Chapter 24: Herbology Class
"Ghosts are truly strange," Justin mused, staring at the rough outline he'd managed for his essay. "There's the kind and cheerful Fat Friar, Nearly Headless Nick, and even a professor…"
He sighed. "If only he weren't so muddled. Cedric—he's a prefect—said there's never been a first-year essay this long. He tried to find Professor Binns to ask about it, but he couldn't track him down. Not that it would have done any good, I expect. A whole foot of parchment… Merlin, it's just too much. Have you finished yours, Sean?"
Justin closed his book, his eyes shining with a desperate hope.
"Yes," Sean said with a nod. He pulled a roll of parchment and a light-blue notebook from his bag. The parchment contained the essay-writing framework he'd shown Michael and the others, while the notebook held his own consolidated and reorganized notes for A History of Magic. He had an identical notebook he used for his own thoughts and plans.
"Merlin's beard! You really finished it?!" Justin exclaimed, before quickly clapping a hand over his mouth. "I mean, I knew you could do it, but it's still hard to believe when I actually see it… Are we really in the same year?" His voice trailed off into a barely audible whisper.
"I'll just look at the outline, I promise," Justin swore, his grey-blue eyes wide with a mixture of sincerity and nervous excitement. "I won't copy a single word. If I do, may I be forever banned from the kitchens."
"Okay." Sean placed the notes in Justin's hand, then left the Great Hall and headed for the library.
He was always most energetic in the mornings, and he liked to use that time to tackle more difficult tasks, like creating his own comprehensive framework for A History of Magic by cross-referencing it with A History of Modern Magic, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, and Notable Magical Names of Our Time. This, he was certain, was the path to an 'Outstanding'.
The library's oak tables were a rich, reddish-brown, adorned with magical lanterns, crystal balls, and the occasional vase of flowers. Sean soon lost himself in the bizarre wonders of magical history. The wizards of the past were a truly eccentric lot. For example:
In the Middle Ages, Muggles were exceptionally fearful of magic, but exceptionally bad at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught n1o fewer than forty-seven times in various disguises.
This was a far cry from the brutal witch burnings Sean had imagined. The reality of wizarding history was far stranger than he had anticipated.
After finishing his notes on the medieval period, he was once again confronted with his pressing problem: where was he going to get Potion ingredients?
Perhaps Professor Sprout has some spares? Or maybe I can find a secret passage to Hogsmeade and buy some? Or maybe I could just ask Professor Sprout if students are allowed to use school supplies after hours, and then sneak into the Potion's classroom to practice? That last option was incredibly risky.
Still, there were more solutions than problems. Sean took out his personal notebook, intending to organize his scattered thoughts. He opened it to the first page and froze.
Emeric the Evil was a short-lived but exceptionally aggressive dark wizard…
He flipped the page.
Uric, upon hearing their mournful cries, became convinced that he had died and was now a ghost…
This isn't right.
Back in the Great Hall, Justin was completely engrossed in the parchment Sean had given him. "Oh… you can write it like that… brilliant…" he muttered to himself.
His mind buzzing with new ideas, he opened the light-blue notebook. His hand, poised to turn a page, froze in mid-air.
Step 2: Acquire ingredients for Potion-brewing practice.
Sean wants to practice Potions on his own? That was his first thought.
And he's worried because he doesn't have any ingredients? That was his second.
But I have them. That was his final, decisive thought.
He carefully rolled up the parchment and closed the notebook. With Herbology class not starting for a little while yet, he bolted from the Great Hall and ran all the way to the Hufflepuff common room. He slipped past the cheerful, vine-covered common room—where steaming jugs of milk and pumpkin juice, along with an endless supply of sweets and pies, were always available—and down a candle-lit passage to his dormitory.
He threw open his large, luxurious trunk. Next to a scattered pile of letters and postcards were rows upon rows of jars and crystal phials. A closer look would reveal two full sets of every single Potion ingredient a first-year could possibly need.
He remembered the conversation in Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.
"Are you certain you wish for one of everything, madam?"
"Yes, please."
"Oh, my generous lady, I would be loath to deceive such a beautiful woman… but these ingredients are not, in fact, on the required list for Hogwarts."
"That is precisely why you will be packing two of everything, sir."
Only now did Justin begin to dimly grasp his mother's foresight.
"My dearest Justin," her voice echoed in his memory, "if everyone has something, you must have a better one. And if no one has something, you must have it. Those small expenses are simply good investments. But the best investment of all, my dear, as you well know, is in sincerity and friendship."
"I think… I'm beginning to understand," Justin whispered, staring at the fully stocked trunk. The crisp collar of his perfectly white shirt still seemed to hold the warmth of his mother's iron.
At the Hogwarts library, Sean stepped through the grand archway, waiting for the staircase to swing into place. He wasn't going to track Justin down to get his notebook back now; their second Herbology class of the morning was about to start. Besides, there was nothing truly secret in it, just a few notes on processing herbs and his plan to find ingredients. He would simply swap it for the correct notebook after class.
The eight o'clock sun danced on the polished suits of armour, and the scent of damp earth and greenery from the greenhouses already filled the outer corridors. Sean pushed open the heavy oak door. A few other students had already arrived.
He saw Professor Sprout look up from her work, a hoe in her hand, and give him a cheerful nod.
"Over here, Sean!"
Michael grabbed his arm and pulled him over to where he was standing with Anthony and Terry.
"Is it just me," Michael whispered, craning his neck, "or is the Professor watching you?"