This Herbology class was one of the few courses in the school year that Hufflepuff shared with Gryffindor. Although that might change in the next academic year, it was the perfect opportunity for Marcel to get closer to the Golden Trio.
Speaking of Harry, the Boy Who Lived was currently struggling with the Flobberworms on the plant stems. Yes, that's right, the same kind that the easily-overlooked Michael Corner had apparently swallowed whole as a child. They were particularly fond of lettuce, but would generally eat any plant.
When Ron squeezed over to ask Marcel about how he handled Snape in Potions class, Marcel was contemplating these very worms. They were a good ten inches long, not much shorter than Marcel's wand. Heaven knows how Michael managed to swallow one as a child.
"Did he bite it into pieces before eating it?" Marcel thought, and a shiver ran down his spine.
"...What's bitten into pieces to eat? Are you thinking about what to have for lunch?" Ron asked, looking at Marcel with confusion. He then added, "Never mind lunch for now, just tell me! How did you provoke Snape? We're starting his class tomorrow. I've heard from the older students that he always favors students from his own house. I wonder if it's true."
Marcel finally snapped back to reality and shook his head helplessly.
"Who told you I provoked Professor Snape? That's just asking for death," he said, briefly explaining the situation. This, however, made Hermione unable to resist coming over as well.
"Hey! I say, did Professor Snape really say that?" Hermione asked, a little agitated. "That's Arsenius Jigger's pharmacological formula! It's authoritative! How could he just casually say it's a mistake!"
Then, Hermione calmed herself down and looked at Marcel apologetically.
"Sorry, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with questioning authority, but..." She hesitated, a little skeptical. "I mean, is that quantitative constant really an unnecessary constant?"
"It should be," Marcel nodded, then began to explain quietly to Hermione. Hermione listened, interjecting a few times, but seemed to be getting convinced.
"What are they talking about?" Ron turned his head and asked Harry.
"Probably stuff from Potions class," Harry had finished his own struggle by now. A Flobberworm wriggled and struggled in his gloved right hand, but it couldn't escape the evil claw that was preventing it from having its meal.
"You mean, we have to learn that... I mean, the stuff they're talking about?" Ron asked hesitantly. He leaned in to listen for a few more moments, then looked back at Harry.
Harry shook his head. All he knew was that he didn't understand a word of it. "I... don't think so?"
Ron glanced again at Marcel and Hermione, who were in quiet discussion, then gave up and went back to fertilizing the herbs.
"The always neat and tidy Marcel, and the perpetually messy Hermione. That's a rare combination," he muttered to himself, completely baffled.
"And then there's the fact that Marcel, who can never get out of bed, is actually an excellent student."
Before school started, Marcel had stayed at The Burrow for quite some time. Ron thought he knew him pretty well. Although Marcel seemed smart and calm, he was lazy at heart and loved to sleep in! But it turned out he wasn't at all like he imagined. He had once thought he'd found a kindred spirit.
"...Maybe I can ask him for help with homework I can't figure out in the future?" The thought suddenly occurred to Ron. At least he thought it was a brilliant idea.
Following Herbology was Flying class, which many were very much looking forward to. Marcel's class was with the Ravenclaws for this one.
Marcel was naturally looking forward to this class that allowed one to fly freely in the air, but he wasn't sure if he would run into any difficulties.
To be honest, his sense of direction was not very good on the ground. If he were up in the sky, he might genuinely lose his bearings.
The first flying lesson took place on a flat, slightly sloping lawn next to the main entrance of Hogwarts Castle. The green grass swayed gently in the breeze, looking full of life.
Looking to the east, one could see the edge of a dark forest, its tall canopies swaying in the wind with a rustling sound.
The little badgers of Hufflepuff were already standing on the field. They watched as the Ravenclaw students ambled their way over. The flying instructor, Madam Hooch, was shouting at them to walk faster.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Madam Hooch's short, grey hair stood on end like steel needles, unmovable even in the wind. Her eyes were yellow, like those of an eagle strictly supervising its young.
Marcel chose a broom from the neat rows on the ground that looked pleasing to the eye and stood quietly beside it, watching the other students hastily find their places.
"Stick your right hand out over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'UP!'"
"UP!" Influenced by Madam Hooch's strict tone, everyone seemed to shout in unison.
The broom obediently jumped into Marcel's hand. He savored this new and unfamiliar feeling, thinking it wasn't half bad.
But not every student was so lucky. Some brooms just hopped a little on the spot, others rolled around on the ground. Ernie's broom even shot straight up into the air, smacking his palm red.
It seemed this thing was related to talent, after all. Only a few people had their brooms come to hand properly.
Next, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end. She walked up and down the rows, correcting their grips and occasionally criticizing those who couldn't get it right.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you are to kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle... three... two..."
"Whoa!" Marcel exclaimed as he watched the ground get further and further away from him. This feeling was incredibly fun.
Madam Hooch walked back and forth below, observing everyone's situation. Of course, there were still many who couldn't get off the ground at all, their brooms seeming to disobey them, but no major incidents occurred.
"Mr. Maclean, you've gone higher than I said," Madam Hooch shouted up at Marcel. "Come down, and be careful!"
Marcel paused, realizing he was indeed flying much higher than everyone else. He quickly leaned forward slightly as Madam Hooch had instructed, and the broom immediately descended obediently.
"Well done," Madam Hooch said, patting Marcel's shoulder. "The first thing a beginner needs to pay attention to is safety. A step-by-step approach is the right choice."
Marcel nodded, but thought to himself, Next week you're going to see Neville and Harry shoot up into the sky! Of course, the former in a much more literal sense. Whoosh!
"Madam Hooch, I was wondering, if a beginner accidentally falls off their broom, how would you save them?" Thinking of this, a thought suddenly crossed Marcel's mind, and he spoke up.
He had a soft spot for Neville, the perpetually nervous, chubby boy. Giving Madam Hooch a little heads-up might prevent his arm from getting broken.
It must have been very painful, otherwise Marcel wouldn't still remember the scene so vividly.
"You use a Floating Charm, don't worry," Madam Hooch replied, thinking Marcel was worried about himself. "If there isn't time, Madam Pomfrey at the hospital wing will patch them up. Her potions are always very effective."
"Oh! Thank you for the explanation," Marcel said, feigning relief and politely expressing his gratitude.
Of course, this was just a small interlude in his school life. For Marcel, it was just a small favor, and he forgot about it almost immediately.
"Ha! This feels great!"
With Madam Hooch's permission, Marcel got a chance to fly at a low altitude. He had argued for a good while to get this opportunity, and now he was thoroughly enjoying it.
The strong wind rushed toward him, whistling past his ears and making his robes flap loudly. Under Marcel's control, the broom darted left and right, looking like a shark sprinting through the water.
Albeit a shark that was a bit too close to the "seabed."
"Watch out! Slow down! Slow down! Quick, do as I say!" Madam Hooch shouted from below, but Marcel's ears were filled with the sound of the wind, and he couldn't hear her at all.
After a good while, having had his fill of fun, Marcel finally slowed down. He pulled sharply on the broom handle, did a U-turn, and drew a graceful arc in the air.
Before he even landed, Marcel saw that Madam Hooch's expression was not right. He immediately understood where the problem lay: in the second half of his test flight, his speed had apparently been too fast.
Even if these brooms were cheap practice models, some with minor issues, they were still proper, qualified products, not children's toys.
"I'm sorry, Madam Hooch," Marcel said, bowing his head in apology as soon as he landed. "I got a little carried away. I didn't realize flying would feel this amazing, and I wasn't paying attention."
Madam Hooch stared at Marcel for a moment, then sighed. "I just told you to take it step by step... However, you fly well. After you've properly studied Quidditch Safety Precautions, perhaps I'll let you fly a few more times."
"...I'm sure you will discover what a correct choice it is to fall in love with the sport of Quidditch!"
That was Madam Hooch: strict, fair, and responsible with everyone and everything. And most importantly, she loved the sport of Quidditch from the bottom of her heart.