Buber-Trapped Letters

Oleandra began flipping through the mounds of hate mail and working her way through the small pile of envelopes. She couldn't understand what she'd done to deserve such vitriolic hatred out of nowhere, and it was only when some Howlers went off at the Gryffindor table spouting obscenities at Hermione that she made the connection: it was the middle-aged female readership of the Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet reacting badly to Rita Skeeter's article describing both her and Hermione as shameless man-eaters.

"I thought that Rita Skeeter was only mad at Hermione," Oleandra complained to Tracey. "Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone? I didn't even do anything to annoy the woman!"

"Are you going to get back at her?" Tracey said. "I know you're not the type to let things lie…"

"Maybe… one day…" said Oleandra, chewing her bottom lip in thought. "She's been banned from the school's grounds, so we're not likely to be seeing her any time soon—"

"Oh, I'd watch what I'd say, if I were you," Pansy interrupted her. "You never know who's listening."

Just great; Oleandra's favourite person, Pansy Parkinson, had just inserted herself into the conversation. She was sitting on Draco's lap, who was currently looking distinctly annoyed at having the blood circulation to his legs blocked.

"Whom I choose to get revenge on is none of your business, Pansy," Oleandra snapped. "You should take care not to get on my nerves, if you know what's good for you."

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Pansy said in mock terror, wrapping her arms tightly around Draco.

If it had been the Draco from before, he would have told Pansy to quit antagonizing Oleandra, but as things currently stood, he was more than happy to let Pansy annoy her at her leisure.

"I think you should get rid of these; there was pure Bubotuber pus in one of the envelopes," said Daphne, who had kept opening Oleandra's letters while she'd been distracted. "See?"

Daphne showed off her hands, which were daubed with sticky greenish-yellow liquid. Thankfully, there was enough plant matter in her skin to stop it from exploding in cysts, as undiluted Bubotuber pus reacted in a fairly horrific manner with living flesh.

"I believe I told you to stop touching my mail," said Oleandra in displeasure. "But, er— would you mind throwing that one out for me?"

"There's also a letter from Mother," said Daphne. "Make sure not to throw it away with the others."

"Aww," sniggered Pansy. "Miss your mummy?"

Oleandra briefly toyed with the idea of using a Banishing Charm to send the envelope filled with Bubotuber pus flying into Pansy's face, but she reluctantly restrained herself, as Professor Snape was watching closely from the teacher's table. Seeing that she couldn't get a rise out of her, Pansy turned her attention back to her boyfriend, and they resumed feeding each other grapes, though Oleandra could see that Draco's heart wasn't in it.

"Would you mind taking notes for me in History of Magic?" Daphne whispered in Oleandra's ear after returning from disposing of the tainted letter and washing her hands. "I'm nearly done with the Tincture, which means we'll be able to complete the Bloodline Atavism Potion soon."

Of course, Oleandra had no problem granting her such a small favour, and when the bell rang, Oleandra and Tracey headed towards the History of Magic class, while Daphne went off to the seventh floor. As usual, Professor Binns droned on about the Goblin Rebellions, and the criminally insane fifth year Hogwarts student who massacred wave after wave of Goblins effortlessly (during the events of Hogwarts Legacy).

An hour later, Oleandra shook off the sleepiness that pervaded her body, before heading down to the grounds with Tracey, as their next class was Care of Magical Creatures. Upon seeing crates littered at Professor Hagrid's feet, Oleandra had Blast-Ended Skrewt flashbacks, but thankfully, they were not filled with young Skrewts, which looked a lot like lobsters when they were still hand-sized.

"These're Nifflers," said Hagrid, when enough students had gathered around him. "Yeh find 'em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff… there yeh go, look."

One of the Nifflers had just escaped from the confines of its crate and jumped at Pansy, trying to gnaw her watch off her wrist. Oleandra laughed loudly when Pansy recoiled in fright, shaking her arm to make the little creature let go of her. Serves her right!

Professor Hagrid then explained how the class would go: each student would get one Niffler, and they would each lead their Niffler around the grounds, the goal being to find as many as possible of the gold coins that Professor Hagrid had buried. And whoever collected the most would win a fabulous prize!

The students then took off their valuables, before gathering around the crates to pick up the fluffy black creatures with long snouts. But when Oleandra tried to take one, the Nifflers bunched up against the side of the crate, fighting and climbing over each other in a bid to get as far away from her as possible.

Oleandra looked in dismay as the Nifflers squeaked in terror at the sight of her hand; nobody liked to terrify cute creatures, after all. Had she turned on the sigil of Helm of Terror, or what? Oleandra looked at Viviane for answers, but she just shrugged; she had no idea why the Nifflers were so scared of her.

"Hang on," said Professor Hagrid, looking down into the crate when everyone had received their Niffler. "There're three spare Nifflers here… who's missin' one? Where's Hermione? And Daphne?"

"Hermione had to go to the Hospital Wing," said Ron, and Harry added, "We'll explain later."

"And the Nifflers seem to hate me," said Oleandra sadly.

Professor Hagrid nodded to Harry, before turning to Oleandra.

"Nifflers have real sharp senses," he explained. "Yeh might smell o' summat they don' like."

Oleandra restrained herself from smelling her armpits right there and then. She didn't smell weird, did she? Noticing her crestfallen expression, Professor Hagrid explained that it didn't necessarily have to be bad odour that set them off.

"Kneazles will make quick work o' a Niffler, fer example," Professor Hagrid explained, giving her a knowing wink. "The scent o' any predator, or the smell o' toxic gas will do. It's not tha' uncommon, it happened ter the class right before yers, the Nifflers wouldn't get near one o' the Hufflepuffs."