A Time And Place To Grow

Chapter 11: Weeding Through The Past

The afternoon sun felt warm on the back of Harry's shirt as he knelt by a row of rosemary plants and began to weed around the green plants. He had shed his cloak an hour ago, and he had no intention of putting it back on, no matter what Snape said. Snape would want him to wear the cloak in the hot sun and then despair that his ward was a helpless idiot when Harry got heatstroke. Let's face it - Snape was only happy when he was pointing out other people's faults, preferably Harry's.

A breeze blew across the garden, ruffling Harry's hair and setting the little plants trembling. His hands were coated with dirt, and the knees of his trousers were splotched with mud. Oh, well, if Snape wasn't going to give him proper clothing for gardening, it was not Harry's fault.

"You missed a spot," a voice said from behind him.

Harry craned his head over his shoulder to see Snape watching him work, arms crossed and face stern as he surveyed his ward's work.

"I'm not finished yet," Harry protested, returning to weeding. "I'll get to it all eventually."

"You've been out here for two hours, and you've only done three beds so far. Are you weeding them with your teeth, or do you enjoy going at a snail's pace?"

The sneering sarcasm in Snape's voice made Harry want to fling a handful of dirt at him.

"I'm coming - stop yelling at me," Harry growled, pulling at a particularly vicious weed.

It refused to come out, stubbornly clinging to the ground. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled with all his might. The ground finally gave way, and the weed came out, pulling one of the rosemary plants out with it. Harry wiped his face with his hand, leaving a streak of dirty sweat, and waited for Snape's scathing comment about little brats that insisted on ruining gardens and becoming more trouble than they were worth.

"Easy, Potter," Snape said, mildly. "Some weeds won't come up at first tug, and you need to be careful so you don't rip up the other plants."

Harry huffed hotly, tossing the weed into the pile of other weeds that had steadily grown bigger and bigger as the afternoon progressed. "This would be so much easier with a wand. I could do it in a matter of minutes and then do something else instead of grubbing around in the dirt. It's hot and sweaty, and I'm not getting much done, and nothing looks right."

"Hard work reaps character," Snape said in a patronizing tone as he turned away. "Something you could benefit from tremendously. Long, hard work is what you need, more than anything else. And as a good guardian, I plan to accommodate this important need as often as I can."

Harry couldn't stop himself. He chucked a clump of dirt at Snape. The dirt hit Snape's robe, but fell off without leaving a mark. Snape turned slowly back to face Harry.

"Mr. Potter, did you just throw a handful of mud at me because I insisted on telling the truth?"

Harry scowled and reached for the next weed,
refusing to give Snape the satisfaction of an answer. Then Harry found himself whizzing through the air, up over the garden beds, and he landed in the lake with a splash. A moment later, his rear end thumped on the bottom of the lake, the cold water coming up to his shoulder. Gasping at the shock of the cold water after the warm sunshine, he struggled to his feet, rushes and vines twining around his arms and making him feel off-balance. When Harry finally got his footing, he whirled around in the knee-deep water to see Snape standing at the edge of the water, smirking.

"My, my, Potter, a swim so earlier in the season? Could you not first change into the proper attire? And I would appreciate if you asked permission from me."

"Ha-ha, you're so bloody funny," Harry stomped out of the water, flinging droplets of water off him as he moved. "Thanks a whole heaping lot for throwing me in the lake. Now, I can't weed anymore."