*★* WATTPAD FRIENDS AND FAMILY, WATTPAD FEATURED STORY & 2017 WATTYS WINNER!! *★* Preceded by rumors of their prophetic birth, pure-blood twins, Fred and George Weasley, follow in the footsteps of their three older brothers by attending a school for...
Her countdown could not have been more suitable, because when the first years sliced into the purple leaves, the small greenhouse was instantly filled with high-pitched shrieks. The Herbology professor toppled off her chair in the incomprehensible chaos, as each of the stems sprouted mouths in order to holler out in terror.
"How could you, you monster!?" one plant screamed from a desk near the door.
"Oww...HELP! We're being massacred!" cried another.
The unharmed plants were just as loud. Adding to the shock that coursed through the room, they pleaded to the students wielding scissors, "No don't kill me! Take him...not me!"
"Oy, drop the sheers or I'll whomp you! I'll whomp you so good!"
Professor Sprout got to her feet, her eyes wide with confusion.
"Not my children! NO!!" exclaimed the large plant on her desk.
"I — I would never —" Sprout spluttered, unable to comprehend what had gone wrong. "First years, back to the classroom! Leave everything behind!"
The students funneled out of the greenhouses and rushed down the corridor to the Herbology room, where Professor Sprout motioned them through the doorway before hastily switching on the music box that she often used to soothe her plants during the germination period. The warbled orchestral recording did very little to drown out the screams, but it did succeed, however, in stifling her raspy deliberations on what had happened and how her plants had never gone so haywire. The first year students, in search of an explanation, studied her intently.
"Well..." she panted, attending to the fluff of hair that was in shambles atop her head. "That was exciting, wasn't it?"
"Professor?"
"Yes, Miss Stimpson?"
"Plants aren't supposed to feel pain, are they?"
"They aren't supposed to talk either," added Lee Jordan incredulously.
"This is perfectly normal — I just — er...forgot to...to thin them from each other first. That's all. Perfectly normal," said the Herbology professor in a weary voice. "It's...separation anxiety. Yes — that's the problem, I'm sure."
With a large roll of Spellotape in hand, Sprout returned the Whomping Willow saplings to her students one at a time, their newly formed mouths sealed shut so her lesson on incisions could proceed without the disruption of bloodcurdling screams.
"Ruthless," said Lee Jordan, hearing their muffled pleas.
"Inhumane, really," said Fred.
"Well, it's not as if they're human, is it?" noted George.
It wasn't until Professor Sprout's fifth trip back to the classroom that she heard the majority of her students giggling. It took three more trips before she noticed the brown owl waiting on her desk chair — under its wing, a letter from the Toilers of Trouble. The few students who understood the meaning of the school owl enjoyed the fact that they, too, had been part of an 'elaborate prank'.
"Perfect. I'm immensely proud," whispered Fred, as George taunted the gagged tree in front of him with their miniature pitchfork.
Angelina tried to stop him, but the stalk was so troubled by George's tormenting that it wriggled free of the Spellotape and started to scream, earning the immediate attention of Professor Sprout, who was not at all in the mood for Weasley antics.
Still gripping the letter, she marched to their desk and confiscated the pitchfork.
"You think this is entertaining, do you?"
"I think it's magnificent," laughed George.
"And you, Miss Johnson?" inquired Sprout fiercely. "You thought it was permissible to encourage such an activity?"
"I had nothing to do with it."
"Part of being a team is knowing both when to observe and when to protest. Perhaps you'll learn the fine art of collaboration during your upcoming detention."
"Detention?" they blurted.
"Yes — snow gathering," Sprout declared with an uncharacteristically sour expression. "On the night of the second snowfall, I will be expecting your presence on the school grounds, wherein you will be remanded to the Forbidden Forest."
George glared at the potted Whomping Willow while the lesson resumed, not realizing that Angelina was glaring even more intensely at him.
"Detention? This is my absolute favorite class," she grumbled, pouting silently. "Must you always be such a pest?"
"Come, now. That was a proper prank," said George, his voice low.
With her arms crossed and with a growl in her throat, Angelina exhaled noisily and spun away from him. "I hate you, George Weasley."
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