Bombay Cottage
Horsham, West Sussex

Grace was not yet ready to completely reconcile all her remaining woes, but at least she was ready to leave the house in search of some solace. Initially, she had not devised a plan of action for the day. She merely boarded the train from Penzance to London and aimlessly stared from the window out at the passing scenery. She envied the teenagers eager to embark on adventures to the city or the coasts. Their exuberance might be contagious to anyone else. But all talk of fashion and the beach and watching sporting events did not have the same appeal to her.

In London, Grace did wander the streets for a while, but she felt alone in a sea of strangers when normally she would find great comfort among the masses. She returned to Kings Cross and boarded the train again, only this time not for home.

When she reached her new destination, Grace shoved her hands in the pockets of the light jacket she was wearing and stared at the cottage in front of her from beyond the fencing around it. As her fingertips snaked around the wood of her wand, she willed her feet to move forward. Surely there was a spell for knocking on doors, right? Even if she wanted to urge herself forward, there was some force holding her back.

Grace knew what the force was. It wasn’t the man inside that she feared facing; It was what he represented.

Failure.

Maybe that wasn't exactly fair. But she knew that he, of all people, was likely to judge her quite heavily for one failure in particular.

The lilac curtains rippled once, as if fluttering from a breeze.  However, a far less idyllic circumstance prompted the movement.  The eye of Graham Bombay had been peeping out as the wards alerted the residents to someone's presence.  It was Grace Eddy.


Graham retreated back to his habitual seat within the all-too-floral living room as his mother made her presence known.  "The door's not going to open itself, son.  And don't you dare bring your plants through the house unless you want to clean up after them."  He sighed, rolled his eyes, and pulled himself out of the large chair.  "Yes, mother."  Months of house arrest had made him weak, and his initial resistance to his mother's ways had disintegrated into resignation.


As his mother went back into the kitchen, Graham proceeded to the door.  He opened it a crack, enough to glare at the visitor and make known his disappointment.  "You're late," he spoke coldly, hoping it sounded more like a chastisement than any indication that he had been counting the days.  Human company was scarce, let alone company that he felt marginally pleasant toward.


"What do you want?"

Even with the greeting from a familiar voice, Grace barely moved from her place outisde of the Bombag home. She looked down at her hands which didn't seem to want to stay still. Then, after gathering up a bit of strength, she looked back up. It hurt to hear the disappointment in his voice and she hadn't even told him anything yet.

Clearing her throat, Grace mumbled, "I apologize, Professor. But I....uh....was unavoidably detained." The last thing she wanted to do upon her arrival was launch into the morbid tale of her mother's death. That was not the ideal reunion between the two of them.

She reminded herself that in her last letter she had told him she would confirm the details of her visit and with all the havoc in her life, that detail had simply gotten lost in the shuffle.  It wasn't his fault that he didn't know.

Grace finally stepped forward. "I really am sorry," she stressed. "But I promise it was a really good reason....And I'll be happy to tell you if you would be so kind as to invite me inside." She paused. "And there is another matter I'd like to discuss with you...."

His eyebrows scrunched even further together at the utterance of detained.  Of course.  He was unavoidably detained at home, himself.  It was the type of language used for house arrests, court orders and rsvp slips as to why he could not play his role as mother's lapdog at another oh so droll event.  People who viewed each other as above the general scum of humanity did not use such language. 


He grimaced before pushing the door open further.  "It better be good," he grumbled, stepping back from the door frame to let her pass.  There were only a few spaces left that he could dominate, and he guarded the door frame jealously.  It was a mark of either respect or his mother's firm hand that allowed few to enter the Bombay cottage.


"Who's at the door, Graham?" his mother called out, peeking her head around the kitchen wall.  "Oh.  You'll want tea, I suppose," she drawled, clearly marking her disdain for the ill bred.  She had heard plenty about this one, and Ms. Bombay was not pleased at her having turned up after all.  She slipped back into the kitchen, opening cabinets in a rather loud fashion.


"Sit."  Graham gestured to a chair while he took his place within the floral arm chair.  "I'm so pleased you decided to grace us with your presence.  As you can see, my mother has been anticipating your arrival."  He paused for a moment, studying his guest.  Something was off.  And he was being rude, well, ruder than usual.


Graham attempted to remove the gruffness from his voice.  "You said there was something you needed to discuss?"  He had few visitors as it was.  He could scarcely afford to scare them away, however much he might like to.

Grace could barely contain a scowl as she stepped forward, prepared to dutifully follow him inside now that he held the door open. It better be good? Did he want to play a game of "Who's life sucks more" with her? Because even without knowing all of the details of her Professor's banishment from school, Grace had a feeling that she would win said game hands down.

But Grace bit her tongue and didn't say anything. Yet. She remembered how contentious some of their interactions had been that school year. And she wasn't prepared to get into a shouting match with him so soon after arriving.

Grace shrank back a bit after entering upon hearing a woman's voice. And the woman's comments didn't make her any more eager to progress further into the house. But again, Grace dutifully followed behind her professor and when he commanded her to sit down, she did so. She sat perfectly straight in the chair and neatly folded her hands on her lap, wanting to give neither of the Bombays further cause to criticize her.

At her professor's comments, Grace attempted a small smile in his mother's direction. "Again, I apologize for keeping her waiting."

When he expressed interest in what she wanted to discuss with him, Grace hesitated. She looked from Bombay to his mother and back again and she wasn't sure she wanted to launch into it with a stranger present. Even if she did try to speak to him only about the missed Herbology exam, at some point she was going to have to talk about the reason why.

Grace cleared her throat. "We don't have to talk about it right away. We can have the tea first and it would be rude of me not to inquire as to how you have been doing first."

"Fine," he replied brusquely, sitting quietly until the tea arrived.  If that was how she wanted to play it, so be it.  He was just trying to be polite.

His mother came breezing out of the kitchen, tea service in hand and her best expression of nonchalance.  In this case, that meant doing her best not to scowl.  It was hardly effective.

"Here you are," she said, setting the service upon the table with a noticeable clink.  Tea pot, cups, sugar and cream were set out upon the tray, each container bearing a matching pink floral pattern.  Having done the minimal duty, as a hostess, she gave Graham a stern look he often saw that expressed her consternation of "why are you the way you are?" He attributed it simply to the bloodline of his guest and took as little heed of it as he usually did.

"Thank you, mother," he responded as she retreated back into the kitchen.  He took a cup and poured his tea, glad she had chosen to remove herself instead of stay.  He couldn't imagine the conversation becoming even more awkward, yet he knew his mother would manage it in a heartbeat.

He added two cubes of sugar and a splash of cream.   "I've been well.  Home.  My garden has needed me desperately but it's almost back to my usual standard."  He paused, taking a sip of tea.  "Leisure suits me."

"Fine," Grace echoed plainly, with surprisingly less of an antagonistic air than she normally had when in her former professor's company. Perhaps her recent misfortunes had her considering that there were bigger battles to be won when it came to her social interactions with others.

Grace sat in silence for a moment, waiting for the tea and doing her best to not look as awkward as she felt under the careful scruntiny of Bombay's mother. Grace couldn't ease the prickly feeling that she got when she was around overly judgemental purebloods.

Still, Grace wouldn't dream of disgracing her own mother by being rude in response. Eugenia Eddy's advice to "kill them with kindness" seemed easier to apply to adults than it had been with individuals her own age, like Maeve Whitman.

Grace smiled the sweetest forced smile she could muster and dutifully uttered, "Thank you so very much, Mrs. Bombay."

But the former Gryffindor didn't dare touch the tea cup set before her until the woman left. She figured it would be better than she not see someone less than pure sip from her fine china.

Before following Bombay's lead in preparing his tea with cream and sugar, Grace eyed him skeptically as spoke of his life now.

"Leisure suits you?" Grace took a sip from her own cup and further narrowed her eyes at her once favored professor. "Why? Because you get to hide here away from everyone?" She paused and nodded as if she finally understood. "Yes, I suppose that suits you...."

"Indeed," he mused.  He took another sip, lingering as the heat warmed his upper lip.  "Merlin knows children never did.  I was a fool to waste my life teaching.  Well, aside from the few intelligent individuals such as yourself," he added, realizing Miss Eddy had been his only company aside from his sister. 

"Now, truly, you don't expect me to believe you came all this way to visit my garden, spectacular as it is."  He met her eyes.  He couldn't help slipping into his professor tone with his next statement.  "I'm listening."

A hint of a genuine smile played at Grace's lips at her former professor's musings about children. "Oh I don't know if it was a complete waste. You seemed to do best with the older students," she pointed out. "If only Herbology was an elective and not a core subject, you could have minimized your contact with the younger ones who seemed to....wear at your patience?"

Grace shrugged and sipped her tea from the delicate cup. She lowered it slowly when he pressed her for the real reason for her visit. She could resist a bit more, but in truth, she didn't want to. Part of her wanted to open up to Bombay, even though she knew he might be disappointed in what she had to say.

After a long pause, Grace kept her eyes fixed on the brown liquid of the tea as she allowed the words to fall from her lips. "When my mum died, I couldn't finish my Herbology NEWT." She slowly raised her eyes to his face, naturally expecting the worst reaction. "I can't become a healer without it. So eventually I will have to take it over...." Even though she wanted to look away, her gaze did not waver from his expression. "I may need your help keeping my mind fresh on the subject until that happens. And maybe help me to....just stay inspired by it."

"That would be the dream, Miss Eddy," he responded.  If only he could teach people he liked.  It would be classroom of one, maybe two at the most.  So few people could appreciate his brilliance within the field.  He sipped slowly at his tea, his brusque persona slowly melting away with the tea's warmth. 


After appreciating the beverage, his mind caught the words she was pronouncing.  Couldn't finish? Herbology NEWT?  He looked up, eyebrows raised in disbelief.  She couldn't be serious.  "But...it's your NEWT," he responded, almost stammering.  He paused, realizing he should be sensitive, that others might take this for a tender moment, but he could not move past someone simply not taking their NEWTS. 


"I mean, of course I'll help.  It'll give me the chance to work on my other projects that Hogwarts was not so fond of."  His proposal to implement a more aggressively carnivorous breed of shrubbery to protect the greenhouses had been vigorously defeated.  He had only been out of work for a few months, but already it felt like ages.  "


When are you retaking it?  If you missed classes, I'll need to know at what point in the curriculum to start from." He paused, considering their previous work together. 


"However, be prepared to do things my way."  If he were going to take on a student, she would need to be at her most mature.  He could manage adolescent hormones and bickering in the school, it was to be expected.  But there was no way he would let that seep into his garden.  "And we won't work during your...lady days.  Some of my plants are sensitive." He could feel the red seeping into his skin at that point, but hurriedly attempted to brush it off.  "It'll be a strict and demanding schedule of work, if this is what you choose.  No excuses. I don't accept subpar work and your NEWT won't, either."

Her former professor’s initial response – about how it was possible to miss one’s NEWT and a very important one at that -- was one that she had considered often both immediately before it had happened and afterwards as well. But in the critical moments of her mother’s passing, nothing else had seemed important.

She swallowed hard and stared down at her tea cup, knowing how much of a disappointment it had to be for him to hear the news. She was disappointed as well. “Yeah…I guess I didn’t really think about what the consequences would be in the moment,” Grace explained in a tone that had become detached when speaking about what had happened. She finally looked up and offered him a helpless shrug. “My mom was….” She stopped short of saying what went through her mind – dying – and hastened on, “I just left school to be with her. It felt like what I should do, you know? You would do that, right?” she asked impulsively, almost in an interrogating manner and in a tone that dared him to say that he would not have done the same thing if his mother was dying. Briefly – very briefly – it crossed Grace’s mind that maybe Bombay didn’t have that kind of relationship with his mother. A relationship where if she were on her deathbed the notion of being by her side during her last moments was the only option.

Grace felt sheepish for making assumptions. Or judgments. It wasn’t her place to do that. Fiddling with her tea cup again, she simply stated, “I mean…I’m just now realizing how…complicated…it makes things now.”

When Bombay stated that he would help her, relief coursed through her as if it were being carried in her blood to the tips of her limbs. Was it possible that in her anxiety over the meeting, her blood had stopped flowing?

She pointed out, “ I didn’t miss any classes. Just the exam. I know the material but I just need someone to help me stay….fresh. I think the next time I can retake the test is in December some time. Whenever is the Ministry’s whim, I suppose. They could even make me wait until next June.”

Grace’s gratitude for his willingness to help kept her from realizing right away that her professor’s decision might not entirely be about a desire to simply help her out of the goodness of his heart. She didn’t acknowledge that there might be conditions attached to her request.

His insistence that they do things his way was enough to remind her of why they had clashed over the years, even as they shared a love and appreciation for Herbology. She felt some of his demands for how they would work, like not doing so on her lady days were downright silly. She bit her tongue to keep from bringing up the idea of what his mood swings were called.

But now, Grace did not have the will in her to argue with the man. She carefully set her cup down and clasped her hands in her lap. Then she calmly told him, “Sure. We’ll do things your way.” His last words  hit her hard and her expression darkened as she affirmed, “Of course my work won’t be subpar. You know very well how I am.”

Then, with a wry grin, she added, “Even when you insisted on taking projects away from me I managed to find some way to exceed your expectations…”

"Of course you didn't consider the consequences," he sighed.  Kids these days.  So many things were important to them, quidditch, musicians, fashion.  They were so quick to form emotional connections to things.  It was rather silly.  He was taken aback for a moment when she asked what he would have done.  About his mother? He grimaced and shrugged his shoulders.  He couldn't imagine ever voluntarily leaving to be with his mother. 

"The ministry serves at their pleasure, not their citizens', you'll be ready whenever they ask you to be," he responded.  He settled back into his chair, taking another sip of tea.  He was still waiting to learn when his bloody house arrest would be over.  Living with his mother was penance enough. 

He smiled at her agreement.  It would be nice to have full control over the greenhouse.  Hogwarts was constantly telling him to be nicer to students, and pointedly referred to the archaic rule against transmogrifying students into animals (or plants) as punishment. 

His eyes narrowed at her last statement.  He hated being thwarted.  " We'll see.  Trust me, any shenanigans will be punished far more harshly. We'll meet Mondays.  Promptly at nine o'clock.  I'll have most of the supplies, but you'll need gloves, goggles," he gestured casually, "and whatever else safety-wise.  And I may have you go into Diagon to buy supplies from time to time. My mobility is unfortunately...rather limited." He rolled his eyes.  "And I don't want aurors trouncing through the garden."