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For every student stepping through the school gates, September always carried a contradictory fragrance—a mix of the lingering, sweet warmth of summer and the approaching, desolate chill of autumn. Hogwarts was no exception.
But to Julien Black right now, the air of the new term was permeated with a different, highly unpleasant, sour-and-rotten smell: the peculiar stench of Mandrakes being repotted, a combination of muddy earth and baby drool.
"Welcome to Greenhouse Three!" Professor Sprout stood at the door, waving her arms like a mobile cabbage.
Unlike the other professors who preferred solemn black robes or overly flamboyant ones (looking at you, Lockhart), her robes were always a practical, mud-splattered grey-brown. Function over form.
Julien followed the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students into the greenhouse, his gaze sweeping over the neatly arranged terracotta pots.
The Mandrakes had clearly thrived over the summer. Thick, fleshy leaves poked out from the soil, looking like a group of impatient infants desperate to see the world.
"Today, we will be repotting the Mandrakes. Now, remember to keep your earmuffs on tightly. Their cries are already loud enough to knock a full-grown adult out cold—as for you lot, they might just turn you into blithering idiots."
"Julien!" Hannah Abbott squeezed over from beside him, a suspicious green leaf stuck in her blonde hair. "Where did you go over the summer? I wrote you three letters!"
"Sorry about that. I went to the French Riviera," Julien replied, pulling a pair of earmuffs from the shelf while his mind drifted back to the ghost in the underwater city. "Got some sun, looked at some fish."
"Fish?" Hannah asked with genuine interest, entirely lacking her shyness from last year. "Does Nice have special sea fish?"
"Oh, absolutely," Julien thought of the octopus clinging to the clock tower. "Fish that can tell time."
"Focus, everyone!" Professor Sprout clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention. "I must remind you that Mr. Longbottom, who fainted this morning, is still in the hospital wing as we speak."
Naturally, the young wizards, already well-accustomed to Neville's constant mishaps, didn't seem particularly concerned. Only Hannah offered a look of genuine pity.
"Before we begin," the professor looked around the room. "Who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"
A forest of hands instantly shot up into the air.
The Ravenclaws were especially eager. Terry Boot was practically standing on his tiptoes, while Casen Moretti was actively trying to cast a Levitation Charm on himself to float higher than everyone else. After receiving a sharp glare from the professor, Casen sheepishly lowered his wand.
Julien didn't raise his hand. He was staring at the inside of his right wrist—at the spot where the eagle-headed hound totem from his nightmare had appeared. The mark hadn't shown up again since his hallucination of Azkaban, but he could constantly feel a faint, burning heat there, as if something was slumbering beneath his skin, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
"Mr. Black."
Julien snapped his head up to find Professor Sprout looking at him with a half-smile. The entire class turned to stare at him, their gazes carrying a mix of schadenfreude and sympathy.
"I noticed you didn't raise your hand," the professor said slowly. "Although you scored highest in your year on the Herbology exam last term—even beating Gryffindor's Hermione Granger—I must remind you that class participation is equally important."
"Miss Granger earned nearly fifty House points from Herbology class alone last year," she deliberately raised her voice. "Every student here should learn from Miss Granger's example. Especially you, Mr. Black."
A ripple of suppressed laughter echoed through the greenhouse. Julien noticed Liriya standing next to him, her lips pressed tightly together as a mischievous glint danced in her ice-blue eyes.
"So," Professor Sprout crossed her arms. "Mr. Black, please tell the class: what are the properties of the Mandrake?"
Julien sighed internally, pushing the strange sensation in his wrist to the back of his mind.
"The Mandrake, or Mandragora officinarum," he began, his voice as steady as if he were reciting straight from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
"Its root resembles a human figure, and it possesses incredibly powerful restorative magical properties. Once fully matured, the Mandrake forms the essential component of the Restorative Draught, which is used to return those who have been Transfigured or Cursed to their original state, such as petrification."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the terracotta pots. "Furthermore, its leaves can be used to brew highly potent sleeping draughts, and its flowers serve as a supplementary ingredient in love potions—though I wouldn't recommend anyone attempt the latter, unless you want to receive a warning letter from the Ministry of Magic on Valentine's Day."
Professor Sprout raised her eyebrows. The animated daisy on her hat stopped swaying as she tilted her head to study Julien.
"Very thorough," she said. "Five points to Ravenclaw. However—" her tone suddenly became profound. "I noticed you specifically mentioned 'once fully matured'. Mr. Black, you seem to have taken quite an interest in the growth cycle of the Mandrake?"
Julien's heart skipped a beat. He did indeed have a question he wanted to ask, but he had originally planned to ask it privately after class. But since the professor had brought it up herself...
"Yes, Professor," he said frankly. "I was wondering, how long does it typically take for a Mandrake to grow from a seedling to full maturity? And is there any... " he chose his words carefully, "method to rapidly accelerate their maturation?"
The greenhouse fell dead silent.
Professor Sprout narrowed her eyes, looking like a cat that had just spotted a mouse. She slowly walked over to Julien, the smell of earth mixed with some ancient, indescribable magical scent wafting off her.
"An interesting question," she murmured. "Very interesting indeed. Most students are only concerned with how to keep the Mandrakes from crying them into a coma, yet you are wondering how to make them grow up faster."
Sprout paced back and forth with her hands behind her back. "I did read about something like that in a book once. Accelerated Maturation Magic and Ethical Dilemmas, I believe it was called."
She pondered for a moment, seemingly debating whether it was appropriate to share the full details. "There is an ancient method for accelerated maturation. It involves moonstone extract, diluted dragon's blood, and—" she paused. "A forbidden spell known as the 'Time Thief'. However, this method is extraordinarily dangerous and is strictly regulated by the Ministry of Magic."
Julien's heart missed a beat. Time Thief? Magic involving time was always going to be extremely dangerous.
"There is no need to use such methods at present," Professor Sprout's thoughts returned to the lesson, her tone regaining its usual easygoing nature. "Our Mandrakes will mature naturally by next spring, just in time for the fifth-years' Potions class. Professor Snape will demonstrate the brewing of the Restorative Draught then."
Professor Sprout turned and walked back to the center of the greenhouse, clapping her hands. "Alright, no more daydreaming! Earmuffs on, pair up, and start repotting! Remember: grab them by the leaves, not the roots—unless you want to spend a pleasant weekend at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!"
Julien pulled his earmuffs on, and the world instantly became muffled and distant. He looked at his partner—Liriya was silently pushing a terracotta pot toward him, her silvery-blonde hair curling slightly in the humid air of the greenhouse.
"Why did you ask about accelerated maturation methods?" Her voice sounded somewhat nasal through the earmuffs, but her ice-blue eyes were full of probing curiosity. "What do you know this time?"
Julien shook his head, reaching out to grab the leaves of a Mandrake. The texture was deeply unpleasant—soft and warm, exactly like a real infant.
"What do you mean 'this time'? I was just curious," he said. Then, right before he yanked the Mandrake from the soil and it let out its first ear-piercing scream, he added softly, "I think I know exactly where that meteorite fragment should be hidden."
Even through the earmuffs, the Mandrake's scream pierced his skull like a rusty saw blade cutting into his brain.
Julien gritted his teeth, shoved the writhing, humanoid plant into a new terracotta pot, and rapidly buried its roots with fresh soil.
The screaming cut off abruptly, replaced by a satisfied, soft sound that resembled a burp.