Chapter 37: Fizzing Whizzbees
"You did everything you could," Sean said, pushing his own portion of Yorkshire pudding towards Justin. He hoped the sweet, comforting food might lift his friend's spirits.
"Snape's a git," he added quietly. He turned to Hermione. "Don't be upset, Hermione. Would you like some pudding?"
Sean had a particular fondness for Yorkshire pudding, stemming from the visits of the kind old lady who donated to the orphanage. She always brought puddings, and they were the most delicious thing Sean had tasted during that bleak time. He always made sure to sit where the serving platters were fullest.
"Yes, please," Hermione mumbled, surprisingly accepting the offer.
And so, the three of them channeled their indignation towards Professor Snape into a vigorous assault on the Yorkshire pudding.
Professors aren't always fair, Sean reflected. Especially not when Harry Potter is involved.
After finishing the pudding, Justin's mood seemed to improve slightly, and he began recounting some of Snape's other "glorious" exploits: pretending not to be on patrol at night while actually using a Disillusionment Charm, a tactic that had once resulted in catching five Gryffindors out after curfew; refusing to leave the castle even during the Christmas holidays, managing to catch two couples snogging in broom cupboards; and just that morning, docking points from Gryffindor because Harry hadn't helped Neville brew his potion correctly—when, in fact, Harry hadn't known the correct method either.
"Oh, Hermione," Justin said earnestly, "my point is, if anyone was in the wrong today, it certainly wasn't you. We all know Professor Snape is strict, ill-tempered, and sometimes, completely unreasonable."
Sean nodded silently in agreement.
"It would be foolish to doubt yourself, or blame yourself, or let yourself be upset just because someone unreasonable was unfair, wouldn't it? Even if that person is a professor."
Sean nodded again.
"Right, Sean?" Justin looked at him expectantly.
Sean considered for a moment. "Right."
"Well, alright then," Justin said with a slightly helpless sigh.
Just then, Sean noticed Hermione was trembling slightly. He caught Justin's eye, and the two boys stood up, positioning themselves to block the view of the small girl as she quietly began to cry, pretending to be engrossed in their own conversation.
"Hermione never says anything when she's upset," Justin murmured, his voice barely audible. "She always pretends it doesn't bother her. The people who pick on her have no idea how much it hurts." He looked utterly miserable. "And… how do I make her understand that she doesn't have to act strong in front of her friends?"
Sean looked at Justin, then thought about Hermione. She really didn't have many friends. The Gryffindors often excluded her. Ron had even made fun of her, driving her to hide in the girls' bathroom in tears. At least until the troll incident, she had been mostly alone.
He let out a quiet breath. At least now, she had two friends.
Ravenclaw's only class for the day was Herbology in the afternoon. Sean arrived at the greenhouses early. Greenhouse One was filled with the warm, damp scent of earth, and the afternoon sun filtered through the glass dome, casting a hazy, golden-green light.
Professor Sprout was there, sleeves rolled up, her dragon-hide gloves covered in rich compost, carefully tending to a plant that resembled a cluster of spider nests. Three Hufflepuff students – Neville, Ernie, and the short, plump boy Sean didn't know – were gathered around a trough filled with pumpkin-like plants, their scarf-wrapped heads close together as they debated what they were looking at.
"Clever sprouts should remember this one," Professor Sprout called out, noticing Sean. "It's called Aspidistra. Although it looks like spider eggs, those are actually its green berries. And don't be alarmed by the roots—they aren't real spiders, just rhizomes. Can anyone tell me how often one can harvest Aspidistra?"
The Hufflepuffs looked stumped. Neville seemed to have an idea but couldn't get the words out. Ernie and the other boy just looked utterly lost.
"The textbook describes it as a perennial," a clear voice drifted over. "It can typically be harvested three to four times. With good cultivation, possibly more. There was once a wizard who managed five harvests from a single Aspidistra plant."
Professor Sprout beamed. "An excellent answer, Mr. Green! Lovely to see you, dear." She then directed Neville and the others to start harvesting some Christmas Cacti.
"Ah, warm sun, a warm summer, and always new sprouts taking root," she sighed happily, wiping her brow. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm losing my touch. Why does it feel so difficult to supervise just a few young wizards these days… Mr. Longbottom, watch your feet! Wingardium Leviosa—!"
Neville had nearly tipped a bucket of dragon dung onto his shoes, but Professor Sprout levitated it just in time.
"Oh! Mr. Macmillan!" she cried a moment later, rushing over to rescue Ernie, who was being enthusiastically swarmed by a pen of escaped Leaping Toadstools.
Just then, the greenhouse door opened, and a tall figure strolled in.
"Not every first-year can be Sean Green, eh, Professor?" Bruce drawled, leaning against a plant shelf with a teasing glint in his eye.
After Herbology, Sean decided he probably shouldn't bother Professor Sprout for extra work for a little while. The stout professor was already sweating from the effort of managing her regular class, and now that she had taken on three Hufflepuff apprentices as well, she was constantly rushed off her feet.
He found Bruce lounging in the corridor outside, striking a pose against the stone wall. Sean had to admit, the older boy had potential as a model; two older witches walking past had already glanced back at him at least ten times.
"Fizzing Whizzbee?" Bruce offered, holding out a colourful, sherbet-ball-like sweet. "Try one?"
Curious, Sean popped the sweet into his mouth. Just as the fizzy, fruity flavour exploded on his tongue, a panicked shout echoed down the corridor.
"Green, don't eat it! Bruce, you rotten git—!"
Leon came sprinting towards them, his blond hair flying, but he was too late.
Sean felt a strange, lightheaded sensation, and then his feet lifted off the ground. Bruce floated up beside him, grinning broadly.
"Wicked, isn't it?!" he exclaimed.
"Wicked your Merlin's pants!" Leon snapped, grabbing both Sean's and Bruce's arms to keep them from floating higher. "I ought to let you drift all the way to the ceiling!" He shot Bruce a furious glare.
"Sorry, Green," Leon said, his anger softening as he looked at Sean. "Bruce is like this with his friends. Pister and I get pranked all the time. Fizzing Whizzbees are sherbet balls that make you float. One of the ingredients is Billywig stings. Getting stung makes you giddy and levitate."
"Oh, come off it, Leon! You wouldn't dare!" Bruce laughed, still floating serenely.
Leon let go of Bruce's arm.
"Leon! No! Don't! I'm sorry—!"
As Bruce shrieked and began to drift upwards, Sean saw Leon smirk and subtly flick his wrist. A thin, silvery cord, previously invisible, shimmered between his hand and Bruce's ankle.
"For unruly friends," Leon said smugly, "I have unruly methods."