It was a warm Spring evening, the sun was low and golden, and Natty couldn't be sure but it looked like the bluebells were forming an army. There were hundreds of them, spilling from the forest in a meadow of deepest blue and in that sense matching that effervescent sky. The bluebells would be gone soon enough though, swallowed by the wild grass, thistles, ferns and various magical oddities that counted as flora in these parts.

The bluebells weren't Natty's concern. The new Groundskeeper was more attentive to the fact that the footpath from the greenhouses to the Quidditch pitch was so overgrown it barely looked like a path at all. This evening he was in the process of solving that, using his wand to blast away the domineering weeds and blaze a visible trail.

Mason Skeeter