Chapter 26: Herbology Class
"I'm telling you, this isn't bragging," Phineas Fawley declared proudly as he strutted toward the greenhouse. "Back home, my family estate has a massive botanical garden. I practically grew up among rare magical plants! I've always had a natural talent for Herbology."
His voice carried across the path, full of self-satisfaction.
Unfortunately, his two companions—Rosen Cleen and James Barkins, his unfortunate roommates—looked seconds away from losing their patience.
Ever since they'd woken up that morning, Fawley had been running his mouth nonstop: boasting about his illustrious family, retelling his supposed academic triumphs, and swearing that with his arrival, Ravenclaw would surely rise to greatness.
They'd tried polite nods and forced smiles at first, but that only encouraged him. By the time they'd reached the greenhouse, both boys were mentally exhausted.
Breakfast had been the worst part—Phineas had insisted they sit together "as roommates should," and then spent the entire meal talking about the "proper" way to prune Moondew Moss.
If it weren't for the fact that they'd have to live together for the next seven years, both Rosen and Barkins would've snapped long ago. But Fawley seemed completely oblivious to the tension, continuing his monologue without a hint of shame.
So when they finally spotted Russell Fythorne inside the greenhouse, both of them felt like they were seeing a savior.
"Fythorne! What are you up to?" Rosen asked eagerly, crouching beside him.
Russell was kneeling over a strange plant with five split stems, carefully loosening the soil around its roots.
"As you can see," Russell said, wiping sweat from his brow, "I'm giving it fresh air and turning the soil."
Barkins groaned dramatically. "Merlin's beard, you're working this hard already? No wonder you wake up at dawn! You're using the extra hours to study Herbology!"
Watching him toil away reminded Barkins of a classmate he'd once had back in primary school — a quiet, serious boy who arrived before everyone else every single day, rain or shine. Teachers adored him. Last Barkins had heard, that kid had gone on to the Queen Elizabeth Grammar School.
Now, here in Hogwarts, Barkins felt cursed with déjà vu.
Three roommates:
One motor-mouth who loved the sound of his own voice,
One overachiever who made everyone else look lazy,
And himself — a proud, professional slacker.
Life was cruel.
He glanced sideways at Rosen, who met his look with silent understanding. A brother in spirit — another soul dedicated to the noble art of doing as little as possible.
If nothing else, at least he wasn't suffering alone.
In truth, Barkins had always thought the Sorting Hat had made a mistake. In his heart, he felt more like a Hufflepuff — laid-back, friendly, content to nap through life.
Of course, what he didn't know was that Hufflepuff also had its fair share of workaholics like Cedric Diggory.
"I'm used to it," Russell replied with a smile. "I've always been an early riser. Back home, I start my day before sunrise."
"Before sunrise?" Barkins shuddered. "That sounds terrifying. Please don't invite me to join."
Russell chuckled. "If you insist. But I was going to offer to take you running tomorrow morning."
Barkins waved his hands frantically. "No, no, no! I'll stick to the comfort of my nice warm blanket, thank you very much."
Rosen laughed quietly beside him, while Phineas Fawley — completely oblivious to the irony — was already eyeing Professor Sprout's direction, preparing to tell her about his family's "illustrious history with rare magical flora."
But when her attention drifted elsewhere, his smile faltered, leaving only the faint echo of laughter as he turned away.
Fawley stood silently at the doorway, watching Russell chat easily with Rosen and Barkins. The easy laughter between them only deepened the ugly twist in his chest.
He still hadn't forgiven what had happened yesterday by the Black Lake — how Russell had mocked him back then, saying he'd never make it into Ravenclaw, and how he himself had bragged that he was destined for Slytherin.
Now, that arrogance had come back to slap him right in the face.
Hard.
But of course, Phineas Fawley didn't see any of this as his fault.
If it weren't for Russell, he told himself, he wouldn't have been grabbed and spun around by that giant squid's tentacle in front of everyone.
The humiliation had earned him a brand-new nickname among the first-years: "The Flying Top."
And now, every time he heard it whispered behind his back, the hatred in his chest burned hotter.
I'll make him pay for that, Fawley thought bitterly. I'll show him who the real genius is.
He stepped forward, voice dripping with disdain.
"Fythorne, what's the point of buttering up the professor like that? Do you think kissing up will make you a better herbologist?"
He sneered. "I'll show you who the true prodigy of Herbology is."
With that, he spun on his heel and stalked away dramatically.
Russell didn't even look up. Calmly, he removed his gloves and apron, dusted off his hands, and went back to his work.
He wasn't one to waste time on pointless provocations.
Dogs that bark don't bite, he thought mildly. The quiet ones are the ones you should watch out for.
---
More students began to fill the greenhouse, the morning sun filtering through the glass panels in soft golden streaks. Soon, the class officially began.
Today's Herbology session was a joint class between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, which meant fewer students — and a noticeably airier atmosphere than usual.
Professor Pomona Sprout clapped her hands, instantly commanding everyone's attention.
"Welcome, everyone, to your first Herbology lesson. I am Professor Pomona Sprout, your instructor."
She smiled warmly, her muddy robes and patched hat making her look more like a countryside gardener than a Hogwarts professor.
"She doesn't look like a witch at all," Fawley muttered under his breath to Barkins. "She looks exactly like one of the gardeners from my family's estate."
"Hey, show some respect," Barkins frowned. Lazy as he might be, even he knew better than to insult a teacher.
"I was just saying," Fawley replied defensively, puffing up his chest.
If Sprout heard him, she gave no sign of it — or perhaps she simply chose to ignore him.
Her voice was gentle yet firm as she began,
"Herbology is the study of magical and non-magical plants and fungi. In this class, you will learn how to care for them, how to use them, and how to understand their magical properties."
She gestured toward the rows of potted plants surrounding them.
"Many of these are vital ingredients in potions or medicines. Others possess unique magical effects of their own."
Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she asked,
"Before we begin, who can tell me the primary function of Dittany?"
Her gaze swept across the room. "Mr. Fawley?"
Fawley straightened instantly, pleased to be chosen first.
"Dittany is a magical herb used in potion-making," he said confidently. "It has powerful healing properties and accelerates wound recovery."
"Correct," said Sprout with a nod of approval. "Ravenclaw, one point."
Fawley beamed smugly, casting a sidelong glance at Russell as if to say See? That's how it's done.
But Russell wasn't even looking at him. His calm indifference made Fawley's triumphant smile freeze — like he'd thrown a punch and hit a pillow instead.
"Now," continued Sprout, "what about the mixture of Dittany and silver powder? What ailment is that used to treat?"
Fawley's hand twitched upward, but he hesitated. His mind went blank.
He hadn't gotten that far in his reading. Slowly, he lowered his hand, hoping no one had noticed.
Thankfully, no one else volunteered either. He let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Then came Sprout's voice again. "Mr. Fythorne — perhaps you know the answer?"
Russell looked up, his tone calm and sure.
"The mixture of Dittany and silver powder is used to treat werewolf bites," he said evenly. "It prevents excessive bleeding and stabilizes the patient.
Though," he added, eyes thoughtful, "if the victim knew what becoming a werewolf meant… they might choose death instead."
The room went still for a heartbeat.
Then Sprout clapped her hands, a smile spreading across her face. "Excellent answer! Perfectly explained. If this were Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'd award you ten points."
She winked. "But since this is Herbology, you'll have to settle for five."
The Ravenclaws erupted into applause, cheering loudly for their house's first victory of the term.
Six points on the first day! Maybe this was the year they would finally end Slytherin's six-year winning streak.
Russell, of course, would've laughed if he'd known what they were thinking.
Stop Slytherin? he mused silently. You'd better start by banning Snape first. Otherwise, whatever you earn in Herbology, he'll just take back in Potions.