Juniper Trimble awoke one morning to the sound of a
beak clacking against her window pane. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she
threw on her glasses, hopped out of bed, and undid the latch that was keeping the
tiny barn owl outside.

The owl fluttered into the room, carelessly dropping
the letter in its talons to the floor before nestling itself in Juniper’s
blankets.

“Good morning, Felicity. What do you have for me
today?” The owl gave a low hoot and blinked gently, rubbing its head against
Juniper’s hand.

Juniper picked the letter off of her carpet.
Felicity was the faithful owl of Delia Copperburn, Juniper’s best friend since
their first ride on the Hogwarts express. She read the letter carefully, happy
to hear from her friend.

Dear
Junie,

It’s
been entirely too long since we’ve met up for tea! I want to hear all about
your latest harvests, and I won’t take “no” for an answer. Send your response
back with Felicity as soon as you can. How does tomorrow sound? I’m free after
I get back from my Potions Association meeting at noon. Hope to see you then?

With
love,

Delia

Juniper stifled a chuckle. It certainly wasn’t lost
on her that when Delia said things like “I want to hear all about your latest
harvests,” she really meant something closer to “I’m running low on certain
potions ingredients and you’re the only person I know who will give me some for
free.” It wasn’t that Delia was a bad friend. Quite the contrary! She was
loyal, caring, and understanding. She was, however, a potioneer, and a
brilliant one at that. She worked for the Ministry, something about regulating
the sale of potions, and there was no way she would waste her valuable time
growing her own plants.

She pulled a quill out of her bedside table, and
responded that tomorrow would be just fine. She attached the message to
Felicity’s leg and gave the little owl one last pet before watching her sail
out of the window and into the sky.

I
wonder what Delia’s doing right now, thought Juniper
wistfully. Probably having a fancy
meeting with the Minister or something.

She sighed and picked her shopping list off of the
bedside table. It was a short list, but she desperately needed to head to
Diagon Alley. She was running low on almost all of her supplies, and her poor
plants wouldn’t handle being without them.

“Let’s see,” she muttered to herself, donning a
simple green robe and fetching her purse full of galleons. “One bag of Dragon
dung, three bags of Mooncalf dung, and a bottle of Centaur tears.”

She apparated directly into Diagon Alley, and
quickly managed to get everything she needed. The Dragon dung was perfect for
her roses and Bubotubers, and would be absolutely perfect magical fertilizer.
Its highly acidic nature would help make her compost powerful and nutritious
for her precious plants. The Mooncalf dung was a gentler option, and her more
sensitive plants would absolutely love it. The Centaur tears would also be
lovely, and she could use them to water any of her plants that preferred fresh
water. She was also thinking about growing some Bouncing Bulbs later that
month, and she knew that they, like many plants, preferred the vitamin-rich
tears over any normal water.

She walked through Diagon Alley, lost in thought as
usual. She wondered about the Centaur whose tears were in the bottle she had
purchased, and how strange it would be to actually collect tears from a Centaur
herself. Do they just go up to them and
ask, “Would you mind crying into this bottle? How strange that would be!
She knew they had to ask somehow; it wouldn’t be ethical, otherwise.

She was interrupted from her thoughts when she felt
a hand tap her shoulder. “Err… Ma’am?”

She spun on her heel, and saw a portly wizard in a
purple robe, clutching a bag of Dragon dung. He held it far from him, as if
disgusted by its very existence.

“You dropped your… stuff.”

She smiled and took it, placing it back into her
shopping bag. She made a mental note to keep a better grip on it. “Thank you,
Sir.” The wizard nodded, his nose wrinkling as though he smelled something
foul, and wandered off into the crowd.

“That’s odd,” Juniper mumbled to herself. “Dragon
dung doesn’t smell!”

She felt her heart sink as she thought about the
Dragon dung. It didn’t smell, not really. Still, for many witches and wizards,
the very idea of purchasing something that had come out of an animal’s
digestive system was abhorrent.

My
plants love it, and I love them.

Still, she sighed as she apparated home. She was
going to browse Flourish and Blott’s, but not today. She felt unclean.

People
think I have the least glamorous job in the world.

She carried her shopping bag to her shed, placing
the tears and the dung where they belonged. She looked at her filthy
dragon-hide gloves and forever-stained apron hanging on a peg in the shed, her
ragged earmuffs sitting beside them. 

And
maybe they’re right.