobias was still a bit put out by this idea, but knew that it was a lot better than knocking it out and drowning it.

At least this way, he could keep it and try to befriend it until Balfour shipped it off. And if he succeeded…who knows? There was always creeping out in the dead of night to set it free…or even keeping it secretly shut in his room when they got home and teaching it tricks! Like having it drop apples onto Mum's head while she was in the kitchen, or tying knots in the girls' hair, and always vanishing before anyone could find out. Then everyone would think that there was a ghost or invisible creature on the loose! It would be fantastic! And Dad would have to come home from work to check it out after an owl from Mum, but Toby would sneak the doxy away in his pocket so everything would appear to be normal!

Ahhh…think of the possibilities!

And with this thought, he strolled away to go make amends with his cauldron, happily singing a Quidditch song about the Comet Two Sixty that Aunt Hestia had taught him, saying that it was very popular when she was small, and every one would sing it at the top of their lungs during the matches:

Comet!----it makes your face turn green!

Comet!----so fast, the air looks clean!

Comet!

It makes you vomit!

So buy a Comet, and vomit today!

Laughing, Marmie left to brew herself a strong cup of tea while Biddy set out to put Hestia's rooms back in living order. It would have amazed anyone who had seen the destruction in the rooms and who didn't know house-elves in general, or Biddy in particular, but for those who did, it was par for the course that Biddy would be folding the last of Hestia's clothes lovingly only ten minutes after she'd begun to clean.

As soon as she was finished, Biddy went to find out where her small son had gotten to. She hadn't seen him in over an hour and just knew that he was up to something. Just the other day, he'd been missing for three hours until Biddy had uncovered him sleeping in a cupboard in Old William Rhum's gatehouse, which was somewhere Dingy knew he shouldn't have been. If Old William had caught him, it would only have served him right, but Biddy was intent on making sure her trouble-maker-of-a-son didn't get whacked too many times. She did love him, after all.

So, when Balfour and Morgan left to visit the Greenhouses, and Toby went off to do whatever he was doing, and Hestia went on a walk with Evan, and Biddy started searching for Dingy, Irene felt her I-Need-Mummy-meter drop to an unusual low, causing her to withdraw and go mope in the drawing room on the second floor.

After all, if you were the mother of four energetic children and were stuck with them every hour of every day while your husband was away, you, too, would not quite know what to do with yourself when they were gone. Staying at someone else's home, and that someone else owning a diligent house-elf, even precluded the possibility of housework. And being shut away in a room with only a grand piano, a harp, a few music books, and some paintings for company did not improve matters much.

Truthfully, it only made them worse, for now she had a mind that was fully hers and not being lent constantly to doing some other feat, such as worrying about the children, racking a memory for John, saying words of advice to Hestia. At home, Irene's mind was usually devoted to making lists of things that needed to be done, or things that needed to be bought, or things that needed to be destroyed before the children got a hold of them!

Irene had carefully honed her motherly instincts over the years. It was just so hard for her to keep them intact while her family was all at her sister's. She wasn't used to living in such a big house that she couldn't hear her children, even when they were sliding down a staircase on pillows and screaming with laughter. That very same thing had happened on the twins' birthday a week or so ago, and Irene had had absolutely no clue.

And though she was very happy for her kids to find so many things to do at their aunt's house, Irene missed walking in on them on an hourly basis. The children could stay in a room somewhere and be in it for hours at a time, playing one make-believe game after another with all of the many interesting things they found to keep them entertained.

Of course, Evan couldn't stay away for long, and neither could Morgan; both of them would come careening down a hall and throw themselves into her arms to tell her what they had found. The twins, however, (bless their hearts) were starting to grow more and more interested in exploring and inventing new games and such. They wanted to be gone longer and not be interrupted by such foolish things as going to find Mummy.

That was what worried Irene. Of course, at home it wasn't so bad, because there really wasn't that much to get into, at least not of the caliber for her to be worried about. But Irene knew that her two oldest were growing up, and it wouldn't be but another few years in which they would leave her entirely and graduate to a much more interesting playground.

Irene did not like the idea of sending her two wild children to Hogwarts. For one thing, the only ones who could restrain them there were the teachers. Irene could only wish them 'good luck' with that, because the twins were getting to that stage where they were starting to cease even listening to her. And for another thing, without her and John there to stop them, she knew that they were quite capable of stirring up not only trouble but actual danger!

Irene only remembered too well everything that Hestia got herself mixed up in when she started Hogwarts…although being in the same class with four of the worst trouble-makers in the history of the school didn't really help much.

At this time, though, Irene at least knew where her children had gone…and that they were with adults…although this last part really didn't help that much, seeing as how it was Balfour and Hestia…but it was better than nothing.

Thus she had a mind free for thoughts of her own. Or so she thought until Dumbledore's letter kept flitting across it. This of course led to thoughts about John which, in turn, led to Irene just knowing that something was wrong with him, regardless of Hestia's reasoning.

So, instead of wallowing in worry and frustration any longer, she sat at the piano that graced the far corner of the drawing room and began to play, letting the music wash over her.

As sounds from Beethoven's Fur Elise filled that quarter of the Mansion, Old William looked up from his drawn out tale of the doxies, only to find the room empty. Grumbling to himself about how no one appreciated him, and how they all just forgot about "poor, handicapped Old William", he trudged off to his gatehouse to reintroduce himself to his whisky dram.

And so, the afternoon wore on.

Alexandra climbed her second flight of stairs slowly, listening with a small smile on her face. The Mansion was the very essence of silence, excluding but one sound: the mournful melody of piano keys. Every person living there except her mother and herself was now outside enjoying the beautiful weather while it lasted. The news forecaster had predicted record-hot days until the fall.

In Scotland, that is. I don't really know about back home.

Alexandra felt the smile slip off her face as she thought about the Rookery.

Home. I miss it…wonder when Daddy'll be back. Mum said probably not for a few weeks…

She walked slowly down the narrow hall. Her feet made no noise on the plush rug carpeting the length of the corridor. The music intensified in chord and concentration behind the door at the end of the hall.

Alexandra loved the Mansion, of course. With all of its secret rooms and magical instruments, the wide sweeping corridors with their talking portraits, Balfour's dangerous plants, playing games with Aunt Hestia…it was quite difficult to be bored here. There was just too much to do, too much to see, and too much opportunity to make an inexplicable mess. She adored it, really.

But she did miss the oneness they had at the Rookery. She missed her room and her bed and her broomstick, the one she got when she was seven…it only stayed five feet above the ground and didn't go very fast, but she loved it all the same. She missed her small desk under the window and her poetry books; eating breakfast together in their small kitchen, playing Witches and Trolls in the woods near their house, cuddling up in Mum and Dad's bed in a thunderstorm, Daddy's firelit stories of battling dangerous beasts at work…

Alexandra could go on and on. She really did love it at her aunt's, but nothing could beat her home.

Her mother's scales slowed to an end, and she pressed the finishing chords of her song. Alexandra reached the door and poked her head in.

Like all the other rooms in the house, the drawing room was spectacularly finished. It had all shades of blue, with gold and black trimmings, and numerous landscape paintings completed the tinged walls. Over a large harp was a magnificent oil painting on canvas, portraying the sea against moory cliffs, with a cottage on top and a few bird's nests resting against the drop.

That painting was a favorite of hers. She could just feel the moving waves crash against the cliffs and the salty breeze blowing through her hair. Of course, it being a magical painting, she really did see the waves move in time. She knew vaguely that the real counterparts of the cliffs were somewhere in Wales.

With a few simple notes, Mother began to play Traumerei. It was a sweet, melancholy song, and one of Mum's favorites. The haunting tune filled the room as Alexandra crept in, careful not to startle Mum while she was playing. Any other time, it would have been funny, but when Mother was in one of these moods…

It's best not to be on her bad side. And certainly not while she's playing Traumerei. She only plays it when Dad's gone…I don't think she's ever played it while he was here.

She sat beside her mother on the piano bench and watched her play. Mum had told her long ago, when she was first teaching her how to play, all about the magic of Traumerei. It was composed by a German musician called Schumann, who had decided to call his piece Dreams, the English interpretation of the German word traumerei.

Every time Alexandra heard it, it made her feel like she was walking in her own dreams, regardless of how impossible they might seem. She felt that if she could just reach a little higher, than she could soar above the clouds like a hawk, fly high above everyone else.

She looked over at the Welsh painting, at the birds circling around the sky, diving in for the kill.

What I want more than anything, she decided, is to be where they are. I want to have an adventure! I want to see the world and travel far away from here. I don't want to have to be with Mum and Dad all the time…I want to be out on my own. Well, and Toby, of course…I can't go any where without him…and I might as well take Mory and Vanny too, because they wouldn't want to be left behind either.

Mother's hands caressed the keys with a refined softness which reminded Alexa of the night, years ago, when Mum was trying to put a screaming baby Evan to sleep. She had sung him a beautiful, calm lullaby, and his howls had subsided like magic, until his eyes drifted shut in peaceful sleep.

Alexandra and her mum sat side by side as the song slowed, coming to a graceful end.

Irene put an arm around her daughter and pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. "Hullo, sweetie," she murmured. "Why aren't you with your brothers and sister?"

Alexandra shrugged. "I dunno…I wanted to know where you were, I guess…" She toyed with a few higher notes on the piano, reciting their names in her head. Mi…re, fa, mi…mi, re, mi, fa, mi, re, mi, do…

"How come you're not with your brother and sister?" she shot back, grinning.

Mum made a face back at her. "Because my brother is a long, long way from here, and my sister has taken my little boy for a walk! That's my reason, now what's yours?"

Alexandra stuck her tongue out at the black and white keys. Now she had to answer.

"Because I miss Daddy."

Mother frowned. "We all do, sweetie, but that's no reason not to have fun!"

"Look who's talking!" Alexandra exclaimed.

Mum laughed. "I am your mother. I am the one exception!"

"But that's not fair! I miss him more than you do!"

"Oh, I know you love him and miss him very much, Alexa, but I still think that I miss him more! Besides, he'll be back in just a few weeks…that's not too much longer to wait, is it?" she asked, veering away from any argument.

Alexandra couldn't help but whine, "Yeah, it is!"

Irene gave a sigh quite similar to her daughter's. "It is, isn't it?" she added softly. She played the same tune Alexandra played, but three octaves lower. "But, come on, sweetie! Us two lonely birds must stick together!" Irene straightened up and played the opening tune to Gavotte.

Noticing her cue, Alexandra plunked the melody of the song while her mother played the accompaniment on the lower keys. It was a very lively song that brightened up their moods at once.

Perfect, Irene thought.

The dragon dung fertilizer was carefully measured into the small individual pots. On the table lay the squirming batch of Violent Violets, while around the table there was an aura of the most putrid smell imaginable. It didn't take long for the Violets to mature, and Balfour knew that the more oxygen the roots took, the more they were likely to resemble sewage and toilet contents.

Thus, Balfour and Morgan, dressed down in dragon-hide gloves, grungy clothes, and thick, rough aprons, were also sporting matching clothespins clamped tight onto their noses.

Morgan was all for using magic to seal their nostrils…that's what Mother did when they were putting the dung fertilizer in the flower beds at home, but Uncle Balfour gave a firm, resounding 'No'.

"It's all right for us to use magic in the Lesser Greenhouse," he explained patiently as he gathered the Violets together. "But it's too risky to use any in here, because some of the plants absorb it and are able to shoot their own back out. Some aren't that bad, like the Violets give off their odor and the fireflower can shoot out small flames in the dark. Others, though, are much more dangerous. I try to use no extra magic in here if I can help it. So clothespins it is!"

Morgan thought they were hilarious. She kept trying to talk and sing, just to hear her strangely modified voice in her ears.

"Uckle Baffour?" she asked once again, giggling at her pronunciation.

Balfour, who had tried to keep his patience with her but was starting to fail, answered.

"Yes,Morgad?"

By George, if she asks me if I like her voice one more time, I'm gonna Silence her!

But he found that she had moved on to other questions.

"Is the dug packed tight eduff, yet?"

Balfour looked down into the pot she was planting her Violet in. The slimy flower dug its roots deeper into the fertilizer.

"Yes, it is! Good job. We just deed to add a teaspood of this stuff to each pot. Do you wa't be to do it, or you?" he asked, nodding to a bright green jar entitled Slimian Vastisk.

Morgan shook her head. "You do it. I'b bery tired, dow."

Balfour bent his head over the table again, and Morgan scooted around him and a prickly fern to sit on a small stool beside the glass windows. Around them were all sorts of magical plants, most of which were more dangerous than those in the Lesser Greenhouse. Uncle Balfour had set up their table away from the other plants, so nothing would happen while they were working.

Morgan twiddled her thumbs and tugged on her braid, taking the clothespin off her nose and rubbing it, sniffling. She looked around her, tentatively at first, and then took much more interest in the odd plants surrounding the rest of the large room.

Most of the plants were ones Morgan had never seen before, but a few yards away sat the Snapping Dragonwort.

Morgan remembered that Uncle Balfour had it kept in his room for the longest time while he was trying to keep it from becoming sicker, he said. Toby and Alexa would sneak in his room to see it, but its leaves and petals were now full and healthy and it was quite ready for its next meal.

Morgan smiled at the large plant, and admired its beautiful magenta petals that kept opening and closing, revealing something glittering deep inside.

It was the petals that drew little Morgan's attention. Her eyes lit up as she looked at them. They were thick and numerous and looked very velvety and soft. Why, they were as tall as Uncle Balfour himself! And the leaves were much, much bigger than Morgan's head was!

She's very pretty, Morgan smiled brightly at the beautiful, exotic plant. I want to name her…she needs the bestest name! I wonder what it should be…

"Hello, honey bunch! You're a very good girl today, aren't you? And you're very healthy and strong! You eat your vegetables, don't you, pretty darling?" She spoke softly, in a high-pitched voice, and edged her stool a bit closer.

By the table, measuring out the last bit of substance into one of the pots, Balfour chuckled aloud. Plants eating their vegetables? I need to remember that one!

Morgan took a small step towards the Dragonwort in the urn, holding her hand out to touch it.

Balfour set down the bottle and turned around to see which 'baby' Mory was claiming now.

He froze.

"Morgan! NO!"

Author's Note: Ha! Yes, my dears, it is a cliffie! I hope you liked the chapter, sorry it's two days late! Many thanks to my beta, Whydoyouneedtoknow, go read her works, seriously!

As for the three songs Irene played on the piano, I really suggest you go listen to them on the Internet orby a friend's CD...they are pretty aewsome songs.

Ilove the reviews! They encourage me to write more.

Cheers, everyone!