Capítulo 1: Chapter 1: Forbidden Blooms
By: GenreGypsy
The greenhouses of Hogwarts were like something out of a dream, where glass walls stood tall against the cold, and life inside flourished no matter the season. It was a sanctuary, and for Molly Weasley, it had become something of an escape. Not that she had ever thought she'd need to escape her own life, but here she was, with nothing but silence in The Burrow and too many memories waiting to ambush her at every turn. The battle had taken so much—Arthur, most of all. Now, there were only the echoes of his laugh and the weight of a home too big for one grieving woman to handle.
She had thought that helping Pomona in the greenhouses might fill the emptiness, give her hands something to do. And perhaps, it might fill the gaping hole that losing Arthur had left inside her chest, where the heartbeats came too slowly, and the air didn't always seem to reach her lungs. That's why she was here, buried in the damp smell of soil and the earthy, heady scent of living things. Things that, unlike her, seemed to keep growing.
Molly hadn't been sure what to expect when she first offered to help. Pomona Sprout, the long-time Herbology professor, had always been something of a mystery—kind, of course, but distant. There was an almost rugged determination to her, a woman who could command a horde of unruly teenagers or a misbehaving Venomous Tentacula with the same calm authority. Yet, behind that, Molly had always seen a flicker of something else. Something more fragile.
But fragility wasn't a word anyone would associate with Pomona, not as she stood in front of the workbench in Greenhouse Three, her stout frame steady, the lines of her face drawn into a practiced concentration. Her wild, graying hair was tucked haphazardly under a wide-brimmed hat, and her fingers—knobby, calloused things—moved with delicate care as she handled the fragile stems of a vine curling out of its pot. Molly stood beside her, knees slightly bent, her own hands dirtied by the morning's work of tending the rows of seedlings and sorting through the endless collection of magical plants Pomona had accumulated over the years.
"This one's temperamental," Pomona muttered, her voice like gravel over the rustle of the vines. "Bit too much light and it'll shrivel. Not enough and it'll poison the soil."
Molly nodded, though she knew better than to think she understood the complexities of herbology. Pomona's world was one of patience and precision, of watching and waiting. Molly's world had always been more chaotic—seven children, a husband who loved his job but never seemed to earn quite enough to support them, and a house that felt like it was alive in its own right. She wasn't used to things that demanded silence or stillness. She was used to fixing things with her hands, with love and care, but the quiet here was different. It didn't demand anything from her, and that was unsettling in a way she hadn't expected.
She stood back, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and glancing around at the sea of plants that filled every available space. Ivy and tendrils curled up the walls, strange flowers Molly had never seen bloomed in bursts of purple and gold, and odd fruit hung from low-hanging branches, their surfaces shimmering faintly in the dim light.
"Pomona," she said after a long moment, her voice softer than she meant it to be. "I don't think I ever realized how much life there is in here."
Pomona looked up, arching an eyebrow, but there was a softness in her gaze that Molly hadn't seen before. "Plants, just like people, need the right environment to thrive." She set down the vine and dusted her hands off, her gaze wandering over the rows of plants like a mother surveying her children. "But they can be fickle things too. They need someone who understands them, someone who knows how to coax them back to life when they're on the verge of withering."
Molly nodded again, though something in Pomona's words tugged at her heart. She turned her attention back to the section of plants Pomona had assigned her earlier. They were small, pale things, with delicate leaves that trembled under the slightest breath of air. But they were magical, that much was certain. She had learned quickly that nothing in these greenhouses was ordinary.
Her hands moved over the soil, checking for signs of dampness, pulling away dead leaves and brushing the surface clean of debris. It was mindless work, but she found that it calmed her, the repetitive motions grounding her in a way that little else had since Arthur's death.
But as she moved further down the row, her fingers brushed something unusual—something soft, almost velvety. She stopped, frowning, and pushed aside a particularly tall sprout to reveal a cluster of flowers she hadn't noticed before. They were small, their petals a deep, rich red that seemed to pulse faintly, like the beat of a heart.
"Pomona?" Molly called, straightening up and wiping her hands on her apron. "I think there's something strange growing over here."
Pomona turned from her workbench, her gaze sharpening as she made her way over. She knelt beside Molly, her eyes narrowing as she studied the flowers. "Hmm. Those weren't here before."
Molly swallowed, an odd sense of unease prickling the back of her neck. "What are they?"
Pomona reached out, her fingers brushing one of the petals lightly. "Aphrodesia florealis," she murmured, more to herself than to Molly. "Rare. Very rare." She glanced up at Molly, her expression unreadable. "It's an aphrodisiac."
Molly blinked, taken aback. "An aphrodisiac?"
Pomona nodded, her gaze returning to the flowers. "Powerful, too. They only bloom under very specific conditions. The magic in the air here must've triggered it."
Molly felt her stomach twist, her pulse quickening. "Is it dangerous?"
Pomona's lips pressed into a thin line. "Not in the traditional sense. It won't harm anyone outright. But it can… influence. If you're not careful, it can stir feelings, desires, even thoughts that weren't there before."
Molly felt the weight of those words settle over her like a heavy blanket. She glanced back at the flowers, their rich red petals shimmering faintly in the light. There was something unsettling about them—something that seemed to reach out and pull at her, like a whisper in the back of her mind.
"Best to leave them be," Pomona said, her voice quiet but firm. "They won't last long. They never do."
But as Pomona turned away, Molly's gaze lingered on the flowers. She couldn't explain it, but there was something about them that called to her. Something that made her heart beat just a little faster, her breath come just a little shorter. She reached out, her fingers hovering over the nearest bloom, and for a brief moment, she thought about what it might feel like to touch it. To feel its warmth, its power.
"Molly." Pomona's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and commanding. "Don't."
Molly jerked her hand back, startled by the sudden intensity in Pomona's tone. She glanced up to see the professor watching her with an expression that was harder to read than usual. There was concern there, yes, but something else too. Something deeper. Something that made Molly feel like she had just stepped too close to the edge of a cliff.
"I told you," Pomona said, her voice softer now, but still firm. "They can influence you. Even without touching them."
Molly nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
Pomona waved a hand, dismissing the apology. "It's not your fault. The magic is strong. Stronger than most people realize." She paused, her gaze flickering back to the flowers. "That's why we have to be careful."
Molly nodded again, but the unease still lingered, curling around her like a vine. She turned away from the flowers, focusing on the task at hand, but it was harder now. Harder to concentrate, harder to ignore the faint pull at the back of her mind. The flowers were still there, just out of sight, their presence like a shadow that refused to leave her alone.
As the afternoon wore on, Molly found herself glancing back at them more and more often. She couldn't help it. There was something about them—something that tugged at her in a way she couldn't quite understand. And each time she looked, the pull grew stronger, the whispers in her mind a little louder.
By the time Pomona called for a break, Molly's hands were trembling. She hadn't touched the flowers, hadn't even come close, but it felt like they had already touched her. She could feel them under her skin, in the rhythm of her heartbeat, in the heat that had settled low in her stomach.
Pomona must have noticed, because as they sat down on a bench near the door, she turned to Molly with a concerned frown. "You're not feeling strange, are you?"
Molly shook her head quickly, though it was a lie. There was a strange warmth coursing through her veins, a sensation she couldn't quite name. It wasn't overwhelming, not yet. It was subtle, like the lingering scent of something intoxicating in the air, but she felt it all the same.
Pomona studied her for a moment longer, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she could sense what was happening beneath the surface. But then, she let out a small sigh, leaning back against the bench and glancing out at the grounds beyond the greenhouse. "It's all right," she said after a long pause. "Sometimes the magic in this place can feel like it's getting into your skin. It's easy to forget how powerful it can be, even for those of us who've been around it for years."
Molly nodded, grateful for the out. She didn't want to admit that it wasn't just the magic of the greenhouses that was getting under her skin. It was something more. Something about the way Pomona spoke with that quiet authority, the way her hands moved with such care over the plants. Even now, as Pomona sat next to her, seemingly at ease, there was an energy between them that Molly couldn't ignore.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet charged, until Pomona stood and dusted off her hands. "We should finish up," she said, her tone back to its usual briskness. "There's still plenty to do before the sun goes down."
Molly rose as well, though her movements felt slower, heavier. As they returned to their tasks, she couldn't stop herself from glancing back at the cluster of aphrodisiac flowers, their deep red petals gleaming faintly in the dim light of the greenhouse. She tried to shake the feeling that they were watching her, pulling her closer with each passing moment.
But it wasn't just the flowers, was it? No, it was more than that. There was something else tugging at her, something far more personal, more complicated. Something about the way Pomona moved through the space with such quiet confidence, the way she spoke with that low, steady voice that seemed to resonate deep inside Molly's chest.
It was absurd, really. She was still grieving, wasn't she? She was still trying to make sense of her life without Arthur, without the man who had been by her side for so many years. But grief didn't stop the world from turning, and it didn't stop her from feeling things she hadn't expected to feel.
The hours slipped by, the sun lowering toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the greenhouse. Molly worked in near silence, but her thoughts were anything but quiet. They churned and twisted, pulling her in directions she hadn't allowed herself to go before.
When Pomona finally called it a day, Molly was relieved. Her hands were dirty, her back ached, and her mind was spinning. She wasn't sure how much longer she could have stayed in that enclosed space, with the smell of earth and magic thick in the air and the presence of those flowers lingering just out of reach.
As they stepped outside, the cool evening air hit Molly like a splash of water. She breathed in deeply, trying to clear her head, but it wasn't so easy. The thoughts that had begun to bloom inside her refused to be shaken off.
Pomona paused just outside the greenhouse door, turning to Molly with a small, thoughtful frown. "You did good work today," she said, her voice soft but sincere. "I know it's not easy, especially with everything you've been through. But you're welcome to come back anytime."
There was something in Pomona's gaze, something warm and understanding, that made Molly's heart skip a beat. It was a simple offer, nothing more, but it felt like more. It felt like an invitation—not just to return to the greenhouses, but to something deeper, something neither of them had spoken aloud.
"Thank you," Molly said quietly, her voice catching slightly. "I… I appreciate that."
Pomona stood there, her eyes reflecting the soft, fading light of the evening. For a moment, they simply looked at one another, the silence between them not uncomfortable but charged with something neither could quite name. Molly's heart began to beat just a little faster, her breath catching in her throat. There was a gentleness in Pomona's gaze that Molly hadn't seen before—something warm, something that reached out and wrapped around her in a way that felt strangely intimate.
Before she could fully think about what she was doing, Molly's hand moved of its own accord. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the side of Pomona's face. The skin was warm beneath her fingertips, soft and lined with the marks of time and care. For a brief second, she let her hand linger there, her thumb gently tracing the curve of Pomona's cheek.
Pomona didn't pull away. She didn't move at all, really. She just stood there, her eyes wide and searching as if trying to understand what was happening. There was a flicker of something in her expression—surprise, perhaps, or confusion—but it quickly disappeared.
Molly's heart pounded in her chest. The space between them seemed to shrink, and for a brief, dizzying moment, she thought she might close the distance entirely. Her body moved on instinct, leaning forward ever so slightly, her gaze dropping to Pomona's lips. It would be so easy, so natural, to bridge the gap. The thought of it sent a wave of warmth coursing through her, the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with grief or loss.
But then, just as quickly as the impulse had come, Molly caught herself. Her breath hitched, and she froze, her fingers still resting against Pomona's skin. What was she doing? This wasn't… she couldn't… it wasn't right. Not now. Not like this.
Pomona blinked, the moment of tension breaking as Molly pulled her hand back, her fingers trembling slightly as they fell to her side. Her heart raced, and she swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and something else she couldn't quite name.
"I'm sorry," Molly whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to…"
Pomona shook her head, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It's all right," she said softly, her voice steady and reassuring. "You don't have to apologize."
There was a kindness in Pomona's tone, a gentle understanding that made Molly's chest tighten. She had expected awkwardness, perhaps even rejection, but Pomona wasn't looking at her with judgment or confusion.
They stood there in the fading light, the distance between them both a physical and emotional space that felt at once too large and too small. Molly's hand ached where it had touched Pomona, the warmth of that fleeting contact lingering in a way that made her feel vulnerable, exposed.
Pomona's gaze softened further, and she reached out, placing her own hand gently on Molly's arm. It was a simple gesture, nothing more, but it grounded Molly in a way she hadn't expected. The touch was warm, reassuring, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Molly didn't feel so alone.
"You're going through a lot," Pomona said quietly, her voice low and steady. "It's only natural to feel… complicated things with the Aphrodesia florealis."
Molly nodded, though her throat felt tight, and the words she wanted to say seemed stuck somewhere deep inside her. The feelings swirling inside her were complicated, tangled up in grief and loneliness, but they were also something more.
"I don't know what's happening," Molly finally admitted, her voice small but honest. "I just… I don't know."
Pomona's hand lingered on her arm, a quiet reassurance that seemed to say more than words ever could. "You don't have to know right now," Pomona replied, her tone gentle. "Sometimes it's enough to just let yourself feel what you're feeling."
Molly's chest tightened again, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears. She hadn't realized how much she needed to hear those words—how much she had been carrying, trying to be strong, trying to keep everything together. But here, in the quiet of the evening, with Pomona's steady presence beside her, it felt like she could finally let go. Even if just for a moment.
She swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over, and nodded. "Thank you," she whispered again, the words filled with more meaning than she could ever fully express.
Pomona gave a small, understanding nod, her hand slipping away from Molly's arm. The warmth of her touch lingered, though, and as they stood there in the growing dusk, the space between them felt less daunting than it had before.
For the first time in a long while, Molly didn't feel like she was standing on the edge of an abyss. Instead, it felt like there was something solid beneath her feet again, something that could hold her up, even as she navigated the uncertainty of what came next.
Pomona took a small step back, her eyes still warm, and gestured toward the path leading back toward the castle. "Shall we?" she asked, her voice light, as if offering Molly a way to ease out of the heaviness of the moment.
Molly nodded, grateful for the reprieve, and the two of them began to walk, side by side, the quiet between them companionable now, rather than charged.
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