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Chapter 14: The Grinder in His Youth
🕑 Added 2025-10-31 01:42:39 +0000 UTCChapter 14: The Grinder in His Youth
"Oh, what a diligent child. Of course, you may, but…"
Professor Sprout placed a box of hazelnut chocolates into Sean's palm, then gave her wand a little flick. In an instant, the specks of dirt and bits of leaves clinging to Sean's robes vanished.
"Every year, a few new sprouts try to take root in the greenhouses," she said, tilting her head. A playful twinkle appeared in her warm eyes. "But very few can endure the repetitive, arduous labour for long. I could tell you a story about one of them, if you like."
"Professor, maybe you could tell it next time?" Bruce blurted out, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. Sean looked at him, curious about his sudden distress.
"Very well, Mr. Dickinson," Professor Sprout replied, her smile growing even warmer.
From behind a row of potted seedlings, Leon and Pister burst into laughter.
"Hey! You two!" Bruce sputtered, looking as though he might spontaneously combust.
"Oh, was I laughing?" Leon said, his own laughter growing louder. "Apologies, I just can't help myself when I think of someone fleeing the greenhouses in a dead panic…" He turned to Pister. "Do you remember what he was saying in his sleep?"
The chubby Hufflepuff put on a high, terrified voice. "Venomous Tentacula! Fanged Geraniums! Help me! Devil's Snare!"
Everyone, including Professor Sprout, chuckled, and the atmosphere became light and cheerful.
"Alright, alright, I admit it!" Bruce said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "The greenhouses are dangerous and captivating, and yes, they are also incredibly exhausting." He looked at Sean, his expression suddenly serious. "That's why so few wizards can stick with it for long."
"Mm," Sean acknowledged. "I'd like to try."
His voice was quiet, but it held a stubbornness that was impossible to miss.
The greenhouses were always short on helping hands. Compared to the immediate results of Charms, the fascinating transformations of Transfiguration, or the heart-pounding thrill of Quidditch, Herbology tended to attract only the most patient and hardworking of Hufflepuffs. And even those kind and diligent students wouldn't stay rooted in the soil forever, especially when it meant handling dangerous magical plants.
So, Professor Sprout agreed to Sean's request.
She looked at him with the same expression she had for all the enthusiastic young Hufflepuffs who came before him—a mixture of admiration, happiness, and a gentle resignation for the likely outcome.
In the corridor outside the greenhouses, a long, blue Quick-Quotes Quill floated in the air before Sean. It was a marvelous alchemical creation; when held vertically over a piece of parchment, it would automatically transcribe his thoughts. He had only bought one, mainly to help him organize his plans and jot down flashes of inspiration.
Magical stationery, he had discovered, was not cheap. The quill alone had cost him a full ten Sickles. But he had gritted his teeth and made the purchase.
No matter how hard life gets, Sean thought, you can never skimp on your studies.
The quill began to scratch across the parchment.
Step 1: Understand the handling methods for all Boil-Cure Potion ingredients.
Professor Sprout had already given him permission to help. Just a few moments ago, Bruce had demonstrated the proper techniques for identifying and handling dried nettles. Next time, perhaps he could ask about the other ingredients. He was sure Professor Sprout wouldn't refuse.
Once he understood how to prepare the materials, the next step was practice. The textbook couldn't teach him the subtleties of controlling the heat or the proper way to stir; that was something he would have to learn by feel.
But he only needed to succeed once. After that, he could rely on the Panel to grind his way to mastery.
The plan is viable, he concluded, putting the quill back in his bag just as Bruce's teasing voice broke through his thoughts.
"I remember in our first Herbology lesson, half the class was stumped trying to tell the mature Dittany apart," he said, watching Sean with interest as he put his notes away. "Looks like you'll be able to show off in your next class. Professor Sprout is never stingy with points for students who study ahead."
House points? Sean wasn't particularly concerned. They wouldn't help him get the scholarship. Professor McGonagall had said the final decision rested with the Headmaster, who would make a comprehensive judgment based on his academic progress and his professors' evaluations.
Sean trusted that a wizard as wise and just as Dumbledore would not deny him the 600 Galleons if he met the standard. It was Dumbledore, after all, who had approved his scholarship request without hesitation. If the headmaster had been someone like Phineas Nigellus Black, Sean mused, he'd probably have to start practicing the Unforgivables to go borrow money from some dark wizards.
His thoughts drifted to his time in the orphanage, when all he could do was lie weakly in bed before the Panel had activated. He had learned then that sometimes, silence wasn't about having nothing to say, but about having no one who cared to listen.
Everything had changed the day that owl had shattered his drafty window.
For that reason, he treasured this chance to learn magic. Even if his talent was common as dirt, he would grind it until it shone like a legend.
"Oh, you probably haven't felt the importance of the House Cup yet," Bruce was saying, a wistful look on his face. "But trust me, it's a big deal. We don't mind seeing the Great Hall decorated in other house colours at the end-of-year feast, of course… but Hufflepuff's yellow and black are clearly the best-looking, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yellow and black are very nice," Sean said with complete sincerity.
Bruce blinked, only then seeming to remember that the little wizard beside him was a Ravenclaw. He gave a dry laugh. "Ha, I mean, blue and bronze are great too. Really great."
It was almost time for their first afternoon class. Sean pressed the box of hazelnut chocolates into Bruce's hand and turned toward the staircase that led to the History of Magic classroom.
"Thank you, Bruce. Goodbye."
His quiet voice echoed in the corridor.
"A good kid," Leon remarked, watching Sean's retreating back. "It's hard to believe he's not a Hufflepuff."
"I don't know," Bruce teased, "weren't you the one who just said that Professor Sprout…"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence…" Leon groaned, his face turning dark.
Pister simply stood beside them, a knowing smile on his face.
Having left the greenhouses behind, Sean's next challenge was to figure out how to combat the soporific effects of Professor Binns.
Hogwarts was, without a doubt, the most haunted place in all of Great Britain. Ghosts in the wizarding world, he had read, were the transparent, three-dimensional imprints of deceased witches and wizards who, for one reason or another, had refused to move on. Only those with deep-seated fears, guilt, or an obsessive attachment to the material world would choose such a pale imitation of life.
And Professor Cuthbert Binns, Sean was quite sure, had an obsessive attachment to his textbook.
