The next day.
The second year at Hogwarts had begun.
As always, a look of utter boredom spread across my face at the thought of sitting through tedious, conventional classes on subjects I already knew inside and out. Following the distributed timetable, I headed for the greenhouses.
Our first class was Herbology with Professor Sprout.
Personally, I considered this class to be utterly useless. No, to be more precise, it was utterly useless *to me*.
The reason was simple.
No matter how I thought about it, I was certain I knew more about magical plants than the professor.
"I just love Herbology!" Neville said as we walked toward the greenhouses, oblivious to my thoughts.
Harry and Ron didn't seem to share his enthusiasm; their faces were etched with the weariness of having woken up early. Hermione, on the other hand, had a faint smile on her lips, clutching her Herbology textbook and one of Lockhart's books to her chest.
However, even our collective boredom was no match for the practical exercise Professor Sprout had prepared. Her somewhat proud, confident smile must have stemmed from it.
Professor Sprout led us not to the usual, dreadfully dull Greenhouse 1, but to a different one. Spread out before us was a cluster of pots, each filled with a strange-looking plant.
Harry stared at the scene, bewildered. Neither Neville, with his interest in Herbology, nor Hermione, who practically lived in her textbooks, could identify them at a glance.
But for me, it was different.
At the sight of the pots, I let out a cry of delight that was almost a scream.
"My goodness! So many Mandrakes!"
That's right. The plants in these pots were all Mandrakes.
As if she'd heard my exclamation, Professor Sprout turned to look at me from across the room and smiled.
Then she spoke.
"Potter, to recognize these plants at a single glance! You must have studied very hard indeed! Three points to Gryffindor!"
*Urgh.* Hermione gnawed on her lip and let out a small groan, clearly annoyed that she hadn't been the one to answer correctly.
Professor Sprout continued, "In that case, Potter, do you know what these Mandrakes are used for?"
I nodded confidently.
"Of course. Just pulling a Mandrake from its pot produces an incredible scream. That scream isn't just a loud noise; it's a magical phenomenon. Hearing it without any protection can be fatal."
"Precisely! So, what is its purpose?"
"?"
Hadn't I just explained its purpose? Ah, perhaps she wanted a more detailed example.
I kindly provided Professor Sprout with a more specific scenario.
"For example, with proper use, a Mandrake can take down even a troll in under ten seconds. Though in that case, you'd need a fully grown Mandrake, not a young one, or perhaps a specially matured specimen."
In short, it's a very effective weapon.
It must have been my imagination that Professor Sprout's face turned a little pale when she heard my words.
"Ah, um, uh, g-good! Potter! You're not wrong, but perhaps there's another use for them?"
"Another use?"
"Yes. A more… peaceful application, for example?"
A peaceful application. How on earth could one use a Mandrake peacefully?
As I furrowed my brow in thought, Hermione, seeing my struggle, made a gesture next to me. She moved her hand towards her mouth, as if drinking something.
*Ah, no way.* With a glimmer of understanding, I answered, "Are you perhaps referring to the fact that Mandrakes can be used to create a restorative draught for those who have been cursed?"
"Yes! That's it, Potter. Another five points to Gryffindor."
Looking at Professor Sprout's relieved face, I couldn't help but feel puzzled.
Did that professor seriously believe the primary use of a Mandrake was for a restorative potion?
That was like… saying the purpose of a time bomb is to tell time.
Even if a time bomb has a clock function, its main purpose is to blow things up, isn't it? As long as a time bomb has the power to slaughter dozens of people, it's a bomb, not a clock. Isn't that precisely why people are forbidden from carrying personal time bombs around as if they were personal watches?
Likewise, a Mandrake was, by any definition, a weapon. I, who in my younger days always carried ten Mandrake roots to make Dark Wizards listen to the screams of the *inhyeongsal-sam*, could vouch for that. (TN: Inhyeongsal-sam is a term Aisen made up, literally meaning "human-doll ginseng," referring to the Mandrake's humanoid shape.)
As if my thoughts were of no importance, Professor Sprout's class continued. The main task she assigned was to repot the still-immature Mandrakes.
As a veteran who had raised dozens of Mandrakes, I finished the task in an instant.
Professor Sprout gave me a strange look, seeing how unusually well I handled the Mandrakes, but I figured it wasn't a big deal.
As I finished repotting one before it even had a chance to scream, she started to ask me something, then trailed off. "Potter, have you ever used a Mandrake as a weapon… no, of course not. Forget I said anything."
If she had asked, I would have answered confidently. That I hadn't used one in nearly twelve years. Which was true, since I hadn't used one at all in the 20th century.
Surprisingly, the next person to finish repotting after me was Neville. Contrary to his usual clumsy demeanor, Neville's hands moved with no hesitation when handling the plants.
Harry and Ron barely managed the task with their earmuffs on, while Hermione, though rich in knowledge, was dangerously clumsy when it came to the practical application.
Only after everyone had successfully repotted their Mandrakes did Professor Sprout smile with satisfaction. "Alright, very well done, everyone. At this rate, we'll be able to use the Mandrakes in Potions class by the end of the term."
Groans of complaint erupted from the students as they realized that repotting Mandrakes wasn't a one-time thing but a continuous assignment for the entire term, but the professor paid them no mind.
Unlike Herbology, the other classes hadn't changed much just because we were second-years.
History of Magic was still Professor Binns's boring lecture, and in Charms, we learned a series of similar spells.
McGonagall's Transfiguration class was the same as well. Her lessons were always accompanied by excellent teaching and strict evaluations, a fact that hadn't changed from last year to this one.
As a review to see if the students had forgotten anything over the holiday, she had us transform a beetle into a matchbox.
Ron muttered under his breath, "Merlin's beard. I've completely forgotten how to do anything!"
Just as he said, he had trouble even aiming his spell at the scurrying beetle, let alone transfiguring it.
Grumbling, Ron looked over at us. "Ha, you guys haven't lost your touch over the holiday… at all."
Of course we hadn't. Harry, Hermione, and I had all turned our beetles into matchboxes long ago.
Harry grinned at Ron. "You should have practiced over the break."
Ron shot back, looking dumbfounded. "Who studies during the holiday! Besides, underage wizards aren't supposed to use magic during the break, as a rule!"
It was an unbelievable statement coming from Ron, who usually preferred to bend the rules whenever something came up. I suppose people really do only choose the arguments that benefit them.
As I was pondering this, Transfiguration class came to an end.
Just as I was about to follow Hermione out, a voice stopped me from behind.
"Potter, do you have a moment?"
It was Professor McGonagall.
I instinctively knew why she was stopping me, and answered with anticipation in my voice.
"Of course, Professor."
***
McGonagall's Office.
In a rare gesture, Professor McGonagall personally brewed a cup of tea and handed it to me.
"Have a drink, Potter."
"Thank you."
I sat quietly, sipping the tea, until McGonagall finally spoke.
"To be quite honest, I felt rather sorry towards you this past year."
"You did? To me?"
"Yes. As the Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts, there was nothing I could teach you."
And we never got to have the special lessons I promised.
I was surprised by McGonagall's sigh and her apologetic tone.
My goodness, she was so kind. I could only marvel at how a witch with such a disposition could work under a crafty old fox like Albus.
She was the first truly professor-like professor I had met since coming back to Hogwarts.
I waved my hands in a gesture of respect. "Not at all. You have nothing to be sorry for."
"No matter what you say, this is my responsibility as a professor. …Well, of course, this year is a different story."
A smile touched McGonagall's lips, and her eyes sparkled.
"I mentioned it last term, but at the time, I couldn't acquire the ingredients necessary for the Animagus transformation. However, thanks to Professor Sprout, we were able to obtain a large quantity of Mandrakes this term."
Humming happily, McGonagall held out two refined Mandrake leaves to me.
"As you know, Mandrake leaves have the effect of reversing curses caused by Transfiguration. That's why they're used in the process of cleansing the body of any lingering traces of transformation before brewing the Animagus potion. When the next full moon arrives, you are to hold this leaf in your mouth for one month."
Her eyes twinkling, she continued, "Potter, you can't imagine how happy I am. It's been so long since I've had a student talented enough in Transfiguration to pass on the art of the Animagus!"
Seeing her somewhat wistful expression, I wondered if she knew that Sirius and his friends were Animagi.
"In any case, Potter, I've heard that you've also shown a talent for Potions and are receiving special lessons from Professor Snape. The Animagus transformation also requires potion-making, so be sure to attend those lessons diligently."
"Haha, of course."
"However, you must never think of learning to become an Animagus as a mere matter of interest. The Animagus transformation is a magic that reveals your true essence. It is a very dangerous and mysterious magic. I am already curious to see what kind of animal you will become."
Only after nodding repeatedly at McGonagall's solemn warning was I able to leave her office.
*Chirrup?*
Ardeura, who had been flying around Hogwarts in her parrot form, came and landed on my shoulder.
I scratched her beak and said, "There, there. Not much longer. Just one more class, and then we'll go straight to the Room of Requirement."
Yes. There was finally only one class left.
Lockhart's Defence
Against the Dark Arts.
Wondering what kind of lecture he would possibly give, I headed for the classroom, filled with anticipation in more ways than one.
***