Seeing Draco avoid his gaze, Herman wasn't sure if she had also had a similar dream, or if his guilty conscience had simply affected the atmosphere. In any case, the half-step distance between them suddenly became both narrow and long, so narrow that they could feel the warmth of each other's breath, and so long that neither of them knew how to cross the gap.
Finally, Draco spoke first. She cleared her throat, her voice a little higher than usual. "Did you sleep too much at noon and become a bit silly? You look a little dazed."
Herman retorted instinctively, "Are you still half asleep? Why are you here so early? Didn't you sleep well?"
"I slept very well!" Draco emphasized immediately, as if in a stress response. "I didn't dream at all! I slept straight through until the afternoon!"
"Really?" Herman responded skeptically, a thought creeping into his mind: Could it be that Draco also dreamt of him?
"Of course I wasn't dreaming! I went back and lay down to sleep. The morning classes were so boring, they made me so sleepy!" Draco said, patting her ponytail. "Look at me now, so energetic, and my hair looks so nice."
As she spoke, she turned around as if to show him, but to Herman, this action immediately reminded him of the details in his dream, and he began to feel a little hot.
Harry leaned against the greenhouse door frame, arms crossed, yawned first, then watched the two bicker back and forth expressionlessly before finally speaking slowly, "Did you two dream about each other at noon or something? You're arguing like this as soon as you meet."
Herman felt a sudden tightness in his back.
Draco's words caught in her throat, a faint blush rising to her cheeks, but she reacted quickly, turning to glare at Harry: "Who dreams of him! Dreaming of him is worse than going to Madam Malkin's to buy clothes!"
Harry watched as Draco eagerly tried to defend herself, a slight smile playing on her lips, but she said nothing more.
Although she couldn't be sure if the two of them were dreaming, or even dreaming about each other, Harry definitely was dreaming.
However, there was nothing romantic or ambiguous in the dream; instead, it was a series of massacres. If Herman hadn't appeared at the end as a comedic character, preventing the dream from being entirely a nightmare, Harry would have suspected that she was under some kind of curse.
Just then, the greenhouse door opened, Professor Sprout poked half his body out, a warm smile on his round face, "Come in, everyone. I've put some dangerous plants away, so please don't stand outside. Today is the first lesson, so we'll start with the simpler ones and get acquainted with the greenhouse environment."
The Herbology greenhouse was much larger than Herman had imagined.
Rows of long wooden tables were filled with flowerpots and seedling trays, while large and small ceramic jars and shovels were piled up in the corners. The air was filled with the fresh, bitter scent of damp soil and green plants.
Professor Sprout stood in the center of the greenhouse, patted the dirt off his hands, and glanced at the students who had gathered around him.
"I know some of you might think Herbology isn't as cool as Transfiguration or Charms," Professor Sprout's voice carried a confident calm, "But I want to tell you that not all magic requires a wand."
Some plants are living magic. More than a third of every ingredient you use in Potions Class comes from the leaves, roots, and petals of these greenhouses. Without Herbology, Potions is a blank book.
She pointed to an unassuming gray plant in the corner, its leaves thick and succulent, with a faint silver tinge at the edges. "This is Silverleaf. You might not think it's anything special. But five hundred years ago, a Herbology saved an entire village from a plague using its extract. That Herbology was later written into the History of Magic textbooks, and she never used a wand in her entire life."
Herman thought to himself: This can be explained by science, and even traditional Chinese medicine does the same thing. What does it have to do with wizards?
However, Professor Sprout's words did have some effect on these young wizards, at least piquing their curiosity, and some of them began to whisper among themselves.
Herman stood beside the long table, listening to Professor Sprout speak while casually glancing at the small plant in front of him.
The leaves are lush and green, round and plump, and look quite healthy.
But he had no interest in plants at all; his mind was still preoccupied with the Levitation Charm from that morning and the chaotic dream he had at noon, his attention drifting like a kite with a broken string.
Professor Sprout began distributing the plants, and each person received a similar-looking green plant. She explained how to care for the plant, how often to water it, and when to repot it. Herman listened and nodded, occasionally jotting down notes in his notebook with his quill pen, but mostly just mechanically drawing circles on the paper.
He didn't dislike the course, but he wouldn't say he liked it either.
Compared to his classmates, his performance was only average; he met the requirements but didn't do anything beyond what was expected.
The other Slytherin students around me were doing the same thing; some secretly yawned, as if they hadn't had a good rest, while others were already planning where to go after class.
Gryffindor is a bit more lively, with a few good students there.
Neville stood before the long table, his eyes shining like two small lanterns. He nodded in agreement with almost every sentence Professor Sprout spoke, occasionally asking for additional details. The notebook in front of him was already filled with dense writing, the handwriting neat and meticulous, as if he were performing some kind of religious ritual.
Then it was Hugo's turn, not to be outdone, scribbling something rapidly in her notebook, seemingly starting a shorthand competition with Neville. Ron, on the other hand, looked rather dazed, his gaze fixed on Neville, it was unclear whether he was paying attention to the lesson.
Professor Sprout clearly admired these students, referring to Neville and Hugo. He repeatedly went to their sides and looked down at their notes, but seemed to appreciate Neville more, adding, "If you're interested, you can come find me after class. There are some more special plants in the greenhouse."
Neville's ears turned red with joy.
Herman looked away and bent down to tamp down the soil around the plant.
Draco leaned closer, poked the leaves of his plant with the tip of her wand, and whispered, "Why is yours so ugly?"
Herman reached out and brushed her wand away. "Can't you concentrate in class?"
"I was very focused." Draco picked up her potted plant and examined it carefully for a while, then wrinkled her nose. "This one is also a bit ugly, not pretty at all."
"I'm ugly, but I haven't eaten your food, nor have I offended you."
"I just have a good eye for aesthetics and I like pretty things."
"Then your aesthetic sense is probably about the same as your level of magic."
Draco glared at him, then slammed the flowerpot she was holding onto the table harder, making a soft thud.
Fortunately, Professor Sprout was explaining something to Neville on the other end and didn't notice the commotion.