Malfoy had never felt snow this cold—so cold he began shivering without meaning to.
The figure beneath the black robes was like a thunder-laden storm cloud; though it barely moved, anyone could tell a tempest was coming.
Malfoy couldn't make sense of it. He'd avoided that Green boy—deliberately. Before Hogwarts that would've been unimaginable. Now he bitterly regretted not choosing Durmstrang…
His knees were shaking. He glanced aside—Goyle and Crabbe looked about ready to faint.
That only made him more afraid.
In that tight silence, Professor Snape spoke:
"Hah—orphan…"
His voice sounded like a summons from hell.
…
As Harry and Ron left the Quidditch pitch, Sean, Justin, and Neville happened to be not far away.
The greenhouses aren't far from the pitch, both behind the castle.
So when Harry and Ron looked over, they could just make out a few figures trudging through the snow.
"Is that… Sean?" Harry asked, breath smoking into white.
"…Anyway, Snape is of course a—yeah, that's Sean, Justin, and Neville. Oh—if Hermione didn't have ten more books to read, she'd be helping at the greenhouses too…" Ron answered. He and Harry were still tallying up Snape's meannesses.
"Then… what about us?" Harry hadn't realized there was a group effort—and no one had told him.
"Harry—you didn't know? Oh! Of course you didn't! You're always on the Quidditch pitch." Ron had to raise his voice over the wind.
"The greenhouses are short—" Harry's voice blurred into the gale.
"Of course they're short! Neville comes back dead on his feet every time!"
They met each other's eyes—clearly thinking the same thing.
The snow thickened; many plants in the greenhouses needed care.
Take the Snargaluff: in winter its pods need regular squeezing. Crucially, they must be heated over a flame until bright red before squeezing. If you squeeze a cold pod by hand, the sharp, wriggling black seeds inside explode.
Wresting pods from a raging, whip-cracking Snargaluff isn't easy—fortunately Bruce and his crew handled that in Greenhouse Three. Still, Sean's trio often heard their screams—or Bruce's screams and Leon's laughter.
At the dome's entrance, Justin was reaching for the door; behind him Neville was shyly sharing plant-handling tips with Sean. Snow dusted Sean's face; he nodded, and his shorthand quill scratched briskly. Neville was both pleased and more embarrassed.
"Sean!"
"Sean!" came two shouts as the greenhouse door swung open.
Harry and Ron were charging up, and Professor Sprout—who had just pushed open Greenhouse Three from inside—broke into a bright grin.
Wonderful—truly wonderful…
"Congratulations on discovering the Hope Nook's secret mission—Greenhouse One welcomes you. Gloves are on the rack—don't forget them," Justin said warmly.
"Oh!" Ron panted—one sentence from Justin and he was fired up.
"You can't imagine—we just escaped Snape's clutches…" Ron babbled as he tugged on gloves, too excited to pick a topic, so he defaulted to the one he and Harry had been on. "One tiny mistake and he docks points from Gryffindor—and Neville, he uses him like a punching bag! Today he was in a foul mood—ha! Even Malfoy didn't escape…"
At Snape's name, Neville went white and trembled.
"He must hate me," Harry ground out. "He hasn't noticed that besides the Slytherins who toady up to him, nobody really… likes him."
Justin frowned. From what he'd seen, Snape was indeed cutting—but his teaching skill was beyond doubt. Even so, thinking of all the rest, Justin held his tongue.
What they didn't know was that, farther off, a broad black robe stood in the snow with a purpose no one could name. Black eyes watched them; after a grim glance at Harry and Ron, they settled on a pair of green ones.
"…He's no good, I tell you! He keeps to himself because no one can stand him!" Ron muttered.
Harry nodded, convinced. The group started into the greenhouse; Harry turned, wanting to add something—
—and heard the faintest voice:
"Harry, even if there's no place in this world that welcomes Professor Snape, by what right do we judge his soul?"
Sean met Harry's eyes, sighed, and stepped inside.
Harry stood frozen. He had seldom seen such a complicated look—wrapped around too many unsayable things. Hermione's words flashed back—Snape wasn't the one trying to kill him. A shudder rose from his pores. Then… who?
There was no billowing robe in the snow now—only the spot he'd stared at earlier. All winter long, there had been green eyes in the cold.
They were… so similar.
"All right, young gentlemen! Looks like we'll finish early today!" Professor Sprout was her usual enthusiasm, checking everyone's gloves to keep them safe.
They were just about to set to work when a huge crash sounded from the direction of Greenhouse Three, followed by panicked cries:
"Merlin—Canary Creams do turn you into canaries!"
Professor Sprout blanched and hurried off.
Ron and Harry traded looks; Sean's trio were already peering through the door of Three. Inside, vines thrashed. Senior Bruce, pale-faced, clutched a canary and ran for cover. Cornered, he pitched the canary away and yelled:
"Pister—remember this life-debt!"
He promptly got lulled to sleep by the Snargaluff.
White-faced, Professor Sprout hauled off the "sleeping" Bruce. Then, in the greenhouse, the canary shook itself—and turned back into an enraged, red-faced Senior Pister.
"What… happened?" Justin asked. Sean had already noticed the cookie crumbs in Pister's hand and had a good guess.
"That idiot! He fed Pister some blooming mystery biscuit while we were wrangling the Snargaluff—hah!" Leon was livid—he almost never swore at Bruce in front of Sean.