Greenhouse Three [open]

[Owen Fairchild]

Late Afternoon - Saturday

Owen wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing a streak of dirt across his temple without noticing. The air in Greenhouse Three was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming dittany, the warm glow of afternoon light filtering through the enchanted glass panels. Somewhere near the back, a Venomous Tentacula rustled in its pot, sensing movement, but Owen paid it no mind—his attention was fixed on the delicate roots of a newly potted Moondew plant.

He crouched low, carefully loosening the soil around the fragile stems. The plant shivered under his touch, responding to the gentle pulse of his magic as he coaxed it into its new home. “There you go,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

A soft breeze stirred the greenhouse as he straightened up, brushing the dirt from his hands onto his robes, though it made little difference. His sleeves were already smudged with soil, and his fingertips bore faint green stains from the sap of a particularly stubborn Snargaluff pod he’d wrestled open earlier. He’d lost track of time again—hardly a surprise. It was easy to get lost in the quiet rhythm of the greenhouses, where plants never asked anything of him but patience and care.

The door creaked open, and Owen turned, blinking against the shift in light. Someone had stepped inside—another student, maybe a curious first-year or a friend looking for him. He offered a small, easy smile, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “Careful where you step,” he said lightly. “Some of these plants have a mind of their own.”