"Little Green, I keep saying it—you're talented at everything you touch."
At the greenhouse door, Senior Bruce was humming cheerfully to himself, sounding like he was just making an observation in passing.
There were so many legends about this upper-year that Sean found it perfectly believable that he'd quietly dosed Lockhart with itching powder under everyone's noses. The only real question was:
How did Bruce figure out Lockhart was a fraud before the man exposed himself?
Up until now the professors still showed Lockhart a certain amount of respect.
Like right now: Professor Sprout wasn't throwing him out. But after Bruce stepped in for a bit, her warm smile hadn't left her face even once.
Now she looked straight into Sean's eyes and said:
"Today, we're going to be repotting mandrakes. Who can tell me what's special about mandrakes?"
The freshly returned students all had heads as empty as their cauldrons. This was a familiar Herbology-class pattern—if you didn't know the answer, it was fine, just see if quiet little Sean Green was standing behind you.
"Mandrakes, also called mandrake root, are a powerful restorative,"
Sean answered.
"They're used to restore people who've been transfigured or cursed back to their original state."
"Excellent answer, isn't it? Let's give Mr. Green a round of applause. He's starting to remind me a bit of myself in my Hogwarts days."
Lockhart cut in, preening like a narcissistic peacock, always needing to show off.
This time, though, he didn't get quite the reaction he expected.
"Excuse me, did you say Sean Green?"
Michael couldn't hold back a grin.
The students all had slightly odd expressions. The Slytherins didn't particularly care about Lockhart, but right now even they were looking at him with open disdain.
Malfoy outright laughed.
Did this guy know what he was saying?
Even his father didn't dare belittle Green these days.
"Of course, an excellent young wizard, yes, yes. Maybe someday he'll be able to chase my shadow."
Lockhart smoothed over with oily charm, shooting Sean an encouraging look.
"So you're the one Dumbledore himself called the rising star, Professor. We underestimated you,"
Michael piled on, elbowing Terry beside him.
Terry was counting mandrake leaves, rattling off numbers; now he just mumbled back, dazed:
"Oh, by this… you were stronger than Dumbledore when he was young."
Lockhart visibly flinched. In this school, the one person he would never dare compare himself directly to was the Headmaster.
"Well, if we were all trapped in a phone booth by a werewolf, I doubt Dumbledore could have done any better than I did. Want to know the details of that close call? I put it all in my book.
Now, children, who remembers? It's Wandering with Werewolves.
Let me tell you a little secret: reading heroic books by heroic wizards? Very useful indeed."
He kept talking smoothly, but the Ravenclaws weren't buying it anymore.
Even the girls who'd been staring at him with stars in their eyes were now looking away, faces complicated.
On paper, Lockhart and Green had a lot in common: both gifted, learned, published authors.
But Green's achievements were right in front of them, and no one could imagine anyone outdoing him—especially someone Dumbledore had openly praised.
This was Lockhart's first real cold reception at Hogwarts. The Ravenclaws didn't play along, and the Slytherins were outright smirking.
Only now did Lockhart really register how unusual this boy was.
"Oh, I mean—oh, oh—"
He suddenly started itching all over, too irritated to speak, only able to make useless little noises.
Then he bolted out of the greenhouse, more or less tap-dancing his way across the floor. Outside, Bruce still hadn't left.
"Oh dear, Professor, looks like you've brushed against the Tickling Vine,"
Bruce said innocently.
"You know that plant, don't you?"
"Of course I do—of course I do—if it hadn't taken me by surprise, I'd have subdued it in two minutes—"
Lockhart managed to grind out a few words between spasms.
Inside the greenhouse, the students stared wide-eyed in silence. A few of the Ravenclaw girls who had admired him earlier were flushed with embarrassment.
"What a shame. I'm sure you would have handled it perfectly," Bruce said in a suitably "concerned" tone.
"So what are you sprinkling on me?" Lockhart gasped.
"You should know better than anyone, Professor. It's the antidote powder for Tickling Vine."
"Then why is it so itchy?"
"If it itches, it's working."
Professor Sprout quietly pushed the greenhouse door shut. Even with a man like Lockhart, she was still trying to preserve a little dignity for him.
"Very good answer. Ten points to Ravenclaw,"
she said.
"Mandrakes are a key ingredient in many antidotes. But they're also dangerous. Who can tell me why?"
…
Without Lockhart getting in the way, Herbology went back to normal.
Sean deftly yanked a very ugly baby out of the soil—leaves sprouting from its head. Its skin was a pale blotchy green, and it was clearly screeching at the top of its lungs.
Michael and the others huddled around Sean's pot. In other parts of the greenhouse, a dark red, spiky plant kept whipping its tendrils at students, making them shriek every few seconds.
"The compost is over there in those sacks—watch out for the Venomous Tentacula, it's growing teeth,"
Sprout reminded them.
[You have repotted a mandrake to a competent standard. Proficiency +10]
Every mandrake had subtle little differences. Sean treated each one with real interest, and his speed was easily the fastest.
By the time class ended, most students were sweaty, sore-backed, and spattered with mud. They dragged themselves back to the castle for a quick wash, and then the Ravenclaws hurried off to Transfiguration.
As they passed the greenhouse door, Lockhart was already drenched in cold sweat, forcing a smile as he stayed planted outside:
"Oh, children, immense effort—but I subdued that Tickling Vine in the end. Did you all manage okay in there once I'd taken care of it?"
A few Ravenclaw girls glanced up at him, then quickly hurried on.
He didn't seem to feel the slightest shame, and immediately launched into a loud explanation of how to deal with Tickling Vine.
"That vine was fake, wasn't it?"
Sean said.
"Of course it was,"
Bruce grinned, appearing at his elbow.
"But someone needed to believe it was real, or he'd look too pathetic.
And speaking of fake things," he added, eyes gleaming, "the vine isn't the only thing that is."