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Abbott stared blankly at the two of them before yanking off his earmuffs.
"Hey—"
"—Thump, thump."
Fortunately, before he could voice his opinion, Professor Sprout rapped her knuckles on the table, cutting through the buzzing chatter.
"Alright, I'll raise both thumbs when it's safe to remove your earmuffs. Now—put them back on."
Snape arched an eyebrow at Abbott before promptly pulling on his pink earmuffs. Instantly, all outside noise was muffled.
Professor Sprout rolled up her sleeves, gripped a clump of leaves firmly, and yanked it out of the soil.
What emerged wasn't a root, but an extremely ugly baby, the leaves sprouting directly from its head.
The Mandrake's skin was a sickly green, mottled with darker spots. The little creature flailed its tentacle-like limbs, clearly screaming at the top of its lungs—though no sound reached them.
Professor Sprout pulled out a large flowerpot from under the table, stuffed the ugly thing inside, and buried it under damp, dark compost until only the leafy tuft remained visible.
Dusting the soil off her hands, she raised both thumbs and removed her own earmuffs.
"I assume none of you wish to miss Christmas with your families," she said calmly, "so keep those earmuffs on while working."
"Oh, and beware of the Venomous Tentacula—it's teething," Professor Sprout added. "If an accident occurs, you needn't worry about non-verbal spells in my class. Your safety is far more important."
"Besides, no one will hear your incantations today anyway." She patted the leaves of a nearby Mandrake, which retracted the tentacle it had been stealthily extending toward her.
"Hi, I'm Patrick Abbott," Abbott finally seized the chance to speak. "Want to join our group? Honestly, I think your vibe fits right in with ours..."
"'Fits right in' meaning 'equally weird,' huh?" Snape thought dryly. Abbott used to prefer reading in silence—since when had he become so chatty?
There wasn't much time for conversation after that. They put their earmuffs back on and focused on handling the Mandrakes.
It was anything but easy. The Mandrakes resisted being pulled from the soil, yet once exposed to the air, they fought just as fiercely against being replanted.
They writhed, gnashed their teeth, and lashed out with their venomous tentacles, struggling to break free from the students' grasp.
While dealing with the second Mandrake, Snape let his guard down for a moment, and before he knew it, the creature had grabbed Abbott from behind.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
He quickly pointed his wand at the Mandrake, trying to pry it off Abbott.
But it clung too tightly—lifting Abbott right into the air along with it.
Abbott flailed wildly, limbs splayed, mouth moving soundlessly as he bobbed up and down midair.
He looked like a fully matured Mandrake himself.
Pandora doubled over laughing, gasping for breath as she clutched her stomach, shaking uncontrollably.
Snape paused mid-spell. A sudden image flashed through his mind—a sharp-toothed, monstrous figure—and though he felt a twinge of guilt, he decided he could easily devour three full meals while enjoying this sight.
"Ah, has my soul truly lost its former purity?" he mused.
Luckily, the ugly little infant's strength had limits. Soon, it tired out, loosened its grip, and dropped Abbott.
Snape swiftly aimed his wand at Abbott, preventing him from face-planting into the ground.
But now the Mandrake was free. It tapped its tentacles against the floor and bolted through the crowd of silently screaming students.
Seeing Abbott's furious expression, lips moving like a spring-loaded mechanism, Snape decisively kept his earmuffs on. Pink wasn't so bad—it actually suited him quite well.
The Herbology lesson ended in utter chaos.
And as a result, the emeralds in Slytherin's hourglass, embedded in the Great Hall's alcove, sank slightly lower.
"Why are they avoiding you?" Pandora asked.
They were crossing the entrance hall for lunch when a few younger students spotted Snape and hastily scrambled out of their way.
"Out of respect," Snape said matter-of-factly. "It's their heartfelt acknowledgment of my presence."
Abbott snorted before remembering he was supposed to be angry and quickly schooled his expression.
"Next time someone calls you 'Loony,' let me know. I'll help you earn the same level of 'respect.'"
"Oh... well..." Pandora shrugged. "It's not that bad. I think they just find me a bit odd."
"Fine, suit yourself." Snape gestured. "Miss Pandora, come join us for lunch."
"But this is the Slytherin table."
"Oh, this is Hogwarts' table." Snape tugged at her sleeve. "Come on. I really don't see the point in all this rivalry. Is there some wizarding law about 'Founders' traditions being unchangeable'? I ought to have a word with the Headmaster about it someday."
He glanced at the staff table—the Headmaster's seat was empty.
Come to think of it, Snape realized he hadn't seen Dumbledore in days. Ever since their midnight conversation, the Headmaster's seat had often been vacant.
Had his words prompted Dumbledore to start investigating early?
No use dwelling on it. He'd probe subtly next time they met.
By the time Snape polished off three full plates, Abbott seemed to have finally cooled off.
"Want to come watch the Quidditch tryouts this afternoon?" he asked Pandora. "We're checking out what brooms they're using."
"I'll pass," she said. "I've got a few experiments to finish. Need to hurry."
Watching Pandora stuff her hands in her pockets and bounce up the stairs, they left the castle and headed for the Quidditch pitch.
Neither had much interest in Quidditch, but Abbott's father had written last week, instructing him to survey the school's broom market. Tempted (and threatened) by Galleons, Abbott had surrendered immediately.
At the time, he'd glanced at the letter and told Snape, "No one says no to Galleons—not even you. Seventy-thirty split?"
"Deal," Snape had replied succinctly.
By the time they took their seats in the stands, the tryouts were already halfway through. Half of Slytherin, from first to seventh years, had turned up.
The younger students clutched battered old school brooms nervously, while the sixth and seventh years loomed tall and intimidating.
"I thought the Quidditch team had a dedicated practice room?" Snape asked.
"They do. What, Sev, thinking of working out?" Abbott smirked. "Feel your stomach—you've just gained a layer lately."
"Which is why I plan to consult a professional later." Snape pointed at Slytherin's team captain, Montague.
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