"When handling Horned Slugs, you need to pay close attention to their mucus distribution. Aim for the mont when they're secreting the most mucus. If you see them extend their antennae and touch the table, don't hesitate—that's the perfect ti to start brewing. A little tip: when you see tiny bubbles rising in the cauldron, that's your cue to stop the heat. Well done, Mr. Dickinson, perfectly tid! Oh, Mr. Green, you might've brewed yours a tad too long. Rember, stop when the bubbles appear…"
In the greenhouse, twelve cauldrons bubbled away, steam swirling in the air, causing the pumpkin-like plants to sway gently. Professor Sprout had just praised Bruce, a senior student, before hurrying over to help Sean wrangle a slippery Horned Slug back onto the table.
She smiled warmly and said, "Mr. Green, try not to let the slugs escape next ti."
Sean was admittedly a bit flustered, juggling two cauldrons at once. Bruce, on the other hand, seed completely at ease. As for Professor Sprout, she not only managed seven cauldrons simultaneously but still had ti to guide Sean.
"Watch the mucus, wait for the bubbles…" Sean muttered the professor's tips under his breath, focusing intently on his work. As ti passed, he grew more adept, though still a little chaotic. The liquid in his cauldron slowly turned a deep erald green, and Professor Sprout stepped forward to inspect his progress.
Sean gripped his spoon tightly, awaiting her verdict, feeling a mix of nerves about his less-than-stellar talent and worry about wasting ingredients. Horned Slugs weren't cheap—a single jar cost one Galleon in Diagon Alley. Magical ingredients were always outrageously expensive, which made Sean realize sothing: potion-making had to be a lucrative business, or no one could afford the materials.
Soon, Professor Sprout gave her assessnt: "Mr. Green, a satisfactory effort."
Sean let out a small sigh of relief. Though Professor Sprout encouraged them to use the materials freely, he didn't want to keep wasting them. Once he found his rhythm, Sean finished processing the Horned Slugs. The trio bottled the brewed liquid in glass vials and selected the slugs with the most mucus, storing them in a large jar.
Professor Sprout explained that this careful selection would increase the chances of successfully brewing a Scabies Potion. The processed slugs would serve as a demonstration and assist Professor Snape with so preparatory work.
While sorting porcupine quills, Professor Sprout shared a surprising tidbit: "Yes, children, herbology and potions are always intertwined. Every harvest season, Severus cos to the greenhouse."
Sean briefly pictured Professor Snape wielding a hoe before returning to the quills. "Porcupine quills, about three inches long, roughly the thickness of two slug antennae…" he recited.
As they left the greenhouse, Sean reviewed the key points, jotting them down on a piece of parchnt he always carried. So far, he had a solid understanding of the four ingredients for the Scabies Potion: dried nettles, porcupine quills, snake fangs, and Horned Slugs. This ant the first step of his plan was complete. His eyes sparkled at the thought.
"Sean, we're out of the greenhouse now. No need to keep taking notes," Bruce said with a chuckle, pulling Sean away to prevent him from crashing into a suit of armor.
On the armor stand, a lady in a ceremonial gown giggled behind her hand, catching the eye of a knight across from her, who stared, enchanted. The clock struck six, a gentle breeze rustled through, and sunlight slanted across the path. The Hogwarts bells rang out.
Bruce paused in the corridor near the greenhouse. Leon, holding a book with his golden hair glinting in the sunlight, and Pister, cradling a potted plant with delicate leaves swaying in the breeze, both turned to look at Bruce.
Bruce grinned. "Those two…"
Before he could say goodbye to Sean, a piece of pineapple preserve was pressed into his hand.
"Snack swap, Hufflepuff tradition, Bruce," Sean said with a grin, already walking off.
Bruce blinked. "He's really not a Hufflepuff?"
Leon closed his book. "Maybe the Sorting Hat made a mistake."
Bruce tucked the preserve away carefully, then let out a loud "Hey!" before playfully grabbing Leon and Pister, wrapping his arms around their necks in a warm, mock chokehold, pulling their heads together.
"Gotcha!" he laughed.
"Idiot," Leon muttered, stumbling.
Pister carefully shielded his plant.
---
Since borrowing a stack of books from the library yesterday, Sean's only problem was a lack of ti to finish his assignnts. The Hogwarts library closed at eight, and by the ti he finished dinner, it was already six-thirty. So, instead of heading to the library, Sean returned to the Ravenclaw Tower.
The Ravenclaw dorms had desks in the double rooms, complete with floating candles—yes, the sa kind as in the Great Hall. It was the perfect spot for howork.
Ravenclaw's wisdom, Sean thought.
"Sean, heading back to the tower?" At the Great Hall entrance, Sean ran into Michael, who was playing a heated ga of Gobstones.
"Yup," Sean nodded.
"Hold up!" Michael quickly made his move, his Gobstone clubbing the opponent's last piece off the board. "Narrow win," he said with a grin, pocketing his pieces and jogging over to Sean.
The climb to Ravenclaw Tower was, as always, daunting. Michael panted as he climbed, grumbling, "The welco speech said Ravenclaw helps knowledge-seekers climb the steps of wisdom, but it didn't ntion the steps would be this long!"
He looked up at the seemingly endless staircase. "rlin's beard… seven years of this?"
Before he could finish, a gust of wind swept by. A senior Ravenclaw zood into the tower on a broom, drawing gasps from the younger students.
"Cool!" Michael stared, eyes wide with envy.
The steps dwindled, and Sean and Michael finally neared the top. "…So say the Chudley Cannons' glory days are over, but everyone knows they'll rise again…" Michael's complaints had shifted to Quidditch dreams, mid-rant about the Cannons' history, when he noticed Sean wobbling beside him.
"Sean!"
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