Chapter Text
“Afternoon, everyone!” Professor Sprout booms as she enters, carrying what looked to be a small basketful of Dragon-hide gloves.
“Good afternoon, Professor Sprout.” The Gryffindors and Slytherins chorus back, the latter- as usual- with noticeably less energy than the former. “Now, now, I know that it’s the weekend, and this is only your second time attending extra Herbology lessons, but I expect nothing less than rousing enthusiasm from my fifth-years! After all, this is your O.W.L year, and we are learning about a brand new plant today,” She cheerfully indicates the pots in front of them, “one that has proved to be the source of a very potent potion ingredient! Can anyone tell me… its name?”
Sonny’s hand shot up into the air at once, and Sprout chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Mr. Brisko again! Alright, please do enlighten us all.”
“Aconite, ma’am. But it has many names, including Monkshood and Wolfsbane.” He recites diligently, and she clasps her hands together in delight.
“As always, Mr. Brisko is absolutely correct. 10 points to Slytherin for also knowing its two other names.” Vox claps him on the back as the Gryffindor opposite him, a girl with bright pink hair, shoots him a glare. “Teacher’s pet.” She hisses, rolling her eyes in disdain, and he grins at her in response. Five years of enduring their scathing remarks meant that any insult they threw in his direction slid off him harmlessly. In fact, ‘teacher’s pet’ was one of the more common ones.
“I have here with me a few pairs of Dragon-hide gloves because I suspect that some of you will have forgotten to bring your own, despite the several reminders to do so last lesson.” She levels a pointed look at a few select Gryffindors, who all look incredibly guilty, “I have here a few extra pairs. Do not expect this same level of leniency ever again- the kindness I have shown today is wholly because Aconite is very toxic, and I do not want to have to send anyone to the Hospital Wing later. Remind me, class, what is our number one rule in Herbology?”
“If you touch what you don’t know, consequences galore you will sow.” They chant tiredly, and she beams at them.
“Do you think she’ll ever stop treating us like clueless first-years?” Enna whispers wearily into his ear, and he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Not likely, given that some people still can’t remember to bring their Dragon-hide gloves to class.” He mutters back, and she snorts.
“For those who have forgotten to bring their gloves today, please come to the front and collect a pair from me.” There’s a great deal of rueful shuffling, and Sprout pauses to hand the gloves out, tutting disapprovingly at every offender. “The rest can slip their gloves on. Before we begin, I will demonstrate proper safety precautions…”
The rest of the lesson proved to be just as boring. The only interesting thing about Aconite, it seemed, was its poisonous leaves, and even that novelty went unexplored due to the protection of the Dragon-hide gloves.
“I’m starting to miss the Chinese Chomping Cabbage.” Enna proclaims gloomily as Sprout dismisses them with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, at least that one resembles Sonny during dinner.” Vox’s gravelly voice chimes in from behind him, and Sonny groans. “I will hex you.” He threatens unhappily, whipping his head around to narrow his eyes at him, but the Slytherin just laughs uproariously. “Sure you will, boy.”
They’re filing out of the room when Sonny’s eyes slide over a small pot of Dittany near the greenhouse door. An idea slots itself into his mind, and he stops dead in his tracks. His very abrupt change in pace causes Vox to crash right into him, and the pure-blood yelps in surprise. The raven-haired boy starts to grumble immediately, his indignation clear, but his words fade into a low buzz as Sonny tunes him out.
“Listen,” he starts, turning around to face Vox, “I need to ask Sprout something. You two go on without me.”
The Slytherin stops mid-rant, clearly not expecting the sudden shift in subject. “Seriously? Now?” His tone is one of utter disbelief.
“Yeah… uh, it’s kind of urgent. See you guys later!” Not wanting to face the quizzical look plastered on Vox’s face for another second, Sonny sidesteps him deftly and- after directing a quick wave in their general direction- plunges bravely into the crowd.
After nudging his way past about five hundred disgruntled Gryffindors, he finally manages to untangle himself from the sea of exiting students and makes a beeline for the Professor.
“Brisko! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Professor Sprout was fighting hard against a stubborn Screechsnap as he approached, tugging determinedly on its stem as it squealed, clearly unwilling to be uprooted.
“If you’re busy, Professor…” The Screechsnap was trying its hardest to chomp on Sprout’s fingers, but she seemed totally unperturbed by its efforts.
“Oh, I’m not. Go on, what do you need?” With one final grunt of effort, the Screechsnap came free, and with it, about half a potful of dirt. Instinctively, he puts a hand up to his face in an attempt to shield himself from the spray of soil, but it was too late. Haphazard handfuls of soil landed snugly on his hair and clothes, further dirtying his already earth-stained robes. The Screechsnap shrieks noisily in her hold. Sonny distinctly wonders if it’s a distant relative of Mandrake.
“Ah, so sorry, my dear, they do get awfully grumpy this time of the year.” Sprout wipes at her brow absent-mindedly before spelling the grime away with a wave of her wand.
The Screechsnap let out a mournful wail.
“Oh, come off it! This is for your own good, you know.” She wags a chiding finger at the plant, and it lets out a haughty huff, crossing its leaves and turning away from her in a distinctively lofty manner. “I’ll get you that brand of fertilizer you like.” Sprout proposes, and its head swivels around faster than Sonny can blink.
“I’d be more inclined to if you moved into that pot.” She quirks a meaningful eyebrow at the Screechsnap, and it scrambles into the large ceramic pot hurriedly, suddenly eager to please.
“Now that that’s over and done with…what was it you needed, Brisko?” Wiping her hands clean on her hazel dress, she turns towards him briskly.
“Right. You see, Professor, I was doing a bit of advanced reading, and I came across quite an interesting plant. If I recall, it’s called Dittany, Professor, and I understand that it’s in our syllabus this year?”
“It certainly is, Brisko.” Charmed by his diligence, Sprout beams approvingly at him.
“One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi certainly don’t do it justice, Professor Sprout.” He simpers, internally cringing at how sweet he sounds, “Speaking of Dittany, I couldn’t help but notice that you have a small sample growing here, and I was wondering if I could borrow it. Purely for research purposes, of course.”
“Ah, yes, that poor thing. It has been out of sorts for quite a while; I don’t think a sickly sprout like that would be suitable for educational purposes, perhaps-” He cuts her off politely.
“It’s perfect, Professor, really. In fact, I was thinking of practicing the Herbivicus Charm on it. I’ve nearly gotten the technique down, but it has been very difficult to find sickly plants anywhere.” His inquisitive facade had worked wonders for him before, and he was certain it could help him out again.
As expected, Sprout’s face lights up at the mention of the charm. “Oh! Very well, in that case, you may borrow it.” Seemingly satisfied with his explanation, she then launches into a detailed description of how to care for Dittany, including the appropriate timings for watering the plant ( Dawn) as well as the specific brand of fertilizer the species prefers ( Wittlewood’s Whimsies).
Sonny just nods along smilingly, far too used to her lengthy lectures to be disturbed by it. Five years of Herbology lessons with her had taught him one thing- Once she went off on a tangent, getting her to stop would be just as easy as getting a Bouncing Bulb to stay still. Besides, he was asking a favor of her, and it would be bad manners to interrupt. He merely had to wait for an opportunity to present itself.
Blessedly, his chance came about five minutes later. There’s a slight lull in the one-sided conversation- Sprout was struggling to remember the exact ratio of water to fairy wings in the recipe for the Pollination Potion, her face contorting in muddled puzzlement- and he pounces. “I’m afraid I have to go, Professor.” He forces a regretful smile onto his face. “Professor Flitwick has arranged for me to tutor another student, and it’s already time for our session.” His excuse wasn’t exactly untrue, but he had neglected to mention that he was quite certain there were at least two hours left to spare before the agreed-upon timing. “Merlin’s Beard, Brisko, you should have told me earlier! Go on then, you mustn’t be late.” The hurried dismissal was exactly what he was looking for. He makes a beeline for the planter and lifts it gingerly, testing its weight. As suspected, it was no heavier than a Puffskein, and he delicately scooped it up into his arms.
Clutching the pathetic-looking pot like a trophy, Sonny speeds out of the greenhouse, the taste of freedom and success fresh on his tongue.
The Charms classroom is fortunately empty when he pushes open the door. He had been worried that there would be extra lessons being conducted there, and he was relieved to have been proven wrong.
Slipping into the second row of seats, he sets the pot down gently on the dark mahogany table, unable to keep the sense of raw satisfaction from solidifying in his chest. In all his five years at Hogwarts, he had witnessed many a student attempt to borrow a plant from Professor Sprout. In his first year, a Slytherin had expressed interest in taking care of Devil’s Snare for a week, eyes glinting with cunning, and was quickly shut down. Second year brought with it its own surprises- two Ravenclaws had, on separate occasions, asked about the possibility of having a Mandrake as a pet, which Sprout had balked at and denied both times.
The most memorable incident, however, was the one that happened in Sonny’s third year. Luca developed a suspicious amount of curiosity about Stinksap and begged the professor to let him have it for a day. Despite the usage of his admittedly persuasive puppy dog eyes, Sprout did not budge an inch, instead narrowing her eyes at him warily and remarking that she did not want to risk her plants being participants in quote “unsavory incidents” unquote. Luca had sulked for a whole week after that, dejected and inconsolable. Eventually, his housemates could not take his moping any longer and reminded him about the existence of Dungbombs, though that well-intentioned prompt only resulted in a very motivated Luca planting them in about half a dozen classrooms the day after.
What his brother could not ever hope to accomplish, he had done with just a few carefully-crafted words. If it was that way for the small-scale schemes, perhaps it would also be the same for the more important tasks.
The heartening thought kept with him for the rest of the two hours as he reviewed and revised Knox’s schedule, thoughtfully making slight tweaks and edits whenever he saw fit. It was a painstaking process, and one that he had not foreseen happening again in the near future, but the review was necessary- the unproductive first session meant that everything had to be pushed back and sorted out into evenly-distributed time slots again.
After an hour of squinting hard at his neat own script, he glanced up from the parchment briefly, intending to rest his eyes, and found his gaze drawn inexplicably to the wilting plant.
Biting his lip, he returned to the parchment and scratched out the previously written instruction for that day’s session- “Colovaria Revision”- replacing it with an almost hastily scrawled “Herbivicus Charm”.
Then he leaned back against the wooden bench and tried hard not to think about the reasoning behind his sudden change of heart.