After an afternoon of tireless effort, Brian had successfully made himself young again-the face he saw in the mirror was flushed red with strain, just like those of the students learning nonverbal spells.
Brian sighed in frustration-no matter what he tried, he could not recapture the feeling he had experienced that day on the Quidditch Pitch, when he crushed the Bludger with a nonverbal spell. Perhaps something could help him recall that day... a Bludger?
That was hardly practical-if a Bludger or anything flammable appeared in the library, Madam Pince would unleash her full wrath.
Perhaps a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages could help, but even if he added up all the time every copy in the library spent on the shelves over an entire school year, the total would not reach three days.
As Brian continued muttering about Quidditch, afternoon classes at Hogwarts were drawing to a close, and more young witches and wizards gradually began arriving in the library.
After reminding a few noisy students to keep quiet, Brian saw five young Gryffindors bustle into the library-they were carrying neither books nor papers, but a long, wide bedsheet.
Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean-Brian immediately named them in order in his mind.
As for Harry, who was absent... there was no need to ask. He had probably fallen into Wood's clutches.
Professor Sprout, who was remarkably well informed when it came to gossip, had once told him about a little incident involving Neville, Seamus, and Snape-
During the first Potions class of the school year, Neville had managed to burn through Seamus's cauldron while brewing a Boil-Cure Potion, then somehow soaked himself from head to toe in the potion. Snape had flown into a rage. Fortunately, the potion had not yet been completed at the time, so it amounted to no more than a pot of foul-smelling liquid-
In the end, the price Neville paid for his carelessness was replacing Seamus's cauldron with an identical one and enduring loud reprimands from both Snape and Madam Pomfrey, one after the other.
As for Dean, he was a Muggle-born young wizard who was utterly obsessed with West Ham United. He had even had a fierce argument with Ron over it-to this day, Ron still could not understand what was so entertaining about a group of people endlessly chasing a ball around a field.
Brian could not see what connection a bedsheet had with the library, so he walked over to remind them:
"Good evening, everyone-I must say, the library isn't a good place to sleep. Although it's quiet here most of the time, I don't think these hard tables and chairs are more comfortable than your common room, or your soft beds."
"Good evening, Mr. Brian." Neville was the first to notice Brian and greeted him with delighted surprise. "This isn't a bedsheet. It's a banner to cheer Harry on... don't pull so hard, Hermione..."
"Keep your voice down," Hermione whispered. "This is the library."
"And the person standing in front of you is a librarian," Ron added.
"Ah... sorry..." Neville mumbled.
"It's all right... but... a banner?" Brian blinked. "At the moment, it still looks like a... dirty bedsheet. What are you going to do?"
"First, I'll write 'Potter Must Win' on it with magical paint," Seamus said excitedly.
Dean cleared his throat and continued:
"Then I'll paint a big, majestic, lifelike lion underneath 'Potter Must Win'—to represent Gryffindor's courage."
Hermione said proudly, "Finally, I'll cast a clever spell to make sure the lion and 'Potter Must Win' stay in perfect condition and sparkle at all times—so everyone on the pitch can see them clearly."
"I provided the bedsheet," Ron said, not to be outdone. "Er, and Scabbers-my rat."
They all looked at Neville-
"The... the idea of making a banner for Harry was mine."
Neville blushed a little as he spoke.
"Perfect. I can't imagine how happy Harry will be when he sees this banner tomorrow."
Brian nodded with a smile and found them a table with enough space and a clear surface.
"Be careful not to get paint on the books. Don't worry about the table and chairs-I'll clean them."
Brian returned to his chair and watched the young witches and wizards get to work from a distance. Suddenly, he realized he had been making things needlessly difficult for himself-why did he have to start by casting ancient magic nonverbally? Wouldn't modern magic be a more suitable place to begin?
So he continued staring at the withered flower and silently recited:
Aguamenti... Aguamenti...
When the words "Potter Must Win" appeared on the bedsheet, a few drops of water materialized out of thin air and fell into the flowerpot.
By the time the great lion representing Gryffindor had taken its final shape, Brian could fill an empty cup with water with a single glance.
When the young witches and wizards carried the banner out of the library together, intending to have Hermione cast her spell, Brian restored the utterly filthy table with a nonverbal Scouring Charm-those children certainly hadn't held back.
"Am I actually a genius or not?" Having returned to attempting nonverbal ancient magic, Brian stared at the still-withered flower and muttered doubtfully to himself. "Why won't ancient magic work?"
Perhaps... the problem isn't the ancient magic, but this pot of flowers? he could not help wondering.
At dinner, Brian handed out Creamy Almond Toffee to all the Hogwarts staff present at the staff table in the Great Hall. Just as he was about to ask Professor Sprout for a favor, she spoke first.
"Chet, you look as though something's troubling you," Professor Sprout said kindly. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Nothing gets past you, Pomona." With his thoughts laid bare, Brian gave Professor Sprout a little round of applause and came straight to the point. "Are there any plants in the greenhouses that are close to withering? I need some for an experiment."
"Oh, far too many." Professor Sprout clicked her tongue, a faint, rueful smile on her face. "I should have taken you to see Greenhouse One last time-there's a communal patch in there for the students to grow plants in, and more than half of them are barely clinging to life."
That evening, Brian carried five pots of Fragrant Mallow in slightly varying states of withering all the way back from the greenhouses to the library, where he encountered Snape, whose complexion looked far worse than the plants' yellowing leaves.
His injured leg seemed to have worsened again-apparently because of the sudden drop in temperature.
"You ought to visit the Hospital Wing," Brian reminded him kindly.
"No concern of yours," Snape said coldly, setting a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages on the counter. He could not resist glancing at the Fragrant Mallow in Brian's arms, then shook his head with a sneer. "Exquisite taste."
Brian promptly informed him, without the slightest restraint, that his complexion was less attractive than even the yellowing leaves of the Fragrant Mallow, embellishing the observation with a few suitably exaggerated turns of phrase.
"And whose fault do you think that is?" Snape snarled.
"Mine?" Brian shook his head. "That's cheating. Ten points from Slytherin, Snape."
"... Exactly the same. You're just as ill-mannered as that arrogant Mr. Chosen One." The corner of Snape's mouth twitched as he delivered those words, then he limped away.
"Respect goes both ways. I'm only rude to people who have no manners," Brian retorted with a cheerful smile. "Care to guess why I'm so rude to you?"
Early the next morning, Brian enjoyed a delicious breakfast in the Great Hall, feeling thoroughly refreshed.
Professor McGonagall sat down beside him, sniffed twice, and asked curiously, "Chet, what brand of perfume is that?"
Brian shook his head and explained:
"It isn't perfume. I simply spent a wonderful night with five pots of Fragrant Mallow in full bloom."
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