The rest of the class laughed.
"Hmmm. Perhaps too much wand waving, Mr. Longbottom. Here's another match. I want you to continue practicing. I expect a better performance next class."
Herbology Class
Plant class was much the same as it had been as well. The thing about going back in time (even if it was cross-dimensional time) was that a certain amount of redundancy could be expected, if not anticipated. This was one of those times. Harry didn't much mind as this class was now something he could follow after having seven years of potions. He now understood where some of the ingredients came from, and why certain methods were used to pluck, snap, saw, gnash, and bludgeon plants into giving up necessary parts. Harry even understood why Professor Sprout was as protective of her agriculture as she was.
Interestingly enough, the first lesson was to get students prepared for an upcoming number of years of getting their hands dirty and Professor Sprout had assigned the class (including her apprentice) the task of replanting some Caramba plants. Fairly harmless, the plants were used in a variety of potions and even in some wardings. They were alert plants which made sounds based on certain conditions which is why warding homes often included these plants as natural fire/burglar alarms, and several healing potions that imbued essence of Caramba were known to advise healers when the potion was no longer effective when stored for long periods of time. Usually, this information came in the form of an insult in the healer's own voice, but that was a small price to pay when someone needed an anti-gas potion in a hurry.
Professor Sprout matched up students to this task, two per pot. The plant, while relatively harmless, still possessed enough awareness to know when someone was trying to tickle its roots and often tried clubbing the invader. One student was to hold the plant's foliage in check while the other was to repot, add some nutritional supplements, water, sing a soft song, and then finally spritz the plant back to a healthy glow. Or as much of a healthy glow a red/green/brownish-blue plant can have.
Harry can only guess that his current predicament was due in part to his conversation with the professor as he came into the greenhouse.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, my apprentice. Can you tell me what this is?" she held up some tools.
"Gardening tools," Harry deadpanned. No reason to keep this easy. She was looking for something to trip him up. He was sure of it.
"Close enough. Tell me, what would you do if you came in close contact with a Whomping Willow?"
"Run like hell to get away from it."
"Heh, heh. True, I guess I wasn't very direct on that question. Allow me to rephrase. What would you do if you touched the base of a Whomping Willow that happened to have a 10 meter reach?"
Harry immediately answered, "The first thing I'd do is begin looking for the knot at the base of the tree. Once found, I'd massage it to work out any kinks. That should assuage the tree enough for me to make my escape."
"Very good, Mr. Potter. Not many people know that trick. Care to tell me how you know?"
"Experience."
"Fair enough, young apprentice. As this is our first class, I want to see how you perform for a few sessions before we can evaluate where you should actually be. And if you are as half as talented as I suspect you are, we shall certainly have an interesting time over the next seven years."
"Thank you, professor."
"You're more than welcome, Mr. Potter. I'm wondering, though, have you given any thought as to which house you are going to select as your primary?"
"Actually I'm still evaluating. I'm in Gryffindor this week and I thought I'd try out Hufflepuff next week. With your permission."
"I can honestly say we'd be delighted to have you. Ah, the rest of the class has arrived. Time to start."
And fifteen minutes later Harry found himself with a pre-selected partner, someone he really didn't want to be with: Neville Longbottom. But to be fair, no one in the class was partnered with someone they wanted to be with. Hermione was working with an obtuse Ron Weasley. Both were glaring at one another.
If he didn't know any better, he'd think that Dumbledore was behind the pairing of him and Longbottom, trying to get them both to become great pals and fight for the light and all that rubbish. Boy was he in for a surprise down the road.
Grudgingly, the two boys began the project.
"I'm in better shape, so why don't I hold the fern down while you repot," Harry suggested, twisting his wrists to get the kinks out.
"It's a Caramba, Potter, not a fern. Honestly, how can you not know that? After all, you're the apprentice," he sarcasmed.
"Look, you can badger me with semantics all day if you like, but I know enough about magical plants to know this: you'll get the stuffing knocked out of you unless you can get those branches in a tight lock. Now, you want to do the holding or the planting?"
Reluctantly, Longbottom got the tools and the new pot ready. With a nod, Harry lassoed the plant and then rushed into to essentially hogtie those branches the initial rope missed. Five minutes, two bruises, and three lacerations later, Neville moved in to repot the pesky fern.
While Longbottom began the work with a skilled surgeon's care, Harry noticed (with some annoyance) that he and the acronym-lad had been given the largest Caramba to work on by far. Nearly twice as big as the others. He noticed that Hermione was working on her plant while steadily berating a nervous Ron (who was barely holding the branches back).
His gaze going back to his task at hand, Harry struggled to keep a branch from moving in and smacking his lab partner. Harry slapped the vine back and very quietly whispered, "Hey, if anybody's going to smack that git around, it's going to be me, not you! Got it?!"
Surprisingly, the plant almost appeared to have gotten it.
....
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