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The next morning, the storm that had raged all night finally ceased. The sky was no longer as black as ink, but it remained gloomy, threatening another downpour at any moment.
Lynn and his three friends walked along the path toward Greenhouse Three. After a night's rest, the students had regained some of their energy, but waking up early for class was still a form of torture for certain "night owls."
"Ha~ ah~"
Lynn couldn't help but yawn as he rubbed his eyes, his voice thick with resentment. "As expected, no matter how many times I experience it, waking up early is a life-threatening ordeal. When time was invented, the feelings of students definitely weren't taken into account."
William, who was clutching several thick volumes of Herbology notes, looked up from his pages and glanced at Lynn. "Since waking up early is so painful, why do you never mention the sleep deprivation caused by staying up late?"
Lynn was momentarily speechless before firing back with his own twisted logic: "William, you don't understand. It all comes down to this—staying up late is about fully enjoying the freedom of the night; it's an extension of the soul. But waking up early is the act of brutally dragging the soul out of a warm dream. The nature of the two is completely different!"
Edgar burst out laughing beside them, while Ollie silently pulled his scarf up a bit higher, seemingly finding the morning breeze a little chilly.
The content of this Herbology class, as Professor Sprout had hurriedly informed them after the start-of-term feast, was learning how to handle a rather unpleasant but very useful plant—the Bubotuber.
Specifically, it involved safely squeezing out its pus under strict protection.
How should one put it? At first glance, it was difficult to associate this thing with the pleasant word "plant."
It certainly wasn't any kind of normal plant.
As they entered Greenhouse Three, each group of students was assigned a repulsive-looking object planted in a specially made large pot.
It looked like a large, black, slimy, constantly squirming giant slug that had barely managed to "bore" its way out of the soil. Its surface was covered in goosebump-inducing lumps and folds, occasionally secreting a slick mucus.
"A master at trickery"—that was the most apt description for it.
Not only was its appearance stomach-turning, but its interior was even more dangerous. Undiluted Bubotuber pus was highly corrosive and could cause severe, difficult-to-reverse burns on the skin, making it very troublesome to treat.
The students all put on thick dragonhide gloves, covered their faces with splash shields, and wore waterproof dragonhide aprons—fully armed as if facing a great enemy.
Even the usually cheerful Professor Sprout had an exceptionally serious expression while demonstrating how to squeeze out the pus, repeatedly emphasizing the safety protocols.
Lynn looked at the squirming "giant slug" in the pot, but some memories flashed through his mind at an inopportune moment.
He had truly "put this thing to good use" before.
Back when Lockhart was in his prime at Hogwarts, Lynn, out of a sense of doing justice, had meticulously prepared a potion. The core ingredient was processed Bubotuber pus, mixed with several other ingredients that would cause violent gastrointestinal reactions and… well, loss of control over the excretory system.
Of course, Lockhart wasn't the only "star" on the list of Bubotuber pus victims.
For instance, the Ministry of Magic's current Senior Undersecretary, Umbridge, was certainly no stranger to this stuff—she might even harbor a deep hatred for it.
The reason was simple: over the past few years, under the brilliant leadership of the good Minister Cornelius Fudge, the British Ministry of Magic had truly performed many "great deeds" that benefited the nation and won the hearts of the people.
During the year of the Chamber of Secrets Basilisk attacks, the angry wizarding public felt the Ministry of Magic was both incompetent and derelict in its duty, and protest letters flew toward the Ministry like snowflakes.
Some of those enthusiastic letters thoughtfully included undiluted Bubotuber pus as a gift of condolence.
The Sirius Black "prison break" incident, the deployment of Dementors to Hogwarts, and the brutal search of the Express train, the revelation that Sirius was actually a wronged hero… Following the warm and direct folk tradition of the British Wizarding World, how could the public not express their gratitude for such outstanding achievements by the Ministry of Magic?
And what gift could better demonstrate sincerity and respect than a material as precious and meaningful as Bubotuber pus?
Consequently, it was said that for a while, the Minister of Magic's mailroom became a high-risk zone.
By a rough estimate, out of every ten letters Fudge received daily, an average of seven likely contained a little "token of appreciation."
The enthusiastic public was even afraid that their honest and public-spirited Minister Fudge would refuse the gifts, or that the clerks below wouldn't recognize their value, so they racked their brains to come up with many tricks:
Sealing the pus in small bottles disguised as high-end perfume samples; applying it to the back of stationery printed with "International Confederation of Wizards Emergency Notice" or "Gringotts Large Galleon Redemption Voucher"; some even used magic to temporarily mask the scent of the pus, only releasing it when the paper was heated (for example, near a fireplace)…
And as the busy Minister Fudge naturally didn't have time to personally read all the letters, this heavy responsibility of preliminary mail processing naturally fell onto his loyal Senior Undersecretary, Umbridge…
After finishing Herbology class, Lynn headed to his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of his fourth year and the current term.
The classroom was located on the second floor of the castle. Unlike the casual atmosphere previously arranged by Lupin, this room had clearly been reorganized.
The curtains were drawn tight, and the light came mainly from several magical lamps on the walls that emitted a steady white glow.
Behind the podium hung a massive chart depicting various common dark creatures and their weaknesses. Beside it was a display case sealed with a glass cover, showcasing some strange and unsettling items.
Students filed into the classroom one after another. Sensing the unusual atmosphere, their original chatter instinctively dropped to a low murmur.
A moment after the bell rang, a rhythmic "clunk—clunk—" sound echoed from the corridor—the sound of a wooden leg striking the stone floor.
Moody hobbled into the classroom with his crutch, his magical eye spinning wildly as it scanned the students in the room.
"I received a letter from Lupin," he began without preamble, his tone revealing little of his opinion regarding his former colleague. "He gave me a general introduction to the state of this class—what you've learned and what you haven't."
He paused.
"To be honest," his voice suddenly rose, "it was just alright! In my opinion, you lot have learned more flashy moves than real skills over the past three years. What you lack most isn't textbook definitions and history, but real practical knowledge and instinctive reactions for dealing with jinxes and Dark Wizards."
He suddenly slammed the podium with a loud "bang," making several timid students jump.
"So, now, put all those books away! Stuff them into the very bottom of your bags! We won't be needing those things this term! At least not in my class!"
The students looked at each other, but no one dared to question this Professor, who looked like he might hex anyone who disobeyed at any moment.
A rustling sound followed as everyone obediently stuffed their textbooks back into their bags.
Moody seemed satisfied with this level of discipline. He picked up a register from the podium and quickly scanned the list.
"I recall we have an… Order of Merlin recipient in our class?" he drawled. "Lynn. Yes, Lynn. Of Hufflepuff. Stand up, lad. Let Old Moody get to know you."
In an instant, every eye in the classroom was fixed on Lynn.
Lynn stood up from his seat with a calm expression.
"Lynn," Moody put down the register, "tell me, when facing the Dark Arts, or a wizard intent on attacking you with the Dark Arts, what should you do? In your own words—don't recite the textbook."
The question was direct and very "Moody." No theory, only response.
Lynn thought for a moment, drawing from his own experience. "I believe that upon confirming the other party has clear hostile intent and is using the Dark Arts, one should strike first to gain the upper hand, sir."
Moody nodded after hearing this.
"A reasonable answer. Decisive and direct. In actual combat, especially against a real Dark Wizard, this approach is sometimes more useful than any 'standard response procedure.'
"But—it's best to maintain CONSTANT VIGILANCE! The prerequisite for striking first is that you must detect the threat first! The first thing an excellent Auror must learn isn't how to attack, but how to survive—only by surviving can you talk about counterattacking. Sit down."
The evaluation was neutral but leaning toward positive. Lynn nodded to show he understood and then lowered his gaze, preparing to sit back in his seat.
At the very moment his backside was about to touch the chair—
Moody, atop the podium, raised the wand he had been holding without any warning.