Herbology Class

On the third Thursday of late September, morning dew condensed into fine droplets on the greenhouse glass.

The first-year Herbology Class was held in Greenhouse Three, where relatively safe Magical Plants were grown.

At least, they were safe when handled correctly.

"Today, we will be learning how to handle Gillyweed." Professor Sprout stood before a row of clay pots, wearing thick Dragon-hide Gloves.

Her round face glowed red in the warm, humid greenhouse air. "Who can tell me what Gillyweed Pus is used for?"

A Hufflepuff boy immediately raised his hand. "To treat stubborn acne, Professor, but it must be highly diluted, or it will cause even worse ulceration."

"Exactly right. Five points to Hufflepuff." Sprout nodded. "Now, work in pairs. Each of you will receive one Gillyweed, a pair of gloves, and a glass bottle.

Your task is to safely squeeze out the pus and collect it in the bottle. Be careful not to splash it onto your skin or robes."

Regulus was paired with Avery Cuthbert. Avery wrinkled his nose as he took the clay pot. "This thing is really ugly."

Gillyweed truly was not pleasant to look at: a dark brown, spherical tuber covered in bumps, each topped with a tiny hole that oozed thick yellow-green fluid.

"Put on your gloves," Regulus reminded him, already slipping on his Dragon-hide Gloves with practiced ease.

He picked up his own tuber and focused his Magic Perception.

Matter possessed Magic Power. That much he already knew.

The Magic Power of Porcupine Quills was concentrated at their tips. Moongrass grew stronger under moonlight. But Gillyweed—

His perception seeped inward.

The first thing he sensed was life.

All plants possessed a gentle, steady flow of Life Magic Power, like a slow heartbeat. But mixed within Gillyweed's life force was something else.

His Magic Perception returned a prickling sensation.

The Gillyweed's overall Magic Power was stable, but the Magic Power around those bumps was chaotic.

The pus itself gave off even more intense, disordered fluctuations, mixed with a kind of... emotion?

Regulus studied the plant in his hand closely.

Pain.

The word suddenly surfaced in his mind.

Not pain with the complex emotional layers of a human being, but something more like a primitive, instinctive response to discomfort.

Like the stress response of a living thing when injured, imprinted upon its magical signature.

"What are you staring at?" Avery had already squeezed out half a bottle of pus. The yellow-green liquid flowed slowly inside the glass bottle. "Hurry up. The smell is disgusting."

Regulus nodded, pinched a larger bump between his right thumb and forefinger, and squeezed gently.

"Pffft."

Thick pus flowed out and dropped into the glass bottle.

At that instant, Regulus caught the change. The chaotic Magic Power around the bump weakened, but the pain fluctuation of the entire plant briefly intensified before slowly settling.

It was like popping an abscess. The pain worsened temporarily, then eased.

He squeezed three more bumps in succession, sensing that change each time. On the fourth, he looked up at Professor Sprout, who was making her rounds.

"Professor."

Sprout approached. "What is it, Mr. Black?"

"Gillyweed..." Regulus asked hesitantly. "When it secretes pus, does it experience some kind of discomfort?

"I mean, from a magical perspective, the secretion seems to be accompanied by a pain response."

Regulus had always asked strange questions.

To most little wizards, those questions sounded like an incomprehensible foreign language. They knew every word, yet could not understand them when strung together.

But the little wizards had gradually noticed a pattern: Regulus's baffling questions often struck right at the heart of what the professors cared about, earning him high praise and extra House points.

It had practically become a fixture of Slytherin classes, and Regulus was now well-known throughout the school.

The little wizards nearby almost all turned to look at him at the same time, even unconsciously pausing their squeezing of Gillyweed.

Avery Cuthbert's expression was the most complicated of all.

He frowned at his unfathomable roommate, once again feeling that familiar mixture of confusion and vague frustration rise in his heart.

He could not understand just how many strange and bizarre thoughts filled the second son of the Black family's head.

Where did these questions come from? Had he read them in some book, or had he simply thought them up himself?

But what Avery cared about most was that every time Regulus spoke, his questions seemed purposeful, never like empty showing off.

Compared to him, everyone around them seemed like fools who could only recite from textbooks and never think deeply.

Yet unlike the Slytherins, who mostly felt alienated and bewildered, several Hufflepuff students seated nearby wore expressions of pure, curious puzzlement.

They exchanged looks, communicating silently.

Discomfort? Pain? Could plants feel things too?

Professor Sprout's eyes widened. She hurried over to Regulus, surprise in her voice. "You noticed?"

"Yes, Professor." Regulus politely nodded to her from his seat.

"The magical signature in the pus is very chaotic, and the Magic Power of the entire tuber fluctuates briefly when squeezed. It is similar..." He searched for the right description. "Similar to the magical response of an animal when it is injured."

Sprout stared at him for quite some time before slowly nodding. "Very few people recognize this level of detail in their first year. Most students only see Gillyweed as a source of ingredients."

She straightened and faced the entire class. "Mr. Black has raised an interesting point. In fact, many Magical Plants do possess simple emotions.

"Gillyweed Pus is fundamentally a defensive mechanism, and the act of secretion is a burden on the plant itself.

"So when collecting it, we should be as gentle as possible and reduce their pain."

She demonstrated a gentler method, applying pressure slowly with the pads of her fingers rather than squeezing roughly.

"A compassionate collector receives purer materials," Sprout said. "This is the first lesson of Herbology, and one many people forget. Ten points to Slytherin for careful observation."

Avery murmured to Regulus, "How did you sense that? I just think it's disgusting."

"Focus, reading, and some talent," Regulus answered simply, continuing to deal with the remaining bumps.

At the same time, he thought to himself: Plants had emotions, even if they were primitive.

What did that mean? If emotions could be imprinted in Magic Power, could Magic Power carry more complex emotions? Could it be used for attack, or for healing?

As the class entered its second half, the students began cleaning their tools.

Regulus washed his glass bottle, removed his gloves, and walked over to Professor Sprout, who was arranging the flower stands.

"Professor, I have another question."

"Go ahead, child."

"It's about Mandrake," Regulus said. "I read in a book that the cry of a mature Mandrake is fatal to humans.

"I want to know whether that lethality affects the body or the mind."

Sprout stopped what she was doing, turned around, and grew serious. "That is an advanced question. We usually do not explain Mandrake in detail until the higher years."

"I know, Professor, but I'm curious." Regulus remained polite but firm.

"If covering one's ears is enough to avoid death, then the danger must come from the act of 'hearing the sound.'

"Then does the sound itself contain some kind of Magic Power, or does the sound trigger some kind of reaction within the listener?"

Sprout did not answer immediately. She gestured for Regulus to follow her to the resting area in the corner of the Greenhouse, where several wicker chairs stood.

Only after they sat down did she speak. "First, to answer your first question: both."

"Mandrake's Cry contains powerful mental-impact Magic Power. That Magic Power directly disrupts the stability of the listener's soul, causing consciousness to collapse. That is death on the Mental Layer.

"But at the same time, severe mental collapse triggers a chain reaction in the body: cardiac arrest, respiratory failure, Magic Power disorder. So in the end, death is a double collapse of body and mind."

Regulus nodded, rapidly processing the information. "Then how do Protective Earmuffs work? Do they completely block sound, or weaken the transmission of Magic Power?"

"Good question." Sprout's eyes showed even greater approval. "Standard Protective Earmuffs have a Sound Filtering Charm placed on them. It filters out specific Magic Power—in other words, the fatal component in Mandrake's Cry.

"So strictly speaking, you can still hear the cry, but what you hear is a harmless, purified version."

Regulus's mind raced. "So the key to Mandrake's lethality lies in the Magic Power carried by its sound. Then, would it be possible to use it in reverse?"

Sprout's expression turned stern. "Child, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about the possibility of healing," Regulus said. That was partly true. "If a kind of Magic Power can destroy, then by adjusting it, could it possibly repair?

"For example, could similar but opposite Magic Power be used to treat mental trauma?"