Professor Pomona Sprout.
Hogwarts' esteemed 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.
"Welcome to Herbology, children! I've been looking forward to this day for a long time." Professor Sprout beamed 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 meals 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 came from a Hufflepuff girl.
Ian glanced over.
Ah, it was her— the same small witch who had made an equally outrageous comment in Transfiguration class.
"Quick, apply some Dittany before the bleeding worsens!"
Professor Sprout hurried to the injured student's aid, issuing a firm but somewhat 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 time turning the mishap into a teaching moment, 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 become 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 something, it didn't mean 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 meeting."
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 same boat, so he couldn't understand why Daphne Greengrass, upon meeting his eyes, immediately 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 same bloke who had framed 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 me 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 something away." William resumed eating dessert as if making up for lost time, 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 some 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 seemed reluctant to be there. She attempted to slip away with her friend.
When Ian's gaze landed on her, she immediately 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 time. 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… Merlin's beard, Flint! You're mad! Don't drag me into this mess!" 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 somewhat 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 gleamed with irritation. He found Flint utterly ridiculous.
"Tsk. You think you're worth my time?"
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 me— what did your uncle— yes, Severus Snape, our esteemed Head of House— do to me?!"
Marcus Flint's face twisted with resentment, but his volatile emotions made Ian suspect that beneath the anger lay something else.
Fear? Unease? Humiliation?
"Why am I missing several days of memories? 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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