"Oh, what a diligent child. This is certainly no problem, but..." Professor Sprout placed a box of hazelnut chocolate in Shawn's palm, then waved her wand. The flowers, grass, and soil on Shawn's robes vanished instantly.
"Every year there are first-years who want to take root in the greenhouse, but few can endure the repetitive, exhausting labour." Professor Sprout tilted her head slightly, her gentle eyes carrying a hint of teasing. "I think I can tell you a story."
"Professor, can you tell it next time?" Bruce beside them had already turned red, drawing Shawn's curious gaze.
"All right, Mr Dickinson." Professor Sprout's smile grew warmer.
Leon and Pist, hiding behind the plant benches, burst out laughing.
"Oi! You two!" Bruce looked thoroughly mortified.
"Oh, did I laugh? Sorry, I can't help it when I think about someone scrambling to escape the greenhouse..." Leon laughed even harder.
"Pist, do you remember his sleep talk?"
"Bouncing Bulbs, geraniums, save me, Devil's Snare!" The slightly chubby Hufflepuff student did his best impression.
Everyone laughed, and the atmosphere became light-hearted.
"All right, all right, I admit the greenhouse is both dangerous and fascinating. And really quite tiring." Bruce raised his hands in surrender, speaking helplessly. "So few wizards can persevere." As he said this, he kept looking at Shawn, his expression serious.
"Yes," Shawn responded. "I want to try." His voice was soft but carried unmistakable stubbornness.
The greenhouse was always short-handed. Compared to directly effective Charms, interesting Transfiguration, and the thrilling game of Quidditch, Herbology could only attract the most hard-working and enduring students—usually Hufflepuffs. But even diligent and kind Hufflepuffs wouldn't stay rooted in the soil forever, let alone when they had to handle dangerous plants.
So Professor Sprout agreed to Shawn's request. She looked at Shawn the same way she looked at those once-passionate Hufflepuffs—with some appreciation, some happiness, and some resignation about the likely outcome.
In the corridor outside the greenhouse, a long, blue Quick-Quotes Quill floated before Shawn. This was a magical alchemical creation. As long as it was placed vertically on paper, the quill would automatically begin recording in shorthand. Shawn had only bought one, mainly to help him organise his thoughts and jot down important points.
Stationery prices in the wizarding world were eye-wateringly expensive. This quill alone had cost Shawn a full ten Sickles. But he'd made the purchase anyway. Learning came first, always, Shawn thought.
Step One: Understand the processing methods for all Cure for Boils ingredients.
The quill made a rustling sound on the parchment. Shawn wrote down his current goal clearly. Professor Sprout had agreed to his request. Just now, Bruce had demonstrated the key points for identifying and processing dried nettles. Next time, perhaps he could ask about processing other materials. He thought Professor Sprout wouldn't refuse.
Once he understood material processing properly, the next step would be practice. Heat control and stirring technique couldn't be learnt from books—he could only experience them himself. But as long as he succeeded once, he could rely on the proficiency panel to build on that.
The plan was solid.
Shawn put the quill in his bag. Bruce's teasing voice reached his ears. "I remember during our first Herbology class, distinguishing mature dittany stumped a bunch of students." He looked at Shawn recording notes with considerable interest. "Looks like you'll shine in the next Herbology class. For students who study ahead, Professor Sprout won't be stingy with house points."
Points? Shawn didn't pay much attention. House points wouldn't help him obtain the scholarship. Professor McGonagall had said the scholarship evaluation standards were decided by the Headmaster, who would make a comprehensive decision based on his learning progress and professor evaluations.
Headmaster Dumbledore was, of course, fair and wise. Shawn believed that as long as he met the standards, Dumbledore wouldn't withhold six hundred Galleons. It was also Dumbledore who, without hesitation, had approved his scholarship application in the first place.
Shawn's thoughts drifted. In the orphanage, everyone had become good at spacing out. When the panel hadn't activated yet and he could only lie weakly in bed, Shawn had been the same. That's when he'd realised that some silence wasn't about having nothing to say, but about no one caring what you said.
All this had changed dramatically after that owl had crashed through the draughty window. Therefore, Shawn cherished the opportunity to learn magic. Even if he'd been dealt the worst hand talent-wise, he would grind it to excellence.
"Oh, you probably haven't felt the importance of the House Cup yet. But trust me, it's very important. Though we don't mind the Great Hall at the year-end feast being hung with banners of other house colours, Hufflepuff's yellow and black obviously look better, don't they?" Bruce spoke with a longing expression.
"Yes," Shawn nodded. Only then did Bruce notice the young wizard beside him was a Ravenclaw. He laughed awkwardly. "Ha, I mean, blue and bronze are also quite nice."
"Yellow and black look great," Shawn said seriously.
Not much time remained before the first afternoon class. Shawn placed the hazelnut chocolate in Bruce's hand and turned towards the staircase leading to the History of Magic classroom. "Thank you, Bruce. Goodbye." Only his small voice remained in the corridor.
"Nice young wizard. Hard to imagine he's not a Hufflepuff," Leon said, looking at Shawn's disappearing figure with a soft smile.
"Who knows who said, 'Professor Sprout...'"
"Stop talking..." Leon's face showed clear embarrassment. Pist beside them smiled knowingly, completely unsurprised.
After leaving the greenhouse, Shawn had to consider how to combat Professor Binns's hypnotic effect. Although the Shrieking Shack with its various unfounded rumours had never been truly haunted, Hogwarts was indeed the most seriously haunted place in Britain. There was no doubt about this, because in these damp islands, more ghosts could reportedly be seen or sensed than anywhere else in the world.
In the Harry Potter world, ghosts were also called phantoms—transparent, three-dimensional images of deceased wizards who continued to exist in the world of the living. Muggles couldn't become phantoms after death, and all sensible wizards wouldn't choose this fate either. Only those wizards who 'died with unfinished business' refused to enter the other world, whether due to fear, guilt, or attachment to the material world.
And Professor Binns—his attachment was clearly to reading from textbooks. Shawn was certain of that.