Professor Sprout was a short, stout witch who always wore a kind expression. A patched hat perched atop her windblown hair, and her robes were invariably dusted with soil. Anyone who saw her without her witch's hat might have mistaken her for a humble farmer, but she was, in fact, the Herbology professor at Hogwarts.
Today's Herbology class was a joint session for Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Unlike usual, the students were heading to the Third Greenhouse—home to plants far more fascinating, and certainly more dangerous, than those in the First. The air buzzed with quiet anticipation as the students whispered guesses about what they might be studying.
Most of the excited chatter came from the Ravenclaws. You couldn't expect Crabbe and Goyle to show much enthusiasm for learning; both looked drowsy and sluggish, perfectly embodying the image of slackers.
Malfoy and Pansy walked at the front of the group, surrounded by their classmates as they waited for Professor Sprout to arrive.
"Sorry, children, I'm a little late," Professor Sprout said, hurrying up to them with several bandages wrapped around her arm. "The Whomping Willow was acting up again—I had to calm it down." She took a large key from her belt and unlocked the greenhouse door. A damp, earthy scent wafted out immediately, mingled with the sharp tang of fertilizer and a heavy floral perfume. Inside, enormous flowers as wide as umbrellas hung down from the ceiling, their vivid petals glistening in the humid air.
The students craned their necks and murmured in awe, eager to examine everything.
"Don't touch anything," Malfoy warned, catching Pansy's hand just as she reached toward a small ceramic pot. The plant inside was draped with lush, colorful blooms that shimmered alluringly, their beauty practically begging to be touched.
"If you want your hand to end up like this, be my guest," Malfoy said dryly. Pansy glared at him, but he ignored her, pulling out a well-worn book. With practiced ease, he flipped to a page and pointed. The illustration showed a hand shriveled and blackened, as if it were slowly rotting away.
Pansy recoiled. "Fine. You win." Her face twisted in disgust as she stepped back from the pot.
"The first thing you do in this greenhouse," Malfoy said, selecting a sturdy pair of gloves, "is put these on."
Pansy quickly followed suit—she had no intention of letting her hand turn into a ghastly exhibit.
At the front of the room, Professor Sprout clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention. "All right, students! Today, we'll be repotting Mandrakes. Now—who can tell me about their properties?"
Several Ravenclaws raised their hands immediately. Professor Sprout pointed to a tall, thin boy who looked nervous.
"T-they can restore people who've been cursed or transfigured," he stammered. "It's… a powerful restorative."
"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw," said Professor Sprout. "Mandrakes are key ingredients in many antidotes. But," she added, her tone sharpening, "they're also dangerous. Can anyone tell me why?"
"We'll die if we hear their cries," Malfoy said casually.
Professor Sprout raised an eyebrow. "Correct, Mr. Draco—but next time, please raise your hand first. Ten points to Slytherin."
She gestured toward a row of trays. "These Mandrakes are still quite young. Their cries aren't yet fatal, but they'll knock you unconscious for several hours. So—everyone, take a pair of earmuffs."
The students scrambled to the bench, snatching up earmuffs in a riot of colors. None of them wanted the pink pair.
Malfoy smirked. "Well, I must say—they actually suit you."
Pansy scowled, realizing too late that the pink, fluffy earmuffs had ended up on her head. "Say that again!" she hissed, embarrassed by the girlish color. She lunged to swap earmuffs with Malfoy, but he gently pushed her hand away.
"Stop. Look," he said, nodding toward the professor.
Professor Sprout had just tugged a Mandrake out of its pot. The creature looked like an ugly baby with greenish, mottled skin and leaves sprouting from its scalp. Though no one could hear it through their mufflers, the little creature was clearly screaming at the top of its lungs.
Malfoy shrugged at Pansy, as if to say, "Told you so." If she wanted to faint for a few hours, she was welcome to try switching earmuffs now.
Pansy's only outlet was the Mandrake she was repotting. She gripped it so tightly that Malfoy was certain her Mandrake wore the most pained expression in the room.
After some time, the class managed to repot their Mandrakes. Many were drenched in sweat, looking as if they'd fought off a dark wizard rather than handled plants. A few, however—Malfoy among them—appeared calm and unbothered.
The tables trembled slightly, signaling that it was safe to remove their earmuffs.
"Very good, everyone," Professor Sprout said with a satisfied smile. "You've all done splendidly."
"Professor, I have a question," Malfoy said, raising his hand. Time to start Operation: Assist Krum, he thought wryly.
"Go ahead, child."
"Could you tell us some specific ailments that Mandrakes can cure?" he asked, clearly trying to sound curious rather than calculating.
"That's an excellent question," said Professor Sprout warmly. "Mandrakes are used to revive those who've been Petrified—that's one example."
"Professor," piped up a brown-haired Ravenclaw girl, "didn't Neville from Gryffindor get Petrified last term? Did he use Mandrakes too?"
"Very observant," Professor Sprout said, smiling. Then her tone grew thoughtful. "Well, child, the effects of spells vary depending on who casts them. In Hermione's case, she meant no harm and was still learning, so it was a minor case. But if that spell had been cast by…" She trailed off, her smile fading. "Ah. I've said too much."
Her voice dropped, and the once-buoyant atmosphere grew heavy. The students exchanged uneasy glances.
To break the tension, Malfoy asked lightly, "Professor, what about Medusa? The legends say people turn to stone if they meet her eyes. Is that true—and could Mandrakes cure that?"
Professor Sprout chuckled softly. "That's just a myth, dear. But there is a creature whose gaze works in much the same way."
"What creature, Professor?" Malfoy asked, leaning forward.
"A Basilisk."
A ripple of whispers ran through the class.
Professor Sprout frowned slightly, as though debating whether to continue. "You could ask your Care of Magical Creatures professor—Professor Kettleburn—he knows more than I. But since you've asked… A Basilisk is a giant serpent, dazzling green and up to fifty feet long. The male has a bright red feather on its head, and its fangs are filled with deadly venom."
She paused, her voice grave. "But its most dangerous weapon is its eyes. If you look directly into them, you die instantly. Even indirect contact can cause Petrification. In those rare cases, Mandrakes are the only cure."
The greenhouse erupted in murmurs of shock.
Seeing their alarm, Professor Sprout added reassuringly, "Don't worry—there hasn't been a single Basilisk sighting in Britain for over four hundred years."
That eased the tension a little.
"Does it have any natural enemies, Professor?" someone asked.
"Of course. Every creature does. The crowing of a rooster is fatal to it—likely because Basilisks are born from a chicken's egg."
The class buzzed with fascination as they left the greenhouse. Despite the mud on their robes and the ache in their backs, the students were exhilarated. Nothing sparked conversation like a terrifying—but safely distant—monster.
"Talking about Basilisks, are we?" came a smooth, self-satisfied voice.
Professor Lockhart appeared behind them as silently as a ghost, leaning elegantly against a pillar. He wore a lavender robe today, his golden hair perfectly arranged, his smile dazzling enough to blind. "Ah, yes, dreadful creatures. I've faced one myself," he said, his teeth glinting.
The students immediately crowded around, eager for gossip.
"When was that, Professor?" a girl asked breathlessly.
"Well, that was in Transylvania, I believe," Lockhart said airily, adopting his most heroic pose. "A truly fearsome beast—but I, of course, handled it with aplomb…"
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
Pansy crossed her arms. "Aren't you going to listen?" Malfoy teased.
She smirked. "Please. Your story about the White Snake was much more interesting."
Malfoy flushed slightly and looked away.
Meanwhile, Lockhart's monologue gathered momentum. "…and when it lunged at me, I stood my ground, wand raised! A single spell—Petrificus Totalus!—and the creature froze! The villagers were saved." He gave a dramatic pause, then smiled modestly. "They tried to reward me, of course, but as a third-class recipient of the Order of Merlin and honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, I couldn't possibly accept payment. I do it out of duty, not desire for fame."
He winked. "Though the grateful kisses of a few young ladies are another matter entirely."
The girls squealed with delight, clapping and giggling at his every word.
Malfoy muttered under his breath, "Where did he steal that story from this time?" He sighed, utterly unimpressed by the man's theatrics.
As the students dispersed, the air around them still buzzed with excitement. Between Mandrakes, Basilisks, and Lockhart's ridiculous bragging, it had been quite an eventful class.
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