Thursday evening, after dinner

One would have thought the Fifth Year students might have had enough of Herbology for the day. Their lessons had ended with a double session in the greenhouses that afternoon, but now it was time to work on their own plots in greenhouse six. In pairs and individually they had been cultivating a variety of larger functional plants in beds within the greenhouse, harvesting produce or cutting back as necessary. As such, the place looked like a tip at regular intervals during the day, the floor smeared with dirt, flushed with water, and a pungent mix of smells hung in the air.

Ambrose had donned a pair of dragonhide gloves to tend to a Bubotuber, and was crouched in the soil beside them, a smear of it already up his face without realising.
"This stuff smells worse than my uncle's garage." Ambrose remarked to Rose who was nearby, as he began to squeeze the pus out. The air around them was quickly smelling of petrol as the yellowy-green pus collected in a beaker.

In the absence of their classmates last weekend owing to their unscheduled disappearance, the rest of the fifth years had done their best to cover their classmate's plants until they returned... well all but Siana...

Frowning, Ambrose squeezed another.
"How's it going for you?" He asked Rose, and glanced round, lifting his hand to rub at the tip of his nose without thinking but remembering just at the last moment not to. "Everything still alive?"

Rose kept herself at almost a full arm's length away from the Bubotuber she was currently handling. With it was an unpleasant expression on her face due to the unpleasant smells invading her nose. She never could quite get used to the smell in the greenhouses with each class of Herbology. The smells tended to give her the faintest of headaches and that irritated her because it felt like there was a wall that kept her thoughts from moving freely in her head.

"Yes, very much alive," she replied, her face scrunching up even more as she squeezed and got a particularly large quantity of puss out and got fresh whiff of petrol in her nose. Rose briefly stuck out her tongue at it all, as she usually did when dealing with these types of plants. She much preferred plants like the umbrella flower---simple but still pretty, and still proving useful.

"Ugh, I can't wait to be done with these," she continued. "Can't wait to be out of here, really, and get some fresh air. I can't stand these things." She paused for a moment, looking repulsed at the Bubotuber as she collected the oozing pus. "Gross," she muttered.

"How do you manage to deal with these things?" Rose asked, her thoughts ever slipping right through to her mouth. "You hardly look bothered by them. Their smell and the...stuff...gets to me."

“You get used to it.” Ambrose replied simply, and then blushed ever so slightly, “I mean, I have, I guess I think of other stuff to distract myself. Like what I have to do next.” He frowned around himself, “which is make sure we’ve watered everything properly and nothing is in too much water either.”

Herbology could be tricky when it came down to remembering all the latin names and the families, and then remembering the habitats, but Ambrose could do the looking after plants bit better as the years went on. He was sort of enjoying the project in greenhouse six, because his interest in creatures kept him motivated in herbology too. Couldn’t feed animals the wrong plants and heal them if he didn’t know anything about herbology.

“Not as bad as some of the dung I deal with for some of the creatures,” Ambrose continued, thinking on it, distracting them both hopefully from the smell of the bubotubers, “the carnivores - ones that eat lots of meat, phew.” He squeezed the last out of the one he was working on and stretched, this time not catching himself when he rubbed at the tip of his nose.

“Not studying herbology next year then?” Ambrose asked Rose, and then his face creased in alarm as a bright yellow boil suddenly ballooned on his nose. “Crap! I must have - oh no.” He looked down at his right hand glove and realised what he’d done. “Yeah, don’t try and hold your nose,” the Gryffindor explained, laughing at himself. It was painful and his nose now hurt, but it was only a very little bit he’d got on the tip luckily.

Rose kept herself at almost a full arm's length away from the Bubotuber she was currently handling. With it was an unpleasant expression on her face due to the unpleasant smells invading her nose. She never could quite get used to the smell in the greenhouses with each class of Herbology. The smells tended to give her the faintest of headaches and that irritated her because it felt like there was a wall that kept her thoughts from moving freely in her head.

"Not sure I want to get used to it," she grumbled, pulling another face then giving a single, forced cough to get the feeling of its smell lingering in the back of her throat out. "And no, I doubt I will. I'm more interested in Astronomy and Divination. I might keep going with Ancient Runes too. I'm not too sure about what other classes I want next year. Not yet, at least." And that was true. Most of her focus was on the stars and the unknowable future. She also wanted to continue to remain in tune with her Inner Eye, which reminded her that she ought to talk to the new Divination professor, or Professor Biladeau. Professor Yukawa? She never knew which of the woman's last names to use.

At his exclamation Rose quickly turned her head to see what the fuss was about. When she saw the boil right on his nose, making him look almost ridiculous with it standing out in the middle of his face, all she did was sigh and roll her mismatched eyes. "Do you still plan on studying herbology?" she asked back, her tone edging on 'are you sure about this?' "Not sure if things like that," she continued, pointing to the boil but keeping her hands well away from it, "are really worth it."

When Micah stirred from his nap – roused awake by chatter, and then firmly anchored by Ambrose’s Crap! – the first thing that registered was panic. His heart sped up, flooding with dread, and every line of him seemed to prickle with awareness, embedding his skin with needle-like sensation. The greenhouses were supposed to be safe–

Suffice to say, he didn’t do so well with surprises anymore.

Their voices registered, helping the seventh year calm a little, but not so much as to soothe his anxiety. He didn’t do so well with anyone who wasn’t Ji-Hyun, Gracie or Zel even on a good day, and after their disastrous Valentine’s Day weekend he had withdrawn from even them—not completely (they wouldn’t have let him), but enough that what he remembered of it – of the blood, of Siana, of his own blind rage at what they had thought were their enemies – made him shrivel up inside, horrified that he could do something like that.

And so after Potions, he had bolted. The greenhouses had always been a safe place for him; there, his thoughts could go as quiet as the plants themselves. But he had forgotten they were a public space, too.

Ambrose, Micah knew of—not enough to be friends, or even friendly like his more outgoing classmates would probably be, but enough that he knew the Gryffindor was one of the more… saner fifth years. But Rose – their interaction back in the common room, when Ayla had been fussing over her hair—his embarrassment was still fresh in his mind.

Still, he had left his things in one of the cubby holes beneath the spare planters—and after a peek around the corner, had seen Ambrose’s predicament. It was bright yellow, and large enough that the whole of it seemed to glare at Micah where he stood.

It was kind of… gross, if he were honest. Though just thinking about it made him feel guilty. No one gave themselves boils on purpose.

Micah exhaled a shaky breath before stepping fully into their line of sight. “I– I have some stuff for that, if you want,” he offered, feeling awkward even as he said it. Stuff. God.

"You should have used a charm," He sounded nasally from the spell he'd used to stop up his own nose before he started the smelly work.  He's been surprised when Micah had peeked around the corner.  He hadn't thought there was anyone other than his yearmates in the greenhouse.  Especially considering the smells in the air from the variety of plants they were all growing.

"Make sure there isn't any more pus on your nose," He said to Ambrose, "or you'll just end up with more boils."  Not that he'd done that to himself the last time he'd accidentally touched his face, and in the process of treating the damn boil ended up with boils all over his hand.  That had been a crappy day.

"You should have used a charm."

Rose rolled her eyes a second time. "Well, I was distracted by the horrid smell to think clearly enough to do that," she replied. She was being truthful about it, the smell did bother her enough to keep her from thinking as clearly as she'd like, every inhale distracting her with the quiet thought of 'yelch.' Also, it was just her classic lack of brain-to-mouth filter going on as well.

But then her attention turned from Kelvin to Micah when he suddenly appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. She certainly hadn't been expecting him to show up. The surprise in her expression was a small one, but it was there nonetheless. What was he even doing here? And how long had he been around? And, from the sounds of things he had a means to help poor Ambrose through his current situation.

"As long as it helps, I'm certain he'd appreciate it," she said, her tone of voice softening. As silly as Ambrose was to let that boil grow on his face he was still someone who managed to bear through Rose's personality and she appreciated that. She wasn't one to purposefully keep people away unless they, themselves, were intent to keep themselves at a distance.

"Does it hurt, or is it just uncomfortable?" she asked, turning to Ambrose.

Rose’s expression just confirmed it was a rather noticeable yellow boil.  At least she managed to find it mildly funny as Ambrose did:
"Do you still plan on studying herbology?” She pointed at his nose, keeping her distance from it.

"You should have used a charm,” Kelvin suggested from nearby, and Ambrose didn’t realise he meant one to block up a nose to stop the smell bothering Rose.
"Well, I was distracted by the horrid smell to think clearly enough to do that,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.
"Make sure there isn't any more pus on your nose, or you'll just end up with more boils,” the Ravenclaw further advised.  If only one could be as forward thinking as a ‘claw...

“I– I have some stuff for that, if you want,”

Greenhouse six appeared to be a safe haven of sanity for more than just the fifth years and their project as an older face revealed itself from nearby.   Ambrose couldn’t quite recall the guy’s name, Michael?  Micky?  He was pretty sure he was a Hufflepuff though, rather than a Slytherin come to point fun.  It did not immediately occur to Ambrose that he was amongst those who had gone missing with Juni.

“Oh!” The Gryffindor replied, his brain catching up from Kelvin and Rose’s interchange to the kind offer.
"As long as it helps, I'm certain he'd appreciate it,” Rose answered for him.
“Yeah, that’d be … great - thanks - I er.. better just wash my face…”

Ambrose blushed and slipped off his gloves, heading for the tap at the edge of the greenhouse where a hose recoiled itself like a snake might when disturbed, sliding away along the edge of a nearby bed.
"Does it hurt, or is it just uncomfortable?” Rose asked as he went.
“A bit, but not that - ow - ok I take that back, definitely hurts a bit.  Still had much worse!”  Ambrose’s tone was upbeat.  The number of times he’d burned himself or caused magical accidents to send him to Nagde were in triple figures over the past four, nearly five years at Hogwarts.  His face vanished with a splutter under the tap.

He returned a moment later, trying to pat his face dry around his nose with the sleeve of his tan coloured herbology overcoat[1] which seemed to be devoid of any of the pus.

“I was hoping to finish up and tidy up Siana’s plot, like…” He gestured nearby as he approached the others again. The late fifth year’s herbology project was rapidly changing to something more colourful in light of what had happened, full of flowers. Someone more handy was starting to train climbing flowers to letters of her name.  Ambrose didn’t have confidence in his work to contribute more than maintenance, fearful he’d destroy something in his well-meaning attempt. “What’s this stuff then?” He asked Micah, looking back to the seventh year, at which point his mind made the uncomfortable association. “Oh crap, I … sorry mate …”

1.	Perfect for accident-prone students who would more easily set themselves on fire than scourgify

Micah’s expression, which had begun to lift into a tentative smile, abruptly fizzled at the reminder. The apology – Ambrose’s awkwardness – made the rest of it slide off of his face, and his gaze slide off to the side, to Siana’s plot, like that might make the heat in his ears go away.

It didn’t, of course.

Hands shoved into his pockets, the Hufflepuff hunched his shoulders. “It’s – okay,” he said softly. It wasn’t, but he glanced up at Ambrose a wan, brittle smile. “That’s nice of you.”

There wasn’t much left for him to say about that, though, and so before the wish that the ground might swallow up took over (as it so often did), Micah shuffled over to the cubby where he had stashed his things. Heat crept further down his neck, but he soldiered on, rummaging through his belongings until he came up with an unlabeled container—the kind usually used to store balms and salves. Opened, it would reveal a yellowish paste. Before he could overthink it, Micah tossed it to the Gryffindor in an easy, underhand throw. “It’s an all-purpose,” he said, as he rolled up his robes and stuffed them into his bag. All too aware of the other people in the room, he took refuge in the distraction carefully putting his things away provided. “It’s mostly for – rashes and the like, so it might a while, but–”

He flipped the flap and set the latch, giving the strap one last tug before pulling it out of the cubby. He rose to his feet. “It’ll feel kind of, um, cold at first, but it helps with the pain. It warms up when it starts working.”

Bella headed over to the Greenhouses. She had heard some other fifth years discussing a project taking place. The subject of Herbology was something that left an awfully negative feeling within the 16-year-old girl. My father... Bella shook the thought of her dead dad out of her head. Why is this still an issue? He was murdered when I was 3. Recently thinking about François Seulement had posed as more of a problem. She felt more able to comprehend it, first off, but otherwise thoughts were as grim as ever. The dreaded project that wasn't even forced was awfully pleasing. Bella had been given nasty glares- she had given a few herself- after she answered most questions with ease in most classes.

She opened the door, her bad day turned worse. There were four students Bella had seen around at one point or another. They were all covered in much dirt and grime.

"May I join?" Bella whispered, nerves edging at her voice.

Well that was awkward. Ambrose wished he could rewind to a few seconds earlier and not open his mouth like that. He wouldn’t have blamed Micah for taking back the offer of the stuff, but the Hufflepuff chucked it his way after a rummage.

“It’s an all-purpose.. It’s mostly for – rashes and the like, so it might a while, but it’ll feel kind of, um, cold at first, but it helps with the pain. It warms up when it starts working.” Ambrose unscrewed the lid and took a cautious sniff. If it was going on his nose, he wanted to be prepared for a pong.
“Thanks mate, can only give it a try.” He peered down at his reflection in a bucket of water and dipped a finger in the pot, cautiously applying. “Ooer, it’s all tingly!"

"May I join?” Bella’s voice interrupted quietly behind Ambrose. His Slytherin classmate wasn’t the most friendly, but hadn’t caused Ambrose much grief of late. She’d also come to do the herbology project it seemed.
“Join? Free greenhouse,” he turned, salve in one hand, finger of his other hand near his nose from applying yellowy paste on the boil. “unless you meant painting my nose.”

The Gryffindor wrinkled his nose and screwed the lid back on.
“How do I look?” he asked the girls with a grin, cheeks all red. “Here, thanks” he said to Micah, extending the salve back to him, "and sorry, for everything. I’m glad you got back ok. Don’t feel you need to go..”