Jeffrey Castillo
patreon
Hogwarts Chapter 37: Fizzing Whizzbees
🕑 Added 2025-09-29 11:20:28 +0000 UTC“You’ve already done really well.”
Sean split his Yorkshire pudding with Justin, figuring sweets might lift his mood.
“Professor Snape is a fool,” he said softly. “Don’t be upset, Hermione—want some pudding?”
Sean loved Yorkshire pudding; that came from the old lady who used to donate supplies to the orphanage—she always brought heaps of pudding, the best thing he’d ever tasted back then. So he always chose a seat where the puddings piled high.
“Mm.”
Unusually, Hermione didn’t refuse.
So their complaints about Snape turned into an all-out assault on the puddings.
Professors aren’t always fair, Sean thought—depending on whether a certain Harry Potter was nearby.
After the pudding, Justin’s commentary drifted toward Snape’s “glorious” deeds: pretending not to patrol at night while using a Disillusionment Charm, nabbing five Gryffindors out after curfew; staying at school over Christmas and catching two couples; and just now in class, docking Gryffindor another point because Harry didn’t tell Neville the right brewing steps—when Harry’s head was empty and he knew nothing.
“Oh—Hermione, I’m saying all this so you know: if anyone’s at fault here, it isn’t you. We all know Professor Snape is strict, bad-tempered—sometimes not even reasonable,” Justin said quietly.
Sean nodded along.
“If you start doubting and denying yourself and feeling awful just because someone unreasonable said something—well, that’s silly, isn’t it? Even if he’s a professor,” Justin added.
Sean nodded again.
“What do you think, Sean?” Justin looked to him hopefully.
Sean thought a moment. “Right.”
“Fair enough,” Justin sighed, a little helpless.
Then Sean noticed Hermione trembling. He tugged Justin up; the two of them stepped in front of her, pretending to chat, shielding the small witch’s quiet tears from view.
“Hermione always bottles it up when she’s hurt. I should keep a closer eye on her,” Justin murmured. “She acts like she doesn’t care, and the people who bully her never realize how much it hurts… And—how do I tell her she doesn’t need to act tough around friends?”
Sean stared at Justin for a beat. He recalled Hermione didn’t have many friends—Gryffindors shut her out; Ron even gave her a nickname and mocked her, driving her to cry in the girls’ bathroom. At least before Halloween, she was on her own.
Sean exhaled. At least now she had two friends.
…
Ravenclaw’s only class today was Herbology in the afternoon, and Sean had arrived early at the domed houses.
Greenhouse One breathed a warm, humid, earthy scent; the glass dome filtered the afternoon sun into a hazy gold-green. Professor Sprout had her sleeves rolled up, dragon-hide gloves smeared with humus, carefully handling a plant that looked like a spider’s nest. Three Hufflepuffs huddled over a trough with pumpkin-like plants, scarves bunched at their necks as they gestured and argued what it was.
“Bright sprouts should remember: this plant is called Spider-Eggs. It looks like a cluster of spider eggs, but they’re actually two-sided green berries. Don’t be frightened by the roots—they’re not real spiders, just its rhizomes. Can anyone tell me how many harvests you get a year?” Sprout’s question stumped the Hufflepuffs. Neville seemed to recall something but stammered; Ernie and the short, chubby boy just looked lost.
“The text calls it a perennial; typically three to four harvests a year. With good cultivation, you can get more—some witches and wizards have produced five,” a clear voice answered.
“Mr. Green—excellent,” Sprout said with a sunny smile. “Child, lovely to see you.” Then she sent Neville and the others to pick Christmas cactus.
“Ah, warm sun, warm summer—there are always new sprouts taking root. Sometimes I wonder if I’m running out of steam; why else would it be so hard to coach several of you at once… Mr. Longbottom—mind your feet! Wingardium Leviosa—”
Neville nearly dumped the dragon-dung fertilizer on his shoes, saved by Sprout’s quick Levitation Charm.
“Oh! Mr. Macmillan!” Sprout cried, hurrying to rescue Ernie from a ring of Bouncing Bulbs.
Just then the doors opened, and a tall figure stepped in.
“Not every first-year is named Sean Green, is he?” Bruce, the upper-year, leaned against a plant rack, mischief glinting in his eyes.
…
After Herbology, Sean decided he probably shouldn’t come back to the greenhouses for a bit. The plump professor was already sweating from the rush, especially with three Hufflepuffs staying behind after class—she was run off her feet.
In the greenhouse corridor, a light breeze flowed. Bruce leaned like a statue; Sean thought he could model—two upper-year witches nearby had already sneaked glances at him a dozen times.
“Fizzing Whizzbees—” Bruce dropped a candy that looked syrup-sweet into Sean’s palm. “Try one now?”
Sean curiously ate the fruit-jelly sweet—then a shout rang out:
“Green, don’t—! Blast it, Bruce, you—!”
Leon’s golden hair shone in the warm sun, but even striding over he was too late to stop Bruce. Sean felt a wash of magic—and rose into the air, along with Bruce beside him.
“Isn’t it marvelous?!” Bruce crowed.
“Marvelous my Merlin’s underpants!” Leon grabbed both Sean and Bruce, one in each hand. “I ought to let you drift off!”
He shot Bruce a murderous glare. “Sorry, Green—this is just how Bruce treats his friends. Pister and I get pranked plenty. Let me explain: Fizzing Whizzbees are fruit-jelly sweets that make you float. One ingredient is the Billywig; a sting makes you dizzy and you drift up into the air.”
When Leon looked back at Sean, his temper had cooled; his tone turned gentle.
“Oh, give it a rest, Leon! You couldn’t resist either!” Bruce was still laughing—until Leon let go.
“Leon! No—no! I’m sorry—!” Bruce squealed. Sean saw Leon flick his wrist, grinning—somehow he’d already tied a cord between the two of them.
“When someone won’t behave, I have ways to misbehave right back,” Leon said, satisfied.
