Pack!

               Chapter Thirty Six

               For those interested and because I’m tired of writing the position in conjunction with their name, the current Puddlemere team roster is below.

Oliver Wood (keeper)

Jasper Higgins (chaser)

Kent Smithfield (chaser)

Sienna Clarke (chaser)

Rowan Robertson (beater)

Reggie Gibson (beater)

Franky Armstrong (seeker)

R - Noel Rees (keeper)

R - Harley Hughes (beater)

R - Jessie Gardner (chaser)

R-Matthew Spriggins (was starting seeker, now reserve chaser)

R - Miriam Mills (beater)

R - Emilia Bates (chaser)

R - Ash Motague (chaser)

R - Harry Potter (seeker)

Day Thirty

               They were just finishing breakfast and Bill stood to call for attention before people started to get about their day. “Morning, everyone. As you know, we’ve been collecting suggestions for our village name, and today’s the day we’re going to make it official. We have a dozen options to vote on, but we did get one that requires some explanation from the submitter, if they could stand up. Who sent in,” Bill hesitated and held the paper up before him, “Indicia (en dish’ ee ah), and why?”

               Harry rubbed his forehead with a knuckle, having forgotten that particular bit of mischief, ruefully seeing a few of his chickens come home to roost. He exhaled heavily and stood, “That was me, Bill.” Absolutely no one fainted in surprise. “It was kind of right after we’d arrived, and I’d spent the previous few days referring to the first bunch of us as Team Clueless.” People chuckled as they remembered hearing Harry having done that very thing. “Indicia is a Latin word I remembered from a book I once read talking about some of the odd terms sailors use, which included how the term sea lawyer came about and had a paragraph or two about what they did. There were a lot of Latin terms involved because, well, lawyers, and indicia means evidence. Put it together with Team Clueless, and indicia became me saying “I found a clue!” He ended his rambling explanation with a resigned sort of sigh, silently starting to count.

               There was a moment of silence with Bill just blinking at him, then one corner of his mouth curled up. Several people looked at their neighbors before biting their lips and looking back down at the table. Others had their lips pressed tightly together, and some raised a hand to hide their expression. Right on cue with Harry hitting number ten it finally burst out, the great hall ringing with laughter to the point of tears.

               Then, after brief discussions, the vote was taken. It was near unanimous and Percy was directed to scribe Indicia on the map in his best handwriting.

               Day Thirty:  Neville

               Neville had spoken to Dobby shortly into his collection spree on the other side to get himself a loan and had then “bought” fifty of the expanded greenhouses he’d acquired by paying the cost back into the community funds he’d been given, then splitting future acquisitions into “his” and “community”. Neville was very much not stupid, he’d ensured that among the greenhouses he bought were several of the ones currently in use, no matter their contents. He’d sweated blood to ensure those plants would make it safely through the Pack! process, he was damn well going to reap the reward for it. He’d also paid Harry for the greenhouse from the Carrow estate, hoping its contents had survived the unprepared for Pack!ing. Of what plant life he’d acquired by virtue of it being in one of “his” greenhouses, he’d eventually sell off those things that wouldn’t compete with whatever specialty his business ended up being, as well as selling off the parts that didn’t interest him, such as market garden plants, common flowers, and the like.

               Having thirty-seven greenhouses of various flora, as well as twenty five of the specialized flatpacks that were currently empty was going to make for a full time workload for a dozen people. Even if his four elves turned back up it wasn’t going to be anywhere near enough. He knew he had quite a bit of duplication and overlap in his purchases, he’d have to get that sorted. He was going to need a plan, and he was definitely going to need a staff, but right now there was an emergency situation that he needed to quite literally dig into. It was perhaps arrogant to assume it all rested on his shoulders, but he truly was the only one that had the remedy. Kind of like being the only person with a sample of the dragon pox antidote when there was about to be an outbreak of the disease.

               He’d spoken to the various scout teams and confirmed what he’d suspected from his very first look around both the first site and now the second. They hadn’t seen any flowers. None, zero, zilch, nada. Nobody had realized what that meant but Neville did; there likely weren’t any pollinators on the island if flowers hadn’t evolved. He and the Scamanders had had multiple conversations, touching base each time another scout team came back with fauna samples. There were various insects and other small flying creatures, but they never found any sort of creature that had even a trace of pollen on it. Neville grasped the implications immediately; their farms were going to be in real trouble. Things like wheat and most other grains could sort of self-pollinate, but everything else they brought to establish their farms with would have to be hand pollinated, an effort that wasn’t going to fly at all with so many critical demands on their time.

               He talked to the Scamanders again about introduction of a pollinator and the ramifications of tinkering with the ecosystem that way, but the conclusion they came to was that while that was A Thing Never To Be Done in normal circumstances, they’d specifically asked that nothing they brought would be considered an invasive species. They’d need to hope that it was one of the conditions that had been able to be met. After reaching an agreement with the Scamanders, Neville had wasted no time.

               On day one of the move to the new site, he’d pulled out one of his empty greenhouses, and with Bill’s permission, set it out back of Hogwarts as a temporary measure. Appearing from the outside to be modest fifteen feet long, eight feet wide and about twelve feet at its peak, the interior was quite a different matter. Being magically expanded, it rivalled the size of and had a marked similarity in structure to the Palm House at Kew Gardens, being a magnificent three hundred by two hundred by seventy feet. More than enough space to be getting on with in solving his dilemma. He’d made sure to grab all the greenhouses that were of this design, fifteen in total. If he was going to be spending the majority of his working life inside one or another, he at least could see some gorgeous architecture.

               He loaded half of this one with year old bedding that had very high amounts of organic material already worked in, dampened it, and set loose seventy five percent of his earthworm supply. Not surprisingly, he’d been the only person to consider the humble earthworm. It wasn’t meant in a negative way, but really, who but a plant guy really, really thought about dirt?  To Neville, it wasn’t just dirt, it was all this percentage of that and so on. He could manipulate the “dirt” recipe as easily as an experienced cook seasoned a dish to taste. For this first project, he’d need to supercharge the worms’ breeding and get them into the outside soil bit by bit. You can’t just dump worms down and hope for the best, all you get are dead worms. They’d need to ensure the soil was thoroughly tilled, most of the debris removed, and dig actual  holes to plant the worms in. Even in small plots, it would take a year or two before enough manure and other organics had been worked into the soil for the earthworms to do their thing to maximum efficacy. In the meantime, he’d be growing their supply in readiness. He’d brought three hundred pounds of various species with him, concentrating primarily on red wigglers as the most suited to household gardens. People with small, raised beds, greenhouses, and any market gardens were the first targets as they’d reap the most benefits in the least timeframe. The larger farms would be a decade long project, but they’d get there and it wasn’t critical.

               The other side of this greenhouse that would be critical was going to be set up to grow Golden Honeybee bushes. He’d gone through all his working greenhouses, placing them one at a time next to his current project, making quick notes on their contents and painting a temporary number on the box after Pack!ing it back up that corresponded to his notes. As he’d thought, the only mature Honeybee bushes he found were from the supplier that specialized in ornamental plants. That greenhouse had a selection of them already potted, a quick count told him he had twenty, but they were raised as ornamentals, and he needed them for their other property. He readied a bed for what would be the new bushes. He’d need to take as many cuttings as he safely could and encourage them to root quickly, growing them in highly acidic soil. He sprinkled some iron sulfate over the bed, then worked into the soil both that and the two very large containers of coffee grounds and used tea leaves that he’d asked the kitchen elves to keep back. He’d also asked them to begin composting the food waste as organic matter was going to be in high demand for a while and he smiled in satisfaction at the amount he already had in reserve, there was no point in not starting off right.

               From his twenty bushes, he took one hundred and twenty cuttings, placing them in small pots of the prepped soil so he could keep an eye on their rooting status. He’d take new cuttings in another four weeks and at the six-week stage of rooting, if all went well, he’d transplant the cuttings to the soil beds until he filled the space. He calculated that he could get in two rows of seventy-five bushes each, and at that point he could slow down a bit, a mature bush would produce three small bee swarms a year, so they should be okay to start relying on the bees to self-propagate at that point. A farm would need about two hives an acre for crops requiring pollination, he thought a target of creating four hundred hives would be sufficient before he could scale back on the Honeybee bushes. They should be able to do that within a year but until they had full coverage, they’d have to move the hives manually from field to field as needed. But bonus, they’d have honey! 

               By the fifth day at the new site, he was finalizing arrangements for a rental of fifty acres about fifteen miles outside the current town environs. He wasn’t sure this was where he wanted to keep his business long term, so he started with a one-year rental with an option to renew, and an option to buy after five years. He wasn’t yet prepared to take on any large amount of landscape design or construction and he didn’t want to have his greenhouses subjected to town lights or other noise disturbances, so he ensured he had enough space to keep neighbors at bay. That second consideration was more his preference than the plants, but he didn’t want constant interruptions dragging him out of his greenhouses and being somewhat out of the common way was all to the good in that respect. He’d had to scour the local landscape to find a couple of acres of reasonably flat land that he could place his greenhouses on, going for a straightforward grid placement of five rows of ten (he’d add more if necessary), each well-spaced from the next. He considered what to do about his living space.  Prior to departure, he’d struggled with the decision, but had finally Pack!ed up Longbottom Hall after all. He didn’t have happy memories of it, but there were likely bits and bobs that were useful, and he would need to go through the attics to see what was there; he hadn’t been in some of them since he was a small child. He’d set it up on the new property and see if he could make it his own. If not, he was sure he could have a nice snug cottage built for himself. Meanwhile, he’d rough it a bit and just make do.

               Day Thirty Five

               Harry was seated at a table just outside Hogwarts, talking to the team of several people that had brought themselves to Bill’s notice by consistently going all “Oh, that’s interesting, let’s poke at it to see what it does”. Bill was smart enough to corral them and put them together on what he’d dubbed the WTF team, letting them try to figure out the new and different. Their current table was one of several that had been moved from an unused classroom and charmed weatherproof, then anchored down. Yesterday they’d been surprised by a heavy storm that came out of nowhere and had been somewhat brutal in regard to wind gusts. One storm did not establish what their new normal was going to be, but this one had anything outside not nailed down blowing every which way and the resultant disorder had Bill and Percy gathering together a team to explore options for dealing with potential weather issues and at the same time he set his team of specialists to try to figure out the latest bit of unexpected that had cropped up during the rainstorm. The committee overseeing building codes also went into a huddle straight off to see what they needed to review regarding structural strength.

               The current befuddlement of the WTF team could be traced back to Harry continuing to try and find things to do with his oozes. Even with Sirius all but gibbering about it, he had persisted in his habit of keeping one on him during the day. His first semi-success had occurred a week ago when Harry and a few others had been playing around on the pitch when the quaffle had been accidentally dropped offsides. He’d swooped down to go fish it out of the weeds and had landed, tethering his broom to follow him as there wasn’t anywhere convenient to prop it. On a whim, he’d pulled that day’s ooze out of his pocket, a generally pale green one he’d named Kazoo for reasons he couldn’t remember and set it on the shaft, figuring at least the little blop could sightsee while he dug around for the ball. He’d found it in short order, but Kazoo had refused to let go of the broom shaft, turning a rusty red in agitation when Harry tried to pry him loose. Giving up, Harry just remounted and dove back into the game of Toss the Quaffle they’d been enjoying. He figured if he couldn’t pry him off then it wasn’t in any danger of falling, so he let him be. Kazoo had been attached to his broom ever since, because apparently, he loved flying. Who knew? Harry just sighed and each day picked up a different ooze to keep in his pocket for testing, Kazoo remaining in his semi-permanent spot. Harry supposed he’d have to check if Kazoo was allowed to be part of an official match or if he could persuade him to stay on the referee’s broom. If he couldn’t find a way to make it work and he had to approach Mr. Whitehorn for another broom this soon, he wasn’t going to be pleased and he made sure he told Kazoo so, because fair warning and all.

               Yesterday afternoon, Harry and Daire Brennan, the Ballycastle seeker, had been running drills on the pitch and been caught in the deluge causing Harry’s ooze of the day, Bubbles, who’d been perched on the broom next to Kazoo, to get a bit annoyed. Harry wanted to find out if flying was fun for all the oozes, or if it was just Kazoo. Bubbles hadn’t objected to the flight, and had stayed securely in place, but readily detached at various points when coaxed to let go. But when the first squall of water hit Bubbles (whether it was aggravated at the weather itself or at having its fun interrupted Harry didn’t know), there had been an interesting result to say the least. Bubbles had been named for their fizzy champagne sort of texture and pale coloration and was apparently not a fan of getting wet. They’d deepened in color to a pulsing red, and thumped out a slow wave of energy Harry could just about follow with his eyes. It had instantly dried the air in a circular space around his broom and prevented any further rain from reaching him. When he experimentally moved, the space moved with him and when he flew over to Daire, it swelled to encompass him, too. When the pair landed next to Aisling Byrne, it once again increased to include her in the dry air. As whatever Bubbles was doing didn’t block the increasingly gusty winds, they moved towards the castle, occasionally picking up another half-drowned villager, Bubbles enlarging the field each time. Harry grinned internally at the aptness of Bubbles’ name and had the whimsical thought maybe he could talk to the Gnomes about renting her out as a portable umbrella. Asking those in Bubbles’ bubble to please keep the phenomena quiet until he had a chance to report to Bill and have it investigated had garnered him a round of agreements. Early on, everyone had come to the realization that weird stuff just happened around Harry, most times causing those witnessing the event to be to smile and shake their heads. Or roll their eyes. Some few would walk past and pat his shoulder in sympathy, depending.

               Now here they were, clustered around a table with Bubbles holding pride of place in the center. Harry had decided to be matter of fact about the presence of the oozes, but not to mention the numbers involved. As far as he was aware, nobody had connected Kazoo to being one and Sirius had kept Rocksanne fairly quiet. The WTF team might think Bubbles was the only one, a notion Harry didn’t want to go out of his way to dispel, but he also knew there wasn’t any point in keeping Kazoo out of the limelight, he could be recognized at any moment. “No, don’t poke at her,” Harry had decided Bubbles was a she. “How’d you like it if we all started sticking twigs in your ear?  Be nice.”  A hand was raised, and the man asked Harry how they were meant to be nice to an ooze?  “Dunno, really. I mean, I’ve no idea what they consider nice, but they have likes and dislikes, and they react to my jokes, so they understand at least somewhat. So be nice, all right?  Bubbles doesn’t like getting wet but Kazoo didn’t seem to mind it. It’s just a thought; if we have outdoor sorts of things that need to stay dry maybe you could ask Bubbles if she’s willing to help out?”  The team didn’t miss the plurality of his response or his mention of Kazoo. He was then forced to go retrieve his broom and explain why Kazoo was on it.  Harry could see the writing on the wall, but nevertheless resolved to avoid as many WTF team meetings as possible.