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Chapter 36 — Mandrakes, Myths, and Other Headaches
Professor Sprout was a short, kindly witch whose patched hat and earth-stained robes made her look more like a farmer than a Hogwarts teacher—at least until she began speaking about plants. Then you realized why she taught Herbology.
Today's class combined Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and unlike the usual lessons in Greenhouse One, they were heading to the third greenhouse. The plants there were more fascinating… and considerably more dangerous.
Students whispered excitedly, trying to guess what they'd be learning. Well—most of the Ravenclaws did. Expecting Crabbe and Goyle to show enthusiasm was unrealistic; they looked half-asleep, dragging their feet like condemned men.
Draco and Pansy arrived at the greenhouse door. Around them, students milled about waiting for Professor Sprout.
"Sorry, children—I'm a little late," she said as she hurried over, her arm wrapped in bandages. "The Whomping Willow acted up again. Had to sort it out." She unlocked the greenhouse with a large iron key.
A wave of warm, damp air swept out, thick with the smell of rich soil and fertilizer. Massive umbrella-sized flowers hung from the ceiling, dripping petals like slow rain.
Pansy reached out toward a delicate plant in a porcelain pot—its blossoms shimmered with a lure that appealed directly to a girl's vanity.
"Don't touch that." Draco caught her wrist in time.
She glared at him. "Why not?"
"If you want your hand to look like this, be my guest." Draco produced a book as if he'd conjured it from thin air. He flipped it open and pointed to a picture of a withered, black-spotted hand, shriveled like dried bark. "Read it yourself."
Pansy recoiled instantly. "Fine. You win." She scooted several steps away, disgust written all over her face.
"That's why the first thing you do is put your gloves on properly," Draco said, selecting a suitable pair from the table. Pansy scrambled for her own, now fully convinced her hands were in mortal danger.
Professor Sprout clapped for attention from the center bench.
"Today, we're going to repot mandrakes. Now—who can tell me what properties mandrakes have?"
Several Ravenclaws shot their hands up. She pointed to a tall, thin boy who stammered,
"Th-they can restore people who've been cursed or transformed… They're used in powerful restorative potions."
"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw," Sprout said warmly. "Mandrake is essential in most antidotes. But it is also very dangerous. Can anyone tell me why?"
"If we hear their cries, we die," Draco said matter-of-factly.
"Correct. And next time, raise your hand," she chided lightly. "Ten points to Slytherin. Now—our mandrakes are still very young. Their cries won't kill you yet, but they can knock you out for hours. Everyone, take a pair of earmuffs."
Chaos followed as students snatched earmuffs of every color—anything to avoid the fluffy pink ones.
Draco smirked as Pansy ended up with them anyway.
"They actually suit you," he said, trying not to laugh.
"Say that again!" she hissed, mortified, reaching to swap earmuffs with Draco.
He pushed her hand away and nodded toward Professor Sprout.
On the table, she lifted an ugly, greenish baby-like creature from its pot. Grass sprouted from its head. Its tiny spotted fists trembled as it let out a silent scream behind the students' muffled hearing.
Draco shrugged at Pansy. Class has started. If you want to faint for a few hours, feel free.
She channeled her humiliation into the mandrake, gripping it so tightly Draco swore hers had the most tortured expression in the entire greenhouse.
Within minutes, most students finished replanting their mandrakes. Some were drenched in sweat as if they'd fought a dark wizard; others handled the task with surprising ease.
The benches shook—a signal that it was safe. Students removed their earmuffs with relief.
"Very good—everyone did well," Professor Sprout said, genuinely pleased.
"Professor, may I ask something?" Draco raised his hand. "A question for… academic assistance."
"Go ahead, dear."
"What specific conditions can mandrake cure?"
"A very good question." Sprout nodded. "Mandrake can cure those who have been petrified. That is one of its most important uses."
"Professor, didn't a Gryffindor—Neville—use mandrake last year?" a brown-haired Ravenclaw girl asked. "He was petrified, wasn't he?"
Professor Sprout's smile softened, then faded.
"Child, curses affect everyone differently. Hermione had no ill intent, and she is still a student… but if the Petrification Spell was cast by that person—" She stopped abruptly. The mood in the greenhouse had gone cold. Fear flickered across several faces.
To break the tension, Draco spoke again.
"Professor, what about Medusa? People turn to stone if they look into her eyes. Could mandrake cure that?"
"Oh, child—that's only a legend," she said gently. "But there is one creature whose gaze works much the same."
Draco leaned forward. "What creature, Professor?"
"A basilisk."
The word rippled through the students.
"A basilisk?"
"What is that?"
"Isn't that impossible?"
"Hmmm…" Professor Sprout thought carefully before answering. "Professor Kettleburn teaches Magical Creatures—he knows more than I do. But since you asked… A basilisk is an enormous serpent with emerald-green scales. They can reach fifty feet long. Males have a red crest, and their fangs are extremely venomous." She paused, then added gravely, "But the most dangerous weapon is its eyes. Anyone who makes direct eye contact dies instantly. Indirect contact causes petrification—and only mandrake can cure that."
Students erupted into frantic whispers.
Seeing their fear, Sprout quickly reassured them.
"You needn't worry. There hasn't been any basilisk sighted in Britain in over four hundred years."
A collective sigh spread through the group.
"Does it have a natural enemy?" someone asked.
"Of course. Every creature does. The crowing of a rooster is lethal to a basilisk. Fitting, since they're hatched from a rooster's egg," Sprout explained.
When they left the greenhouse, the students were a muddy, aching mess—but none of them cared. The basilisk discussion overshadowed sore backs and filthy robes.
"What's that? Basilisk talk?"
Lockhart materialized behind them like a pastel ghost, leaning against a pillar in lavender robes. He flashed eight blinding teeth. "I've fought one before—massive creatures! Back when I—"
A cluster of students gathered instantly, eager to hear how he allegedly defeated one without using a rooster.
"Pansy, aren't you going to listen?" Draco asked.
"I think your White Lady story was more believable," she replied, lips pursed in disdain.
Draco nearly choked.
Fifteen minutes later—
"—and that is how I restored peace to the village," Lockhart finished dramatically. "They tried to repay me, but as a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, and honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, I simply couldn't accept." He winked. "Though a grateful kiss from the ladies is always appreciated."
Girls squealed. Students applauded.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Where did you plagiarize that one from?"
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