In the morning, Kevin quietly rose from his four-poster bed, the last wisps of sleep evaporating as he stretched. He dressed with care, then picked up the class schedule from his bedside table and checked it again. The morning promised Herbology and Flying classes, while the afternoon loomed with Snape's Potions class. As a time traveler, Kevin found himself both looking forward to and wary of Snape's lessons, knowing that, although Snape was ultimately a good person, his teaching demeanor was famously unfriendly—except, of course, to Slytherins.
"Oh, Kevin, you always get up so early," Wesley muttered as he poked his head out from under the covers, his reddish-brown hair sticking up in every direction, as if a particularly mischievous skrewt had taken up residence on his pillow.
"I'm used to it," Kevin replied simply, squeezing toothpaste onto his toothbrush.
Fabian woke up too, fumbling for his glasses and sliding them onto his nose. "I smell breakfast," he sniffed, "hopefully there'll be bacon sandwiches today."
Ernesto was the last to rise, his grey eyes still clouded with sleep. He adjusted his pajamas with the practiced elegance of a pureblood, though his movements were noticeably more relaxed than they'd been on the first day of school. "Flying class…" he muttered to himself, suddenly perking up and casting a glance at Kevin. "Finally, an interesting class."
Kevin noticed the spark of expectation in Ernesto's eyes. As a member of a pure-blood family, Ernesto had likely been flying since early childhood. This reminder brought Kevin's mind back to his original world, where he'd struggled even to ride a bicycle, and a small knot of worry formed in his stomach about the upcoming flying lesson.
For breakfast, Kevin had a bowl of oatmeal and a few slices of toast, eating while flipping through One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
"Reading again," Wesley slurred through a mouthful of sausage. "You should try this, it's much better than my mom's sausage!"
"Herbology…" Kevin closed the book thoughtfully. "Did you know that many of the plants grown in the greenhouses at Hogwarts are considered mythical or extinct in the Muggle world?"
Fabian pushed up his glasses. "My mother's medicine garden has some magical plants, but not as many as those in Hogwarts, but they are just as magical. Every time my father sees it, he shakes his head and says it's unscientific."
After breakfast, the four boys followed the other Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first years to the greenhouse at the back of the castle.
The greenhouse was much larger than Kevin had imagined, its glass dome glittering in the morning sun. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, a wave of warm, moist air rushed out, rich with the scents of earth and greenery. Inside, dozens of long tables were lined up, each laden with plants of strange and wondrous shapes, some of which wriggled gently as if alive.
"Welcome to Greenhouse No. 1!" A cheerful voice came from behind a clump of tall plants. Professor Pomona Sprout stepped forward, her thick gloves patched and her robe flecked with dirt. "Stand up, children. Today we will learn how to process dittany."
Kevin chose a seat near the front, his gray-blue eyes scanning the surrounding plants with curiosity. In his "True Eye" vision, these plants radiated magical halos of different colors—some soft green, others bright gold, and a few deep red that hinted at danger. The magic of magical plants, he realized, was truly different from that of wizards.
"Herbology teaches you how to care for and use magical plants," Professor Sprout said, brushing the dirt from her hands. "But remember, never underestimate them. The most harmless plants can become deadly under certain conditions."
She held up a plant with thick leaves and serrated edges. "Today's hero is Dictamni, a powerful healing herb. Can anyone tell me its main uses?"
Kevin knew the answer but chose not to raise his hand. To his surprise, Ernesto did.
"For wounds and skin problems, professor," Ernesto said confidently.
"Very good, three points for Ravenclaw," Professor Sprout smiled. "Indeed, dittany essence is the basic ingredient of many healing potions. Now, pay attention to how I collect its leaves correctly…"
Kevin watched the professor's movements intently, quietly activating his "Eye of Truth." In his special vision, when Professor Sprout cut the leaf with a silver knife, he saw a milky white magic oozing from the cut, then watched as the wound magically closed itself.
"You must use silver tools when collecting, and your movements must be quick and accurate," Professor Sprout explained. "This will minimize damage to the plant and preserve the most healing magic."
When it was the students' turn to practice, Kevin found that he didn't have much of an advantage. Herbology relied more on patience and meticulous care than on raw magical talent. He carefully cut the leaves as the professor had demonstrated, noticing that he lost more magical energy in the process than she had.
"Nice technique, Mr. Hawthorne," Professor Sprout commented as she passed by. "But you can be more decisive next time."
There was a scream from Wesley—he had cut too deep, and the whole plant suddenly gushed out a milky white liquid, splashing onto his robe.
"Don't worry, it's harmless," Professor Sprout quickly cleaned the stain with her wand. "But remember, if you treat magical plants roughly, they will 'revolt.'"
Fabian's operation was unexpectedly good. The way he pushed up his glasses reminded Kevin of a science student in his previous life. "I often help my mother deal with herbs," Fabian explained in a low voice, noticing Kevin's gaze.
At the end of the class, each student collected a vial of Dictyophora leaves, and Professor Sprout assigned a reading assignment, reminding them that the next class would be about a more "lively" plant.
Walking out of the greenhouse, the four boys were bathed in bright sunlight. Kevin was still thinking about the flow patterns of magic in those plants, especially the relationship between the self-healing mechanism of dill and magical energy.
"Herbology was more interesting than I thought," Wesley said excitedly, "although my robes were almost ruined."
"Three Herbology classes a week, but only one Potions class," Fabian mused. "This arrangement is a bit strange."
Kevin shared his thoughts: "I think it makes sense. Understanding the properties of herbs is the basis of making potions. The dittany treatment method that Professor Sprout talked about today will be used when making healing potions."
"So you mean Herbology is actually a prerequisite for Potions?" Ernesto asked.
"At least in the lower grades," Kevin nodded. "Imagine, if you can't even tell the difference between mandrake and poisonous tentacles, how dare you touch their extracts?"
Ernesto nodded thoughtfully, clearly impressed by the simple logic.
The flying lesson venue was on the flat lawn on the other side of the castle. When they arrived, a row of old brooms were neatly arranged on the ground.
"I was flying around the yard on a toy broom when I was five," a Ravenclaw student boasted, "and my dad said I was born to be a seeker."
"What's that?" Ernesto couldn't help but join in, his grey eyes gleaming with competition. "It's a Griffith family tradition that on your seventh birthday you must ride a broom through the family maze garden. It took me less than ten minutes."
Kevin couldn't help but smile at Ernesto's words. He hadn't expected to see this competitive side of his roommate.
Wesley whispered to Kevin, "I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was ten, and I broke my wrist."
"Beep—" Madam Hooch, a witch with sharp yellow eyes and short grey hair, blew her whistle. "Stand by your brooms, one for each of you!" Her voice was as sharp as her eyes.
Kevin looked down at the broom assigned to him, and his heart sank. The broom had jagged branches and the paint on the handle had mostly peeled off, making it look like it had been salvaged from a garbage heap. In his "eye of truth," the magic flow of the broom was weak and unstable.
"Stretch out your right hand and place it over your broom," Madam Hooch demonstrated. "Then say 'Get up!' firmly."
"Get up!" Shouts echoed throughout the venue.
Ernesto's broom immediately leaped into his hands, moving as smoothly as if it were an extension of his arm. Several students who obviously had flying experience also succeeded. Fabian managed to get his broom up after three attempts.
Kevin stared at his broom, imagining it flying into his hands. "Get up!" he ordered, his voice firm.
The broom didn't move.
"Get up!" He tried again, more forcefully.
The broomstick just rolled half a circle on the ground and then continued to play dead.
Wesley's situation was not much better. His broom even deliberately rolled further away when he shouted the command. "This thing still has a temper!" he said in surprise.
Madam Hooch came over and gave them some advice on how to adjust their gestures. Kevin tried again, and the broom finally trembled reluctantly, but it was still far from actually flying.
"It seems that even our genius has things he is not good at," Ernesto said with a teasing smile. "Do you need help, Kevin?"
Kevin took the teasing in stride. "Apparently brooms aren't as obedient as wands."
"It's all about confidence," Ernesto said, lowering his voice. "Imagine that you're not commanding it, but… inviting it. The broom can sense your hesitation."
Kevin adjusted his mindset as suggested, and this time the broom finally rose slowly into his hand, though it felt far less natural than Ernesto had described.
"Just barely passable," Madam Hooch commented. "Next, get on your broom and gently push the ground…"
The next half hour was torture for Kevin. While most of his classmates flew smoothly at low altitudes, his broomstick either refused to rise or swayed like a drunk. Wesley at least managed to fly in a straight line, though no higher than two meters; Fabian surprisingly showed a good sense of balance.
"Look, we are the worst flyers, haha!" Wesley laughed and accidentally bumped into Kevin's shoulder, nearly sending them both tumbling.
In the end, Kevin managed to fly around the field, but his speed was so slow that Madam Hooch shook her head.
"Don't worry," Fabian consoled him when the class was over. "My mom said some brooms are just shy of strangers. It will be much better when you have your own broom."
"Or maybe he just lacks the flying cells," Ernesto added. "It's okay, Hawthorne, you can crush us in other classes."
"Yeah," Wesley interrupted, "If you can fly perfectly, how are we mortals supposed to survive?"
Fabian pushed up his glasses. "According to statistics, only 17% of excellent Quidditch players are also good at Transfiguration. The brain structure may determine…"
Kevin couldn't help laughing as he listened to his roommates' teasing.
"Well, gentlemen," he dusted off his robes, "let's go eat first. We have Professor Snape's Potions class waiting for us this afternoon."
_______________
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