A Throne of Blood and Stars

Chapter Twenty-Five

The greenhouses are damaged.

No, they're destroyed.

The glass of the structures is shattered, with shriveled and dried plants poking out of the holes in the panels. From where they're standing, Ron can see half of one sunken into the Black Lake.

But despite the broken appearance from the outside, the inside is still as magical as he remembers it. Professor McGonagall leads them into Greenhouse 1, where her warming charm drops and instead he's engulfed by the humid warmth that only comes with Amazonian magical plants.

The smell of compost and moist soil is extremely overpowering.

"You have an entire week's detention," the Headmistress starts, turning to them with clasped hands. "Since you missed yesterday's without notice or advice, I will add another week beginning the week after Holiday break."

She sees Blaise open his mouth to protest and beats him to it.

"You may be adults, but you're still students and will be treated as such. If you wanted to be elsewhere you should have followed the rules."

Blaise pouts.

"There are four greenhouses, as you well know. Your assignment is to restore them to their full glory. And that includes nursing any of these plants back to life, if salvageable.

"Once you are done with one, I will come and inspect your handiwork and you will move on to the next. Each greenhouse you repair will be added as a credit to your final letter report when you graduate."

Ron makes a face. "What good will that do?"

The Slytherin next to him jabs an elbow into his ribs. "You idiot, that gives you a better chance to start your career."

The Headmistress nods. "The credit will be audited to coincide with your chosen career path," she lowers her gaze and narrows her eyes. "This is a simple task, boys. I'm trusting you with this because I know you can work out your...differences. We don't need any more contrast between our nation."

With that, the Professor turns and walks out wordlessly.

"So, we have two weeks and four buildings. I think if we split up and each do two, we can get it done."

"What?" Ron makes a face. "No. I'm terrible by myself. If you leave me alone, I'll probably finish wrecking the building."

"This isn't a laughing matter, Weasley. People's careers depend on this."

"I wasn't joking! Have you met me? One third of the Golden Trio? Chaotic good, more chaos than good?"

Blaise rolls his eyes. "Alright, fine. But I refuse to be distracted by a redheaded mole."

Ron lifts a hand to his heart. "Are you flirting with me?"

"You'd have to be a Brazilian with a brain to get even remotely close to my radar."

"I'm flattered," Ron ignores him, grinning.

"No. You're an idiot," Blaise shakes his head. He turns and starts to make his way through the fallen branches, clearing a path with his wand.

"So," Ron starts, following him. "You like Brazilians?"

"Not necessarily. Just not pasty, impulsive jocks with toothy smiles."

The Gryffindor smiles. "I think my smile is rather charming."

Blaise turns around in time to see Ron swish his wand and mumble Novis. Instantly, the shattered glass on the soil inside the planters springs into the air and floats up, up into the air until it arranges itself back into a full panel of glass as if it was never shattered in the first place.