During Herbology, Professor Sprout introduced a variety of magical plants and fungi—some harmless, others decidedly less so.
There were straightforward specimens, such as puffballs and various magical toadstools, but also more intriguing plants like the guardian ash—a variety of enchanted rowan whose protective properties could ward off Dark creatures. Many witches and wizards used its wood or berries to craft amulets for protection.
Naturally, Professor Sprout also covered the more dangerous flora: the highly venomous Venomous Tentacula, the Mandrake whose cries were fatal, and the small pot of Devil's Snare she was currently holding.
"This is a young Devil's Snare," Professor Sprout said, touching one of the pale tendrils with the tip of her wand. At once, the plant stirred and wrapped itself tightly around the wood.
"As you can see, Devil's Snare will latch onto anything that comes too close. Once it matures, it can injure—sometimes kill—if you struggle. Thrashing only makes it tighten."
She flicked her wand so everyone could clearly see the plant's reaction.
"Devil's Snare thrives in dark, damp places," she continued. "Which is why light and warmth are its natural enemies." A small flame appeared at the end of her wand, and the Devil's Snare recoiled at once.
"As you can see, fire works quite well. If you ever find yourself caught by Devil's Snare, remember—light and warmth. Lumos Solem will do nicely."
Students bent over their parchment, quills scratching furiously. Professor Sprout patiently waited before continuing.
"Some witches and wizards mistake Devil's Snare for Christmas cactus, so pay special attention to distinguishing features…"
Herbology, as it turned out, was extremely practical. Professor Sprout spent the double period giving an overview of magical plant care, properties, and uses. Many plants, she explained, were essential ingredients in potions and healing draughts; others had unique magical effects of their own.
A prime example was dittany—a highly prized herb with strong medicinal properties. Ancient wizards had once applied freshly crushed dittany to wounds, but modern potion-makers now extracted its concentrated essence. Even a drop could heal cuts and prevent scarring. Sadly, wild dittany had become scarce, so most of it had to be cultivated—something they would be learning this term. It was also, as Professor Sprout reminded them, guaranteed to be on the exams.
At long last, the bell rang. Many students sagged with relief after standing for nearly two hours. Fortunately, Professor Sprout assigned no homework.
"We've got Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon," Lee Jordan said, already looking livelier. It was one of the most anticipated classes among first-years.
"Did you hear," George said suddenly as they left Greenhouse One, "the Defense Against the Dark Arts job is cursed? Apparently every professor gets unlucky or injured or resigns after only one year. No one's lasted longer."
Albert, of course, knew the real story.
The curse had been placed decades ago by Tom Riddle—Voldemort—after Dumbledore refused him the job. Ever since, no instructor had managed to hold the post for more than a year.
"Yeah," Fred chimed in. "People say some really powerful wizard jinxed the position. Otherwise Dumbledore would've sorted it out ages ago."
"A curse lasting this long must've been cast by someone formidable," Albert said lightly. "Let's just hope the new professor survives the year."
They turned a corner—and were hit by a foul stench.
Filch stood there, catching a third-year Gryffindor who had just hurled a dungbomb in the corridor.
"What happened?" Albert asked a nearby student, covering his nose.
"He lost a bet," the older boy said with a sigh. "So he had to throw a dungbomb right under Filch's nose."
The stench was unbelievable—practically a biological weapon. Albert shook his head; he suddenly felt a flash of sympathy for Filch. Being caretaker at Hogwarts was… unenviable.
"That's brilliant!" the Weasley twins whispered, eyes gleaming.
Albert coughed pointedly. "Ahem. Do you two also fancy scrubbing bedpans in the Hospital Wing?"
The twins' excitement deflated instantly.
"Well," Lee Jordan said, "as long as you don't get caught—"
"At your current level?" Albert cut in mercilessly. "You'd be caught before the fuse finished burning."
The twins fell silent, deep in thought all the way to dinner. At last, they exchanged a look.
"We've decided," they announced together.
"Decided what?" Albert asked as he lifted his goblet.
"We're going to do it anyway," they said solemnly. "We're going to lob dungbombs at Filch's office."
Albert promptly choked on his pumpkin juice.
Lee Jordan stared at them, speechless.
Reckless didn't even begin to cover it.
"If you're serious about this," Albert said once he stopped coughing, "I can give you a few… theoretical suggestions." He paused. "Though I haven't thought of them yet."
Lee Jordan groaned. "Honestly, Albert—I'm starting to understand why the Hat put you in Gryffindor."
He changed the subject quickly. "And how are you even hungry after eating half the table?"
"I had breakfast at seven. You lot barely crawled to the Great Hall at half-past eight," Albert said, rolling his eyes.
The twins, however, were focused on only one thing.
"So? How should we prank Filch?" Fred asked eagerly. "It has to be obvious. But not too obvious. But also something that'll make him furious."
"And we're already prepared for detention," George added proudly.
Albert sighed. "Right… so that's a yes to detention."
The twins nodded in perfect unison.