Chapter Four

Herbology was a double-rated level of nightmare. Apparently, allergies carried over. Allergies to plants were one thing, but being allergic to magical plants was on a level all of its own. My eyes burned and teared up repeatedly throughout the lesson, even though the greenhouse themselves didn't seem to contain much in the way of pollen, it was pretty clear I'd have it bad when Spring came around.

"Oh dearie, it must be Puffapod allergy," Professor Pomona Sprout was actually quite kind about it. My ordeal wasn't an unfamiliar one, apparently. "Let's see if this helps you a bit," she added, swishing her wand in front of my face. She had the looks of a gentle matron, and clearly, she was a saint when compared to everyone else. No wonders she was the head of house Hufflepuff; the good guys par excellence. I ended up with my head inside a bubble of air. A bubble of fresh, clean, pollen-free air that made me breathe like nothing ever made me breathe before.

"Just come to me if the air gets too bad or the bubble pops," Professor Sprout added with a gentle smile. "I'll fix you with a fresher bubble-head charm."

"Thank you professor," I said with all of my heart poured into it. I'd give the woman my coffee collection, if only I had any to give. She was a saint. I returned to my spot with the bubble around my head, happy to finally be able to breathe. Though seeing things through the bubble was slightly complicated, it was still a way better solution than having my eyes constantly in tears.

"Let us continue our lesson on the properties of the Asphodel, both magical and non-magical," Professor Sprout said cheerfully. Her lessons were theoretical at first, but we'd soon need to use our gloves eventually, and manage fertilizer of the dung-kind.

With my air flow secured, I had little trouble following the lessons, and even less taking notes. Sure, the air grew stale after a while, but as soon as the bubble popped, Professor Sprout quickly applied another without as much as stopping her lesson. She had grown accustomed to it, apparently. Maybe there had been quite the amount of students sneezing in her greenhouses, and with this charm, she had managed to keep them from dying.

I didn't put it past the school to persist even in the face of adversities as some way of 'forming the character'. I mean, physical punishment was still functioning with the past headmaster, if I didn't remember it wrong. Even Filch commented about it!

Lunch break went by uneventfully. I barely noticed the presence of my classmates by then. It wasn't that I didn't exchange words with them, but I knew little to nothing about Quidditch championships, and I had no Chocolate Frog cards to exchange. Also, as much as I would have loved to socialize, it felt awkward. These were eleven year old. I could probably feel more at ease among the last years than the firsties.

Still, lunch went by uneventfully.

I had prepared for the next lesson. The timetable did not lie, and Professor Binns appeared punctually like a clock in our assigned classroom. I glanced briefly at the light of interest for the history of the wizardry world die in the eyes of my fellow classmates, and then proceeded to pull out my own interests. I kept scribbling for my Transfiguration homework, utterly ignoring the lesson at hand.

By the time the lesson ended, I had pretty much finished my homework.

The last lesson of the day required our presence in the dungeons, for a theoretical lesson that dealt in the most common antidotes and means to cure boils and every single potential hazard we may find ourselves suffering due to our dunderhead-status.

"What would you apply to a burn, Mister Finch-Fletchley?" Professor Snape asked with the same kindness he would ask a dying horse to bring its head near the gun.

"A burn-healing potion?" Mister Finch-Fletchley hazarded. Professor Snape scowled, and then turned its eyes towards me.

"Mister Umbrus?" he asked with the same voice he would ask a man sent to his execution. Unfortunately for him, I knew his kind and had thus proceeded to read the chapters ahead. Not only had I done that, I had also quickly skimmed to the pages dealing with healing potions while he had queried Finch-Fletchley, and read through them quickly.

"An essence of Dittany to make the skin heal, a Wiggenweld Potion, a Burn-Healing paste if the burn is quite severe, but if the wound has already formed boils then a boil-healing concoction made with dried nettle and-" as I spoke with the calm serenity of someone who knew he wouldn't be killed, I couldn't help but look at the sternness of Professor Snape's gaze redirect itself to the further shrinking Hufflepuff.

"Enough," Professor Snape said curtly. He did not give nor take points for my correct answer, especially since we weren't Slytherin. At the same time, he let us be. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in attacking the weak links of the Hufflepuffs, though. "As it seems the answers were multiple and clear enough, I will take ten points from Hufflepuff for each of those solutions."

I had just taken forty points away from Hufflepuff. I quietly glanced at their side of the classroom, and balked at some of the stares they sent my way. It wasn't my fault professor Snape took a vindictive pleasure in destroying all chances of cooperation between our houses! He knew that by dividing us, he'd have an easier time winning the cup for the Slytherin.

I left the class in a hurry as soon as we were dismissed. I didn't want to stick around and risk getting jinxed by pissed-off Hufflepuffs, and thus rushed for the only place that would give me solace. The library welcomed me, with its fluttering books and its stern-looking librarian. I knew where to go though, so I did not disturb her. The book of sweets rested in the same spot, and when it saw me near it had the galls to try to flutter away.

I jumped, grabbing hold of it and bringing it down. "Stay still or I swear I will incendio your ass once I learn that spell," I growled in a threatening whisper, making the book flutter to a stop in my hands. "Good book," I snorted at it, bringing it to a nearby table and starting to scribble down on my list the remaining sweets.

I was ready to challenge the Gargoyle, but something stopped me. What if the sweets were Muggle-sweets? I'd need to make a list of those too. Stuff like Treacle Tart and Honey Pies may just as well make the list too, as well as the different flavors of jelly beans.

I stared at my list, and then decided to try with it first. If it didn't work, I'd move on to the muggle ones.

The Gargoyle looked at me with an uncaring attitude as I came to a halt in front of it. Finding the headmaster's office hadn't been that difficult, the portraits themselves quite willing to help.

I coughed to clear my voice, and then I began reciting the list.

My plan was flawless, now that I thought about it. I could either guess the password, or wait until he actually left his office to go eat. In both cases, I'd be able to catch him alone.

Clearly, what was it about the best laid plan?

"Oh look Gred, an ickle firsty!"

That they fail to account for the wildcard of the enemy.