Chuck's Cat King Bubba has been hanging out in my lab recently. I got a clipping of a whomping willow from one of my Hogwarts professors, and I've been trying to train it to grow as a bonsai tree. I'm allergic to cats, and Bubba is just as fascinated by the minuscule whomping willow as I am.
The King's visits have not been welcome.
My lab is pretty important to me. Exotic bonsai trees or not, the lab is more my home than anywhere else in our tiny apartments. It is my sanctum and my escape. I guess home is where your cacti are, right?
I bet no one would be surprised to learn that my best subjects at Hogwarts were Herbology and potions. For my first two years, I had Professor Sprout for Herbology. She was a wonderful, kind witch, full of knowledge and love and hard work. She was my Head of House and taught me to turn my passion for plants into action. She taught me that pouring my heart and soul into something small could help it thrive and grow. She taught me that merely loving something wasn't quite enough and that it is only through dedication that appreciation grows into a tangible outcome. She showed me that magic could be more than flashy charms or shouted incantations. In Professor Sprout's Herbology class, I learned that magic could also be growing things and nurturing them and loving them fiercely into a greater existence. She taught me the magic of patience. Professor Sprout helped me realize my inner herbologist, but she didn't understand me or the world I lived in. Not really. She had lived her life surrounded by friends and plants and acceptance that I would never know. She poured herself into her work, never recognizing the privilege it took for her to do so. She showed me an ideal world that I would never get to inhabit.
Professor Longbottom understood me. He took over for Professor Sprout full time in my third year, and he understood that plants couldn't be everything for some of us. He realized that we lived in a world dominated by bullies and bigots and bad guys and that standing up to them took courage and commitment. Professor Longbottom understood being uncool. He seemed to realize that there was a cost for not quite fitting in, and he mentored me in the best ways to pay that cost. He helped me realize that the world was bigger than a greenhouse. He taught me a different kind of patience. The type of patience that you get while you are stuffed in a locker—the type of patience you need to appreciate small awkward things just waiting to become beautiful.
Professor Longbottom also taught me to play Gobstones, but that's another story entirely.
The thing is neither Herbology nor Gobstones pay the bills.
Passion and dedication alone don't create a sustainable life, at least not here in America. So while I didn't much like my potions professor at the time, I owe more to Professor Slughorn then I could ever repay. Slughorn taught me that passion and courage without ambition might be personally fulfilling, but they won't keep the belly full. He showed me the importance of talking to and interacting with people as well as plants. He showed me that a healthy balance of pragmatism goes a long way. He encouraged me never to take no for an answer. His lessons and letters of recommendation got me my excellent job at Dadgum Potions.
Thanks to these three beautiful professors, I get to work from home in a lab full to bursting with research and bottles and ingredients and joy. Every square inch of this room has a story and a purpose and name. My lab is where I nurture the small and awkward. It is my own personal Hogwarts. It is the place I come every day to kindle tiny sparks into magic.
I also seem to be sharing it with a suspiciously intelligent cat who is hell-bent on destroying my miniature, Whomping Willow. I'll need to send an Owl to Professor Longbottom and see if he can recommend something to keep Bubba out.
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