The next morning, Charlie got up early. He had made sure not to reveal himself to Ginny the previous night.
Normal people, good or bad, still acted with a certain logic. That made it easier to tell whether someone was a threat.
But perverts and lunatics? They were a different breed. One second they're smiling pleasantly, the next they're biting your arm for no reason.
Charlie wasn't scared of her, he just found the whole thing distasteful. Best not to get involved with a walking red flag.
After breakfast, Charlie made his way toward the staff table.
He wanted to ask Professor Sprout about the Whomping Willow's behavior.
"Good morning, Professor Sprout," Charlie greeted politely.
Sprout was spreading jam on toast. Upon hearing his voice, she looked up, her face lighting with delight.
"Charlie! What brings you here?"
"Professor, I saw that the Whomping Willow smashed up a car yesterday," Charlie said directly. "I'm really interested in it and was hoping to learn more about its behavior."
Professor Sprout's joy was plain to see.
This was the first time Charlie had shown interest in Herbology on his own.
As head of Hufflepuff House, she had a mix of admiration and frustration toward her star pupil.
Admiration, because Charlie was brilliant.
Frustration, because he didn't give a fig about her subject.
Sprout eagerly set down her toast. "Perfect timing! I was just about to check on the Whomping Willow's injuries. Why don't you come with me?"
Just then, Lockhart leaned over, flashing his trademark grin.
"Oh, the Whomping Willow?" he said enthusiastically. "I once nursed one back to health during my travels through France, got loads of experience with it."
Sprout's smile froze on her face.
Lockhart, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, prattled on: "I could demonstrate, of course, not that I claim to know more about Herbology than you, Professor, but I've just dealt with this sort of situation before, you know."
Sprout's face darkened. Her fingers clenched around her butter knife, knuckles turning white.
Charlie twitched at the corner of his mouth.
Negative-level emotional intelligence. Seriously? Bragging to a specialist about her own field? You think you're British Gordon Ramsay now?
The other professors ignored Lockhart entirely. Professor Flitwick even rolled his eyes.
Charlie cringed for him. But Lockhart remained unaware, continuing to seek validation.
"Professor Flitwick, what do you think of my suggestion?"
Flitwick didn't even look up. "I think you should focus on your breakfast."
Lockhart's smile faltered, but he wasn't done yet. He turned to Snape.
"Severus, how about- "
"Shut up," Snape said coldly. "Your babbling is even duller than your books."
Lockhart's face turned crimson.
"Right… well, I suppose everyone's a little grumpy in the morning," he muttered.
Before the tension could get any worse, owls swooped in overhead.
A flurry of wings filled the Great Hall as dozens of owls circled above, delivering mail.
Students reached up eagerly for letters and packages.
Charlie noticed a scarlet envelope clutched in the talons of one owl, headed straight for the Gryffindor table.
"Oh no," muttered Sprout, her expression falling. "A Howler."
She quickly pulled out her wand and cast a charm on herself and Charlie.
Suddenly, the surrounding noise dimmed to a muffled murmur.
"It's better this way," she explained. "A Howler can make you deaf if you're too close."
The scarlet owl dropped the envelope in front of Ron Weasley and beat a hasty retreat.
Ron stared at it like it might explode. His hands trembled. Sweat beaded on his brow.
Harry, sitting beside him, looked just as tense.
"Open it," Neville whispered. "The longer you wait, the worse it gets."
"How do you know that?"
"I'd rather not say."
Ron took a deep breath and opened the envelope.
It immediately unfolded into a screaming mouth, Mrs. Weasley's voice burst out like thunder.
Charlie couldn't hear the exact words, but he saw Ron flailing to block his ears, shaking like a leaf.
All around, students winced and covered their ears.
The Howler roared on for three full minutes before disintegrating into ashes.
The hall fell into stunned silence.
Ron's face was redder than a tomato. He looked ready to sink through the floor.
Sprout canceled the charm, and the sounds of the hall returned.
"Hopefully he's learned his lesson this time," she sighed.
"No more ridiculous stunts."
Charlie nodded solemnly. "Yes, absolutely. Such reckless behavior."
"Come on, let's go check on the Whomping Willow," Sprout said, standing.
They followed a path out of the castle and soon arrived at the battered tree.
Sprout stopped in front of it, frowning.
"How strange," she muttered, circling the tree. "There were broken branches everywhere yesterday… but now they're all gone?"
Charlie kept a straight face, pretending to notice for the first time.
"Maybe Professor Snape took them?" he said casually. "I heard Whomping Willow branches are rare potion ingredients."
Sprout nodded thoughtfully. "Severus does often request rare materials. We're usually the only ones who harvest from this tree."
As they stepped closer, the Whomping Willow stirred.
Its thick trunk swayed, remaining branches rising like whips, rustling ominously in warning.
Sprout calmly raised her wand. A beam of light shot from the tip, striking a subtle knot at the base of the trunk.
Instantly, the tree fell still. The branches drooped. The entire tree froze.
Sprout took out a roll of bandages and approached the wounded spots.
"The Whomping Willow has unique magical properties," she explained as she worked.
"It naturally repels foreign magic, an instinctive defense mechanism."
She pointed at the knot. "This knot is its weak point. Touching it disrupts its magical flow and renders the tree immobile."
Charlie made a mental note of the knot's location.
"Why are Whomping Willows so rare?" he asked. "You'd think a magical plant this powerful would be easier to propagate."
Sprout sighed. "Because of that same trait. Their resistance to outside magic makes it nearly impossible to use magical potions or spells during cultivation."
"Artificial propagation is extremely difficult. The success rate is less than one percent."
Charlie's eyes gleamed with thought.
Hard to plant, huh? I don't believe that. I'm gonna try shoving it in tonight.
Just then, an overly familiar voice called from behind them.
"Oh, my dearest Professor Sprout!"
Lockhart strode toward them in a blindingly bright green robe.
His hair gleamed in the sunlight. His teeth sparkled like polished ivory.
"I've come to help!" he beamed. "Just as I mentioned in Waltzing with Yetis, I once nursed an injured Whomping Willow in the French Alps!"
Sprout's face darkened immediately.
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