Cactus Tree Sandwich and Fighter

Mr. Linde briefly introduced the plants in the greenhouse, which had attracted the attention of students studying the nameplates. The agave leaves pointed like swords toward the gloomy glass roof above, the aloe vera swollen with juice, the brown-green ferns lay on the ground like dry leaves, and tall, knotty cacti held up twisted, spiny arms. There were mistletoe cacti with slender branches hanging from the trees and their red relatives.

Anthony curiously asked about the tree in the corner of the greenhouse. Most of his knowledge of plants came from two sources: playing with friends in the local park and helping a kind-hearted neighbor take care of her garden. If there had been a gardening list, the elegant woman, who occasionally exclaimed, "I'm going to faint," would have immediately crossed off terms like "cactus" and "drought."

"Cactus," Mr. Linde explained, "is also part of the Cactaceae family. Yes, in addition to the familiar little guys with thorns," he gestured toward the tall cactus stick, "there are also other types." He pointed to the hanging mistletoe cactus. "And even trees."

The tree stood quietly in the corner, looking quite different from its spiny cousins. To be fair, the other plants in the Cactaceae family looked different from each other, too. If it weren't for Mr. Linde's introduction, Anthony would never have guessed they belonged together.

...

"I think you've all noticed the ground," Mr. Linde added.

The floor of the greenhouse was covered in tawny sandstone, giving anyone who entered this arid greenhouse on a rainy day an immediate sense of calm.

"In the summer, the sandstone absorbs heat during the day and releases it at night," Mr. Linde explained. "It may not be the case today, but you can imagine a clear day. Don't underestimate that bit of heat—it helps the plants during cold nights. The shading effect also helps reduce water loss, allowing the greenhouse to conserve water."

The students listened with curiosity as he explained how the botanical garden allowed the plants to thrive by adjusting soil quality, greenhouse structure, and plant arrangement.

For magical greenhouses, humidity and temperature were easily controlled by a few spells, and all nutrients could be provided by fertilizers. Anthony knew Professor Sprout herself was a firm believer in dragon dung fertilizer, with her own theories on retting time, supplementary materials, and application for different herbs.

Though she was a traditionally educated herbalist, Professor Sprout insisted that pure water, such as from springs, shouldn't be used for irrigation. "Artificial water is too pure—it lacks the essential elements that natural water contains, which are crucial for plant growth." During afternoon tea chats, she often mentioned that more wizards were adopting this belief. "Of course, dragon dung helps solve these problems," she would add.

While Muggles focused on water conservation, almost any student who earned an E in Charms O.W.Ls—or even some with an A—could function as a walking water station, with the aid of a simple wand.

"It's really difficult," remarked the student who suspected the crab claw plant could breathe fire, as they followed Mr. Linde to the next stop.

"Yes, and it's amazing," Anthony said, walking at the back of the line and overhearing the whispers. "They've come up with so many solutions without using magic. I mean, we're all human beings, aren't we?"

Anthony nudged the student, reminding him to keep up with the others. "Yes, we just use different tools. If you hadn't come to Hogwarts, you might be explaining the greenhouse design principles to us right now."

The student, startled, turned to find the professor behind him, then shrugged, made a face at his friend, and continued with the group.

...

The ground was still wet as the dark clouds finally cleared. Depending on the wind, sunlight occasionally streamed into the green, pristine botanical garden, making the puddles sparkle. The air was humid, with a faint trace of rain, and water vapor filled the botanical garden. The scent of earth floated through the air, benches sat empty by the path, and the trash bins were speckled with water and leaves.

There was no one on the road. The washed leaves looked new. In fact, the whole world seemed refreshed.

Only now did the students realize that the botanical garden truly was a vast space. Urged on by the heavy rain earlier, they passed by without noticing the carefully designed winding paths or the daffodils drooping on either side.

The journey was quite pleasant. Although nameplates stood beside the flowers and plants in various areas, few students paid attention to them. They used their conjured rain boots to splash through puddles or picked up fallen leaves swirling in the pond. Water droplets slid down the leaves, hit their Muggle clothes and yellow-and-black rain boots, and finally soaked into the pebble-paved garden paths.

After the storm, the birds in the woods resumed their song. The clear, melodious chirping trembled in the humid air, and the sound of water flowing from distant drainage pipes echoed.

At the students' request, Mr. Linde allowed them to roam freely outside for half an hour, though he suggested they eat lunch first. His reminder made everyone realize how hungry they were.

He led them to a lawn where they could rest next to the botanical garden's restaurant. Anthony shook out waterproof picnic sheets and spread them on benches and the grass, but he soon found it unnecessary. The students had brought their own picnic blankets. They placed their raincoats under them and sat directly on the ground, enjoying sandwiches, pumpkin pie, or apple pie, unconcerned about getting their trousers wet.

Anthony even saw one student pull out pumpkin juice and vanilla ice cream from their backpack, served in a beautiful glass cup.

Mr. Linde noticed as well.

"Magical life," he said admiringly, with a smile. "My daughter would be jealous."

Anthony half-seriously replied, "I get jealous sometimes too."

...

As everyone settled down to share lunch with the ants at the Botanic Garden, Anthony sat as well and pulled out a tuna mayonnaise sandwich from his bag. He was increasingly aligned with Tonks' view—Coco must have been particularly skilled at kitchen magic, better than other house-elves, making the most ordinary food taste exceptionally delicious. He smiled and asked Mr. Linde, "Would you like to try one?"

"Of course I do," Mr. Linde said, but then he trailed off, staring at the second, third, and fourth sandwich that Anthony pulled out.

"I was worried that some students might forget to bring lunch," Anthony said easily, "but it seems everything is fine now. Please help yourself."

As Mr. Linde carefully selected a bacon and cheese sandwich, he pulled out a large bottle from his huge backpack—not the transformed can that students had used for their pumpkin juice, but the biggest package he had bought from the supermarket—and called out, "Anyone want orange juice?"

Nearby students immediately came over: "I do, Professor Anthony. I happen to be thirsty."

"Do you have a cup?" Anthony asked.

"No," the student replied.

"Okay," Anthony said, pulling out a stack of paper picnic cups from his backpack. The students sat back contentedly with orange juice in their hands. The sight of the sandwiches and drinks piling up in front of Anthony clearly attracted more attention. After a while, several more students ran over to him, asking for orange juice.

Anthony took a cup and raised an eyebrow: "Are you of age, Mr. Toller?"

Based on his experience, the faint smell from the cup suggested butterbeer. For students, this low-alcohol drink is enough to satisfy their curiosity without being too strong. Not everyone, like certain magical creatures, appreciates the complexity of stronger beverages like firewhisky from the start.

"Uh, no, Professor," Toller replied nervously, shuffling his feet against the ground.

Anthony gave him a warning look and filled his cup with orange juice. "Hand it over, and don't make me check myself." He placed the cup back into Toller's hand. The boy's face flushed, though Anthony wasn't sure whether it was from the drink or embarrassment.

After a few minutes, most of the orange juice in front of Anthony was gone, but there were now two and a half bottles of butterbeer in his bag, along with an unopened bottle of vodka. Some students had tried to pass it off as water, but Anthony pointed to the label and asked them if they were having trouble reading.

"No, Professor, I can read. This was a gift from my pen pal in Kodos Doriz," one of them said pitifully. "It's just a souvenir."

Anthony said, "Well, I'll give it to your Head of House."

"Oh, no," the student groaned desperately, like Hercules facing a trial. He gulped down the orange juice in his hand and said tragically, "Please, Professor, just one more glass."

...

Mr. Linde was quite impressed with the house-elf Coco's cooking skills. After Anthony poured him a glass of orange juice, he couldn't help but ask if sandwiches at Hogwarts were always of such high quality.

Anthony asked him if he wanted to take the rest of the sandwiches home—not just for Mr. Linde, but also for Mrs. Linde, Miss Linde, and Mr. Linde Jr. to have a taste of Hogwarts craftsmanship.

Within Hogwarts, Anthony rarely met people like Mr. Linde who could truly appreciate a simple meal like a sandwich. The house-elves' superb skills had refined everyone's taste in the castle. Few—though Anthony had heard rumors of Beauxbatons' sophisticated palate—could understand the magic of a perfectly fried bacon strip, slightly melted grilled cheese, and bread toasted to just the right thickness. But for Anthony and Mr. Linde, who had relied for decades on the cold and shriveled sandwiches from convenience stores, this was a revelation.

"I can enjoy such a breakfast to my heart's content," Anthony joked to Mr. Linde. "Don't tell me you're not envious. On one side of the world, in Britain, there may be the worst management department, but we also have the best cooks. Our afternoon teas are so good that we can discuss everything in peace."

Mr. Linde was momentarily stunned, then laughed.

"Well, I am truly envious," he said. "By the way, are any of the plants I encountered earlier good for eating? I hope I haven't missed out on too much."

Anthony thought about it carefully and shook his head. "You didn't miss a thing. I can't think of any magical plant that's actually delicious. Aside from using magic to cook regular ingredients, anything enchanted tends to taste awful."

For example, sticky potions, slimy brews, and strange-smelling concoctions... In fact, aside from potions, nobody seems interested in eating plants that scream, cry, bite, sting, or spit venom—magical flora that could even try to strangle someone. Even Professor Sprout's herbal teas only use a pinch of magical herbs for flavor, with the rest being perfectly mundane leaves.

Mr. Linde said, "Great! Can I tell my colleagues that they already have all the ingredients but just don't make them tasty enough?"

Anthony smiled. "By all means. I'd even be willing to send over a sample of our afternoon tea, if you'd like."

"That's fantastic!" Linde said enthusiastically. "In return, would you be interested in joining our gardening club? We offer... well, expert knowledge on horticulture, along with some rather colorful language."

Anthony said, "An irresistible temptation, Mr. Linde."

"Great," Linde said as he carefully wrote the mailing address of the botanical garden on a paper towel and handed it to Anthony. "But please don't send owls. To protect the plants, we've restricted animal access in certain areas."

"Including owls?" Anthony asked, amused, imagining the botanical garden using some sort of Muggle technology to keep out owls sent by the Ministry of Magic to deliver letters regarding breaches of the Statute of Secrecy.

Mr. Linde said, "Especially the owls. One of our garden directors is quite fed up with—well, I'm sorry to say—your magical community's postal service. He said he'd rather have a fighter jet drop into the garden than see another bird with 'garbage' tied to its legs."

Anthony asked curiously, "Has a fighter jet actually fallen into the garden?"

Mr. Linde nodded. "Yes, Professor Anthony. It was a disaster, but on the bright side, we don't see many owls anymore, especially those carrying things on their legs. Thanks to Professor Kettleburn."

---

Cactus tree: Pereskia

Mistletoe cactus: Rhipsalis (here referring to Rhipsalis baccifera)

Red relatives: Red mistletoe cactus, Pseudorhipsalis ramulosa