Harry Potter: Don't Touch the Badger's Plants

Ciel's mind raced, seizing upon a crucial detail from the original story. He remembered Hagrid's lifelong, near-obsessive fascination with raising dragons. It was this very obsession that Quirrell, in his guise as the two-faced man, had exploited. After being stonewalled by the three-headed dog for so long, Quirrell had acquired a dragon egg and used it to pry the secret of subduing Fluffy from Hagrid's lips.

After obtaining the egg, Hagrid had carefully nurtured it, eventually hatching a Norwegian Ridgeback he named Norbert. The dragonling's rapid growth soon became unmanageable, forcing a heartbroken Hagrid to entrust Norbert to Charlie Weasley, who arranged for his transport to a dragon sanctuary in Romania.

Recalling this sequence of events, the tension in Ciel's brow eased slightly. Knowing this didn't guarantee he could successfully acquire blood from the young dragon, but the odds were infinitely better than attempting to capture a fully grown one. The Blood Jade offered too many benefits for him to simply abandon the idea.

A moment later, however, Ciel's expression settled back into its usual calm composure. He reined in his excitement. In the original timeline, there was still a long while before Hagrid even obtained the dragon egg, let alone hatched it. Worrying about it now was pointless. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, he reminded himself. His focus needed to be on the magical herbs he already possessed. If he became too fixated on the Blood Jade, he risked neglecting the crucial work right in front of him.

With renewed purpose, Ciel returned to his duties in the greenhouse. Although the Lumos Shrooms had absorbed their fill of light for the day, the soil still needed to be loosened and the mycelia pruned—tasks essential for optimal growth. Loosening the soil allowed the mycelia to breathe more easily, while pruning away any abnormal growths conserved nutrients, channeling them into the healthy parts of the crop. These seemingly trivial, inconspicuous details, when accumulated over time, were what triggered a qualitative leap in a plant's quality. Sometimes, the difference between excellent and perfect lies hidden in such meticulous care.

As Ciel methodically cast the Loosening and Pruning Charms across the field, Professor Sprout watched from a distance, her expression growing increasingly appreciative. As a Herbology Master, she knew just how rare his dedication and patience were. Not wishing to interrupt his work, she quietly slipped out of the greenhouse.

Passing by the grand hourglasses that tracked the House Cup points, Professor Sprout's mood brightened even further. Hufflepuff was still in the lead. Merlin's beard, she thought with a giddy smile, how many years has it been since I've seen this sight?

Just then, a figure with greasy hair, draped in a black cloak that billowed like a bat's wings, swept past the hourglasses. Snape caught Professor Sprout's smug look at a glance. He took a sharp breath, gave her a stiff, almost imperceptible nod, and then quickened his pace, turning abruptly down a side corridor as if fleeing the scene.

Professor Sprout paid his reaction no mind, the smile on her face only growing wider. Humming an unknown tune, she ambled away, her spirits soaring.

Listening to the cheerful humming fade behind him, Snape felt a hot, familiar anger burn in his chest. Before this year, he had steered Slytherin to seven consecutive House Cup victories. When had he ever been so thoroughly thwarted?

A thunderous gloom settled over his features. This year's Slytherins had been an utter disappointment. He stalked toward his office, his mind on the upcoming test. He still had to brew an exceptionally troublesome and time-consuming potion for his little snakes' Lumos Charm assessment.

Hopefully, he seethed internally, while I am occupied with this potion, those idiots will have practiced the Lumos Charm as instructed and not done anything else foolish.

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common room, the first-year students were groaning in misery. They had been practicing the simple light charm for hours, and the tedium was excruciating. Their arms ached terribly.

Malfoy's face was pale. The boils he'd suffered from the Troll Mallow incident had only recently healed, and as sweat trickled down his skin, the phantom pain and itch returned, making him squirm. An image of himself being drenched in the foul juice flashed through his mind, and he shook his head violently to banish it.

His gaze hardened with a familiar, petulant darkness. He lowered his wand.

"Practicing like this is idiotic," he announced, calling a halt to the others. "How long are we supposed to keep this up? Are we really going to waste our entire weekend—and every free moment for the next two weeks—on this?" He sneered. "There must be a smarter way to get back the lead."

His words struck a chord with the other Slytherins. Most of them were from pampered backgrounds; diligence and steadfastness were hardly Slytherin traits. They much preferred shortcuts. Malfoy's suggestion was a welcome reprieve.

"What 'smarter way' are you talking about, Malfoy?" a boy asked, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "You're not planning to get someone sent to the hospital wing again, are you?"

Malfoy's face flushed a blotchy red. "Shut up! My method can easily put Slytherin in the lead, and we won't even have to leave the common room. There's no risk at all!"

Hearing his confidence, the other students leaned in, intrigued.

Malfoy explained his plan, puffing out his chest. "To win the House Cup, most people only think about gaining points. But gaining points is difficult." He smirked. "So, why not change our approach? Instead of trying to raise ourselves up, we bring others down."

He paused for dramatic effect. "If we can find a way to make the other houses lose points, it's the same as us gaining them, isn't it?"

The students exchanged glances. It made a certain kind of Slytherin sense.

"So what are you planning to do?" someone asked.

Seeing that he had their approval, a smug look spread across Malfoy's face. "It's simple. We send a challenge letter to our rivals. Invite them to a duel somewhere, at midnight. Then, we quietly tip off Filch and let him catch them out of bed." He grinned maliciously. "That's a guaranteed way to cost their houses a massive number of points."

Malfoy grew more animated as he spoke, his voice filled with spiteful glee. "We'll send a challenge to Potter. He'll definitely bring that red-haired idiot Weasley with him. That's double the points deducted right there. And Ciel Sprout… aren't those Hufflepuff badgers always going on about unity? Maybe they'll all show up and get caught. Filch could wipe out all their points in one go!"

The thought of Ciel's crestfallen face staring at an empty Hufflepuff hourglass filled Malfoy with a surge of vindictive satisfaction. This was how he would get his revenge.

The other Slytherins thought the plan was brilliant—perfectly suited to their tastes. But a few still had doubts.

"What if they get the challenge but don't show up?" one girl asked. "Especially Sprout. He seems to be off planting trees all day. Will he really come?"

Malfoy scoffed at the question. "Just write more provocative things in the letter. Who wouldn't get riled up after reading it?" He adopted a worldly-wise expression, as if he could see into the very hearts of his peers. "Besides, planting trees? What's so fun about that? Can it possibly compare to the thrill of a duel? At our age, who can refuse the glory of winning a duel? Ciel won't come? Absolutely impossible."

(End of Chapter)

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