After a few days, Snape seemed to be back to normal. When he reappeared in front of the students, he was just as mean and insufferable as ever.
Meanwhile, Harley, who spent every night racking her brains to reply to Lockhart's adoring fans, was finally leaving.
Snape sneered, "Instead of wasting time writing ridiculous letters to that fool Lockhart, you'd be better off brewing a potion."
Harley was excused from the task, while Ron—who had been stuck cleaning the toilets—was personally picked by Lockhart to take over.
Of course, by now, the toilets and various display rooms around the castle gleamed as if polished by house-elves.
But what surprised everyone was how well Ron handled the task of replying to fan letters.
Neville struggled with the task, practically pulling his hair out, but Ron? He took to it like a natural!
The words flowed from his quill effortlessly, compliments pouring onto the parchment like a never-ending waterfall—smooth, exaggerated, and downright poetic.
He had an uncanny ability to praise in ways no one had ever thought of before, making each reply sound unique and heartfelt.
When Ted found out, he could only sigh. "Ron's got a talent for flattery. If he keeps this up, he'll never have trouble finding a girlfriend."
At breakfast that day, the group sat together as usual.
Neville kept fidgeting with his fork, looking hesitant, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
Harley, already impatient, snapped, "What's with you? Just say it already!"
Jerry chimed in, "Yeah, don't keep us in suspense. What's the big deal?"
Hermione gave Neville a curious look, then turned to Jerry with suspicion.
"Wait… what did you two do this time?"
"Nothing!" Jerry waved his hands in protest.
Neville finally spoke. "I think… I heard something. Something bad."
Harley frowned. "Someone talking bad about us? It must be Malfoy! Let's hex him."
The group collectively rolled their eyes at her.
"You can't just assume Malfoy is the culprit every time something happens. You're going to end up as a barbarian at this rate."
Neville shook his head, looking uneasy. "You know how hearing strange things in the magical world is usually a bad sign, right?"
Ted raised an eyebrow. "What exactly did you hear?"
Neville glanced around, lowering his voice. "It happened when I was leaving Professor Lockhart's office the other night…"
At the mention of Lockhart, Harley groaned dramatically.
Having to answer fan mail for that fraud was the most miserable experience of her twelve years of life.
She had seriously considered setting his office on fire just to escape the torture.
According to her, those awful fan letters haunted her dreams.
How could so many witches be that gullible?
Neville continued, "I heard a weird voice in the corridor. It was… unsettling."
"What did it say?" Hermione asked.
"Something like… 'Rip you… Kill you… Hurry… Hurry…' It's hard to describe.
It didn't sound human. I've never heard anything like it before."
Hermione shot a glance at Harley and Jerry. "Neville, are you sure someone wasn't just playing a prank on you?"
Jerry looked indignant. "Hermione, you know me! I was in the kitchen eating supper."
Filch had banned the use of magic for cleaning, but Jerry never listened.
He'd quickly finished his cleaning duties and snuck off to the kitchens for a snack.
Harley also cleared her name. "Hermione, come on. It wasn't me. I was stuck brewing potions with Snape."
Hermione turned to Ron. "What about you? You were writing letters with Neville. Did you hear anything strange?"
Ron, looking pale, shook his head quickly. Before he could answer, Neville explained, "Ron wasn't feeling well last night. I think writing so many cringeworthy letters finally got to him. He couldn't take it anymore and went to the hospital wing to recover."
Everyone had read the fan letters Ron had written. To put it simply, this was next-level devotion.
One compliment was standard. Ten were impressive. But ninety-nine? That was legendary.
Ron had evolved beyond mere flattery—he was a master of the art, a force to be reckoned with.
His words were so over-the-top, they could give anyone goosebumps.
His praise came in overwhelming waves, relentless and dangerously effective. It was shameless, yet oddly impressive.
But looking at Ron now, it was clear even wizards had their limits.
"So, you were the only one who heard this mysterious voice, right?" Hermione asked.
Neville nodded.
"Don't freak yourself out!" Hermione reasoned.
"It could have been a passing night wizard, or Peeves messing around. There are plenty of things in this castle that can talk. It's not exactly unusual."
She made a fair point.
Hogwarts was filled with ghosts, talking portraits, and enchanted objects.
A disembodied voice wasn't necessarily a cause for alarm.
Then, she turned her attention to Ron. "What about you? How are you feeling?"
Ron rubbed his temples. "Headache, nausea… I took some Dreamless Sleep Potion last night, and that helped, but I don't want to see another quill or piece of parchment for a long time."
He was suffering from what could only be described as "writing fatigue." Just like an overworked author drowning in deadlines.
Harley clapped him on the shoulder. "Got it. I'll cover your homework. You deserve the break."
After all, it was because Snape had pulled Harley away that Ron had been stuck answering Lockhart's ridiculous fan mail, which had clearly left him scarred for life.
Ted didn't comment, but his gaze shifted to a pair of girls sitting nearby—Ginny and Luna.
Though they were in different houses, they shared some classes and had become close friends.
Luna, with her dreamy and eccentric nature, often found herself isolated from her housemates.
Even her dormmates tended to keep their distance. Meanwhile, Ginny had been unusually quiet since starting school, often looking pale and withdrawn.
"Ron, Ginny hasn't been looking well lately," Ted noted.
Ron followed his gaze, then walked over to his sister. "Ginny, are you okay?"
Ginny glanced at Ted, Neville, and the others before quickly shaking her head. She looked flustered, her face slightly flushed.
Luna chimed in casually, "Don't worry. I was just telling her a really bad joke to help clear her mind."
Ron frowned. "You have a fever? Did you go to Madam Pomfrey for a potion?"
Ginny shot him an exasperated look.
"I'm fine!" she insisted before grabbing Luna's arm and practically fleeing.
…
Later that day, they had Herbology class, where the focus was still on Mandrakes.
Mandrakes were famous in magical folklore.
They had various uses, from counteracting curses to serving as potent potion ingredients.
But their most notorious feature was their ear-piercing cry, capable of knocking someone unconscious—or worse.
Professor Sprout warned them, "The Mandrakes have grown significantly and are now more dangerous. We'll be repotting them soon, which requires caution."
That meant extra homework—an eight-inch essay on Mandrake care and common taboos.
Eight inches wasn't easy to fill. Jerry and Neville practically enlarged their handwriting to fist-sized letters just to meet the requirement.
Soon, their next Herbology class arrived, this time paired with the Hufflepuffs.
Each student was handed a pair of soundproof earmuffs.
Professor Sprout's tone was serious. "You all know that a Mandrake's cry is fatal. While these are still young, their cries are strong enough to knock you out for hours. So, put on your earmuffs and only remove them when I signal you."
These warnings weren't just for show. In Gryffindor's previous class, Neville's roommate Dean had been curious about whether a baby Mandrake's cry could really be lethal.
The result? He'd ended up in the hospital wing, unconscious.
Even after waking, he was still experiencing dizzy spells.
Honestly, Gryffindor students had a special kind of recklessness. It was a miracle most of them made it to graduation in one piece.
Ted adjusted his earmuffs—his were blue,
At Professor Sprout's signal, he firmly gripped the leafy top of his Mandrake and pulled.
A root-like creature, resembling an ugly, misshapen baby, emerged from the soil. Its facial features had grown more distinct with age, making it even more unpleasant to look at. It writhed violently, its gnarled limbs flailing as it let out a furious, silent scream.
Ted noticed Hermione struggling to keep hold of hers as it twisted wildly in her grip.
The Mandrake's shrieks vibrated through the air. Even though Ted's earmuffs protected him, he felt something strange—his mind wavered for a brief moment, as if something unseen was pressing against it.
His eyes widened. This wasn't just a noise.
It was a mental attack.
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Word count: 1428
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