The fake Rembrall in Malfoy's hand shattered with a wet splat. A thick, viscous, green-brown liquid exploded outward, drenching him from his slicked-back hair to the tips of his expensive leather boots.
The mont the foul substance hit the air, an unholy stench spread across the flying grounds. It was a sll so profoundly disgusting, so viscerally repulsive, that for a single, horrifying instant, every mind went blank. It was the concentrated odor of a dozen public toilets that hadn't been cleaned for two weeks, left to bake in the heat of a sweltering sumr.
Malfoy's eyes rolled back in his head, and he tumbled headfirst off his broomstick, overwheld by the olfactory assault. Not a single person moved to help him. It was simply too slly. Even Crabbe and Goyle, his loyal lackeys, clutched their noses and scrambled away from him as if he were carrying a plague.
Only Madam Hooch, bound by her professional duty, managed to react. Covering her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her robes, she cast a silent cushioning charm to slow Malfoy's descent. Fortunately, he wasn't too high up. He landed with a sickening crunch, his leg breaking, but he was alive.
At that mont, however, Malfoy truly wished he weren't. The constant, suffocating influx of foul air into his nostrils was a nightmare far worse than any physical pain. "What in the world is this?!" he shrieked, his voice a choked, gagging sob.
High up on one of the castle towers, Professor Sprout watched the scene unfold, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. In her hands, she held two small potion vials. The one in her left contained a rich, yellow liquid; the one in her right, a pale purple one.
"The liquid in my left hand," she explained to the wide-eyed Hufflepuffs gathered around her, "is juice extracted from a Troll-bog Arum. Its juice slls even worse than a troll's armpit. Once you're contaminated, the stench lasts for a full week. Currently, there are no deodorizing potions or spells that can remove it." She held up the other vial. "Unless, of course, you have Wisteria dew, like this. Just a little spray will completely neutralize the foul sll."
As she spoke, she spritzed a fine mist of the Wisteria dew over the little badgers. Instantly, the oppressive stench receded, replaced by a fresh, clean scent. The students let out a collective sigh of relief.
Professor Sprout then smiled and tucked away the vial, which was still mostly full. "Wisteria dew is extrely rare; only our greenhouse produces a small amount. Unfortunately," she said, her voice full of theatrical regret, "we seem to have used it all up just now. Not a single drop left."
Ciel couldn't help but click his tongue in silent admiration. My aunt can be quite devious. Malfoy had tried to harm him and had succeeded in harming Hannah. He had clearly crossed a line.
The other little badgers, though a bit slow on the uptake, were not idiots. A wave of dawning comprehension spread through the group.
"Yes, yes," one of them chid in. "All used up."
"We all saw it," another added solemnly.
After a shared burst of quiet, conspiratorial laughter, their interest in Herbology soared. It turned out you didn't need powerful, flashy magic to defeat your enemies; a clever application of magical plants was just as effective.
"Professor," one of them asked eagerly, "are there any other plants as 'powerful' as the Troll-bog Arum?"
Professor Sprout answered cheerfully. "Of course. Devil's Snare, Venomous Tentacula, Biting Cabbages… they're all very dangerous and powerful plants. If you want to learn more, I can give you all private lessons after our regular Herbology class." She paused, a look of gleeful anticipation on her face. "But for now, the show isn't over yet. Besides the foul stench, Troll-bog Arum juice has another, more… irritating effect. If it touches the skin directly, it will cause painful boils and scabs to appear. And those aren't sothing ordinary scab-curing potions can treat."
As if on cue, a fresh wave of agonized screams rose from the grounds below. Malfoy, who had been writhing in his own filth, now felt a burning, itching pain spreading across his body. Large, red bumps were erupting wherever the foul liquid had touched his skin.
The commotion and the overwhelming stench finally attracted the attention of Professor Snape, who ca sweeping across the grounds like a great, black bat. Seeing Malfoy's miserable state, his face beca a mask of cold fury.
"Troll-bog Arum juice?" he hissed. "Malfoy, how did you get involved with this stuff?"
Malfoy was in too much pain to speak; he even had a scab forming on his tongue. Snape questioned the other Slytherins, and a mont later, his black eyes snapped to Neville, his lip curling in disgust. "You dare to ambush a classmate? Gryffindor, twenty points deducted!"
The Gryffindors erupted in outrage. "Why?!" Harry shouted. "Malfoy snatched Neville's Rembrall! He brought this on himself!"
Snape's expression grew even more enraged. But just as he was about to deduct more points, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout arrived, their strides purposeful and their expressions thunderous.
"Severus," Professor McGonagall said, her voice dangerously sharp. "I've already heard about this incident. So, Draco Malfoy attempts to steal from another student, and you deduct points from Gryffindor? I think the children have a point. Why?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I think Gryffindor deserves twenty points for their courage. And Slytherin will lose twenty points for Malfoy's malicious actions!"
Snape gritted his teeth. "Minerva! Don't tell you can't see this was a trap!" He rounded on Professor Sprout. "Pomona, this is retaliation! Mirror Grass, Troll-bog Arum juice… how could Neville Longbottom possibly acquire such things?"
Professor Sprout smiled, a sweet, serene expression that didn't reach her eyes. She returned Snape's own words from the other day. "Evidence, Severus? As you said, without evidence, you can't convict a student. Are you suggesting you can convict ? Or Neville Longbottom, the last of the Longbottom line? That seems unreasonable." She added, her voice full of righteous indignation, "I also believe twenty points should be deducted from Slytherin. And ten points to Gryffindor for the unfair treatnt Neville has suffered!"
Snape took a deep, shuddering breath, his face ashen. He was cornered. It was rely Troll-bog Arum juice; Malfoy was in no real danger. Two Heads of House were against him, and he was clearly in the wrong. He had to accept the loss.
After a mont, his composure slightly regained, he looked at Professor Sprout. "I accept the deduction of points. But the greenhouse must provide Wisteria dew and Snow-in-Sumr grass to treat these scabs."
Professor Sprout's face was a mask of pure sympathy. "Of course, Severus. We Hufflepuffs would never hold a grudge, not even against soone who tried to harm one of our own. Our badger house has no such malicious intentions! How could a little badger possibly hold a grudge?"
She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
"But let think… ah, yes. Unfortunately," she said, spreading her hands, her eyes full of profound regret, "both the Wisteria dew and the Snow-in-Sumr grass were used up just recently. Such a sha."
She shrugged. "So—I can't help."
(End of Chapter)
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