In Herbology class, Professor Sprout had just wrapped up her latest lecture on Mandrakes, and now the students were busy repotting, watering, and fertilizing the peculiar plants.
"Let me stress this one more time—remember the habits and uses of this herb. You're very likely to need it someday," Professor Sprout declared, her tone uncharacteristically stern as she addressed the greenhouse full of students.
It sounded a bit ominous, as if needing this antidote plant meant trouble ahead.
Qin Yu flipped through his notebook, reviewing the key points. Mandrakes looked like nothing more than ordinary weeds at first glance, but once uprooted, their thick roots resembled ugly, squirming babies. These "babies" would thrash about and emit a piercing scream.
That infamous scream—immortalized in both wizard and Muggle literature—was widely regarded as a curse. In reality, the cry of a mature Mandrake was lethal.
Thankfully, the specimens they worked with in class were only young plants, whose screams were much less dangerous. As long as everyone kept their earmuffs or earplugs on, there was little to worry about.
Of course, every year someone forgot to block their ears and ended up fainting right in the middle of repotting. Whenever it happened, Professor Sprout secretly felt a bit grateful—after all, nothing drove a lesson home like a real-life example.
Not that she'd ever admit that out loud. She was known for her kindly manner at Hogwarts; how could she possibly be pleased by someone else's suffering? No, it was more appropriate to say she was thankful for the unlucky student's "sacrifice"—yes, that sounded much better.
This year, the "honor" went to the ever-careless Jerome, whom Professor Sprout personally escorted to the hospital wing.
Qin Yu didn't much care who'd been foolish enough to take off their earmuffs. He was far more interested in learning everything he could about the plant. After all, in the original timeline, Mandrakes were the main ingredient in the antidote to the Basilisk's petrifying gaze—something that nearly cost Hermione her life in second year.
Of course, he intended to do everything in his power to keep that from happening. And if that blasted system ever offered a "don't interfere with the main plot" option again, he'd ditch it without hesitation. Still, knowing how unreliable the system was, he had a nagging feeling things wouldn't go as planned.
Changing the main storyline didn't guarantee less danger—in fact, it might mean more. According to Murphy's Law, if he worried things would get worse, they probably would.
Better to be overprepared than caught off guard.
With that in mind, Qin Yu decided to put his faith in improving his own magical skills and knowledge. The system was a rickety old chair at best—never to be trusted.
After reviewing the Mandrake's properties, uses, and handling, Qin Yu closed his notebook and turned to Elvis, asking about the letters they'd exchanged over the summer. Elvis assured him he'd brought them all to school and kept them safe in their dorm.
"Perfect. Let me take a look later—I want to organize some of the magical questions from last year," Qin Yu said with a smile.
Elvis hesitated, wanting to remind him to be careful with the letters, but then realized: they were all written by Qin Yu anyway. He didn't really have the right to object.
"Sure… If you're in a hurry, I can give them to you at lunchtime," Elvis replied.
"I'm not in a rush, but if it's convenient, lunchtime would be great," Qin Yu nodded.
They agreed to head to the dorm after lunch to fetch the letters.
"Next class will be in the greenhouse next door. Please review the chapter on Devil's Snare—and let's hope there are no more accidents," Professor Sprout announced as class ended.
The morning lessons wrapped up, and everyone packed up their things, filing out of the fragrant, herb-filled greenhouse.
…
…
At lunch, Harry and Ron seemed back to their usual selves—or maybe it was just that Draco Malfoy had perked up a bit, so he no longer drew their attention.
Their thoughts were back on Quidditch.
"After classes this afternoon, I'll walk you through the basics of Quidditch. Once Wood is free, he'll train with you too. We'll get you caught up with the house team in no time," Qin Yu promised Harry—exactly what he wanted to hear.
"That's brilliant!" Harry said, clenching his fists in excitement.
"Go for it, Harry!" Ron added, his tone a mix of admiration and envy.
He couldn't help it—being chosen for the house team in first year was every student's dream, and now two people at their table had done it: Qin Yu and Harry.
Double the envy.
Still, one was a friendly, high-achieving upperclassman; the other, his best mate. Ron felt only pride and admiration—no jealousy—mixed with genuine well-wishes.
With Harry's training sorted, Qin Yu told Hermione he'd be heading back to the dorm with Elvis during lunch break to grab a few things.
So after lunch, Hermione watched helplessly as the boys left together. She headed for the library, ready to dive back into her usual routine of repetitive, solitary study.
It felt a little odd without Qin Yu nearby, but she quickly lost herself in her books. After all, when she was absorbed in reading, there was no room for distracting thoughts.
Boys, she thought, only slow down Miss Granger's wand-drawing speed!
So when Qin Yu appeared in the library later, arms full of letters, Hermione was still buried in her reading.
Qin Yu was used to this. When the little witch was in study mode, nothing could break her focus.
He didn't disturb her—just sat down beside her and started sorting through the letters, cross-referencing them with his textbooks and making a few notes and corrections.
Time slipped by as the pages of letters and books turned.
"Oh, so you went to get these letters… Wait, why does this one have a stain?" Hermione suddenly leaned over, curiosity piqued.
She recognized the handwriting immediately—these were the letters Qin Yu had written over the summer.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten how that happened?" Qin Yu tapped the blotch on the page.
"Let me think…" Hermione tapped her cheek, pondering for a moment before her eyes lit up. "Oh! It was that time we had ice cream!"
It was a summer afternoon. Qin Yu had been writing a reply to Elvis, answering some magical questions, when Hermione came over to watch. She was so focused on reading over his shoulder, she forgot she was still holding a cone of creamy ice cream. Without warning, a big dollop of melting cream plopped right onto the letter.
Startled, Hermione had shoved the ice cream into Qin Yu's mouth to stop it from dripping everywhere.
He'd ended up slurping the ice cream while grabbing tissues to help her clean her hands. The letter was left with a coin-sized stain, but Qin Yu didn't bother rewriting it—he was already halfway done, and starting over would've been a pain.
"So you do remember. You ate half the ice cream, then just stuffed the rest in my mouth without even asking," Qin Yu said, feigning indignation.
"What, wasn't it tasty?" Hermione blinked her big eyes at him.
"It was good, but… it tasted a bit like fried chicken," Qin Yu replied with a shrug.
"No way! I drank loads of water after the fried chicken—how could there still be a taste?" Hermione's cheeks went pink, half embarrassed, half indignant.
"Alright, just a little bit. It wasn't that obvious," Qin Yu amended.
"Fine, if you dislike it so much, I'll be careful next time—not letting you eat anything I've already bitten," Hermione pouted, turning away.
"How could I dislike it? I was just describing the flavor," Qin Yu explained quickly.
"If you really don't mind, next time I'll eat some pickled herring, then take a bite of ice cream and shove it in your mouth," she retorted, chin raised in mock challenge.
"You really are full of ideas…" Qin Yu couldn't help but laugh, seeing her mischievous side on full display.
"Hehe, I've got plenty of ideas. You'll find out soon enough," Hermione said with a sly grin.
Before Madam Pince could catch them whispering, Hermione ended the conversation and buried herself back in her book.
But her mood was much brighter than before. With Qin Yu beside her—a living, breathing backrest—she could lean on him from time to time, and always had someone to consult for answers.
Studying alone just didn't compare to studying together.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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