Unlike the other students who were just there for the freak show, Hermione was wearing what could only be described as a "mask of pain."
Looking at Kane in his current state, she truly didn't know what to say.
Fine, she thought. Is he not allowed to have his own... unique hobbies? As long as it doesn't threaten public safety or universal values, I'll just stay out of it.
Kane, feeling the weight of the collective gaze, gritted his teeth and quickly stuffed the Premier Gardeneer Hat into Little Pumpkin's mouth. He then spent the rest of the ti trying to blend in like a normal human being.
The bell rang, and Professor Sprout entered the greenhouse to begin the lesson, teaching the students the fundantals of soil preparation for various magical flora.
As Sprout's unofficial assistant, Kane had already received private tutoring on these basics. This gave him the rare luxury of "free movent" during class—which he used to tend to the giant potatoes intended as hos for the two Mandrake spirits.
He used a bit of magic to pull the floating Mandrakes down from the ceiling to asure them for size.
Then, succumbing to utility over fashion, he donned the Gardeneer Hat once more to scan the soil for nutrient deficiencies in the corner of the greenhouse.
This had a secondary effect. The students' attention drifted entirely away from the plants in Professor Sprout's hands and snapped onto the bucket on Kane's head.
Even Professor Sprout couldn't resist. "Kane... have you changed your hat again?"
Kane turned around, looking a bit sheepish. "It's actually a tool, Professor. It allows the wearer to see exactly what a plant needs. Er... would you like to try it?"
For a Herbologist, "seeing what a plant needs" was the holy grail. Sprout eagerly took the hat. The mont she placed it on her head, her eyes—usually a bit droopy with age—snapped wide open.
"This! This is marvelous!" she gasped, scanning the greenhouse. "During my first Herbology lesson as a student, I dread of such a device.
I imagined it as a pair of spectacles, but my professors told I was being fanciful. They said humans aren't plants... but you..."
She suddenly rembered she was in the middle of a lecture and looked at the students apologetically. "But we are in class. Kane, would you mind staying behind for a mont after we finish?"
"Not at all," Kane replied, going back to fertilizing his potatoes.
Once the class dismissed, Harry, Ron, and Hermione gave Kane a lingering, curious look before heading out. Kane just shrugged; he genuinely didn't know what Sprout wanted.
Finally, the greenhouse was empty except for Kane, the Professor, and the two spirits drifting near the ceiling.
"Is sothing the matter, Professor?"
"Kane, are you interested in publishing a paper? Specifically on this Premier Gardeneer Hat." They sat across from each other at a potting table, the bucket-hat sitting between them like a sacred relic.
"A paper?" Kane raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I can. I don't even fully understand the underlying principles myself."
Sprout shook her head. "Don't worry about that. In the wizarding world, a paper doesn't always require a theoretical 'why.'
If others can follow your instructions and use the sa materials to produce a functioning result, the paper is valuable."
"I'm not sure anyone else could make it," Kane admitted. "I an, look at those two guys." He pointed up at the Mandrake spirits, who tucked their non-existent necks in shyly.
"We won't know until we try. Write a draft under your own na. I'll try to construct one following your guide. If I succeed, we can submit it to Advanced Alchemy and the Herbology Journal. Again, under your na."
Kane's first instinct was to decline. He wasn't particularly motivated by "advancing the magical world," mostly because he hated unnecessary paperwork.
Making a Gardeneer Hat required a Science Machine, an Alchemy Engine, and a host of "electrical components" that were a nightmare to explain.
But Sprout's next words hit him where it mattered.
"A published paper is proof of your contribution to magic. The rewards range from fifty to two hundred Galleons.
And even if others can't replicate it perfectly, the publicity alone would allow you to sell your 'original' versions for quite a sum. You could have financial independence before you even graduate."
Kane's head, which had been shaking 'no,' slowed down. It moved into a diagonal tilt, then finally settled into a slow, deliberate 'yes.'
Professor Sprout had successfully activated his "Greed" sub-routine.
Who could turn down financial freedom as a student?
He pulled out a piece of parchnt and began to write. Since principles weren't required, he kept it brief: a compost bucket, specific seeds, and a "strangely shaped electronic component."
Sprout looked over the "paper," which read more like an assembly manual. She didn't quite grasp what the electronic component was, but she improvised.
She nipped over to Snape's office to "borrow" a lens from an old slide projector. Close enough, she figured.
She grabbed a spare compost bucket from the corner and began to assemble it like a set of magical Legos.
She followed Kane's instructions, using growth charms to force the seeds to sprout. Thick, sturdy roots pierced the bucket and coiled around the lens, forming a makeshift monocle.
A tiny green sprout even popped out of the top, mimicking Kane's version.
She placed it on her head. Her eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed in disappointnt.
"How is it, Professor?" Kane asked.
"Half-successful. It works, but it's nothing like your 'original' version." She handed it to Kane. When he put it on, he nodded silently. It was a budget version—it could tell if a plant was "healthy" or "wilting," but it didn't say why. No data on mood, water, or fertilizer.
"Still," Sprout said, seeing his expression and thinking he was disappointed, "this proves it's replicable enough for Advanced Alchemy.
With a paper in hand, you'll have much better luck selling your 'premium' versions." She scribbled two addresses on the back of the parchnt.
"Clean up the spelling and grammar, polish the phrasing, and send it off. These editors aren't usually nitpicky with high-quality content, but a professional finish never hurts."
She then picked up Kane's original hat. "If you don't mind, may I borrow the original for a few days? I'd like to show it to my old Alchemy and Herbology professors.
It would be quite satisfying to show them I wasn't 'fanciful' after all. And it'll serve as a free advertisent for you."
"My pleasure, Professor."
Kane stuffed the parchnt into his pocket and headed straight for the Owlery. In under two minutes, he'd transcribed the "manual" into two formal submissions and sent them off. Now, all he had to do was wait for the Galleons to roll in.
Back in the Gryffindor common room, rumors of Kane's "bucket-hat" had already spread like wildfire. While most students gave his fashion choices a wide berth, the idea of wearing a compost bin was so absurd they had to see it.
When Kane walked in with nothing on his head but hair, a collective sigh of disappointnt rippled through the room.
In the corner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione noticed the mysterious, self-satisfied smirk on Kane's face.
"What happened to you?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing much. Just finished writing a couple of papers," Kane said, lounging on the sofa.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "We write papers every day, Kane. I just finished sixteen inches for Transfiguration."
"Different kind of papers. Less than two hundred words each, but I've submitted them to Advanced Alchemy and the Herbology Journal."
Kane's mouth quirked into a self-satisfied 'W' shape. He couldn't help but brag.
Hermione stared at him. She suddenly felt that coming back from the library early was a grave mistake. She should have stayed until curfew.
No, wait—she realized that Kane often went on "night walks" without a cloak. Maybe he was sneaking into the library to gorge on knowledge, which is why he was so far ahead.
anwhile, she was just trying to solve the static problems in her textbooks.
How could she contribute to the magical world like that?
She stood up abruptly and looked at Harry. "Harry, can I borrow your Invisibility Cloak?"
Harry nodded and pulled Kane over to take his spot at the chessboard. "Take over for ."
He ran up to the dorm to get the cloak. When he returned, Hermione folded it neatly. She had decided: she was going to out-study the library itself tonight. If she was lucky, she might even slip into the Restricted Section.
"Are you coming to the library tonight, Kane? We can go together."
"Actually, I'll pass," Kane said.
"Going to sleep?" Hermione asked, then realized how silly that sounded for Kane.
"No, I'm heading to Dumbledore's office. I'm supposed to help teach... Expelliarmus and the Tongue-Tying Curse, I think."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Unbelievable."
Kane realized Hermione might be interested in the "private lesson." She'd t Lockhart before, and if they talked, she'd surely keep his secret... well, probably.
But honestly, between Lockhart (a new "business associate") and Hermione (a year-long friend), Hermione was far more important.
If Lockhart had a problem with it... Well, Kane had already played the fool for his "public image," lost face for him, and given him all sorts of devious advice. He'd just apologize; Lockhart would surely forgive him.
"So," Kane said tentatively, "do you want to co along?"
"Absolutely!"
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