Harry Potter Sweet Smell of Success

Prompts: Professor Sprout, Ash, Action/Adventure 

Rating and word count: PG, 2685 words

Genre: Action/Adventure, mystery

Summary: Madam Hooch is up to something, and Professor Sprout is doggedly determined to find out what it is. Turns out, she doesn't know shit…

A/N: Written for badgerchallenge community ages ago.

Disclaimer: If there are any real centaurs out there (as if they'd read this instead of smoking weeds and waxing poetic about the stars), I absolutely mean no offense. Also no disrespect intended to JKR.

_**Sweet Smell of Success**_

Tiny ash tree seedlings erupted from the fertile loam; their grasping leaves reaching for the sunlight filtering through the roof of Greenhouse Four. For months they grew quietly, adding height and unfurling new leaves.

"These are the best you've got, then?" Madam Hooch asked one early spring day, inspecting the thin stalks with a critical eye.

"Yes, but I have some very lovely silver maples over here," Professor Sprout said, cheerfully indicating another row of green-topped sticks, barely bigger than a Bowtruckle. "And some very sturdy oak saplings back by the wall there."

"No," Hooch answered, not sparing a glance at the other offerings. "It's ash I want. I'll take these."

"A particularly nice batch." Pomona smiled fondly at the seedlings. "Could I perhaps assist with transplanting? The root ball can be tricky."

Weeks later, Professor Sprout flew her decrepit old broomstick in the direction of Madam Hooch's new grove of saplings near the Forbidden Forest.

"Halloo!" she hailed the flight instructor, dismounting from her listing broom.

Madam Hooch was waving her wand like an orchestra director, sending a stream of water to one little tree while uprooting weeds around another. An extra flick sent a gnome spiralling off toward the forest.

"My, these are growing splendidly!" Pomona blinked in surprise, pointing at one tree that was much larger than the others. "What have you done with that one?"

"Hagrid has a potion he uses on his pumpkins called MagicGro. I thought I'd try it. It seemed to work at first, as the tree did grow much faster than the others, but I'm afraid it's hollow."

Pomona struggled to keep a disapproving frown off her face. "Hagrid is hardly an authority on plants. You must know he has been warned to keep his mutant plants far away from my greenhouses. He's forever cross-pollinating and experimenting on things he oughtn't."

"I wanted to see what would happen," her colleague said with a shug. "I only tested it on one tree."

Un-mollified, she eyed the other, smaller trees. "You've been using dragon dung fertiliser on these others, then, as I recommended? Tree growth should not be rushed. If their roots do not develop properly, the trees will be weak throughout."

"Yes, just fertiliser on the others." Hooch seemed to flush a bit at the mild reproach.

"And you've been talking to them? Playing music?"

"Yes."

The answer was evasive. Pomona narrowed her eyes. "What kind of music?"

Madam Hooch shifted. "Bit of this, bit of that. I haven't heard any complaints." She straightened and turned around, halting her gardening ministrations. "Now, I'm sure you didn't come out here just to inspect my trees. What can I do for you this fine, sunny afternoon?"

"Oh, yes. Right. It's my old broom. It's been drifting to the left a bit. I wondered if you might have a look?"

After trimming the twigs and tightening the bindings, Hooch declared the broom flight worthy and sent Professor Sprout on her merry way.

Pomona turned back to wave, only to see Madam Hooch disappearing into the forest, carrying a burlap bag.

"What could she be collecting in the forest, I wonder?" Seeing Hagrid near his hut, she flew over to greet him, noting the improved response of her broom. "Hello Hagrid! Fine day!"

"Professor Sprout! Yeah, fine day, fine day." He edged sideways a bit, blocking her view of his pumpkin patch. "So, erm, yeh be needin' anymore mooncalf dung fer fertilisin' then? Full moon comin' up. I could get yeh some real easy like."

"Oh that would be absolutely delightful, thank you." She beamed. Then she frowned. "Have you mentioned that to Madam Hooch as well? If you did, you must have forgotten to mention that it can only be collected by the light of the full moon. I saw her go into the forest with a bag not ten minutes ago."

"Naw, I ain't really one to be givin' out gardenin' advice," Hagrid said, ducking his head. "I gave her a drop o' my special growin' potion once when she asked, but I wouldn' think teh instruct her none. Yeh'd be much better, bein' a professor an' all."

"Why else would she be going into the forest with a bag?"

"Oh, tha's easy enough to answer. She's got a partic'lar fondness for fungi. Loves mushrooms, see. She asked about trees in the forest what have them big, flat ones growin' on 'em. Ones that look like Fanged Frisbees latched inter the bark, yeh know? I pointed her out a few, so I s'pect she's gatherin'."

"Hagrid! Mushrooms can be poisonous!"

He straightened and gave her a cool look. "I know what's poison and what ain't. 'Sides, the centaurs won't let her get inter nuthin' bad."

Pomona turned to gaze worriedly at the forest. "Centaurs?"

"'Course." Hagrid nodded. "They got herbs and whatnot they use fer their star-gazin' and such, so they keep watch o'er anyone pickin' anythin' in the forest."

The confidence in his tone did little to assuage her concern. With a creased brow, she pulled a scrap of parchment from her pocket and scribbled a quick note. She Transfigured it into a bit of dandelion fluff, and with a puff of air, sent it floating to Madam Hooch's quarters.

Back in her greenhouses, Pomona mused on her colleague's mysterious behavior. Hooch never displayed much interest in Herbology before. This new interest in trees and mushrooms could signify a problem. There were any number of plants that would provide more than a health boost when ingested--or smoked. A growth of trees surrounding a small plot could conceal many of them. She'd keep an eye on the flying instructor, she decided. Merlin knew, a woman who enjoyed the risk of getting high on a broom might appreciate the rush derived from other things as well.

Weeks later, Professor Sprout stood in the Astronomy Tower with a telescope. She wasn't stargazing, though. It was broad daylight, and rather than scanning the skies, the scope tracked the path of a person on the ground. She intently watched Madam Hooch (who had never even answered her note) carry a burlap bag into the forest. Some time later, she emerged and dragged the bag, now filled to bulging, to her small grove of ash trees.

Pomona scowled, pocketing her telescope. Time to move her investigation up a notch, she decided.

Late that night, by the cover of darkness, she crept to the small copse of ash trees. Scraping and clicking branches signified blowing wind, but oddly, there was no breeze. She tried to push the tangle of twigs aside, but the trees seemed to resist her efforts. She stepped back and examined the bark closely. It looked perfectly normal. The trees had grown steadily—faster than ordinary Muggle trees, of course, but completely acceptable for Hogwarts trees. They displayed no unusual growths or markings. She pushed against the interlocked branches again and met the same resistance. At the murmur of approaching voices, she darted behind a small garden shed nearby.

"…I've already given you more than I should have," an unfamiliar male voice said.

"But I just need a bit more!" Pomona imagined she heard a tinge of urgent desperation in Madam Hooch's voice.

"No. I cannot. But perhaps I could show you something else. It is a bit stronger, so you will need to prepare it carefully. I'm quite certain it will serve your needs more than adequately, and may even provide better results."

"What about payment?"

She could hear a sly smile creep in to the masculine voice. "You know what I like."

"Hmm. We shall discuss it en route. Lead the way."

Pomona leaned out from her hiding place, stretching to catch a glimpse of her colleague's cohort. She thought she saw the flicker of long, dark hair disappearing into the forest.

"Dumbledore must hear of this," she murmured to herself, vowing to talk to the headmaster first thing in the morning.

But at breakfast, Madam Hooch was sitting next to Dumbledore at the staff table. Their heads were bent together. Between rumbles of conversation, their shoulders shook with laughter.

Frowning in indecision, Pomona toyed with the eggs on her plate. Would Hooch cosy up to the headmaster like that if she was doing something illegal? Or was she cosying up _because_ she was doing something illegal…

More evidence, she decided. She'd wait and gather more evidence before speaking with the headmaster. Hufflepuffs were a patient and thorough lot.

As they were well into the summer holidays by now, Pomona had no trouble finding reasons to be outdoors, keeping a surreptitious eye out for suspicious activity. For several days, Hooch demonstrated no unusual behaviour, other than a new fondness for rare steak. She ordered one for nearly every meal. She didn't eat it, however; she just cut it in small pieces and discreetly vanished it, piece by piece.

Pomona felt another surge of concern. They may not be the closest of friends, but she could hardly stand by and watch someone develop a substance abuse habit and an eating disorder without taking action.

Time for an intervention, she decided.

Reluctant to make a public scene, she waited for an opportunity to talk to Madam Hooch alone. Overhearing her quarry make plans with McGonagall, Snape and Sinistra for two-on-two Quidditch that afternoon, she began planning for an evening fact finding mission.

She watched the players soar on their brooms over the Quidditch pitch as she puttered around her greenhouses, pruning and dead-heading. She paused to study the aerial acrobats more than once. "She's sure got a lot of energy for an anorexic mushroom addict," she marvelled.

As dusk fell, she dusted her hands and settled back on her haunches. The Quidditch match had ended ages ago. It was time. She hung her gloves on a peg inside the door and began the trek to the small ash grove to wait.

She was rewarded by the crunch of footsteps coming up the path before a quarter of an hour had passed. She hung back behind the small garden shed again, waiting to follow until she was sure she wouldn't be detected.

Applying a Silencing Charm to her boots, she ducked out from her hiding place to follow the path into the dark forest.

With stealth and tracking skills that she thought would rival any Auror's, she crept along, following the trail. Madam Hooch made no attempt to cover her tracks, but Professor Sprout paused every few moments to look and listen, not just for the footsteps ahead of her, but in case of footsteps—or paws—behind her. She gripped her wand tighter, desperately hoping as the hunter, she wouldn't become the hunted.

A very tense hour later, panic began creeping in. She was deeper in the forest than she'd been before, even in the daylight. By night, it seemed far more insidious. The hoot of an owl gave her a start. Two steps further, her heart froze at the sharp snap of a deer stepping on a branch. She leaped off the path to hide in the brush when a blood-curdling shriek rent the air. She whimpered, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and clutching her wand till her knuckles whitened.

Adrenalin pulsed through her veins. Her heart pounded and felt as though it had migrated from her chest up to her throat. She swallowed, in a vain attempt to push it back down.

Before she could control her violent trembling, the bushes in front of her were suddenly shoved aside. She screamed.

Madam Hooch glared at her from the other end of her lit wand. "Why are you following me?"

"I wasn't! I mean, I…." While relieved to not be the focus of something's meal, she was chagrined to have been discovered. "I was just concerned for you," she said, shrugging helplessly. "You shouldn't go into the forest alone at night!"

Hooch rolled her eyes and huffed in disgusted disbelief.

"What are you looking for, anyway? More mushrooms?" She hadn't meant to sound quite so accusing, but perhaps her colleague needed a bit of a slap in the face.

"No." Madam Hooch scowled irritably. "Fertiliser."

Pomona glanced up at the moon. Waxing gibbous. "There's no mooncalf dung to collect tonight. And certainly no dragon dung in this forest. What's really in the bag?"

Sighing, Hooch opened the sack. The pungent odour was unmistakable.

Pomona's brow furrowed. "Why collect it in the dark of night? Surely it would be easier—and safer—by the light of day!"

Madam Hooch closed the bag, hoisting it over her shoulder as she held aside the bushes to assist the other woman in finding the path back to Hogwarts grounds.

"Possibly," was the vague answer.

"What kind is it?"

Pomona hurried to keep up, wondering if her companion had heard her question. The pace Hooch set did not allow for conversation, so she soon gave up making more inquiries to concentrate on finding her way without twisting an ankle or walking face first into a low-hanging branch.

When they finally emerged from the forest, she heaved a sigh of relief that went a long way towards replenishing her oxygen supply. Still puffing, she followed along a path leading to the compost heap next to her ash trees.

Enviously eyeing the seemingly effortless way the other woman dumped the heavy bag and stirred the pile, Pamona vowed to lose a few extra pounds and get in better shape. When she finally breathed normally, she broached the question again. "What kind of manure are you collecting in the dead of night?"

Madam Hooch cleared her throat irritably. "Thestral," she snapped.

"Well, that's hardly cause for such secrecy," Pomona countered crossly. "What else? There must be something else causing you to behave so mysteriously. You may as well tell me, because you know I will badger you until I get some answers."

"Helga would be impressed with your dogged determination," Hooch said dryly. She sighed. "All right. Let's have a cuppa, and I'll tell you."

Pomona sat at the small table in Madam Hooch's kitchenette, sipping tea and nibbling a biscuit while she considered what she'd just heard.

"So you're testing different types of fertiliser on your trees? Why?"

"Dragon dung fertilizer is processed," her tea companion explained. "There's very little magical resonance left in it. I wanted to see if magic would seep into the plants if the fertiliser was mixed fresh."

"That can be dangerous! Magical plants combined with fertiliser from magical animals could create a wild, uncontrollable hybrid magic!"

Madam Hooch waved her words away impatiently. "Not applicable with ash trees. They have no magic of their own. I hoped the Thestral dung would impart natural directional ability. I'm going to make brooms with my trees, you see. That biggest one will be Hagrid's, if it works. He's offered to test it for me."

"So you've just used Thestral dung, then?" Pomona queried, still sensing something unspoken. "Ah, the steak! You were vanishing the steak from your plate to the forest to attract them."

"Yes. Once I discovered where they lived in the forest, I sent them bits of rare steak to keep them nearby."

"Well, I don't think anyone else noticed anything amiss…." She frowned. "Wait. I heard you talking to someone the other night. Was that about mushrooms?"

Madam Hooch actually blushed. "No. The mushrooms are intended to make the trees appreciate getting high. Trees are used to being grounded, you see. It takes some doing to convince them to enjoy heights."

"Oh…. But what were you trying to get more of? Who were you talking to?"

The woman who asked staff to call her 'just Hooch' grinned, her voice lowered conspiratorially. "A centaur. He showed me where to find the Thestrals that night, because he was getting nervous. You see, previously he showed me where to find the mystical centaur dropping grounds.

"_Fimus_?" Pomona gasped, undeterred by her colleague's off-topic musings. "You used _fimus_?"

"Best fertiliser in the world for flying brooms, I would think." Madam Hooch sniggered. "Great stuff, that. Smooth, enlightened and ensures the brooms will be stuck up; noses in the air.

Pomona laughed. "So is it true what they say?"

"About centaurs?" At the herbologist's eager nod, Hooch glanced about theatrically before whispering loudly, "Absolutely not. Regardless of what they seem to think, it _does_ stink!"


End file.

Harry Potter, Humor, Mystery