The mont Kane saw the Lord of the Fruit Flies, his hand twitched toward his wand.
He was ready to give this interdinsional intruder a taste of Shadow Magic—a "reality-shattering blade" that worked just as well in the Constant Realm as it did in the wizarding world.
However, Dumbledore was faster, gently placing a hand on Kane's arm to lower his wand.
"I don't think that's necessary, Kane. The little fellow is quite charming, don't you think?"
"Charming? It's a pest," Kane said, his brow furrowing. "It destroys crops and plants weeds in the tillable soil."
"Ah, I knew this big fellow was your doing. I doubt anyone else in this school has the... unique talent to summon such a creature," Dumbledore chuckled. "But for now, let's ignore the giant fly and focus on this lovely plot of land."
"Are these the 'weeds' you ntioned?" Dumbledore handed the steaming mug to Kane. Kane peered inside: Forget--Lots, honey, and warm water. A perfectly brewed cup of Soothing Tea.
Kane naturally drained the cup. It wasn't as potent as a version made in a proper Crock Pot or cauldron, but it was enough to take the edge off his ntal fatigue.
"So, Kane, perhaps the 'weeds' he brings us are exactly what we need," Dumbledore said, taking the empty cup back with a smile.
"Actually, what truly piques my curiosity is that a herb with such miraculous properties is rely a 'weed' in your eyes."
Dumbledore plucked a single stalk of Forget--Lot. "If this is a weed, what exactly do you consider a 'useful' plant?"
"Potatoes? Waterlons? Dragon fruit?" Kane raised an eyebrow. Even though he knew his experiences from the Constant Realm didn't always translate to the real world, the survival instincts etched into his brain made him default to food crops.
"The Sorting Hat truly made a mistake," Professor Sprout said, looking at Kane with motherly affection. She knew he had grown up as a wandering orphan, so his focus on edible crops made perfect sense to her. "He should have put you in Hufflepuff."
"The Hat actually considered it," Kane admitted with a sheepish grin. "But I wanted to be with my friends."
Dumbledore, satisfied that the mysterious flora was linked to the giant fly (and that the fly was linked to Kane), decided to stop worrying.
He instructed Professor Sprout to harvest the seeds so they could plant a dedicated plot next year, then prepared to leave.
He used a spell to confine the Lord of the Fruit Flies and its smaller minions into a magical cage before strolling out of the greenhouse.
"He's certainly carefree," Kane remarked, watching the Headmaster delegate a year's worth of labor in two sentences before disappearing.
"That's a Headmaster for you," Sprout joked, though her eyes soon turned to the Forget--Lots. They were looking a bit wilted and limp. "Kane? Since you 'sourced' these plants... are they sick?"
Kane shook his head. "Not sick. They just look... unhappy."
"Unhappy?" Sprout blinked. "Plants have feelings?"
"These do," Kane nodded. "To be honest, they're as high-maintenance as I am. Too cold? They hate it. Too hot? They hate it. Dark out? No. Bad mood? Definitely not."
He knelt down and gently stroked one of the flowers. "You're a good plant. I've always wanted a little sprout as pretty as you."
Professor Sprout watched, initially skeptical. She was well aware of Kane's reputation for being "eccentric."
Before Kane arrived, Luna Lovegood had held the title of the most "loony" student in the wizarding world.
But since Kane's enrollnt, many gossips claid Luna was rely a "poor imitation" of Kane's genuine madness.
Sprout didn't like the word "mad," though. She simply thought Kane and Luna were still in a phase of "universal animism"—seeing the world as a vibrant, living thing.
Then, the plant Kane was praising suddenly perked up, its leaves standing tall and vibrant.
"Eh?" Sprout knelt down beside him. She hadn't expected it to actually work.
"So that's how it's done?" she murmured. She reached out to another wilted stalk. "You are a wonderful plant. I'll make sure you get all the best sunlight and rainwater."
Imdiately, that Forget--Lot straightened up too.
If an outsider had walked in at that mont, they would have seen a seasoned Professor and a notorious second-year student crouching in the dirt, aggressively complinting weeds.
The Ministry would have likely sent a containnt team within the hour, fearing that Kane's "insanity" was officially contagious.
After a while, having successfully "cheered up" half the field, the two of them sat back on the stone path, panting.
"I've never t such temperantal magical plants," Sprout said. "Do you have to do this every day?"
"About once or twice a day," Kane said.
As Sprout's face fell at the thought of the workload, Kane added, "Or you can play music for them. They love that."
"Any music?"
"Mostly, but they're picky about the instrunt. Actually, if you don't want to play music, we could just kill the Fruit Fly King. Killing the big one leaves behind a 'friendly' fruit fly that helps tend the herbs for us."
"A much better solution!" Sprout said imdiately. She drew her wand, summoned the caged Lord of the Fruit Flies, and pulled it toward them.
"I'll do it, Professor." Kane flicked his wand, sending a blade of shadow energy through the air, bisecting the giant insect.
As the body vanished, a small, bright red fruit dropped to the ground.
"That's the one." Kane picked up the Abyssal Fruit and tossed it into the center of the field. Suddenly, a tiny, adorable version of the fruit fly appeared.
It began buzzing over the crops, whispering to the "unhappy" plants in a language humans couldn't understand, causing them to stand tall one by one.
Kane and Sprout both let out a sigh of relief. Finally, they wouldn't have to spend their afternoons giving pep talks to flowers.
By Wednesday morning, the Gryffindor common room was a mix of excitent and dread.
The second-year Lockhart fans were eager for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, having heard from the first-years that he was "charming." Those more well-inford, including Kane, were wary.
Lockhart had originally asked Kane to teach him magic, but after one session, he had completely stood Kane up. It felt like a petty, deliberate act of ghosting.
With a sense of trepidation, Kane followed the crowd to the DADA classroom, wondering exactly what kind of "theatrical disaster" Lockhart had planned for them.
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