The July air hung heavy and thick over the town of Hertford, just beyond the sprawl of London. It was an oppressive, suffocating heat, clinging to everything like a wet blanket and promising a summer of sweltering misery.
With a faint crack that was swallowed by the humid haze, a figure appeared.
She was a woman in her fifties, her kind face framed by a mess of flyaway grey hair peeking from under a conical hat covered in a patchwork of repairs. Any Hogwarts student would have recognised her instantly, though they would have been stunned by her current state.
This was Professor Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House—a woman normally as calm and nurturing as the rich soil she tended. But today, the gentle Herbology professor was gone, replaced by someone with a frantic, feverish energy in her eyes.
"Robin... oh, my poor, dear brother," she whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched a crumpled piece of parchment. "If Dumbledore hadn't shown me... the Book of Admittance... a name I thought lost forever: Ciel Sprout."
Her breath hitched. "Merlin's beard, he's alive. The Sprout bloodline... my nephew... he's alive!"
A wave of guilt, sharp and cold despite the heat, washed over her. For ten long years, she had believed her brother's entire family had perished at the hands of Death Eaters. The thought of his son, a mere child, surviving alone in the Muggle world was an unimaginable horror. As his only living relative, she had failed him completely.
Her expression hardened, the gentle lines around her eyes setting into a look of fierce resolve. She would find this boy. She would bring him back to the world where he belonged and spend the rest of her days making it up to him.
Following the address scribbled on the parchment, she marched forward. "Lister Plantation... this has to be it."
Professor Sprout raised her hawthorn wand. The dense mist before her swirled as if caught by an invisible hand, peeling back to reveal what lay beyond.
And there, in the clearing, was a boy. He was thin, almost gaunt, but the moment she saw him, a primal, instinctual thrum of blood magic resonated deep in her chest. It was him.
But then she saw what Ciel Sprout was doing, and her heart shattered. Her face went deathly pale, and a look of pure, undiluted agony filled her eyes.
Thump. Scrape. Thump.
In the stifling air of the Lister Plantation, Ciel worked with a rhythmic focus, his shovel biting into the dark earth. The heat in the open field was far worse than in the town, but his face was a mask of concentration, his movements economical and precise.
He dug one last, perfectly square pit, then gently placed a cotton seedling into the hole, carefully patting the soil around its base. Only then did a flicker of a smile touch his lips.
In a display only he could see, translucent text shimmered into existence above the freshly planted seedling.
[Successfully planted cotton x1]
A faint orb of light pulsed gently from the plant's stem.
[Planting Reward: Heat Resistance (Minute Increase - Developing)]
[Maturity Bonus: Heat Resistance (Slight Increase), Drought Resistance (Minute Increase)]
Ciel glanced over the neat rows of cotton stretching across the field, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Once this batch matures," he muttered to himself, "my heat and drought resistance will be strong enough to plant a forest in the Sahara."
Ciel, as it happened, was a transmigrator.
In his previous life, he was a graduate student in agricultural science, toiling away in a remote experimental field. A sudden landslide during a torrential downpour had ended that life abruptly. When he opened his eyes again, he was an orphan in 1980s London.
Thankfully, his memories and expertise remained intact. He'd managed to scrape by, using advanced planting techniques to make himself useful on a farm. It was during his first planting demonstration that he discovered his cheat.
He had seen the text, the glowing orbs of light, and had dismissed it as a hallucination—a side effect of trauma. But when he instinctively reached out and touched one of the orbs, he felt a tangible change within himself. He understood then. This was his gift, his secret advantage in this new world.
He called it the Planting System.
It was simple: plant something, ensure it grows, and receive a reward related to the plant's properties. If he waited for the plant to fully mature before collecting, the reward would be significantly enhanced. It wasn't some overpowered, god-tier system; it was a perfect embodiment of the farmer's creed: you reap what you sow.
Others might find the endless cycle of tilling, planting, and waiting to be tedious. But for Ciel, an agricultural scientist to his core, getting tangible rewards for doing what he loved was a dream come true.
It was a thousand times better than his previous life, where a single night of unexpected frost could wipe out a year's worth of research, or a blight could ruin a thesis-worthy crop. The thought of that old-world frustration made him shiver.
"Right," he mumbled, shaking off the phantom chill. "Best plant another one. Settle the nerves." He picked up his shovel again, a genuine smile on his face. "Speaking of which, Mr. Lister is a saint. Willing to bend child labour laws just to give me an entire plantation to grind for rewards. He even pays me! Life is good."
He lifted the shovel, ready to dig again, blissfully unaware of the horror-struck witch watching him from the edge of the field.
To Professor Sprout, this scene was a dagger to her soul. She had imagined her nephew might be in an orphanage, lonely but safe. She had never, in her wildest nightmares, imagined this.
Child labour. In England. In 1991.
Her nephew, a boy of only eleven, was being forced to toil like a slave in a cotton field. She'd seen Bludgers with more compassion. She had been watching for some time, and the boy hadn't even stopped for a sip of water.
Her wand was in her hand before she realised it, pointed directly at the plantation owner, Mr. Lister, who was observing from the shade nearby. A rage unlike any she had ever felt burned in her chest. "Vampire!" she seethed. "No, even they are more merciful than you!"
For a terrifying, fleeting moment, the Unforgivable Curse Crucio danced on the tip of her tongue.
Mr. Lister, seeing the furious, strangely dressed woman, went pale. Before a single word could escape his lips, a jet of red light shot from her wand, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Sprout took a shuddering breath, forcing her anger down. The priority was Ciel. She had to get him out of this hellscape.
She strode into the field, her determined steps crunching on the dry soil. The sound finally broke Ciel's concentration.
He looked up, blinking in confusion at the approaching woman. "Madam, can I help you?"
Professor Sprout's face flushed, a mix of guilt and fury warring within her. "Ciel," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "From today on, you don't have to work on this plantation anymore."
Ciel's heart plummeted. Oh no.
He was an agricultural scientist, not an economist, but he knew what this meant. The economy must be in a downturn. Why else would this woman be here, trying to take his job? And he hadn't even harvested this batch of cotton yet!
Thankfully, years of accumulating rewards had made him resilient. He had superhuman resistance to thirst and hunger. He could get by on a fraction of the sleep a normal person needed and could literally recharge by standing in the sun. It was the only way he could manage an entire plantation by himself.
He straightened up, clutching his shovel, and looked Professor Sprout dead in the eye with a determined expression.
"Madam," he said seriously, "if you're here to take my job, I advise you to reconsider."
He took a small step forward. "I don't need wages, food, or water. I barely need to sleep. Can you compete with that?"
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