Professor Pomona Sprout.
Hogwarts' esteed Herbology professor and the head of Hufflepuff House.
She was a stout, cheerful witch with graying hair tucked beneath a patched hat, her robes perpetually dusted with soil. She looked more like a kindly gardener than a formidable academic who managed an entire House and wielded considerable magical expertise.
"Welco to Herbology, children! I've been looking forward to this day for a long ti." Professor Sprout bead warmly, radiating the energy of a friendly neighbor.
Ian had heard stories about her kindness— how she lived modestly despite having access to valuable magical plants, often providing als for struggling Hufflepuff students.
Beyond the biting cabbages, Ian spotted several spiky Dittany plants in the greenhouse. Their limited number explained why supplies were expected to dwindle in the coming year.
"Help! Help! The cabbage bit my backside!"
A reckless student had dared to provoke the Chomping Cabbages.
And he had paid the price.
"Ouch! That bite is brutal! Maybe I should make a whole batch of Chomping Cabbages and have them challenge a Hungarian Horntail?"
The remark ca from a Hufflepuff girl.
Ian glanced over.
Ah, it was her— the sa small witch who had made an equally outrageous comnt in Transfiguration class.
"Quick, apply so Dittany before the bleeding worsens!"
Professor Sprout hurried to the injured student's aid, issuing a firm but sowhat redundant warning to the rest of the class.
After all, the unfortunate student had already provided an excellent cautionary tale. Sprout swiftly sent him off to the hospital wing before resuming the lesson.
"You've all now seen firsthand how effective Dittany is in treating wounds. That leads us to today's topic..."
She wasted no ti turning the mishap into a teaching mont, making full use of her student's suffering. Perhaps she had even chosen to apply Dittany first with this exact lecture in mind.
"Well, she's certainly not Snape— I shouldn't be so suspicious of her motives."
Ian flipped open his textbook alongside the rest of the class, ready to absorb whatever knowledge awaited.
No further incidents disrupted the lesson.
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff generally got along well, and as expected, William— having done his extra preparation— earned five points for their House.
Hufflepuff gained three points as well...
Just as the lesson was wrapping up, Ian noticed the small Hufflepuff witch subtly pocketing a few Chomping Cabbage seeds, each the size of a broad bean.
Should he report her?
If she was truly planning to train an army of Chomping Cabbages to take on a dragon, his report might alter the course of what could beco a legendary tale.
"I really am too softhearted."
In the end, Ian said nothing.
After class, he trailed behind his two roommates toward the Great Hall for dinner— though his true goal was to intercept Snape and reclaim his stolen hair.
Even if you couldn't forget sothing, it didn't an you would get an answer. During the feast in the Great Hall, not only was Professor Snape absent, but so was Headmaster Dumbledore.
Several seats at the staff table were empty.
"They're probably having a private eting."
Ian turned his gaze toward the Slytherin table. Aurora was still missing, but to his surprise, Daphne Greengrass and Marcus Flint had returned.
"They're awake."
Ian regretted not bringing his gift.
They had all been in the sa boat, so he couldn't understand why Daphne Greengrass, upon eting his eyes, imdiately shrank behind a group of younger students.
Yet, despite her retreat, she dared to reach out from behind them to grab food.
Marcus Flint, on the other hand, was much bolder. Even while shoveling food into his mouth, he kept his gaze locked on Ian at the Ravenclaw table.
That look.
It truly baffled Ian.
This was the sa bloke who had frad him out of nowhere, yet now he was staring at Ian as if he wanted to hex him into oblivion. Were pure-blood families always this unreasonable?
Just as Ian was feeling indignant, a flurry of owls swooped into the Great Hall, carrying letters and parcels from afar.
"My mum sent sweets!"
Michael received greetings from his family as well. William got a large package but didn't open it. Instead, he clutched it tightly and bolted out of the hall.
When he returned a short while later, his hands were empty.
"What were you doing?"
Michael was sharing his sweets with Ian.
"Just went back to the dorm to put sothing away." William resud eating dessert as if making up for lost ti, given that the feast was nearly over.
"Why not just take it back later?"
Michael's question went unanswered. Ian, however, was lost in thought, absently twirling a feather on his plate. If he slipped so fast-acting Puking Pastilles into the owl treats on Halloween, would everyone experience his idea of festive cheer?
The feast ended.
Ian still hadn't received a reply from the orphanage.
"You! Stop right there!"
As Ian and his dormmates made their way back to Ravenclaw Tower, Marcus Flint and a group of Slytherins blocked their path in the corridor.
Several students of varying ages stood with him.
Daphne Greengrass was among them, though she seed reluctant to be there. She attempted to slip away with her friend.
When Ian's gaze landed on her, she imdiately shrank back, as if silently pleading with her companion not to leave her behind. However, her friend firmly held her arm, seemingly eager for her to witness whatever was about to unfold.
"It wasn't my fault!"
Daphne suddenly blurted out, panic creeping into her voice. Perhaps she had skipped Flying class that morning to avoid running into any Ravenclaws.
"How is it not your fault? You spent ages in the hospital wing because of him! Don't be scared, Greengrass. Our House doesn't produce cowards!"
"Little Grindelwald is gone. It's just Snape. My family has friends in the Ministry who can settle old scores with him at any ti. Everyone knows our Head of House's past isn't exactly spotless."
Marcus Flint turned and snapped at Daphne, his tone laced with disdain.
"It was a personal health issue… rlin's beard, Flint! You're mad! Don't drag into this ss!" Daphne wrenched her arm free from her friend's grasp.
"Make her stay and watch."
A third-year Slytherin stepped forward to block Daphne's escape.
"What do you want?"
William tensed, sensing the hostility.
"I'm warning you— this is school. Don't do anything stupid." Michael hastily drew his wand, though the effect was sowhat diminished by his status as a first-year.
"This has nothing to do with you. Move."
Marcus Flint pulled out his wand, ready to cast a spell on William and Michael, but Ian suddenly spoke up.
"What is this, you want to duel with first-years?"
Ian's eyes glead with irritation. He found Flint utterly ridiculous.
"Tsk. You think you're worth my ti?"
Marcus Flint sneered but gripped his wand tightly, his gaze fixed on Ian with unconcealed hatred. He lowered his voice, seething.
"If you don't want to suffer, then tell — what did your uncle— yes, Severus Snape, our esteed Head of House— do to ?!"
Marcus Flint's face twisted with resentnt, but his volatile emotions made Ian suspect that beneath the anger lay sothing else.
Fear? Unease? Humiliation?
"Why am I missing several days of mories? And why is every Gryffindor whispering that I was dragged away for killing the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?!"
(To Be Continued…)
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