Prologue

Between the completion of final exams and the posting of results in their first year, June of 1992, Neville and his classmates had seven warm, sunny days of freedom to wander the grounds of Hogwarts and do whatever struck their fancy.

Neville gravitated back to the greenhouses. Professor Sprout was there doing chores, but she greeted Neville cheerily and they chatted about their summer plans as she carried wooden trays of freshly-cleaned hand tools into her office. Neville offered to help.

He looked around her office as they stacked the trays in racks, and he noticed a clear glass vase near her desk holding a half dozen dried stalks of some plant topped with large, lacy puffballs. They were reminiscent of dandelion seedheads, but about three inches in diameter, more delicate in appearance, less dense.

He stared at them for a few minutes and then said, "Professor Sprout, what are those?"

She looked over her shoulder at him to see what he was talking about.

"The things in the vase? Those are seedheads of Tragopogon. 'Goat's beard' is its common name."

"They're beautiful."

"Yes, that's why I keep them there."

"Where do they come from?"

"They grow around here, in meadows and along roadsides."

"Why haven't I seen them before?"

"The plants bloom in early summer, but they're not very showy -- yellow flowers like dandelions on knee-high stems. And on sunny days they're open only in the morning; by noon they close up again. That's why they're also called 'Jack-go-to-bed-at-noon'. If you want to find them, you have to go out early. It's not noon yet. Do you want to look for some?"

"Yes."

"We have time. Let's go."

They left the greenhouse and headed for the road leading towards Hogsmeade, looking intently from side to side. Neville hoped they would find a goat's beard plant before reaching the gate.

Suddenly Professor Sprout stopped. "There's one," she said, pointing to a yellow aster-like flower atop a stem with thin bluish-green leaves like coarse grass blades. "Study it carefully so that you can recognize it again. The seedhead will develop later."

"That will be after I have left for summer holiday."

"You can probably find some where you live. But the seeds don't stay on the stalk for very long. The wind detaches them and they float away on their little umbrellas."

"Oh." Neville was disappointed.

"But if you get up early when the air is still, before the winds have disturbed them, you can use a sticking charm to keep the seedheads intact. That's what I did. Do you know a sticking charm?"

Neville shook his head.

"Let me show you the one I use. You hold your wand like this and say Adhero. Try it."

Neville picked up two twigs and successfully stuck them together to form an X. A broad smile spread across his face. "I'll find some this summer near my house and preserve them with the Adhero charm and make a bouquet for my grandmother, like yours."

"She'll like that."

---

On the morning of the second day of September, 1997, Neville Longbottom pushed open the door of Greenhouse Six and stepped inside.

At one end of the greenhouse were workbenches with pots of a variety of exotic plants lined up on them, and at the other end was Professor Sprout's office, one wall of which was covered by a glass-front bookcase in which her extensive library of books was protected from mildew in a humidity-controlled environment.

At this end were also long white tables with chairs, where students listened to lectures about theories of growing and propagation, categories of plants, such as migratory or carnivorous plants, embryology and development of plant structures, and so on. The curriculum of Herbology for years one through five had been mainly practical, but in years six and seven it was distinctly more theoretical.

Younger students never went into Greenhouse Six. It was reserved for the N.E.W.T.-level students. It always made Neville feel special, very adult, to be in here. When he was here, he felt sure his grandmother would be proud of him because this place felt so right, this knowledge was so fascinating, and it was so deeply satisfying. Even though his poor memory was legendary within Gryffindor House, Herbology seemed to stick to his brain automatically, with very little effort. The plants were his friends, and he stroked their leaves gently (the ones it was safe to stroke) when he handled them. He did not actually talk to them, as one might talk to a dog or cat, but he was always aware of a deep connection, as one living thing to another.

He had walked over to the greenhouse in the company of Howard Sutton, one of the six students, referred to as "transfer students", who had been taught from home until this year, when attendance at Hogwarts was made mandatory. Howard was the oldest transfer student and the only one Sorted into Gryffindor. Neville had assumed the job of taking Howard under his wing, to help ease his way into Hogwarts and make sure he fit in quickly. They shared a dorm room and several classes.

Neville and Howard set their book bags on one of the tables, took chairs, and sat down. Quickly the room filled with other students until there were sixteen at the tables. Wayne Hopkins, a Hufflepuff whom Neville had gotten to know well the last year, sat next to Neville, and Tracey Davis took a seat next to Howard, completing their table of four. Neville had also gotten to know Tracey well last year. She was a Slytherin, the only Slytherin he actually liked, because she was friendly, never arrogant or condescending. I'm lucky she didn't know me when I was so young and bumbling, Neville thought. It was painful to think of himself as a little boy; he had come so far from that hapless, self-doubting pre-adolescent who couldn't keep ahold of his toad, his Remembrall, or his password list. He had grown tall, in a country of many short men, and even his height put him at a distance from his former self. His gran had to stand on tiptoe now to give her baby a hug.

Professor Sprout came out of her office with several books in her arms and a smile on her face. She always seemed happy when she was out here in the greenhouses, Neville reflected, even after the depressing events of the evening before, when it was plain at the opening banquet that there were too many empty seats at the House tables, the presence of Snape as headmaster had cast a pall over the proceedings, and they had all witnessed the unprecedented Sorting of the transfer students who everyone knew had been forced to attend against their will.

But the greenhouses were separate from the stone castle. Their glass walls flooded the interiors with natural light, even on overcast days, and trapped the heat. Being in them was like being in another world, where one could escape the politics and the angst of the larger society. It was always with reluctance that Neville left these buildings when class was over. Little wonder that Professor Sprout was happy here.

She greeted the class cheerfully, and her eyes fell on the unfamiliar face. Neville hastily got to his feet and said, "Professor Sprout, I would like to introduce to you my new friend and fellow Gryffindor, Howard Sutton, from the Isle of Skye." He knew she had seen him Sorted the night before, in the Great Hall, but the formal introduction seemed like the gracious and polite thing to do, the adult thing to do.

Howard immediately stood up, reaching across the table to shake Professor Sprout's hand. "How do you do, Professor Sprout. It's a pleasure to meet you. And please call me Howe; all my friends do."

Neville was struck by Howard's easy grace, his air of complete comfort and familiarity. Does he really feel this way, or is it a learned behavior, an acting job? Could I learn to be an actor too? And he had to smile at Howard's remark, "all my friends do." So far as Neville knew, the number of friends that Howard had made at Hogwarts since his arrival last night could be counted on the fingers of a mutilated hand. Perhaps Howe was referring to his old friends on Skye, or perhaps he was making a self-fulfilling prophecy that he would soon have many friends at Hogwarts. Glancing around the room, Neville concluded that the prophecy was coming true. Many students, especially the girls, were regarding Howe with keen attention.

Professor Sprout seemed greatly amused. She returned Howe's handshake and replied, "A pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Sutton -- Howe," and Neville knew that it was the last time she would address his friend so informally.

The class began. Professor Sprout passed out parchments with the year's syllabus and spoke briefly of the topics to be covered, making passing reference to the N.E.W.T. examinations at the end of the year. "However," she said, "this class is more than just a N.E.W.T. preparation review. You will not simply memorize more already-known facts about more obscure plants. You will also learn techniques of research and do special projects to learn experimental design. You will learn how to discover new facts and how to test whether long-held ideas are really true."

The students sat up and took notice. Original research in class was unheard of. Neville stared at Professor Sprout with his eyes wide open and his mouth partly agape in a half smile. This was fabulous. He could see his name mentioned in a future textbook: The life cycle of the mysterious Cryptophyton incognotus was first outlined by Neville Longbottom in 1997. Merlin's beard! He could write the textbook.

"One secret to successful discovery is teamwork, collaboration," Professor Sprout continued. "Together you can accomplish more than separately. One person's ideas feed off another's. Each person has unique insights to contribute, and the physical work is more manageable with co-workers to share in it. You will be divided into four teams of four students each."

Neville and the others looked around at one another. There were four tables with four students sitting at each. It seemed obvious. Neville wanted his team to include Wayne, Tracey, and Howe, so he spoke up immediately, before a different arrangement could be proposed. "We are already divided among four tables. Why not let each table compose a team? What do you think?" There was a murmur of general assent throughout the room.

Professor Sprout looked pleased that the matter has been settled so quickly. Neville felt the excitement growing in his brain. Neville Longbottom, member of a research team. Neville Longbottom, leader of a research team? His gran would be proud of him.

Neville shook off his fantasy and forced himself to refocus his attention on Professor Sprout. She was talking about setting up the research projects in Greenhouse Seven, which up until now had been used only for storage. Everyone stood up and started to file out of Greenhouse Six, chattering excitedly with one another. I must have missed something Professor Sprout said, Neville thought, but he followed the other students, who obviously knew where they were going.

"I hope it's okay with you what I said about each table being a group," he said to Wayne, Howe, and Tracey as they walked out.

"Oh, sure, mate," Wayne said, and the others agreed heartily. Neville eyed Tracey, who seemed particularly happy. The only girl in a research group that includes the glamorous new stranger, he thought. Poor Tracey, all the guys in her Slytherin year are such gits, and they would give her hell if she dated someone from another House. But working collaboratively in a research group isn't exactly dating...

They walked the short distance to Greenhouse Seven and went inside. Various types of horticultural equipment covered the floor and the bench tops, but it was scattered loosely, and much space could be gained by stacking the equipment very compactly at one end.

"After we organize this equipment, each team will be assigned their bench space. We will also construct extra shelves for more pots, since each team will be growing large numbers of specimens," Professor Sprout announced.

They set to work, stacking a dozen wooden wheelbarrows in two tall piles against one end wall, and stacks of pots and trays, bags of dragon dung, a line-up of watering cans, bundles of tall poles, wire cages, and all the other materials that cluttered the greenhouse. When the bench tops were denuded and the floor space clear, Professor Sprout directed each group to stand by the benches at the site they chose for their own. She numbered them Groups One, Two, Three, and Four. Neville, Wayne, Howe, and Tracey, closest to the door, were Group One.

"You will need to build extra shelves over your work areas," Professor Sprout directed them. "There is lumber over there," indicating boards piled against the wall, "and you can use standard cutting and sticking charms."

"Do any of you guys know how to build shelves?" Tracey asked her three male teammates doubtfully. Howe looked at Neville and Wayne, who had not offered any reply, and then said, "I can do it. I used to do all sorts of construction on our croft. I'll show you how."

The four of them hauled some boards over to their workplace, and Howe showed the others how to measure and cut them, cut smaller pieces for braces, and stick them all together to make a handsome set of shelves over their bench top. As he worked, he gave a running commentary on what he was doing. Neville glanced over his shoulder at the other groups, to see how they were coming along. Some of them were also glancing around, and as the minutes passed, more and more students were watching Howe, and a few walked over to Group One's space to see the construction more closely. Howe straightened up. "All done," he said.

"Wow, those are really pretty," Tracey exclaimed. "We're lucky to have you in our group."

"We're off to a great start," Wayne remarked. "Now we have to fill them with something valuable."

"Yeah, that's the hard part," Howe agreed.

None of the other groups was finished yet. Group One had nothing more to do, so they stood around chatting, first about their enthusiasm for doing original research, but as none of them knew much about it, the conversation soon veered toward giving Howe advice about how to survive at Hogwarts. They dropped their voices and instinctively moved nearer to one another.

"Don't draw attention to yourself."
"Some professors are safer than others."
"Keep your ears open and your mouth shut."
"It's safer to walk in the halls with one or two companions, but not alone."
"You'll hear some stuff you agree with, and some you don't. Think hard before you speak."
"There was an old Auror we used to know. His motto was Constant Vigilance. At the time we didn't realize how right he was."

Howe looked back and forth at them with wary eyes. "When we got that letter from the Ministry, my folks weren't sure about sending me here or sending me overseas."

"You can learn good stuff here," Neville said, "and you can make friends. But you gotta be careful."

"You seem to be doing okay so far," Tracey observed. But Neville wasn't so sure. Seeing how charismatic Howe had seemed in the class introduction, and how he had excelled in shelf building, Neville feared that Howe would draw attention just by being himself.

"You know that old joke about the duck in the pond," Howe replied. "Viewed from above, it seems to be gliding serenely along, but just below the surface it's paddling like hell. That's me."

In the ensuing weeks the Herbology projects began to develop. Two days a week the class studied the usual classroom curriculum in Greenhouse Six, and one day a week they met in Greenhouse Seven. Each group had been assigned one plant: Mandrakes, Snargaluff, Venomous Tentacula, or Devil's Snare, and their early weeks had included potting at least one hundred of the plants assigned to their group. They studied about hypotheses, experimental design, objective evidence, and record-keeping. One of their early tasks was to inspect and observe their plants minutely, writing down every little detail they could see.

"You might think that every possible observation has already been made," Professor Sprout told them, "that herbologists in the past have seen and written about everything there is to see. That is never the case. Do not study the books assiduously for the plant you have been assigned. Approach your plant with a completely open mind."

"I can see why no one has observed these plants as closely as possible," Wayne muttered during one class session. Group One's plant was the Venomous Tentacula, and dealing with it was really a group effort. Its mobile, spiky vines acted like arms that lashed about, trying to seize anything it could touch; its spikes and its bite were venomous, potentially fatal. To handle it, the students wore protective clothing, used well-practiced charms to control its movements, and had long-handled metal tools at the ready. Making one hundred cuttings and potting them had been bad enough, but at least the cuttings started off little; now they were all growing.

The researchers of Group One were sure they had the most difficult and dangerous assignment. The Devil's Snare was easily immobilized by bright lights, it was safe to stand next to a Snargaluff stump ("if you don't bother it, it won't bother you"), and the Mandrakes were, by comparison, downright civilized.

When the students asked why they had to learn research techniques with such difficult plants, Professor Sprout simply said, "We are not doing these things because they are easy, but because they are hard. If you can complete your projects with these plants, do you think you could do research in the future with gentler species?", and they all nodded yes. When they complained about having to deal with one hundred pots, she reminded them that if they were measuring two variables they would have fifty plants in each group; four variables, and there were still twenty-five plants in each group. "Could you draw valid conclusions from just one plant?" she asked, and they had to say no. Sometimes they would assay a feature of each individual potted plant and plot the results on a graph; Professor Sprout reminded them that a graph with one hundred points was more valid than a graph with only ten points.

Early on, the members of each group fell into roles. In Group One, Neville was the organizer, Wayne was the detail man, Howe was the expert at logistics and spatial relations, and Tracey was fascinated by the analysis of the data. They all came to know one another more closely than they ever had in other classes.

For the final twenty minutes of each session in Greenhouse Seven, all four groups would meet together, sharing their ideas, further procedures proposed, and results obtained, giving and receiving critiques with the other groups. Neville loved these sessions; he felt like a real herbologist during them, not just a student peeking into old books. He was proud of his teammates, hearing Wayne explain their project's hypothesis, watching Howe demonstrate how they managed to gather their data, and listening to Tracey interpret what it revealed.

"Do you think we could publish a report about what we are doing?" he asked Professor Sprout during one of these sessions.

"Not yet," she answered. "Maybe in a few years." Neville could hardly wait.

Outside of the greenhouses, it was a whole different, grimmer world. Howe had gotten into trouble with Alecto Carrow early on in Muggle Studies, when he ventured to remark, in all seriousness, that the Muggles he knew on the Isle of Skye were not as Professor Carrow had described, while Neville dropped his head onto his hands and thought, Merlin, Howe, I told you not to say that.

By Christmas the atmosphere in the castle was becoming as bleak as the weather. The Herbology students went home for the holidays, trusting Professor Sprout to keep their plants warm and watered, but Luna was kidnapped off the train going home, and no one felt safe anymore.

When classes resumed on January 3, it was hard to recapture the spirit of excitement and optimism that had formerly prevailed in Greenhouse Seven. Tracey in particular seemed morose, and Neville asked her what was wrong. At first she insisted it was nothing, but Neville persisted, and finally she told him that she sensed that everyone was blaming the Slytherins for the deteriorating conditions at the school, and that her Slytherin housemates were harassing her about her association with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Howe also had withdrawn into himself; he had learned to keep a low profile, and Neville reflected regretfully that if the situation had been better, Howe would have been a lively and engaging friend, but then he reminded himself that if the situation had been better, Howe would never have come to Hogwarts at all. Only Wayne seemed unsuppressedly cheerful, but, Neville reminded himself, Wayne was not part of Dumbledore's Army and did not lie awake at night thinking about Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

As the winter wore away, the stress was taking its toll. The persecutions of the Carrows and their student accomplices were becoming ever harsher, and the results of their actions were increasingly evident on the faces and bodies of the students. Insurgent activities by Dumbledore's Army lifted everyone's spirits but added to the constant turmoil. Even the refuges of Greenhouses Six and Seven could not completely alleviate the strain. Neville and Wayne did their best to be supportive friends for Tracey and Howe, but they could not change Tracey's relationship with her fellow Slytherins (Neville was thankful that at least Tracey was the only Slytherin in N.E.W.T. Herbology), and Howe expressed the observation that Hogwarts was a living hell, although he did not try to leave.

Working with Venomous Tentacula was getting wearisome. Right now they were investigating whether the venom became more potent, less potent, or stayed the same throughout the life cycle of the plant. This involved getting suited up in their protective gear with gloves and goggles, then levitating the pots one by one to the work bench. Three of their group would immobilize the plant with appropriate spells (it took all three to keep the branches still) while the fourth member extracted the venom, and it required absolutely focused attention to avoid a crisis. The venom was put in a numbered bottle corresponding to the number on the pot. Then they did the next pot, and the next. This particular study had begun in November and would continue into spring.

"I never dreamed I would become a world expert on the Venomous Tentacula," grumbled Wayne, as they doggedly processed pot after pot.

"It's a miracle that no one has been injured yet," remarked Neville, holding his wand steadily pointed toward the pot on the bench. There was even risk in carrying on a conversation during the extraction process because of the absolute attention that the task required. Howe held his wand steady with a grim expression on his face while Tracey extracted the venom. They traded off that job to share the danger, but Neville always felt particularly nervous when it was Tracey working with the plant. After the pot had been returned to the shelf, Professor Sprout, who had been watching their work, commented on their brief conversation.

"It's not a miracle," she said. "You remain safe because you adhere strictly to the safety procedures and never slack off, get careless, or take shortcuts. There's a narrow line between safety and catastrophe, but as long as you stay on the right side of that line, you will be okay."

"What really gets to me is knowing that there's no positive value in this venom," said Wayne with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. "What good is it for? How can it improve the world?"

"We can't say for sure that there is no value, just because we don't know what it is," Professor Sprout explained mildly. "If you go back far enough in history, you will come to a time when no one knew the medicinal quality of Mandrakes. Any year now, someone could publish a report of some marvelous discovery about the use of Tentacula Venom. Who knows? It could be one of you."

"It probably will be one of us," Neville said, laughing, "because no one else would be crazy enough to do what we are doing. If I write the paper," he added, looking around at his teammates, "I'll credit you all as co-authors."

"You'd better," Tracey retorted. "I do most of the data analysis."

"This reminds me of something I saw on Muggle television," Howe remarked. "It was a program about polar bears. They were shooting the bears on the ice pack with tranquilizer darts from a helicopter, and when the bear went down they would land next to it and quickly do all sorts of measurements and extract samples before the bear woke up again. It was dangerous, and they had to work fast. Those bears are tough customers. They could easily kill a man."

The team went back to work with dogged determination, knowing that if they finished all one hundred pots today, they would not have to come back on Saturday to finish the job. But Neville could not erase Howe's final words from his mind -- "Those bears are tough customers. They could easily kill a man." The Venomous Tentacula was a tough customer too.

After dinner Neville left the Great Hall and walked out the main doors through the darkening gloom to the row of greenhouses, and past the first six of them to Greenhouse Seven. He pushed open the door and went inside. It was very dark.

"Lumos," he said softly and started walking slowly along the line of benches. The Venomous Tentacula seemed to have been sleeping, but they began to wave their branches wildly as he passed them at a discreet distance. The Devil's Snare was writhing in its pots, moving more slowly as his light approached. The Snargaluffs and Mandrakes were quiet and seemingly inert, but they throbbed with latent power. Neville stood in the middle of the open space. The floor around him was illuminated by his wandlight, but the pots on the shelves were gray in the dimness. The four hundred plants seemed like a pack of snarling dogs straining at their leashes, or soldiers awaiting an order from their commander.

He left Greenhouse Seven and walked swiftly to Greenhouse Six, entered, went up to the door of Professor Sprout's office, and knocked. He heard footsteps, and then the office door opened.

"Yes?" said Professor Sprout.

"Come with me to Greenhouse Seven," Neville commanded, calmly but undeniably.

"Why? What's wrong?" she asked, but Neville merely repeated, "Come with me," and turned and left Greenhouse Six. Professor Sprout followed.

Once inside the door of Greenhouse Seven, Neville stopped and held out his wand to illuminate the wide dark space as much as he could.

"Look," he said. "It's an arsenal...isn't it?"

There was silence for a moment, and then Professor Sprout said, "Yes, an arsenal, among other things."

"Has it always been an arsenal, from the very beginning?"

"What was it for you, from the beginning?" she asked. "A research laboratory? Did you learn to be an herbologist here? You and your friends learned to be a community of herbologists, discoverers of new truths? These plants cannot help being what they are. They have a right to live, nevertheless."

"Did you ever teach a research course before this year?" Neville persisted. "Did we have to use these particular plants? So many of them?"

"You all asked me those questions before, and I answered them to your apparent satisfaction. They helped you learn, in a way that you could not have otherwise. Wasn't that true?"

"Yes, yes," Neville answered distractedly, looking around at all the pots of dangerous plants, deadly plants. "But there are so many."

"And you needed them all. But yes, they have a second function. War is coming, sooner or later, maybe here, maybe elsewhere. And everyone, everything, needs to be ready. We will be needing all our resources. And if I am wrong, if I have not read the signs aright, well, then, we will have plenty of plants for next year."

"All our resources..." Neville repeated.

"Even to the barrels of cooking oil in the kitchens."

"Yes," Neville laughed faintly. "We could haul them up to the Astronomy Tower, set them a-boil, and pour them over the ramparts."

Professor Sprout shook her head slowly, ruefully. "That we should live to see the day..."

Neville was quiet for a minute, as they stood there in the dim light, and then he began to speak, slowly, reflectively.

"Do you remember one year, at the end of the year, when we were waiting for our exam results, I'm not sure if it was my first or second year, and I came out to the greenhouses and saw your bouquet of goatsbeard seedheads, and you showed me where they grew and how to keep the seeds from falling off? Do you remember that?"

"Yes, I remember," Professor Sprout replied.

"I was so little in those days, and there was nothing I could do for you, but a lot you could do for me. And now..."

"There is a lot that you can do." And a moment later, "Good night, Neville," and she stepped out of Greenhouse Seven and was gone.

Neville swept his eyes once more over the ranks of plants, the endless lines of plants, each one a deadly weapon.

"Oh, Merlin..."

He went out into the night, closing the door softly behind him.