Professor Sprout's words hung in the air. Professor McGonagall, usually so composed, suddenly coughed from trying to hold back laughter. A strange smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at Professor Sprout, silently giving her a thumbs up. Well done!
Professor Snape, on the other hand, had gone pale with frustration. After a tense pause, he flicked his wand, causing Malfoy to float up off the ground. An invisible barrier shimmered around Malfoy, trapping the stench inside. Although a little of the foul smell still seeped out, at least everyone could finally breathe again.
Without another word, Snape handed Malfoy a potion and swept away from the field, his robes billowing with anger. Malfoy, still hovering, whimpered, "Dean, they're so insidious! They set me up!"
But Snape's patience was at its end. "You idiot! Why do you keep provoking the Hufflepuffs? Do you really think they're easy to bully? You've already embarrassed yourself once, and now you've fallen into their trap again. Sometimes I wonder if the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you!"
Malfoy's face drained of color. "Dean, I'm sorry! Please help me!"
Snape sighed, his anger cooling. Because of his friendship with Lucius Malfoy—and the generous donations Lucius made to Slytherin—he couldn't abandon Malfoy completely. "Without wisteria juice, there's no way to get rid of that stench. You'll have to bear it for a week. Don't go to class—find an empty room and stay there. As for the boils and scabies, that's more troublesome."
Snape knew he could brew a healing potion, but it required Juneweed, a rare herb only grown in the Hogwarts greenhouse. With Professor Sprout refusing to provide any, he was out of options.
At last, Snape said coldly, "We'll have to do it the hard way. Go to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey will have to cut open each scab and squeeze out the pus. It'll hurt, but you'll recover quickly."
Malfoy, desperate, nodded. "Yes, Professor. Please, just get me to the infirmary!"
Snape gave him a pitying look and escorted him to Madam Pomfrey. The matron's eyes flashed with a mixture of concern and annoyance as she took in Malfoy's sorry state. Snape handed him another potion. "For the pain," he said, then quickly made his escape.
Malfoy stared after him, dread creeping in. Why did he need a pain potion for something that was supposed to hurt "just a little"?
Madam Pomfrey wasted no time. She tied Malfoy to the bed, stuffed a towel in his mouth, and began her work. With a flick of her wand, she opened the first scab and squeezed out the pus. The pain was blinding—far worse than Malfoy had imagined.
As she looked over the rest of the boils, Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Just hang in there. And sip that pain potion slowly. There are about a hundred more to go."
Malfoy's mind reeled. A hundred?! He realized, with growing horror, that he'd have to endure this agony again and again. Only one thought echoed in his mind:
Why did I ever mess with Hufflepuff or Char?
His screams echoed through the castle, a haunting lesson for anyone thinking of crossing the Badger Court.
While Malfoy suffered, the Hufflepuff common room was filled with laughter and celebration. The little badgers, finally free of the tension that had lingered for days, shared stories of Malfoy's comeuppance and Snape's rare defeat. In just two weeks, the first-year Hufflepuffs had bonded into a tight, supportive family.
Professor Sprout entered, her step light and her eyes twinkling. She had news that made the room buzz with excitement.
"I just found out," she announced, "that after today's flying lesson, Professor McGonagall made an exception and allowed Harry Potter to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He'll be Seeker— the youngest house team member in a century!"
The badgers erupted into chatter. Quidditch was always a hot topic, and anything involving Harry Potter was bound to be discussed.
But Hannah Abbott piped up, her brow furrowed. "Why did Harry get to join the team? He's a good flyer, but I think Char is just as good. If Harry can join, why can't Char? It doesn't seem fair."
Susan Burns agreed, and soon the rest of the badgers were nodding. They all remembered how Char had saved Hannah with his flying skills. To them, Char was every bit as talented as Harry.
Professor Sprout's smile grew even wider. "Harry did set the record for the youngest house team member—but only for half an hour! Because I have something else to announce: Char will also be joining the Hufflepuff Quidditch team as an exception. He is now the youngest house team player in a century!"
Char was stunned. He didn't mind joining the team—he wanted to help Hufflepuff win and make Professor Sprout proud—but he hadn't expected the announcement to be so public. Wasn't this a bit of a backdoor approach?
Before he could worry, the common room erupted in cheers. Hannah's face turned bright red as she waved her fists in the air, and the other badgers shouted, "Fair!" "Reasonable!" "Char for Quidditch!"
Professor Sprout caught Char's eye, her smile gentle and full of pride. In Hufflepuff, no one would be jealous or resentful. Here, unity came first, and everyone celebrated each other's success.
Char took a deep breath, feeling a wave of warmth and belonging. Quidditch? He'd do his best—for Professor Sprout, and for these wonderful, supportive friends.
As the cheers faded, Professor Sprout turned to him with a twinkle in her eye. "Char, what position would you like to play?"
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