The Whomping Willow had an extraordinary sensitivity to magic, and Tom wondered if it could be used as a substitute for several ingredients in the "WhatsApp" project, thereby lowering the overall cost.
At present, producing one Chatbook cost about a hundred Galleons—and that was after Nicolas Flamel had lent him a hand.
In the beginning, when Tom first attempted to make them, each Chatbook cost over three hundred Galleons—excluding the hefty labor fees charged by alchemists.
A hundred Galleons was an amount many wizarding families could still afford. But to the stubborn, old-fashioned wizarding world, spending a hundred Galleons to change their way of communication was clearly unrealistic. After all, how much did an owl cost to keep? A year's worth of feed wouldn't even exceed two Galleons.
Tom had a vision: only if the cost dropped below fifty Galleons could the Chatbook truly have a foothold in the market. Ideally, he hoped to bring it down to under twenty.
And if the Whomping Willow really worked as a replacement material, the cost might plummet by nearly a thousand Galleons in total.
When Professor Sprout heard his idea, she frowned slightly.
"But… most of the Whomping Willow's branches and extracts were requisitioned by Professor Snape. The rest I've kept back are already in use."
"In the Head of House's hands, then." Tom did not look disappointed. In fact, he seemed delighted.
"Thank you, Professor. I'll just go straight to him and ask."
To ask favors of others meant owing them—but to ask Snape? That was something Tom could do with full confidence.
Professor Sprout thought the two of them must have a good relationship, so requesting a few things wouldn't be an issue. She smiled faintly and waved Tom into the greenhouse.
If Snape himself had heard her assumption, he would have roared, "Who the hell has a good relationship with him?!"
"Today, we'll be repotting Mandrakes. Can anyone tell me what properties Mandrakes have?"
This lesson wasn't shared with Gryffindor, so Tom had no competition. He alone raised his hand.
"The Mandrake, also called Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It can be used in brewing the Restorative Draught, the Antidote to Petrification, and other potions that cure curses or restore a transformed body to its original form."
"Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin," Professor Sprout said generously, before launching into an explanation of the Mandrake's dangers.
The cry of a fully grown Mandrake was lethal. Fortunately, the ones in the greenhouse were all juveniles—still dangerous, but not deadly. Their cries merely caused dizziness, headaches, and risk of unconsciousness.
On the worktables lay about a hundred juvenile Mandrakes, greenish-purple seedlings lined up neatly in trays.
"Each of you, take a pair of earmuffs."
At her words, the students surged forward in a noisy rush. Daphne was the quickest; she snatched a pair of soft, bright pink earmuffs and turned back toward Tom with a grin.
"Heehee!"
The mischievous girl placed them firmly on his head. A few Ravenclaw girls noticed and giggled behind their hands.
Tom helplessly poked Daphne's forehead with a finger, but he didn't take the earmuffs off.
Once everyone was muffled, Professor Sprout demonstrated the repotting process. Under the wide-eyed gaze of the class, she grabbed the leaves of a Mandrake and yanked it free of the soil. What came out was no root at all, but a revolting little baby with wrinkled green skin. Its mouth opened wide in a wailing scream—but thanks to the earmuffs, no one could hear it.
Only after she had transferred it into a fresh pot did she signal them to remove their earmuffs.
"Follow my steps carefully, and keep your earmuffs on at all times. I'm sure none of you want to spend the first day of term unconscious."
"Alright, you may begin."
Heeding her warning, the young witches and wizards were suddenly much more obedient. Even insults hurled at their partners went unheard, replaced by careful work.
The students divided into groups of four. Tom and Daphne were paired with Ravenclaw's Padma Patil and Millicent Bulstrode.
Padma was easily the most beautiful second-year in Ravenclaw, her Aryan heritage lending her striking features. Fair-skinned and elegant, with a touch of exotic charm, she drew plenty of attention.
She seemed fascinated by Tom. Even with her earmuffs on, she smiled brightly and gestured animatedly in an attempt to converse.
Daphne, however, acted as though she hadn't seen a thing. She didn't consider Padma a threat in the slightest—especially since she'd heard Tom's less-than-flattering opinions of certain "customs from the East." Even now, the thought made her shudder.
"Ahh!"
Millicent Bulstrode cried out, her face twisting. A juvenile Mandrake had clamped its teeth down on her finger. Despite its infant form, its bite was surprisingly powerful.
"Stupefy!" Tom reacted instantly. A flash of red light struck the Mandrake baby, and it slumped unconscious, eyes rolling back. Blood welled from the deep indentations in Bulstrode's finger where its teeth had pierced her skin.
Daphne had medical bandages with her, but she wasn't sure if Mandrake bites were venomous. She looked to Tom, and only when he nodded did she begin wrapping Bulstrode's hand.
Compared to most Slytherins, Tom and Daphne truly were outliers—almost a breath of fresh air in their house's reputation.
After that incident, Bulstrode grew too frightened to handle the Mandrakes directly. She stuck to preparing the compost, while Tom took over the transplanting.
Any Mandrake that resisted, Tom stunned with a quick jinx before firmly pushing it into its new pot. Ugly little things, he thought, worse than spoiled brats.
By the end, their group had repotted twenty Mandrakes—far more than any other. Professor Sprout was delighted, awarding both houses ten points each.
"Mr. Riddle, I must say, your repotting technique is remarkably skilled. Have you worked with Mandrakes before?"
"Yes, Professor," Tom answered smoothly. "I spent some time with Mr. Scamander over the summer, working with mature Mandrakes. I thought those were ugly enough—but the infants are worse."
Professor Sprout wasn't offended by his comment. On the contrary, her eyes lit up with excitement at his earlier words. She looked at him with the awe of a fangirl meeting her idol.
"You… you actually met Mr. Scamander?!"
Tom nodded. "Yes. I visited him in America this summer. Stayed with him for more than half a month."
"And how is he? Is his health alright?" Every Hufflepuff revered Newt Scamander. Even their Head of House was no exception.
Tom's expression turned solemn. "Very well. Still walks with vigor. I could hardly keep up with him."
"Professor, I even brought back several of his signed books. I'll bring one for you next lesson."
"Oh, how kind! Thank you, Mr. Riddle."
Professor Sprout beamed, practically glowing with delight. She told him that if he ever needed materials or ran into difficulties, he was welcome to come to her at any time.
She even gave him several branches of the Whomping Willow—taken from her own carefully rationed supply.