The first thing a Hogwarts student arriving at the station is supposed to admire is the sight of the typically English cottages lining the Hogsmeade platform. Instead, we were greeted by the lingering, oppressive dread of Dementors.
Sure, the cottages hadn't gone anywhere; the snow-capped roofs were still there, as were the warm yellow lights in the windows. But none of that mattered when such a foul aura hung in the air.
We walked a short distance from the platform, piled into carriages equipped with runners instead of wheels, and set off. Professor McGonagall met us at the castle and immediately led us to the Great Hall. There, amidst the feast and the familiar warm atmosphere—lit by hundreds of floating candles and the twinkling lights of the still-standing Christmas tree—we drank hot chocolate and stuffed ourselves until we could barely move.
I spent Saturday, January 1st, and the following day in the common room, occasionally visiting the library, which was blissfully empty at that time.
On Saturday evening, I checked on my bow-sapling. Visually, I didn't even need to examine it closely: it was growing in a pot next to my bed, a straight trunk with sparse branches and equally sparse leaves. But magically speaking... it was almost ripe. That meant I had to solve the issue of the bowstring.
Sunday morning, there was a small meeting of our House Quidditch team. Cedric announced a training schedule—light loads, by the way. He added that if anyone wanted to train more, they should speak up now so he could adjust. No one showed any particular enthusiasm. Besides, you could always fly on your own to practice maneuvering and aerobatics without supervision.
Then came Monday, bringing the usual school grind: classes, shuffling from lecture hall to lecture hall, evenings in the common room with homework, chess, magical sweets, or just idle talk.
But no matter how accustomed we became to this measured school life, the influence of those damn Dementors could be felt even in the warm, cozy burrow of our common room. That meant something had to be done, especially since the Ministry categorically refused to catch Black properly.
It all came down to the bow.
Sure, I could use pure magic, but I only had raw willpower at my disposal. The more global the effect, the more mental effort required—I simply wouldn't manage it. Plus, it would cause too much panic: a massive area-of-effect magical blast wiping out unkillable creatures? Too conspicuous.
But the bow wasn't a simple fix either. Serious doubts gnawed at my soul. Doubts regarding the sapling itself.
I sat in my corner of the common room, staring at the little tree in its pot, unable to bring myself to perform the final magical transformation. The reason was simple: first, I sensed the tree wasn't quite ready. Second, my last experiment with plants hadn't ended exactly as intended. The result had deviated from the projection—not necessarily for the worse, but the most important part was that I had no idea why it happened.
Perhaps local plants reacted differently to the life energy I knew, to the rituals and magical circuits. Pure Elven techniques tied to nature often had somewhat... fuzzy final transformations.
Yes... I needed an expert opinion. Or at least someone knowledgeable, someone who could feel it. Alien world, alien rules.
With these thoughts, I left the room and headed to breakfast. I spent almost the entire day thinking about where to find a knowledgeable person who wasn't a teacher. It wasn't about a lack of trust. It was just that teachers were responsible for us. If they decided my experiments posed a threat—which they could—they would not only confiscate the sapling but likely slap me with sanctions.
Potions passed in these ruminations (earned a poke in the ribs from Daphne for having my head in the clouds), followed by Transfiguration, lunch, and finally, Herbology.
It was there that I more or less snapped out of my thoughts and once again noticed an interesting fact. The Gryffindor, Longbottom—usually shy, insecure, and often incompetent in other classes—got along famously with plants. He didn't just skillfully repot them; he practically communicated with them, instantly understanding what a plant needed, the best way to water it, and how to care for it.
As soon as Madam Sprout dismissed the class, I headed straight for Neville, who hadn't even managed to take off his special brown robe and gloves yet.
"Neville, right?" I asked with a smile.
"Um... Yes," he nodded.
"Hector Granger," I said, extending my hand.
"Yes, I know," the boy nodded shyly, extending his own. "I mean, I wanted to say... Neville Longbottom."
We shook hands, though I could see vague apprehension in the chubby boy's eyes. He seemed to feel as out of place among these children as a poultice on a corpse.
"I'd like to show you a plant and get your opinion."
"Well... I'm not that good at it," the boy stammered. "You'd be better off asking your Head of House. Professor Sprout is a great expert."
"No, professors are professors. You can go to them with some things, but for others, you'll just get a lecture," I said, taking off my work robe and hanging it on a hook, placing my gloves beside it.
We were among the last of our year to leave the greenhouse area.
"Come on, the pot's in my room."
"Alright then," Neville nodded.
We reached the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. I tapped the required rhythm on the barrel lid, opening the passage.
"Go on, get in," I waved Longbottom through, and we quickly entered the badger's den.
Naturally, the appearance of a student from another House attracted some attention, but it wasn't negative—quite the opposite.
"Is it okay that I'm in another House's common room?" the boy looked around anxiously as I led him to the spot where my friends were sitting, gesturing for him to take the sofa.
"Totally fine. I brought you in; you didn't sneak in."
"Exactly," Ernie nodded, feverishly sorting through his notes at the table. "Damn it, where did I put..."
. . .
"Are you going to be late for Muggle Studies?" asked Zacharias, walking past with three first-years trailing him, evidently waiting for the help he'd promised.
"Can you wait here?" I asked a nervous Neville, sliding a bowl of biscuits and a carafe of... milk, as it turned out, toward him.
"Yes, I suppose," he nodded awkwardly, distracted by the offerings.
"Excellent."
I went to my room, grabbed the pot, checked that there was nothing extraneous on the sapling or in the soil, and confirmed the plant remained magically stable. I carried it out into the common room and placed it on the coffee table in front of Neville. My actions didn't attract any undue attention, though some noted the potentially interesting activity in our corner. That's what I like about our House—they don't pry unless invited.
"Dragged your bush out into the wild?" Ernie smirked. "Oh! Found it!"
He shook a stack of notes in the air as if it were the Holy Grail, quickly stuffed them into his bag, and hurried out of the common room.
"By the way," I turned to Neville, who was chewing a biscuit and intently examining the sapling. "Aren't you going to Muggle Studies?"
"No," the boy shook his head. "It's not interesting at all. Although... the guys say it's pretty easy to get a high grade there."
"To hell with grades. Here's the tree."
"I noticed, surprisingly..."
Neville spent a few minutes examining the sapling from this angle and that, touching the sparse leaves with his fingers. Only then did he ask:
"And what is it supposed to be in the end?"
"You know," I sat down in an armchair. "It feels like it's stuck..."
I began to explain my thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Yes. It goes through several stages of development, and the finale is a form independent of the earth."
"I se-e-e," Neville drawled. "That's roughly how it feels. It seems to me..."
The boy hesitated, sighed, then looked at me more confidently.
"The sapling is depressed. Like all living things, it wants to leave offspring, and there isn't a single other tree around."
"Hmm... Any options?"
"I feel," Neville looked at the pot, "that as soon as it finds itself near related species, it will bloom. And once bees or other insects transfer the pollen, it will enter its final form."
"Reasonable. Though I thought I'd spur the transition with special spells and magic."
"Don't," Neville shook his head desperately. "The tree, like many magical plants, has a primitive analogue of a mind. It will be very offended. I assume the result is supposed to be some sort of... tool, or something like that?"
"Yes."
"It will be a bad tool if you do that."
"Understood. Your suggestions?"
Neville fell into thought, consuming one biscuit after another and washing them down with milk.
"I know what needs to be done," the boy nodded. "There are several species of dwarf deciduous trees in the greenhouses. The microclimate there is good..."
As soon as he started talking about plants, Neville lost all his insecurity.
"...and they are green and active even now, in January. I know Hagrid has a swarm of special bees he uses for his needs..."
"Can we do it artificially? With a cotton swab?"
Neville shook his head again.
"It's better to have a completely correct, natural process. I don't think the tree would be happy with artificiality."
That statement made me smile, causing Neville to look at me in bewilderment.
"Don't mind me," I waved it off. "I think you're right. I wouldn't be happy either if my reproduction process was that unnatural."
One second for realization, then another—that was exactly how long it took for Neville to turn red up to the roots of his hair. All he was missing was cartoon steam coming out of his ears to complete the image.
"Will this take a lot of time?"
"Unlikely," the boy shrugged.
"Then what are we waiting for?" I stood up, grabbed the pot, and headed for the exit. "To the greenhouse!"
Neville jumped off the sofa and followed me.
"And then?"
"We look at the result, then go to Hagrid," I nodded importantly.
We left the common room and found ourselves back in the castle corridors.
"And then?"
"We borrow the bees from him—maybe borrow Hagrid himself—and back to the greenhouses. We'll see from there..."
For the rest of the evening, students from all Houses could observe the amusing sight of Neville and me rushing back and forth through the castle, clutching a potted tree. Through the castle and outside, across the snow that had begun to pack down and melt. Yes, melting snow in January—the reality of harsh Scotland. The winter here isn't cold, just wet.
Why were we running around with a pot? Well, we both acted shortsightedly. Instead of finding out who was where and deciding on a detailed plan, we just rushed headlong. The exit to the greenhouse courtyard was locked, and we didn't risk breaking the wards with lockpicks or Alohomora. Then we went to Hagrid's, but he was out, leaving a note on the door saying he'd return in half an hour. Eventually, still lugging the pot, we went to find Madam Sprout. I didn't appear with the pot there—Neville went in, expressing a desire to work in the greenhouses. That got him a key valid only for today to open the courtyard door.
Although Hagrid should have returned by then, we went to the greenhouses first, under the surprised gazes of those who witnessed our procession. Neville had access to all but two—dangerous plants grew in those, and rumor had it not even the Weasley twins could bypass the protection there.
. . .
"Where did you get access?" I couldn't help but ask as we settled the pot among a dozen leafy trees—lush and green, but small, barely two meters high.
"I've been helping Madam Sprout and the Herbology Club since second year, even though I'm not a member."
Having positioned the tree, we stepped back a couple of meters.
"What now?"
Neville took out his wand and waved it—not particularly confidently, but decisively.
"Conjutura..."
Visually, nothing happened, but I felt a current of energy ripple between the plants. The crowns of the trees swayed as if hit by a breeze, and in the next moment, they bloomed rapidly, covered in tiny, multicolored flowers.
"Unexpected," Neville marveled, examining his handiwork with undisguised pleasure.
"What exactly?"
"This spell helps new plants fit into the local biome very quickly..." Neville looked at me sharply, embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm probably not making sense."
"Don't worry," I smiled and clapped the boy on the shoulder. "I'm well-read enough to understand the gist."
"That's good..."
"But what now?"
"Now... I thought we'd have to wait for buds to appear and open. But look how fast it happened. That's strange. But... good, probably?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Then we can go to Hagrid right now."
Leaving the greenhouses and locking everything up, we headed back to our Care of Magical Creatures teacher's hut. We knocked and waited, but not for long—a low, booming bark sounded, followed by Hagrid's voice.
"Fang, down, you cowardly mutt..." Hagrid's voice sounded quite muffled through the closed door.
We heard heavy footsteps, the rattle of a lock, and the door opened to reveal the towering giant.
"Oh, hello lads. What are yeh doin' here? It'll be gettin' dark soon. No place to be walkin'..."
"Hi, Hagrid," I nodded, remembering his request to skip the 'Sir' and such. "We're here for just a second, on business. Neville, what exactly do we need?"
"Hello... Prof... Hagrid," the boy stammered. "We need your special bees. Literally for an hour. Just to pollinate a few plants."
"Oh, well that can be done, easy enough," the giant nodded, smoothing his curly beard and disappearing into the depths of his hut.
Less than a minute later, Hagrid emerged, holding a typical beehive like a lantern on a chain.
"Only, I'm comin' with yeh, kiddies. To supervise," we stepped out of the giant's way. "Those bees are tricky little buggers."
We all walked briskly toward the castle, and Hagrid continued his story.
"Tiiiny little things, but their sting—woof! Remember when I first got 'em, for Hogwarts' needs, y'know. One stung me, the rascal. Oh, Merlin's Beard, thought I'd gnaw me own finger off just to stop the pain. And no magic works on it, see."
"What about the bee?"
"What about 'er?" Hagrid glanced at us. "They ain't normal bees; their stingers sit tight. Oh, and I remember a funny thing happened once. Long time ago, mind you..."
Hagrid launched into memories of interesting and funny animals, pranks, and curious incidents. Considering that in Hagrid's classification, a "funny animal" is Danger Level 4, and an "interesting" one is Level 5, it was terrifying to imagine what kind of beast would be both funny and interesting simultaneously. But Hagrid cunningly skirted around naming the creature, which was more alarming than if he'd just led us to a dragon.
One way or another, we reached the greenhouses and entered the right one. Hagrid quickly realized our target was the two-meter dwarf deciduous trees, among which my potted tree sat.
"Right then..." Hagrid approached one of the trees, kneeling to be at least slightly lower than it, and deftly hooked the hive onto a branch. "Like that... Stay behind me..."
We stepped back a few paces, and Hagrid pulled a pink umbrella from inside his coat.
"Lads. Just, er, don't tell anyone I was usin' a wand. Not allowed, see."
"No problem, Hagrid."
The giant nodded and simply poked the umbrella at the space, pointing to the hive. A tiny spark flew from the tip, and as soon as it touched the hive, it literally came to life. Perky and not at all sleepy bees crawled out of the opening, quickly beginning to fly around the flowers, doing their job.
"There we go. Main thing now is not to bother 'em."
"Hagrid," I couldn't contain my curiosity while Neville watched the insects work with a mix of fear and interest. "How do you get them back in?"
"Same way," the giant shrugged. "The hive's specially enchanted. Professor Flitwick helped me, see—talented charmer, he is... He knows I can't do magic, and me wand... ain't in the best state. So he set up Stasis charms, special beacons on the hive, all that. So I can handle 'em simple-like. Aye, talented charmer."
"I see. Listen, Hagrid, you seem like a reliable man."
"Well, o' course!" the giant beamed. "That I am."
"Is it possible to persuade the Headmaster to write a pass or something to visit the Restricted Section?"
"Persuade? Not likely. But if yeh explain and prove yeh need somethin' there—then aye. But likely under supervision. Great wizard, Dumbledore," Hagrid sighed.
We watched the bees work for about an hour. In that time, they managed to handle all the flowers on the trees. Hagrid poked his umbrella toward the hive again, released a spark, and the bees quickly flew back inside.
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