"Hogwarts: Why So Nervous? The Little Badger’s Just Planting a Tree."

Professor Sprout's words had just left her lips when Professor McGonagall, who had been looking grim, suddenly choked and coughed twice. A peculiar smile tugged at her lips, and she silently gave Professor Sprout a mental thumbs-up.

Well done.

Professor Snape, on the other hand, looked utterly livid. His face turned ashen, and after a moment, he flicked his wand. Malfoy floated into the air, an invisible barrier enclosing him and sealing in the stench as best it could. While the foul odor still lingered faintly, it was finally bearable for the others.

Snape then poured a potion down Malfoy's throat and stormed off with him, his face twisted in fury.

On the way, Malfoy continued whining.

"Head of House, they were too insidious! They plotted against me!"

But his pleas were met with Snape's cold, escalating anger.

"You idiot! Why on earth would you provoke the Hufflepuffs of all people?!"

"Do you really think those so-called 'simpletons' from Hufflepuff are easy to bully?"

"You've already provoked them before. It hasn't even been a few days, and today you've walked straight into another trap."

"How can Slytherin have such a brainless student like you? I ought to request the Sorting Hat to reconsider your placement!"

Malfoy's face turned pale with fear.

"Head of House, I know I was wrong. Please, please help me!"

Snape frowned but stopped scolding. Despite everything, Lucius Malfoy was a close associate—and a generous contributor to the Slytherin house fund every year.

He couldn't just abandon Draco.

"Without Wisteria juice, that stench won't come off. Luckily, it only lasts a week. You'll just have to bear with it."

"Don't attend any classes. Find somewhere remote and stay there."

"As for the scabs and boils… that's more complicated."

Snape sighed inwardly.

The Troll Arum flower's toxins caused boils that standard scab-removal potions couldn't heal. As a Potions Master, Snape was perfectly capable of brewing a solution, but the ingredients posed a problem.

One essential herb, June Snow Grass, was obscure and had limited use. It was only grown in small quantities in the Hogwarts greenhouses. Unfortunately, Professor Sprout, likely still furious with him, wasn't going to provide any.

No matter how skilled a cook is, they can't make a meal without ingredients.

After some thought, Snape said coldly:

"There's only one method left—and it's the most tedious one."

"Go to the hospital wing. Have Madam Pomfrey cut open each scab and extract the pus roots manually."

"It's only a tiny bit painful. You'll recover quickly."

Malfoy's eyes lit up at the word "recover."

Just a little pain? That was fine!

"Professor, I can take it. Please take me there—I can't stand this anymore!"

Snape gave him a glance that was almost… sympathetic. He then escorted Malfoy to the hospital wing and handed him over to Madam Pomfrey.

Her expression was thunderous. She glared at Snape with a look that nearly made him retreat immediately.

Snape quickly poured another potion down Malfoy's throat.

"A pain reliever."

Without another word, he turned and practically fled the room.

Malfoy stared after him, confusion creeping into his eyes.

Didn't he say it was only a tiny bit painful?

Why the painkiller, then?

His unease grew when Madam Pomfrey, now pinching her nose, tied him to the hospital bed and stuffed a towel into his mouth.

Without much delay, she raised her wand.

A bright red scab on Malfoy's body split open.

Another flick, and the foul-smelling pus root was forcefully squeezed out.

An unbearable, burning pain shot through him, as if his flesh were being carved out. His vision went black for a moment.

This is "just a tiny bit painful"?!

What came next was even more terrifying.

Madam Pomfrey looked at the dense scabs scattered all over his body and sighed deeply. She took out a small bucket.

"We'll need this to collect the pus roots."

"Try to endure."

"And don't drink all the pain-relief potion at once."

"I estimate you've got about a hundred scabs."

"That potion probably won't even be enough."

Malfoy's mind went blank.

A hundred?!

This kind of agony—another hundred times?!

Only one thought remained in his mind:

Why on earth did I provoke those badgers? Why did I mess with Shire for no reason?!

Moments later, anguished screams echoed from the hospital wing, reverberating throughout that entire castle floor.

Meanwhile, in the cozy Hufflepuff common room, laughter and joy filled the air.

The little badgers had finally released the frustration they had been bottling up for days. Everyone was recounting Malfoy's tragic state and Professor Snape's rare silence with great delight.

They had only been at Hogwarts for less than two weeks and weren't deeply familiar with one another yet—but already, the first-year Hufflepuffs had bonded tightly.

Just then, Professor Sprout entered the common room briskly, bringing with her a surprising announcement.

"I've just learned some news," she said with a smile.

"After today's flying lesson, Professor McGonagall made an exception and allowed Harry Potter to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"He'll be playing as their Seeker."

"He's also the youngest Quidditch House team member in this entire century!"

The moment the news dropped, the common room erupted in chatter.

Quidditch, after all, was a big deal—and this involved none other than Harry Potter.

However, Hannah Abbott spoke up in a quiet voice:

"Why can Harry join the Quidditch team?"

"I'm not saying Harry's not good—he flies excellently."

"But I think Shire flies just as well."

"If Harry can make the team, why can't Shire?"

"That seems unfair."

Susan Bones nodded in agreement, and several other Hufflepuffs echoed the sentiment.

They all vividly remembered how Shire had saved Hannah during the last flying lesson, demonstrating exceptional flying skills.

So why wasn't he on the team?

Then, Professor Sprout's smile deepened as she revealed even more surprising news.

"Harry may indeed be the youngest House team member in a century."

"But that record only lasted for half an hour."

"Because I have something to announce too—"

"Shire will also be joining the Hufflepuff Quidditch team as an exception."

"He is now the youngest Quidditch House team member of the century!"

Gasps filled the room.

Shire was slightly stunned.

He didn't mind joining the team—Professor Sprout clearly hoped for it—and he did want to help Hufflepuff win the Quidditch Cup.

But being publicly announced like this...

Wasn't this nepotism?

Wouldn't this seem unfair?

Yet before he could say anything, the little badgers erupted into cheers.

Hannah's cheeks turned red as she waved her fists in celebration.

"Fair!"

"Reasonable!"

The others shouted the same, their eyes gleaming with pride.

Professor Sprout looked at Shire, her smile warm and sincere.

It was as if she were saying:

This is the badger house.

In other houses, special treatment might cause jealousy or division.

But in Hufflepuff?

If Hufflepuff wasn't the most united house at Hogwarts, who else could claim that title?

Here, everyone stood by one another. Everyone cheered for one another.

Shire took a deep breath, warmth welling in his chest.

Quidditch…

Yes. If possible, I'll win.

For Professor Sprout. For all these lovely little badgers.

As the excitement began to settle, Professor Sprout looked at Shire again.

"Shire," she asked with interest, "What position would you like to play?"

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