"…so you might want to look into apprenticing at an owlery or, if you're up to the challenge, a dragon reserve, you've certainly got the aptitude with animals. You'll have to bring your Herbology marks up to Exceeds Expectations, of course. I've some pamphlets here from Eeyops if you'd like. Let me know if you'd like any more information or need tutoring. My door is always open."

The last was said for a laugh, because Professor Sprout's door was in fact an open arch, though it did have vines wrap across its width when she wasn't there. She always tried to have her pupils leave in a cheerful frame of mind, getting their minds off the stress of O.W.L.s for a few moments. Such levity was more and more needed as the war against Voldemort was dragged out into the open. It worked with Æmilia Sorrell; the shy, slim brunette seemed less terrified of her future than she had been at the start of the appointment. "Thank you, Professor," she said quietly as she left.

Professor Sprout acknowledged with a nod, though Sorrell could not see it, and looked for the folder on her next student, Damon Stone. By the time she finally turned it up and recalled that he was the student whose pincushion had become a very angry and very metallic porcupine two years ago; he'd volunteered to clean up the quills and help Madam Pomfrey bandage his classmates up before Professor McGonagall had been able to assign the tasks as punishment. She also recalled that Stone made a point of always being on time, and indeed, the strawberry blond curls peeping around the arch indicated that he had arrived. "Please, come in and take a seat, Mr. Stone," she said.

Stone sat down in the cushioned chair opposite the Head of Hufflepuff House. "Good afternoon, Professor Sprout. How are you?" He greeted her with the same politeness before every class, and talk in the staff room said that he did the same to all his professors.

"Very well, and thank you for asking." Professor Sprout opened her file. "The most important question in this career counseling session is this: what would you like to do after Hogwarts? We can work from there to set your schedule for the next two years."

Hands neatly folded in his lap, posture ramrod straight, beaming smile on his round face, Stone said, "I'd like to sell insurance, ma'am."

"That's a Muggle profession, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am. My da owns an agency back home. He helps protect families against death or disability. I'd like to do that too, ma'am."

"Aren't there any magical professions you'd be interested in? You're one of the best Herbology students in your year, and Professor Flitwick tells me you're very good at Charms. You could do well at Honeydukes or Bertie Botts's if you pursued Comestible Charms during your N.E.W.T. year. You'd certainly be popular among your schoolmates afterwards."

"Actually, Professor, I don't think I'll be coming back to Hogwarts for seventh year. To get a license, I need to finish comprehensive. I've studied over holidays, but I still need to bring my science, maths, and British history up to the mark. It's not that I don't appreciate this school, ma'am, or what I've learned here, but it’s not what I need to survive back home."

"But this *is* your home, Mr. Stone. You're a wizard- not a fully trained wizard, but a wizard nonetheless."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm also the second oldest of five kids, my sister's gone and married, my da's got a weak heart, and my mum's going deaf. With all due respect, Professor, I was Damon Stone before I ever knew about magic, and I have to be loyal to my family. Galleons won't buy their groceries."

"You're not the only Muggle-born who's ever wanted to go back or felt that they had to. Most decide to stay when they have the choice. Living without magic isn't easy once you've gotten used to it."

Stone's eyes grew wide and he took a deep, startled breath. "Oh, I don't want to give up magic! I just don't want to give up the real world either. Not that this isn't real, ma'am. But it makes me feel like my life back home isn't, ma'am. My Walkman hasn't played music since I took it on the train first year, even at home, and I can't take the Guardian because the deliveryman can never find the castle, and people look at me like I'm mad when I want to watch football instead of Quidditch. It's an interesting culture, ma'am, but it isn't mine. I miss pictures that stay in place and stairs that don't try to leave you off in the middle of nowhere and candy that just tastes good without any tricks." He stopped short, blushing scarlet at the torrent of words that had come from him. "I'm really sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to go on like that. It's nothing to do with career counseling. What courses do I really need to work on for this year?"

"You're performing at E-level in Herbology and Muggle Studies, and A-level in Charms, Astronomy, and History of Magic- very good, by the way, Professor Binns is not easy to learn from. You're solid there. Your Defense Against the Dark Arts marks have fallen from an A to a P, so you might want to put a bit more study into that. Likewise, Potions, though I see from Professor Slughorn that you're doing better this year than in previous years." Professor Sprout did not sound surprised, nor did she give any reason for the changes. "Try to bring up your Transfiguration marks as well, if you can do so safely. If you work hard, you could get five or six O.W.L.s, a very respectable number." She tucked the folder back into a desk drawer. "Mr. Stone, please understand that you can come to me at any time if you feel out of place, if your schoolmates are bothering you, or if you need to talk. I don't like watching my students suffer needlessly."

"I understand, Professor. May I have the information for Bernie Botts? Just in case?" His voice was even and polite, and Professor Sprout suspected that if she ever saw him in her office again, it would be the required appointment before the N.E.W.T.s in seventh year. She gave him the brightly colored pamphlet anyway, and he slipped it into his bag. "Thank you, Professor. I really do appreciate your help, honest." As he prepared to leave, he went over to the pots of mimbletonia in the corner. Running his fingers lightly through the dirt, he frowned, reached for his wand, and murmured, "Aguamenti minimum." A gentle spray came from his wand and misted the plants. It was a variant on a sixth-year Charm, but one simple enough to pick up from students practicing in the common room. "I'm sorry, Professor, but they did look a bit off, and I couldn't just-" He flushed and ran from the greenhouse, nearly knocking over Kevin Taggart, who was early for the next appointment.

Professor Sprout buried her head in her hands. She *had* been neglecting the mimbletonia, and he was the first to notice. Stone was a good lad, a Hufflepuff to his fingertips, honest and loyal and hard working, and Hogwarts would likely lose him because of those qualities. Before calling Taggart in, she closed her eyes and sent out a prayer, either to the Christian God or to her namesake goddess Pomona. Please don't let him walk away. Please.