Taking advantage of a relatively warm day, Asher had taken himself outside with a notepad, a pen, and some envelopes.  He tried to do this once a month and since he hadn't heard from his sisters lately, he chose this day to write.  Abby, who was 7, and Ava, who was 8, soaked up any letters he sent them about Hogwarts, what the classes were like, the teachers, any secret passages he had come across.  They were anxiously awaiting their eleventh birthdays so that they could get their letters and come to the school where their big brother went.  Asher didn't have the heart to tell them that their mother was sending them all to Beauxbatons.  She wanted her little girls to grow up powerful, but also refined young ladies.  Ava especially was going to hate that, she was a fully-fledged tomboy and wouldn't like the structure at all, or the uniforms.

His other two sisters, Aya and Ariel, who were 11 and 9, were much more girly than the younger two.  Aya was busy with her first year at Beauxbatons and she had told him in her last letter that she was having to focus more than usual on her studies because she wasn't getting the grades she wanted and had to work harder at it.  As Asher sat down on a bench in the courtyard, he smiled, thinking of Ariel. She wouldn't have any trouble at all with her studies, out of his four sisters, Ariel was the smartest.  In primary school she was always at the top of her class and was even taking some higher subjects than her peers were.  The last he heard from her, was his mother had hired her a French tutor and she was picking it up like it was a natural language to her.

Asher took the pictures[1] of his sisters out of his back pocket and just looked at it.  He missed their noise sometimes, but others he just was glad that they weren't there with him. He began writing his sisters their letters and hoped that it wouldn't start raining before he was done.

1.	Left to Right: Aya, Ariel, Ava, and Abby

The Herbology professor had business in the courtyard - spring was springing and that was the busiest part of the year for an herbologist.  (That, or autumn depending.)  The large older witch wanted to take advantage of the sheltered shady patches the courtyard offered for some aconite.  There was an ample supply in the greenhouses, but there was nothing like fresh air for plants and she wanted to try them outdoors. 

"Young man."  She entered the courtyard dressed in her work robes.  Thick gloves, her white dreadlocks piled high on her head, a soily apron and heavy boots.  "You there.  You're not busy."

Branwen Strangely was quickly gaining a reputation at Hogwarts for being straightforward - blunt, if you didn't care for that sort of demeanor - and she was never shy recruiting students to help her with a variety of tasks around the castle.  Some of them loved it.  Others had learned to avoid her on the grounds. 

He wasn't one of her students, this lovely young man.  And he had his nose in a letter.  She hoped he'd be suited to a bit of dirty work. 

"Come here and give us a hand."

Despite ordering him around, her tone was loud and chipper.  Always mostly friendly, Branwen Strangely

Asher heard someone say something to him, but he put the finishing touches on his letter to his youngest sister Abby and folded it up and put it in his notebook with the other four letters he would send later.  He stood up from the bench and noticed it was the Herbology professor.  "Okay."  Asher was never one to turn down a request for help.  It was something his parents had instilled in him from a young age.  They had always told him that if it was in his ability to help, he should at least try before stopping, or going to find someone capable of doing what the person asked him to do.

He walked over to her and said, "What do you need professor?" He looked around and tried to guess what she was going to need his help with, but coming up with nothing, "I'm not busy, so how can I help?"

He was three times agreeable, and Branwen nodded in approval.  "Good lad.  Here."

She plucked a levitating box of seedlings from the air and set them in his hands.  In little cups lining the bottom of the shallow container were sixty or more little plants just peeking out of black soil.  There was another such box waiting in a holding pattern above her head. 

"Over there, I think."

She led the way to a strip of untended turf between a stone wall and a row of benches.  She stood near it and then looked up to the sky trying to judge how much sun it would get.  "Yes, this is about right.  You know what kind of plant this is?"

It would be a tricky question, even for her NEWT students.  This small it was a bit hard to tell what it was.  But then, any moment was an opportunity to learn.  To the test, Mr. Chance!

Asher followed the professor over to where she stopped and listened to the question she asked him.  He thought for a moment before replying, "That's aconite, right?" he guessed.  Normally he was pretty good at figuring out what things were, he was pretty decent at Herbology and the same in Potions.  Sometimes it was harder though, like now, when the plants were so tiny he was really guessing this time.

Branwen was nearly incapable of hiding an expression of genuine emotion and she bubbled over with a pleased laugh.  "Well done! That's a tough text to be sure, but can you tell me how you know, Mr. Chance?  There's the knowing what and the knowing why and unless you know the why, you don't actually know a thing at all!"

The old witch wasn't at all angry; in fact, she was quite impressed and so all the more reason to prod him further.  As she quizzed him, she set the boxes down and began to clear away some lingering crusty snow and the soaked cake of dead leaves beneath.  Something had grown here last season, but flowers from the look of it.

"Pah! Flowers.  No use for them!" she uttered.  "We could be growing so much more useful things if it weren't for all these flowers.  I'll be speaking with the Headmistress,  I think."

She had no reason to hide her professional opinion, or any opinion that matter, because there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Asher watched as the professor cleared away some of the leftover snow and complained about there being too many flowers around Hogwarts.  "I don't know professor, flowers can be pretty, like at the beginning of spring.  At least that's what mum and my sisters think."

He thought for a moment on her question about how he knew what plant it was and decided on telling her exactly why he knew.  "Mum likes to grow things with my youngest two sisters, they've got a whole patch of aconite in the greenhouse and sometimes when mum's busy I watch over my sisters so they don't over water things.  They've got all kinds of potion ingredients growing in our two greenhouses, so I know a lot about plants and potion ingredients." He replied.

"Well then, why aren't you in my class!" she demanded suddenly, intending to put the young man on the spot.  Why in the world would he allow a talent like that to go to waste.  It was like...using a perfectly good bit of soil for flowers when it could be home to potatoes! Or dittany!  Or aconite! 

She waved her hand dismissively.  Teenagers had no idea who they were and that couldn't be held against them.  She had been a fluffy-headed nincompoop at his age so why should she expect any better from him?  Although...he could identify aconite from a seedling... 

"Here."  She handed him a trowel.  "Make yourself useful."

Asher accepted the trowel from the professor and without a second thought, knelt down onto the ground and began to dig small holes for the seedlings, "About how far apart professor?" While his family did have two greenhouses he never spent much time in there except for those times his father was questioning him on potion ingredients at various stages.  He never minded though, he almost always got them right.

"Breadth of your hand should do it, Mr. Chance," Branwen responded shortly.  She began to arrange the trays little green plants in a way that would make it easy to plant them.  She poked through each one to check the health of the little fellows and then selecting which ones to plant.  As she did, she sent them down into the rather nice holes Asher Chance was digging.

"So if not Herbology, Mr. Chance, then what.  You're nearly finished here, just as I've arrived, so what labor will you seek when you're finally free?  I do hope that you realize that freedom isn't all fun and games and eating as much cake as you like - although that's part of it.  It can be very easy to get.  Stuck."  She'd paused to decide on the word.

Asher paused in the middle of digging the fifth hole when she asked the question.  I had been coming to him lately, by professors, fellow students, even his parents, they were all asking him what he would like to do when he graduated.  Truthfully, he had no idea.  He had a thought of becoming a potions supplier like his father, but although he knew almost everything about the ingredients and how they needed to be harvested and kept fresh, he wasn't sure if that was for him. "I don't know ma'am." he replied honestly, "I know what my father wants me to do, but I'm not sure jumping into the family business is what I am aiming for."

He finished digging the fifth hole and moved onto the next one as he thought, "I was thinking of becoming a potions master, but I doubt my grades are up to snuff for that."  He continued his work without talking more, but his mind was moving a mile a minute.

"Your marks will have little influence on your mastery, let me assure you.  School is for learning not for grades, and school is only the beginning of your education.  If you let your marks be an excuse for mediocrity, you deserve every dull moment."

She'd meant it to be encouraging, but she quickly realized it had come off rather brusk.  She paused in her work and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I mean to say not to let anything get in your way.  Potion-making is one of those professions that doesn't require a certification or approval from an institution.  All that matters is the quality of your brews.  Struggle on and forget about History of Magic or whatever you're failing in.  Can't win them all."