January 10th, 1894 — First Year Herbology, Hogwarts Greenhouses
Herbology, at least, proved somewhat familiar to Ellen. There was nothing odd at all about a garden. Flesh-eating plants and dragon-dung manure were... unnerving, that was true, but at least the plants worked much the same. Water, soil, sunlight, a strong hand to weed their roots and a gentle one to pinch the dead buds from their branches. It had been, without contest, her best class in her first semester at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She expected it would still be her best as they moved into Spring. Though perhaps this would be the day to prove her wrong...
"Does it always... wriggle like that?" Ellen whispered, half to herself and half to the girl sharing her table. She'd not taken her eyes from the Flitterbloom writhing innocently in its porcelain pot. It wasn't dangerous, they had been assured, but there was something deeply unnerving and undeniably fish-like about the constant swaying fronds. She had shoved her hands behind her back at the very suggestion she ought to help prune it.
"Does it always... wriggle like that?" Ellen whispered, half to herself and half to the girl sharing her table. She'd not taken her eyes from the Flitterbloom writhing innocently in its porcelain pot. It wasn't dangerous, they had been assured, but there was something deeply unnerving and undeniably fish-like about the constant swaying fronds. She had shoved her hands behind her back at the very suggestion she ought to help prune it.