Juniper 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. For a
moment, she experienced something like déjà vu. This was much like the morning
that she had gone to Diagon Alley, the morning when she had purchased the
Dragon dung, the morning that had become the day when she had felt so lowly and
unclean. The day before she had complained to Delia of her woes, which was, now
that Juniper thought of it, probably why Delia had invited her to that horrible
party in the first place.

As if it weren’t bad enough that the Ministry snobs
at the party had treated Juniper as if she were invisible, she had had to deal
with not one, not two, not even three, but four
separate Herbological disasters for people who didn’t even appreciate her.

Gardening
Effect indeed, thought Juniper bitterly as she opened
Delia’s letter.

Dear
Junie,

You’ve
made the Prophet! I know you haven’t subscribed since the War, but you just
have to see this! I enclosed a copy in the envelope, so don’t worry about
getting it. I told you, Junie! I told you you’d get your chance to show them
what an Herbologist can do!

With
love,

Delia

Juniper noticed the newspaper clipping in the
envelope, and pulled it out. The Daily Prophet was kind of a disgusting rag.
People said it had gotten better in the last twenty years, but she could
remember the horrible stories they had printed during the second half of the
1990s. They couldn’t be trusted, and she knew it. She wondered what lies they
had printed about her.

She laughed the moment she read the headline: “Herbological
Genius Saves Minister of Magic From Certain Death!” There was a picture of
Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking as serious and intimidating as ever, but
something like fear and relief was evident in his eyes, and the way he
nervously moved his mouth. He was holding one of Juniper’s Bouncing Bulbs, the
ones she had planted in her greenhouse the night before.

As ridiculous as the sensational headline was, she
knew she had to read this.

In
a shocking turn of events, a simple gathering of Ministry of Magic members was
beset by several dangerous plants. “It just seemed really unlikely,” said
Hermione Weasley, of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, “all of these
dangerous plants being present. We’re currently investigating the case, but I
cannot disclose any details at this time.”

It
is this journalist’s humble opinion that this was clearly some sort of
half-baked assassination attempt. Luckily, there was a hero on the scene.
Juniper Trimble of Godric’s Hollow, master Herbologist, used her skills of
first aid and plant know-how to curtail these rogue vegetables, saving the
Minister of Magic and his esteemed guests from untimely death.

“I
don’t know what we would have done without her,” said Delia Copperburn of the
Potions Association, “Juniper’s a genius with plants. I think too many witches
and wizards don’t really know about plants, because they don’t appreciate how
important Herbology and Herbologists are. We can’t let inane biases like the
Gardener’s Effect cloud how we see these experts in their field. I think that’s
what Juniper proved.”

The
Gardener’s Effect, according to many Herbology advocacy groups, is a bias in
the magical community, in which witches and wizards look down on Herbologists
as mundane, almost non-magical folk. Their earthy wisdom seems so quaint and
dull that it is easy to overlook them. Maybe this inspirational story will
inspire a whole generation of young wizards and witches to follow in Miss
Trimble’s footsteps!

Juniper didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Me? A hero?

Still, the article was ridiculous. She wasn’t an “inspiration,”
and she didn’t much care for the reporter’s use of the phrase “earthy wisdom.”

She shook her head at how dreadfully silly the whole
thing was. It was nice of Delia to say good things about her to reporters, but
she tried not to think about it. She had plants to care for, and so all she
wanted to do was get dressed and tend to them immediately.

Unfortunately, when she stepped outside, she found
that her entire property—yard, shed, greenhouse, house roof, everything—was
completely covered in owls. Great horned owls, snowy owls, barn owls, owls
Juniper couldn’t even identify. They all turned to look at her expectantly, in
unison. She knew enough about the behavior of mail owls to immediately run back
inside her house.

Letters began pouring in from every nook and cranny,
until the entirety of her house appeared to be coated in letters.

They seemed to come from all over the country, from
witches and wizards who probably hadn’t thought about plants since their
Herbology O.W.L.s.

They all started with some variation of “Dear Miss
Trimble,” and ended with some bland closing, but each and every one had, as its
body, a simple question. The vast majority of them were very silly questions,
and they made Juniper’s head hurt to even consider.

Is
it possible for Mandrakes to start a band?

Is
Devil’s Snare good with toast?

My
Kneazle’s been acting strange, lately. Do you think he ate aconite?

Why
isn’t my Venomous Tentacula growing?

I
am underage. How can I grow Bouncing Bulbs without my Muggle parents noticing?

She held her head in her hands. So many stupid
questions, so little time. Now, witches and wizards all over Britian thought
that Herbology was some sort of exciting, glamorous pastime. A hobby for
personal glory.

Juniper felt dirty for ever feeling as though her
job weren’t glamorous enough. What did she need with glamour? Her plants made
her happy, and that’s all that mattered to her. Every single plant, no matter
how boring, had value. Even though her Dittany would never grow to be as
stunning as her Knotgrass, Dittany was such a useful plant! Didn’t Delia need
Dittany for some sort of potion just last week? Didn’t Dittany help heal Mr.
Weasley’s injuries after he touched the Bubotuber pus?

One thing was sure. Juniper was tired of feeling
invisible. Now, she would never be invisible again.