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Daisy lifted a hand to cover the giggles escaping from her lips. She was torturing the poor boy, it was obvious from the flush of his cheeks but he was so cute when he was flustered, it was hard to resist. “Are you alright Tilden? Did some kipper go down the wrong pipe?” Teasing Tilden always put her in a good mood, no matter how hunger over she was. “I would love a stroll.” She said, her heart warming at the thought of a quiet evening with Tilden. She may have a reputation at Hogwarts for being a bit of a party girl but sometimes she felt as if she would trade all the nights she spent partying for one wonderful night taking a walk with her best friend. 

“Well, that’s settled then.” Tilden felt his insides growing warm at the prospect of being alone with Daisy. He hated these moments, where he was so caught between wanting to declare his love for her in the Great Hall and shoving fifty kippers in his mouth just to have something to do with his face. In the end, he decided on a solid middle ground. “D’you think you—ah—might want to—erm—take a picnic out by the lake? If—it’s not—I mean to say—d’you fancy it?” He groaned internally. You’re an idiot, Toots! Pushing your luck! 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Toots, I am good at loads of things.” Fab winked, laughing at his own - now, thankfully, joking - pretentiousness. “Herbology just isn’t one of ‘em. Everything else, though? I’m ace.” he frowned, thinking about all the times he spent hours with his plants for Herbology projects, “You’re telling me they don’t like to be talked to? ‘Cause someone told me I need to talk to plants to get ‘em to grow, have I looked like an absolute arse every time I’ve gone into the greenhouse?”

“Oh, actually—well they do like to be talked to. I meant more of—like—” he gestured wildly, “—plants do really well when you don’t over prune them, over water them, or give them too much sunlight. Unless, of course, they really like sunlight. But—like—if you give Devil’s Snare even a bit of sunlight then wham! You’re out of luck, and your Devil’s Snare is dead. Plants even have their own language. They speak to us. I know that sounds absolutely bonkers but it’s true.”

“Yeah! Just feels right, I guess. Dunno how I feel about working under the Ministry, though.” After having tried so hard to get involved with the Order before the war had ended, he figured the best course of action would be to keep going down a similar enough path. Besides, the Ministry as a whole was corrupt as shit, maybe he could move up in the ranks and try to help with that. “Really, your dad? That’s great.” Fab didn’t know that, and the use of past tense made it obvious what had happened; he felt a bit bad for bringing it up. “Nah, it’s cool that you’re interested in it like that.” he meant it genuinely, too. “I dunno the next thing about proper plant care, I could use someone like you.”

“Merlin, really? I would’ve thought you’d be good at loads of things—Ravenclaws always seem to be jacks of all trades,” he said. “Really, you never hear about a Ravenclaw who doesn’t have eight hobbies and at least basic knowledge in most subjects.” Tilden himself wasn’t good at very many things. He prided himself on his kindness and ability to be kind to almost anyone, no matter how rude they were to him. “First thing about plant care is to be careful not to mess with the plants too much unless they absolutely need it. Most plants like to be left alone.” 

“Then maybe you should just look where you are walking from now on.” Celeste said with a slight huff. She knew it wasn’t a big deal really. He had just managed to catch her in not the best mood. “Some sweets for a stepped-on toe does seem like a fair swap.” 

Tilden smiled genially, completely ignoring her rudeness. “Well, I know people like to make fun of Hufflepuffs, but if there’s one thing that can be said about us is that we’re pretty fair. Do you want to step on my toe to keep it even?”

“Tilden, stop it.” Daisy said smiling bashfully at him. It was probably Hogwarts’s worst kept secret that Tilden was in love with her, it was painfully obvious, especially when he said things like that. Sometimes Daisy thought there was a possibility that she loved him too, and that was more terrifying than anything. “Sometimes you have to make a sacrifice Tilden, for the great good.” Her heart filled with love for Tilden as he moved the plate away from her, and she swore she could have kissed him in that moment. “And I would never go after your nether bits Tilden, you have my word.”

Tilden snuck a kipper from his place, shoving it in his mouth and chewing quickly. “W—well you don’t have to promise—that is—I’d never expect you near my nether bits—I mean, not that I have thought that much about it—Merlin, I’m saying a lot of things.” A furious blush worked itself over his cheeks. Why does he have to have been born with skin that shows everything. “Ah—nether bits aside... what are you up to today? Fancy a stroll on the grounds this evening? I saw this brilliant patch of wildflowers near the lake.”

“Oh they’re Welsh, that must be why they’re so beautiful.” She smiled, looking down at the colorful flowers, loving them even more now that they were from Tilden and her’s home. Daisy’s nose scrunched up as Tilden shoveled copious amounts of food onto his plate, the smell of kippers filling her nose and making her feel a little woozy. “Merlin Tilden, don’t they feed you at the Hufflepuff table?” She groaned, looking from his pile of food to her plain toast that she had barely managed to take a single bite out of. “I do not,” She said rolling her eyes, Tilden always thought she looked great, he could not be trusted to make an unbiased opinion. “I feel like the dead, why didn’t you stop me after my third firewhiskey?”

“Don’t worry, Daisy dear, you’re still the most beautiful flower to ever come out of Wales.” His grin widened. “Of course they feed me, but the atmosphere is so much better over here.” Tilden nudged her gently. “I know better than to try to come between you and your drinks, love. I don’t think it’s a great idea to deprive a witch of what she wants when she’s cleverer than you and wielding a wand.” Despite his teasing, he does position his plate away from her so the smell won’t reach her. “I value my nether bits too much to say no to you.” 

“Y’know, not really.” Fab gave a half-shrug. He had never really considered the possibility of anything other than some sort of high-paying, exciting wizarding job, and hearing about Muggles cleaning grease just really solidified that for him. “I’m gonna get my N.E.W.T.s, ‘m’not worried about that,” the second it left his mouth he realized how arrogant he sounded, but it was too late to backtrack, “Auror training’s next for me. Dunno if that’s really what I want, but reckon it’s too late t’change my mind now. What about you? Say you nail all your exams - which you will, v’got faith in you - what’s the big dream?”

“Auror, hm?” The usual swoop in his stomach occurred when someone mentioned the profession. It had now been nearly 7 years since da died, yet it felt like it was just yesterday. “M—my da—” he swallowed, gathering his courage. “My da was an Auror. He was a good man. It’s a noble career.” Tilden shrugged, smiling slightly. “Something with plants. I’ll help out at my mam’s flower shop for a bit. I think I’d like to educate people on proper plant care. So many people under water, or over water their plants. Don’t even get me started on sun exposure...” He sighed. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about sun exposure.”  

         It was Edgars sixth year of people the Hufflepuff Keeper, his fourth of being the captain and the final of being the team at all. He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that it was his last year at Hogwarts when so much of his very being was wrapped up in the school, and what his classmates thought of him. He didn’t know what he was outside of the hallowed walls of Hogwarts, and he wasn’t completely sure that he wanted to find out. He had been distracting himself by completely devoted all his times his classwork and extracurriculars, especially Quidditch. If this was his last year he was going to make it count. 

He had started running every morning, before anyone else was awake and he had the school to himself. He ran all around the grounds until his lungs burned and his legs ached. He liked having the school to himself, all the pressures seemed to melt away. 

He didn’t know how long he had been running when he rounded a corner and smacked right into someone, sending them both flying. “Merlin, where did you come from?”

Tilden nearly always woke up at five in the morning. It was a habit he had developed over the years as the son of a florist. His summer holidays were always filled with helping in the greenhouses, or otherwise tending to his younger siblings. Now that da was gone, there was no one to pick up the slack when ma was busy. That was his job. 

Seeing as it was still early in the school year, he hadn’t been able to shake the habit and sleep in (which he tried to do at least once a week to conserve his strength). Tilden enjoyed the mornings though, he liked the solitude of the grey light refracting through the ceiling of the greenhouse. When he had done as much as he could for his beloved plants, he decided a walk would do him good. 

The jolt of running into someone was not new—not in the least. It was an occupational hazard of being a klutz. This time, however, he ran into someone with more force than he thought possible. When he looked up to see who the victim was, his chest deflated a little. Thank god it was Edgar. “My plants—” he gestured weakly toward the greenhouses, “I was tending to my plants. What’re you doing up so early? If I’d’ve known you’d be up so early I would’ve walked down with you.” 

“So instead of risking tripping over something you just walk into people?” She asked, not really understanding his logic. “Well I don’t know do I? You might find it funny or something.” She shrugged. “You have walked into me five times in one week after all it’s getting weird.”

“Celeste,” he said slowly, as if he was talking to someone who needed extra special explanations. “I wasn’t trying to offend you. Also, I don’t really try to be funny. Ever. Because, well... people have to play to their strengths. My strengths do not include stand-up comedy or running into people for the laugh.” 

“Could I teach you? Tilden Toots, I’d be abso-fuckin-lutely honored!” Fabian grinned, already trying to think up some way to make it seem like he had any ounce of a clue what to do in a kitchen. “Your mum’s gonna be blown away.” He couldn’t imagine being stressed enough about tests that he’d miss any of the meals in the Great Hall, but to each their own, he supposed. “Alright, I guess that’s fair, I just don’t want you fallin’ apart on me from N.E.W.T.-brain, Toots.” Fab gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, before leaning in closer at the sudden shift in his tone, lowing his own voice with Tilden’s, “Oh, right, yeah. Manure manufacturers? Toots, are you worried you’re gonna be stuck working with actual shit?”

“Well—yeah.” Tilden said slowly. “Haven’t you ever been worried you’ll end up doing some horrible, smelly job? Ma doesn’t know a lot about magic things, but she did tell me about these horrible Muggle jobs where you have to clean grease out of fryers—you know, for chippys—and I was horrified. I can’t imagine being greasy all of the time. What d’you reckon you’ll do after Hogwarts, then? If you don’t get your N.E.W.T.s? Or if you do?” 

“M’not bad!” He actually hadn’t cooked a meal in his whole life, but it couldn’t be that hard. If he could make potions, he could make… stew, at least. “It’s October, Toots. You’ve got months. Just… I dunno, take a deep breath?” Fab understood the N.E.W.T. struggle - he needed good marks to get into Auror training - but he wasn’t dreading them as much as he probably should be. He’d always been good at testing. “If you’re burnin’ out this early on, you’re gonna have a problem when it’s actually N.E.W.T. time.”

“Merlin, could you teach me? I’m never going to make it on my own. At least, that’s what my ma thinks. She’s right, I guess.” He bit his lip, anxiety coursing through him. It was October. He will graduate in less than a year and he doesn’t know how to cook, couldn’t possibly regurgitate all of the uses for all of the N.EW.T. level plants, and had a sinking feeling his Divination score would be absolutely terrible, for all he could see of his future was a bleak, starved existence. “I’d say I’m rather motivated now. Gotta take advantage of that, you know? Or I’m just going to end up lazy and not studying. I’ve heard stories about people who end up working as—” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “manure manufacturers if they don’t get all of the N.E.W.T.s they hope to.” 

            Daisy had been staring at the same slice of toast for what felt like hours but was probably more like five minutes. She was suffering from a hang over to rival all others and she had barely been able to get down the potion that she always brewed after a long night, let alone eat a piece of plain toast with butter. She didn’t think that anything could save this morning until a small bouquet of flowers were dropped  next to her plate. “These might be even more beautiful than the ones from yesterday.” She said, turning to smile at Tilden as he sat down next to her at the Ravenclaw table. 

Tilden beamed with pride. “Well, I bloody hope so. My mum sent these.” He started pulling kippers and eggs toward him, loading his plate up. “They’re from home. One-hundred percent Welsh flowers.” He shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth, chewing happily. “You look great, for someone who’s risen from the dead. How’re you feeling?” He lifted a hand to her forehead, checking her temperature (as if that would help diagnose a hangover). “Last night was fun, even though I had to be up at five to check on things in the greenhouse.” 

Merlin, was Tilden okay? Fab didn’t even have a chance to thank him for cleaning him off (to be honest, Fabian wasn’t going to bother with that himself until after dinner, probably) before the Hufflepuff kept apologizing. Fabian was starting to feel bad for Tilden, honestly, and he was the one who ran into him. “Toots, it’s fine! Merlin, I’ll cook you dinner m’self next time. How d’you miss seven meals in a week?” 

“Are you any good at cooking?” Tilden asks weakly. “I’m terrible at cooking. Burn everything I touch.” He sighs, pocketing his wand with care. “It’s the greenhouses, mate. I’ve been spending all my time tending to my plants. If I don’t get my N.E.W.T. in herbology... well...” That thought had been coursing through him for weeks. “Let’s just say I have my heart set on doing well, and I can’t be doing with a low score. I’ve been studying quite a bit.” 

Sibella tried to commit his description of his mother’s job to memory. She didn’t know if it would ever come in handy, but she was in Muggle Studies and you never knew when something would come in handy. “That sounds really sweet,” she complimented genuinely. “You must have been to a lot of weddings as a kid.” She smiled at the introduction, shaking his hand. “Sibella Parkinson, but you can call me Sib or Bella or whatever nickname you want.”

“Loads, yeah.” He nodded enthusiastically. “My da was a pureblood, so I went to loads of magic and Muggle weddings. The Muggle ones are fun, but certainly don’t hold a candle to the magic ones. Muggles try really hard, though. They do a lot of cool things to make up for the lack of magic. Flowers are definitely part of that. Mum says she likes doing the sacraments the best—she’d do flowers for the churches. We’re Catholics, see. Those are always happy occasions.” He smiled again. “Nice to meet you. Are you not one for shopping?” 

Again. That’s all Celeste could think as yet again she stumbled away from Tilden. It is annoying enough when someone walks into you one. But when it is multiple times a week it goes from annoying to frustrating. “Do you never look where you are going?” She asked with a huff. “Or are you starting to do this one purpose now as some kinda joke?”

“Well—no, not really,” he paused, smiling, “mostly I’m looking down at my feet to make sure I don’t trip over anything. I’m right clumsy, I am. Got it from my ma, she’s like to trip over air, she is.” He shrugged apologetically. “Not on purpose, no. I don’t go running people over for a laugh. Seven years of classes together, and you’d think that of me? Have I made a bad impression?” 

“Time works differently when you’re in the greenhouse, I swear.” Gwen smiled. She didn’t mind a bit of manure - at least you knew the stuff was good for your plants and not just foul smelling for the hell of it. Luckily the reek of manure hadn’t permeated her nostrils yet and she could still smell the delicious scent of roasted meat wafting from the open doors of the hall. She was certain her own housemates wouldn’t want her sitting next to them covered in paint and turps which was a fair call. 

“I could run in and grab us some roast beef sandwiches if you like? Then we don’t have to worry that our housemates are getting a good whiff of our combined stenches.” She laughed, a low tinkling sound that she hated. “We could go back to the greenhouse with them? Blend back in with the plants? I know mine could do with a good watering. Unless you don’t want to?” 

“That it does,” he nodded sagely. “Brilliant idea. For now though...” Tilden pulled his wand out of his robe pocket. “Tergeo,” he muttered, frantically trying to clean Gwen up. “That should help a bit. I’ll do myself, too. On the way to the greenhouses. Will you grab pumpkin juice, if it’s not too much trouble?”