A Hogwarts Legend: Chaos Begins [4] (SLOW UPDATES)

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen - "You just got told, nerd style."

The storm has blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall is gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter grey swirl overhead as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Elinor, Maya and I examine our new timetables at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George and Lee Jordan are discussing magical methods of ageing themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not bad ... outside all morning," says Ron, who's running his finger down his timetable, "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures ... damn it, we're still with the Slytherins ..."

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groans, looking down.

"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" says Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."

"You're eating again, I notice," says Maya, watching Hermione add liberal amounts of jam to her buttered toast.

"I decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," says Hermione haughtily.

"Yeah ... and you were hungry," I say, grinning.

There's a sudden rustling noice above us, and a hundred owls come soaring through the open windows, carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, I look up, but there's no sign or red among the mass of brown and grey.

The owls circle the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages are addressed. A large tawny owl soars down to Neville and deposits a parcel in his lap - Neville almost always forgets to pack something. On the other side of the Hall Draco's eagle owl has landed on his shoulder, carrying what looks like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home.

"Do you reckon he'd give me some of those?" Elinor asks me, gesturing at all the food Draco has.

"No, he's a selfish prick, remember?" I smirk.

"Do you think something's happened to Hedwig?" Harry whispers to me.

"Of course not, just give it time," I reply, but Harry doesn't seem to hear me.

Harry's preoccupation lasts all the way across the sodden vegetable path until we arrive in greenhouse three, but here he's distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants I've ever seen. Actually, they look less like plants than thick black giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each is squirming slightly, and have a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appear to be full of liquid.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout tells us briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus -"

"The what?" says Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," says Professor Sprout, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves, it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, Bubotuber pus."

Squeezing the Bubotubers is disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling is popped, a large amount of thick yellowish green liquid bursts forth, which smells strongly of petrol. We catch it in the bottles as Professor Sprout indicated, and by the end of the lesson have collected several pints.

"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," says Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, Bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."

"Like poor Eloise Midgen," says Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," says Professor Sprout, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."