After a while, Delaka, seemingly unconvinced, leaned closer and whispered, "I've already mastered the Levitation Charm, didn't you see? Why don't you teach me!"
After saying this, she paused for a moment, probably thinking of holding hands that morning and the beautiful dream she had at noon.
She quickly looked away, pretending to observe the shape of the edges of the leaves on her potted plant, but the small patch of skin near her ear had unknowingly turned a thin pink.
Herman also paused for a moment, recalling the events of the morning, and then his midday dream, as a faint ripple spread through his heart.
He quickly lowered his head, pretending to adjust the position of the flowerpot, so that he could avoid looking at Draco's reddened ears.
Harry sat on the other side of the long table, the plant in front of her meticulously tended, the soil smoothed and flattened. She held a leaf that had been accidentally knocked off, twirling it between her fingers, then said casually, "You two are practically wearing out your plants. This one won't even bloom."
Herman and Draco simultaneously looked away, like two elementary school students caught red-handed by their teacher.
Draco's mouth moved faster than her brain; she instinctively retorted, "Mind your own business."
Harry shrugged, placed the leaf on the table, and said nothing more.
She watched Draco and Herman's actions, shook her head dismissively, and called them a sick and half-friend.
Draco could barely be considered a friend. Apart from Draco, no one in Slytherin dared to speak to her, undoubtedly due to her family's influence and their knowledge that she was Black the wizard Black's lackey.
I don't know if Draco is really stupid, but it seems like Malfoy's name can be moved back on her list.
Herman was a friend, someone I'd known for a long time. Although he was a bit of a jerk, the fact that he appeared in my dream to help me meant I'd already accepted him in my heart.
Perhaps it was because he had too few friends. After all, Pure-blood wizard wouldn't approach him, and Black had become a wanted criminal on the path of revenge, so other wizarding families wouldn't interact with him either. He had no children his age to talk to, and Herman was the first person he interacted with the most.
After thinking about all this, Harry shook her head and began to carefully examine the plant in front of her, recalling the plant's uses and what kind of Potions it could be used as a base ingredient, as Sprout had just explained. Harry seemed to have some interest in Herbology.
For the remainder of the class, Herman refocused his attention on the plant, watering the soil as Professor Sprout explained, and gently pressing the leaves with his fingertips to feel their thickness.
Every action he took was conventional, neither outstanding nor lagging behind, just like his attitude towards the course of Herbology: serious but lacking in enthusiasm.
The earthy scent and bitter aroma of plant sap mingled in the greenhouse, gradually pulling him out of the lingering reverie of his midday dream and back into the real and concrete afternoon.
When the bell rang, Neville was kept behind by Professor Sprout for a talk, while Hugo and Ron stood at the greenhouse door waiting for him.
Herman packed up his things, put the flowerpots back in their designated places, and walked out of the greenhouse with Derakohari.
The evening sunlight slanted in from the greenhouse dome, casting long, thin shadows on the ground. Fine golden dust floated in the air, swirling slowly and quietly.
The Great Hall was still lively during dinner time.
Candles hung in mid-air, illuminating the entire dome with warmth and brightness. Four long tables were laden with steaming dishes, the silver plates gleaming softly in the candlelight.
Herman took a bite of a piece of roast beef, but his gaze fell on the timetable spread out in front of him. He looked at the timetable again from beginning to end to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
Monday mornings Transfiguration and Charms, and afternoons Herbology.
Tuesday morning History of Magic, afternoon Dark Magic Defence Class.
Wednesday mornings Charms and Herbology, afternoons are for rest, but evenings are for Astronomy.
Thursday mornings Dark Magic Defence Class and History of Magic, afternoons are P. E., oh no, I should call it Flying Class – we ride broomsticks!
Friday morning Potions Class, the afternoon is a break, and the entire weekend is free.
There aren't many subjects, with a maximum of two classes per week for each course. There are basically no plans after dinner, so most evenings are free, and weekends off are guaranteed.
This academic workload is easier than even primary school back home, let alone high school. It just goes to show that the trend of "happy education" has reached the wizarding world.
Herman folded up his timetable and stuffed it into his pocket, then forked a piece of roasted potato.
He noticed that Draco was sitting to his right, and there was an empty seat to his left. Harry was sitting opposite him, slowly poking at the vegetables on her plate with her fork, as if she had no appetite.
"Homework," Herman said casually. " Professor Flitwick said we have to write a paper on twelve-inch parchment. How long do you think twelve inches is?"
Herman was never particularly sensitive to the imperial system, mainly because he didn't need to use it while working part-time.
Draco put down her fork and gestured to indicate the length of her forearm. "About this long. Not much, I can easily make it up by copying from a textbook."
Herman looked at Draco, slender forearms without an ounce of fat and casually remarked, "Your arms are quite long."
"Of course, I'm well-developed." Draco proudly raised her chin, then added, "Just copy from the textbook, my father said that's what he did back in the day."
Herman didn't reply, but his eyes flickered for a moment.
The phrase "developing well" involuntarily led him to think of other things.
Fortunately, he quickly looked away. Draco was focused on the steak on her plate and didn't notice his momentary lapse in attention, otherwise, it would have led to another heated argument.
Copying from the textbook was certainly easier, but Herman was thinking about something else.
The assessment methods for these courses seem excessively broad. Once the paper is written and submitted, it seems that only the length and neatness of the handwriting are considered, while the specific depth and quality largely depend on how much effort one is willing to put in.
It's entirely possible to fake it, but there's also room for writing something seriously.
Herman silently calculated his schedule in his mind: he had classes during the day from Monday to Friday, was basically free in the evenings and nights, and was free all day on the weekend.
If he didn't waste time wandering around and chatting, he could have spent a lot of time in the library researching materials, solidifying the foundation of each course, and writing each paper in a clear and concise manner. In-depth research would also improve his magical abilities.
After all, there's a group of Vampire and Werewolf out there eyeing some Child of Prophecy. Even if his time isn't so urgent that it's measured in minutes, it definitely shouldn't be wasted on copying textbooks.
Herman was about to put a piece of honey-glazed ham into his mouth when he suddenly caught a commotion at the Gryffindor table in the distance.
George and Fred were huddled together, their heads close together, their expressions animated, their lips moving rapidly, as if they were plotting some grand scheme.
Ron, standing nearby, was trying to eavesdrop, but her two brothers were clearly on guard, and they would tacitly distance themselves every time she got a little closer.