On the first day of her seventh year at Hogwarts, Professor Slughorn asked June Bagnold, the elder of the Bagnold girls, to answer a simple question, based on reading they’d all been assigned over the summer, and which June had diligently done. June opened and closed her mouth a few times, stammered –I - I -â€, and was unable to produce anything further.
On her very first day at Hogwarts, Vivian Bagnold had delighted Professor McGonagall with her prompt and clear answer to a difficult question posed to the class.
This difference is important.
June was very pretty. She had fine, flaxen hair, a tip-tilted nose with a dusting of freckles and big blue eyes. Though it was usually hidden under baggy school uniform robes, she had a neat figure.
Vivian was plain at best. Her hair was mousy and limp, her features too sharp, her nose too big for her face.
This difference is important to some people, but was far secondary to the other in June Bagnold’s mind.
August 1972
Dinner at the Bagnolds’ was never a particularly raucous affair, but tonight June and Vivian were on their best behavior.
Their father worked at the Ministry, though he was nowhere as successful as their aunt Millicent. He had thick brown hair, going grey, and the mustache to match. He was gruff with his girls, but in the way of their family, he wanted them to be successful. The Bagnolds had been one of the lowly regarded pureblood families until recent generations. It was through hard work and careful politics alone that the family had begun to climb towards the higher echelons of pureblood society.
Hattie, their mother, was pleasant and convivial and very much in the mode of the traditional wife and mother. She kept her wavy blonde hair in a neat bob and she always had a warm smile in reserve. Among other things, she hosted the occasional dinner party, mostly for their father’s associates, and tonight was such a night.
It wasn’t a treat, like when Aunt Millicent came. June, in particular, hated these dinner parties. It was all right when their guests ignored them, but when they tried to talk to her...well.
She paced the lounge, unable to sit and wait; she just worried she might crease her blue dress.
Vivian wasn’t even in the lounge yet. She was probably reading in her room or something.
Finally, there was a knock at the door, and June heard her mother’s voice greeting their guests graciously. Vivian emerged from her bedroom in a wine-colored dress that actually looked quite good on her. It was very Vivian, at the least - sophisticated. June thought her own was more suited to a little girl, and was beginning to question her decision in choosing to buy the dress in the first place. Vivian was two years younger; she really ought not to seem older.
That fretting was cut short when their mother ushered their guests into the lounge, and June tried to suppress the jump of panic in her stomach. She didn’t know any of these people. She was so busy trying not to look too dismayed that she missed their names when her mother made introductions.
Their father appeared and greeted the guests heartily. They chatted a bit, then went into the dining room. June barely noticed her food, though she ate it dutifully. Questions and comments were occasionally directed at her, and she managed answers, barely, her face flaming. Dinner passed in a blur of panic.
Finally, finally, the meal ended, and June was able to escape to her room while their guests had drinks with her father.
June was helping her mother brew a Pepperup Potion. Vivian had developed a bad cold and was very cross that she couldn’t talk above a low rasp. They’d chatted about how the garden was doing for a while; June kept it up while she was home. But they’d fallen silent, and while she chopped the bird’s eye chilies, her mind turned to school. Seventh year started soon. She’d done her homework for the summer, but she still felt a sick pang of fear every time she thought about it. Her last year at school. After this, she was expected to go out into the world and make something of herself.
–Something on your mind, love?†her mother asked, finished adding the careful drops of salamander blood.
June set down her knife and looked up. She hesitated before asking, in a small voice, –Mum, what if I don’t do well on my NEWTs?â€
Her mother came around the table to June’s side. She brushed a strand of June’s hair out of her face, looking at her in concern. –What’s brought this on, then?†she asked.
–It’s just...†June shrugged. –It’s NEWTs. There’s so much pressure. And if I don’t get decent marks then that’s it for a Ministry job, isn’t it?â€
–Oh, June.†Her mother smiled at her, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners. –You’re clever enough to do it. I know you are.â€
June swallowed hard but didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t her mother understand - remember - that surviving NEWTs was about more than just cleverness? Even OWLs had been surrounded by panic and trying desperately to find a way to learn all the information needed. June had wanted to hide under her quilt for a week after getting a D on an essay in Transfiguration late in the year, and it was only fear of what Professor McGonagall would say when she did reappear that stopped her doing so. She had cried, though.
She’d dropped Transfiguration after OWLs, but it was the same problem now, only so much worse.
Her mother seemed to read some of it in her face anyhow. She said, –And even if you don’t get stellar marks and stun us all with your Ministry career, we’ll still love you. The Ministry isn’t the be-all and end-all of employment, no matter how much your father may think so. And there’s nothing shameful in being a housewife, either.†She smiled. –Whatever you end up doing, we can talk Dad round.â€
–Thanks,†June said, a little reassured. Her mother hugged her, and June buried her face in her neck. At least she could lean on her mother when she needed it.
June 1973
Students sat in clumps in the Entrance Hall, frantically revising, quizzing each other or in some cases just waiting, maybe laughing with friends. Tension filled the air. Most students knew they had a little time to wait.
June did not.
She was always one of the first people called into exams. They were calling one at a time for this one, but that still gave her little enough time. Portia Alderton had been in there for a few minutes; it would be June’s turn soon.
And there was Portia, emerging from the Great Hall. She’d known it was coming, but she still felt a jolt of panic when Professor McGonagall called her name. Written tests were all right. Practicals were...mixed. Potions had gone well, at least. Charms, less so.
But this was terrifying. History of Magic hadn’t required an oral report at OWL. If she’d known it did at NEWT, she’d have gone on with Care of Magical Creatures instead, no matter that it would be a second elective subject out of five and core subjects were more widely applicable.
She walked into the Great Hall, clenching her fists to try to stop her hands shaking. It was no good. Her knees were shaking as well, and she could already feel her face heating up.
–Hello, Miss...Bagnold, is it?†The examiner sat in a chair at one of the tables that had been set up for practical exams. She looked at June over a pair of golden pince-nez. –I have a list of topics here. You may have a minute to choose one and begin to compose what you want to say.â€
She slid a parchment across the table and June walked forward to take it. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears as she scanned the list of topics. Folnik’s Revolt - she’d always liked goblin rebellions, and that one had been interesting. She started a rough outline in her head, the way she would for an essay.
–Time is up, Miss Bagnold,†the examiner said. –Begin.â€
And that was when everything went south. –F-folnik the Sly gained control - control of...†Oh, Merlin - what had the faction been called? The fact slipped from her grasp, and she was increasingly aware of how hard her knees were shaking. What faction? You know this, June, she thought.
Clankers, she remembered. Try again.
–Folnik the Sly gained control of the Clankers in the year eighteen - eighteen thirty-seven. They were, um, sort of...†She bit her lip, reaching desperately for an accurate descriptor. –They - they - †Oh, Merlin, oh, hell, she was stuck. She could hear her voice shaking, absurdly loud and close. The examiner was looking at her extremely patiently over those pince-nez, and June’s knees felt like they were about to give out. Panic suddenly whited out every fact she reached for, and she felt she could sense the growing impatience and disdain behind the examiner’s calm exterior. The more she reached, the more she found nothing, the more she thought that staying upright was starting to seem a little difficult, the more she worried that the examiner would suddenly snap, Time is up, Miss Bagnold, the more she panicked. Her throat closed, and her eyes pricked, and she wanted to whine but that would be terribly childish.
–Miss Bagnold?†the examiner said at last, and June opened her mouth but nothing came out. She couldn’t. She couldn’t stand here, making more of a fool of herself with every second. She couldn’t bear if the examiner spoke up again, and she couldn’t possibly make herself speak another word. For a terrible moment, she thought she might burst into tears right there.
Instead, she turned on her heel and fled, ignoring McGonagall, pushing past groups of students, running right out of the castle and not stopping until she’d reached the greenhouses. They weren’t really open to students outside of classes, unless Professor Sprout accompanied the student in question, but that didn’t matter. She circled round to the back and sat on the ground there. She wrapped her arms around her folded legs, rested her face against her knees and generally made herself as small as possible. She felt small, and she wanted to hold herself together for as long as possible. She didn’t want to be so weak and cowardly. She hated it. She called herself ten kinds of idiot. She had actually run out on her History of Magic NEWT. Even if she got an O on her written exam, this would get her an A at best, and very likely worse. She needed five good NEWTs if she wanted a decent Ministry position. Maybe she ought to have taken six subjects at NEWT, or maybe something besides History of Magic. But maybes and ought-to-have-dones didn’t help her situation now.
What was she going to tell her father?
July 1973
There were still other exams to be survived after History of Magic, and she’d done as well as could be expected in them; luckily she’d only had her Herbology practical and the Muggle Studies written exam left. Herbology she did very well in, and thought she might even manage an O there; as for Muggle Studies, she thought she ought to get an E. Four subjects out of five.
Not good enough.
She’d managed to hedge enough when talking to her parents not to admit how badly she’d messed up in History of Magic so far. She’d played up her probable success in Herbology. It was dishonest, but it made her feel sick just to think about History of Magic. But then one morning at breakfast, two owls came bearing letters from Hogwarts.
Results.
June’s hands shook as she took her letter. Vivian was bleary-eyed, but she perked up and opened her own quickly.
–O in Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms, and Es the rest of the way,†Vivian crowed, grinning.
–Oh, Vivian, that’s wonderful,†their mother said, and their father agreed. June congratulated Vivian quietly. She really was happy for her, but it was hard to remember that when she knew her own were going to be less than stellar.
–Well?†her father said eventually, turning to her.
There was no choice. She broke the seal and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning straight to History of Magic.
P.
Oh, Merlin. A P. She stared. She’d known it was a possibility, but she’d been hoping she’d scrape an A. An A wasn’t good, not in her family, but it was a passing grade at least.
–June?†her father said.
–Um.†June swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. –O in Herbology, E in Charms, E in Potions, A in Muggle Studies - †Oh, that wasn’t good, either. She’d thought she’d done better there. But much worse was her History of Magic mark.
She looked up and caught Vivian’s eye. Vivian looked grim, but she gave June an encouraging nod. She must have heard what had happened. June had been too ashamed to talk to her about it.
–P in History of Magic,†June said in a very small voice.
–What?†Her father snatched the letter from her hand and read it for himself. He looked up. –What happened?†he demanded.
June shrugged. She didn’t know if she could explain right now. She watched as Vivian got up and left, as casually as she could.
–June, what happened?â€
–There was an oral exam,†she said. –I...couldn’t think. She was just staring at me and I couldn’t remember anything.â€
–Did you revise?â€
–Yes, I revised,†June said. –Of course I revised. I’m not stupid.â€
–P doesn’t say not stupid,†her father said, to a shocked cry of –Frederick!†from her mother, but it was too late. June pushed away from the table abruptly. She had to get out of there before she burst into tears. Just like the exam. Coward. She knew she wasn’t stupid, but her cowardice made it seem so, and she hated that her father clearly thought it just as much as the other students at Hogwarts had.
–We’re not done talking about this!†her father cried, and there was some muffled comment from her mother, but June started running and didn’t stop till she had her bedroom door closed behind her. She added a locking spell for good measure, even though it would only anger her father.
She curled up on her bed and let the tears come, trying to keep them quiet. She didn’t want anyone to hear her. She didn’t want them to know how upset and scared she was. The real world spread out, vast and complicated, before her, and she didn’t know what path to take. She didn’t even know where to start. The Ministry career her father had encouraged so heartily had been, in many ways, an easy solution - one she didn’t have to think about, beyond which department she wanted to start in. But an applicant with bad marks had to have something else to recommend them, and she had nothing particularly remarkable to offer them, not even ambition.
She stopped the tears as quickly as she could, and she was dry-faced, if red-eyed, by the time a knock sounded at her door.
Her stomach clenched in dread, but the –June?†came in her mother’s voice, not her father’s. She pointed her wand at the door and undid the locking spell without looking.
–Come in,†she said, and there was the sound of the door opening and closing again, then the groan of the mattress as her mother sat on the side of it. She felt a hand on her hair, and she turned to curl against her mother’s side.
–Your father didn’t mean what he said,†her mother said. June said nothing. –He cares about you, and he just wants you to do well in life. I’m not excusing what he said, but just know it was only the heat of the moment.†She wrapped an arm around June. –We’ll figure out where to go from here. It’s not what Dad was expecting, but it’s your life, not his. You have to find what it is you’re passionate about and pursue it.â€
–Mum...no offense, but...†June cut herself off. That was unkind, questioning her mother’s helpfulness here just because she didn’t have a career. And it was sound enough advice, she supposed, except that... –I don’t even know where to start.â€
–I know,†her mother said, sighing. –I know it’s overwhelming. I felt the same way at your age. I tried a lot of different things, and finally I found my happiness here.†She kissed the top of June’s head. –My advice? Mark your success by your own satisfaction with the life you’re living, rather than what everyone else thinks about your life.â€
–Thanks,†June whispered.
The summer sun streamed down, and June reveled in it even as it made her sweat. She didn’t mind a little sweat; she was already covered in dirt to the wrists. Working in a kitchen garden as a witch, you could easily not get your hands dirty, but the plants grew better, June had found, if you did it by hand rather than by wand. Besides, she enjoyed it.
She paused among the herbs as she made a connection: this was work she enjoyed.
She’d always thought of gardening as a hobby, not a career aspiration. But she could lose herself out here, among her plants. She’d loved Herbology, too, even the difficult plants.
She felt a sudden wave of fear as she started to think of the possibility of pursuing it as a job. Where would she start? Was it really a possibility? It seemed too good to be true, but surely there were jobs for Herbologists out there.
It felt like standing on the edge of a bank of fog, not knowing whether there was a sheer drop or solid ground ahead, and contemplating that step anyway.
September 1974
June looked over the greenhouse and felt a glow of pride. It was a small greenhouse, housing several relatively low-maintenance types of plants mostly used as staples in a potioneer’s cabinet, but she was in charge of it. There was a girl who’d come in on June’s days off to make sure the plants were taken care of, but decisions about planting, nurturing and harvesting were all up to June.
She’d been terrified when it had occurred to her to try to use her fondness for gardening to get work. It wasn’t the sort of thing she’d thought she was supposed to end up doing, and the idea of breaking from that mold, even by necessity, was daunting. But Merlin, she loved it. Always had done.
It had involved struggle, too. Interviews had been hell. But Mr. Gordon, who ran these greenhouses for an apothecary supply company, had seen past her stumbling and let her prove herself to him.
And now here she was.
A proper Herbologist.
There were still things she needed to work on; she still had trouble standing up and speaking her piece clearly. There was still plenty far to go, jobs with more responsibilities she might work up to. But this was the first post she’d achieved where she really got to use her knowledge, and she knew she could do it.
After all, a Bagnold was no stranger to hard work.