"Oh, such a diligent child—of course that's fine, but…"
Professor Sprout set a box of hazelnut chocolates in Sean's palm, then flicked her wand. The smears of pollen and dirt on him vanished at once.
"Every year some new sprouts want to put down roots in the greenhouses, but very few can stomach the repetitive, back-breaking work for long." She tilted her head; warmth glinted with a hint of teasing in her eyes. "I could tell you a story."
"Professor—could we save that for next time?" Bruce, red in the face, cut in, which made Sean glance over, curious.
"All right, Mr. Dickinson." Sprout's smile grew even warmer.
Leon and Pister, lurking behind the seedbeds, burst out laughing.
"Hey, hey, you two!" Bruce looked ripe for picking.
"Oh—was I laughing? Sorry. It's just—once I picture someone scrambling out of the greenhouse on hands and knees, I can't help it…" Leon laughed harder. "Pister, remember what he muttered in his sleep?"
"'Battering beans, geraniums, help—Devil's Snare!'" the burly Hufflepuff mimed, good-naturedly.
Everyone chuckled; the mood lightened.
"Okay, okay—I admit it. The greenhouses are dangerous and fascinating… and honestly exhausting," Bruce surrendered with a raised hand. "Which is why not many witches and wizards stick with it."
He said it looking straight at Sean, very serious.
"Mm." Sean answered softly. "I'd like to try."
His voice was quiet, with a stubborn edge anyone could hear.
…
The greenhouses were always shorthanded. Compared with the straightforward flash of Charms, the lively fun of Transfiguration, or the adrenaline of Quidditch, Herbology mainly drew the hard-working Hufflepuffs. But even they rarely stayed buried in soil forever—let alone handling dangerous plants.
So Professor Sprout agreed to Sean's request. The way she looked at him was the same way she looked at so many fired-up Hufflepuffs before: a little admiration, a little delight, and a little resigned about how it might end.
Out in the greenhouse corridor, a long blue shorthand quill hovered before Sean—an alchemical little marvel. Set it upright to parchment and it would take notes on its own. He'd bought just one, to help him map out ideas and jot flashes of insight.
Side note: wizarding stationery isn't cheap. This quill alone had cost him ten Sickles. Still, he gritted his teeth and bought it.
No matter how tight things get, studying is the last thing I'll skimp on, he thought.
[Step One: Learn the handling methods for every ingredient in the Cure for Boils]
The quill scratched across the parchment as Sean wrote down his current objective.
Professor Sprout had just said yes. Bruce had even demonstrated how to identify and process dried nettles. Next time, Sean could ask about more ingredients; he doubted Sprout would refuse. Once he understood ingredient prep, the next stage was practice—heat and stirring weren't in any book; he'd have to feel them out himself. But as long as he nailed it once, he could grind from there, panel-style.
The plan was sound.
He tucked the quill into his bag just as Bruce's teasing voice floated over. "I remember our first Herbology class—telling ripe asphodel from unripe stumped half the room." Bruce watched Sean's note-taking with interest. "Looks like you'll shine next lesson. Professor Sprout doesn't stint on points for students who prepare."
House points?
Sean didn't care much. Points wouldn't win him a scholarship. Professor McGonagall had said the scholarship criteria were up to the Headmaster, who'd weigh his pace of learning and the professors' evaluations.
Headmaster Dumbledore was fair and wise; if Sean met the mark, he trusted Dumbledore wouldn't begrudge him six hundred Galleons. It was Dumbledore who'd approved his scholarship without hesitation; if it were Headmaster Black, Sean would be grinding the "Azkaban three-piece set" and borrowing from dark wizards.
Hogwarts Legacy had left a deep impression. A popular line in there goes:
"Voldemort is terrifying because he personally killed hundreds."
"Uh-huh—and what about the next day?"
Sean's thoughts drifted. In the orphanage, everyone was good at staring off. Before his panel awakened—when he was too weak to get out of bed—he'd learned that sometimes silence isn't having nothing to say; it's having no one who cares to hear it.
Everything changed the day that owl smashed through the drafty window.
So Sean cherished the chance to study magic. Even if he'd drawn "white-tier trash," he'd grind it up to legendary.
"Oh, you probably haven't felt the importance of the House Cup yet," Bruce said, eyes shining. "But trust me—it matters. We don't mind the Great Hall being draped in other house colors at the end-of-year feast… but Hufflepuff's yellow and black clearly looks better, doesn't it?"
"Mm." Sean nodded. Only then did Bruce seem to notice the little wizard beside him wore Ravenclaw blue.
"Ahem—what I mean is, blue and bronze are lovely too."
"Yellow and black look great," Sean said earnestly.
With only a little time left before the first afternoon class, Sean pressed the hazelnut chocolate into Bruce's hand and ducked into the stairwell up to History of Magic.
"Thank you, Senior Bruce. See you," came his small voice down the corridor.
"Good kid," Leon said with a soft smile, watching Sean's back recede. "Hard to believe he isn't a Hufflepuff."
"And who was it who said: 'Professor Sprout—'"
"Don't you dare…" Leon groaned, face dark. Pister only smirked; he'd seen worse.
…
Leaving the greenhouse, Sean turned to the next problem: resisting Professor Binns's soporific drone.
The Shrieking Shack—despite a million baseless rumors—had never been truly haunted. But Hogwarts absolutely was the most haunted place in Britain. On these damp islands, people say you can see—or feel—more ghosts than anywhere else on earth.
In the wizarding world, ghosts are the translucent, three-dimensional remnants of dead witches and wizards, lingering in the realm of the living. Muggles can't become ghosts after death, and no sensible witch or wizard would choose to. Only those who "cannot rest" refuse to move on—out of fear, guilt, or a clinging love for the material world.
And Professor Binns? His attachment was to reciting the textbook.
Sean was sure of it.
~~~
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