The Grinding Emperor's Juvenile Form

"Oh, what a diligent child. Of course that's no problem, but..."

Professor Sprout placed a box of Hazelnut Chocolate in Sean's palm, then waved her wand.

The flowers, grass, and dirt clinging to Sean vanished in an instant.

"Every year, there are always a few tender shoots who want to take root in the Greenhouse, but very few can endure the same hard, repetitive work for long."

Professor Sprout tilted her head slightly, and her gentle eyes held a trace of teasing.

"I think I could tell you a story."

"Professor, could you tell it next time?"

Bruce, standing nearby, had already gone red in the face, making Sean glance at him curiously.

"Of course, Mr. Dickinson."

Professor Sprout's smile grew even warmer.

Leon and Pist, hiding behind the nursery bed, burst out laughing.

"Hey, hey, hey! You two!"

Bruce seemed thoroughly cooked.

"Oh, was I laughing? Sorry, I just can't hold it in whenever I think of someone scrambling out of the Greenhouse..."

Leon laughed even louder.

"Pist, do you remember what he said in his sleep?"

"Punching Beans, geraniums, save me, Devil's Snare!"

The slightly plump Hufflepuff senior imitated him with an honest-looking expression.

Everyone present chuckled softly, and the mood became lighter.

"All right, all right, I admit it. The Greenhouse really is dangerous and fascinating—and yes, it's truly exhausting."

Bruce raised his hand in surrender and said helplessly.

"That's why so few Wizards can keep at it."

As he said this, he kept looking at Sean, his face full of seriousness.

"Mm."

Sean responded.

"I want to try."

His voice was soft, but the stubbornness in it was impossible to miss.

The Greenhouse had always been short-handed. Compared to straightforward, effective spells, lively and interesting Transfiguration, and exhilarating Quidditch, Herbology had always attracted only hardworking Hufflepuffs.

But even diligent and kind Hufflepuffs would not keep themselves rooted in the dirt forever.

Not to mention having to handle dangerous plants.

So Professor Sprout agreed to Sean's request.

The way she looked at Sean was no different from how she had looked at those once-passionate Hufflepuffs.

There was some appreciation, some happiness, and also some helplessness over what the outcome might eventually be.

In the corridor outside the Greenhouse.

A long, blue Quill of Acceptance floated before Sean. It was a magical alchemical creation.

As long as it was placed vertically against paper, the quill would begin taking shorthand on its own.

Sean had bought only one, mainly to help organize his thoughts and record inspirations.

Incidentally, stationery in the Magical World was truly expensive. This quill alone had cost Sean a full 10 Sickles.

But Sean had gritted his teeth and bought it anyway.

No matter how hard things got, he could not let his studies suffer, Sean thought.

Step one: Understand how to process every ingredient in Scurvy Paste.

The quill made a scratching sound across the Parchment as Sean wrote down his current objective.

Professor Sprout had already agreed to his request.

Just moments ago, Bruce had demonstrated how to identify and process Dried Nettle for him.

Next time, perhaps he could ask about processing other ingredients. He thought Professor Sprout would not refuse.

Once he understood how to process the ingredients, the next step would be practice.

Books could not teach him about heat control and stirring. He could only learn those through experience.

But as long as he succeeded once, he could rely on the System Panel to grind.

The plan was feasible.

Sean put the Quill into his bag, and Bruce's teasing voice reached his ears.

"I remember that in our first Herbology class, distinguishing mature Moly stumped a whole lot of Wizards."

He watched Sean take notes with great interest.

"Looks like you'll get to show off in the next Herbology class.

Professor Sprout is never stingy with points for Young Wizards who study ahead."

Extra points?

Sean did not care much about them.

Extra points would not help him get a Scholarship.

Professor McGonagall had said that the criteria for the Scholarship were determined by the headmaster. He would consider Sean's learning progress and the professors' evaluations before making a final decision.

Headmaster Dumbledore was certainly fair and wise.

Sean believed that as long as he met the standard, Headmaster Dumbledore would not begrudge him 600 Gold Galleons.

It was also Headmaster Dumbledore who had approved his Scholarship application without hesitation.

If it had been someone like Headmaster Black, Sean would have had to grind the three-piece Azkaban set and borrow money from Dark Wizards.

He remembered Hogwarts Legacy vividly.

There was a popular saying in it:

"Voldemort is terrifying because he personally killed hundreds of people."

"Mm-hm. And what about the next day?"

Sean's thoughts drifted somewhat. At the orphanage, everyone was good at staring blankly into space.

Before the System Panel had activated, when he could only lie weakly in bed, Sean had been the same.

That was when he came to understand that some silences were not because there was nothing to say, but because no one cared.

All of that had changed completely after that Owl smashed through the drafty window.

That was why Sean cherished the opportunity to study magic. Even if it was White Trash, he would grind it into legend.

"Oh, you probably haven't yet realized how important the House Cup is.

But believe me, it's very important.

We don't mind the Great Hall being draped in the colors of other Houses during the annual feast.

But Hufflepuff yellow and black obviously look better, don't they?"

Bruce spoke with a longing expression.

"Mm."

Sean nodded, and only then did Bruce notice that the Young Wizard beside him was from Ravenclaw.

He gave an awkward laugh.

"Ha, I mean, blue and teal are pretty nice too."

"Yellow and black look very good."

Sean said seriously.

There was not much time left before the first class of the afternoon. Sean shoved the Hazelnut Chocolate into his senior's hands and turned into the staircase leading to the History of Magic classroom.

"Thank you, Bruce. Goodbye."

Only his small voice remained in the corridor.

"A good Young Wizard. It's hard to imagine he isn't a Hufflepuff."

Leon watched Sean's disappearing back and smiled softly.

"I wonder who it was that said, 'Professor Sprout...'"

"Don't say it..."

Leon's face darkened.

Mr. Pist merely curled his lips upward beside him, utterly unsurprised.

After leaving the Greenhouse, Sean had to consider how to fight Professor Binns's hypnosis.

Although the Shrieking Shack, with all its baseless rumors, had never actually been haunted, Hogwarts was indeed the most haunted place in Britain.

There was no doubt about that, because on these damp islands,

it was said that one could see or sense more ghosts than anywhere else in the world.

In the world of Harry Potter, ghosts were also called spirits.

They were transparent, three-dimensional images of deceased Wizards who continued to exist in the world of the living.

Muggles could not become spirits after death, and no sensible Wizards would choose to do so either.

Only Wizards who could not rest in peace refused to enter the next world, whether out of fear, guilt, or attachment to the material world.

And Professor Binns's attachment was reading textbooks aloud.

Sean was sure of it.