Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm proud to say. Who would want to try and deal with all these illegal stories running about?

A/N: Anyways, a few questions were raised last chapter. Including one about Hermione's trust in Artemis. That is dealt with this and next chapter cackles evilly The entire idea of what he pulls on her is based on the Language Arts class, and could not have been possible if not for the stupidity of Sun Yang and Mr. Vanderslice (And Mr. Lubbers, to a lesser extent. He had some awesome parts as well). Muhahaha.

Sorry about not having a title. I hate naming things, and chapter titles are the worst. If you have something good, please tell me.

Chapter Thirteen: {No title}

His next hour, Herbology, could not have been worse unless Gilderoy Lockhart himself had taught it.

It wasn't the teacher's fault entirely; in fact, he though Mrs. Sprout was a very good teacher for one with red hair. However, Hogwarts did not favor Artemis Fowl when it placed him between Draco Malfoy and the gibbering card players in the back row right in front of a plant that kept sneaking its spikes vines over his shoulder. He was not pleased with the sap that dripped onto his meticulously clean black robes, nor when both Draco Malfoy and 'Chance' had the nerve to laugh at his appearance. Both, although they would not know it for several hours, had a curse placed upon them that would render their clothes unable to come off.

He was getting quite a taste for revenge, wasn't he? That would be only the beginning. Not that he knew it yet.

Many others filtered into the greenhouse, seating themselves as far away from the dangerous-looking plants that surrounded the seats and from Crabbe and Goyle, one of which (Artemis couldn't tell the difference—they were both stupid as far as he was concerned) seemed angry that he was unable to sit next to his master Malfoy.

He cracked his knuckles audibly, making sure that Artemis heard by accompanying it with a pig-like grunt.

Artemis glanced up at whatever it was that was blocking his light, and looked right back down again, disguising the reach for his wand as a scrabble for a quill. Trouble was brewing.

The… thing… cracked his knuckles again, and Artemis was poked in the ribcage on his right side. Draco's side.

"Yes?" he asked coolly, setting The Calling carefully into his book-bag. Wouldn't want to get his next scheme dirty.

It grumbled something, which Artemis doubted even the People's gift of tongues would have been able to translate.

"I'm afraid you'll have to speak a bit more clearly." Artemis stated, and he slipped his wand from the bag inconspicuously.

Draco took up the fight. "He wants to you move so he can sit by me."

Artemis' eyebrow arched. "I am not at your beck and call, nor shall I ever be. If you wish to be seated near each other, I recommend the seat by those lovely hyster in the front." He indicated with an elegant finger towards a large purple-and-black spined monstrosity that was looking hungrily at the classroom with what appeared to be an eye.

Although Artemis had truly wished that Draco would be stupid enough to take his advice, fate was not kind to those that played with it instead of the other way around. "I would rather that you move, Fowl, or I'm afraid that Crabbe—" He jutted his thumb towards the boy looming over Artemis, "and Goyle here—" The sitting boy grunted, "—will have to have a few words with you after class."

Artemis did not even hesitate at the blatant threat. "I doubt they could even speak legibly, Malfoy, and I have far better things to do then debate the finer points of philosophy with the pair. The seats are still open, however."

Malfoy scowled, and raised his own wand. "I'm warning you…"

Fortunately for Draco's sake, Mrs. Sprout had just been relived of Lockhart's attentions and strode into the classroom. Her frizzy red hair, having clearly not been combed, had been placed in a lackadaisical bun that reminded Artemis of how his mother put up her hair. Forest-green robes that contrasted sharply with her hair (Lockhart must have exchanged a few words on that a few minutes ago) swished about her faintly plump figure, and her callused hands just pocked out from the hem of her practical robes, erasing all doubts as how she taught.

Hands-on.

Artemis groaned, only stifling it for the sake of his reputation. He had bought gloves in case the class outline made true on its threat, but had not brought them in the assumption that the first class would at least be some type of note-taking. Not grubbing around in the dirt like some tree-hugging lunatic…

So absorbed was Artemis in his wallowing in self-pity, that he didn't even notice as the classroom hushed around him and Sprout took up a position in front of his desk. It was not until he felt the all-too-familiar feel of eyes staring at him that he looked up. "Yes?" he asked, folding his hands on his lap.

"Did you not hear the question?" Sprout asked, anger rising in her voice. "Or were you simply too busy talking?"

If Artemis did not have the perfect emotional control he so cherished, he would have smiled. "No, madame, it is simply Draco here was so busy prattling about himself I could not hear your question."

Sprout, despite her anger, cracked a slight smile along with the rest of the class. "Really. Ten points from Slytherin, and, Mister Fowl, the question was what the properties of a Mandrake are."

Self-consciously brushing back his hair, Artemis began. "The Mandragora is commonly used as a restorative to revive those cursed back into their original state. However, Salazar Slytherin discovered that, when used in adjunct with unicorn bl—"

"That's quite enough." Sprout snapped, throwing him the I'll-talk-to-you-after-class look. "Now, these Mandrakes here—" She waved one hand towards several trays. Try as he might, Artemis could not see over Chance's curly blonde head as to what they were. However, he had easily figured out by now that they were potting Mandrakes. "—shall be all potted by the end of the hour." She glared around at the general room, although Artemis could plainly see it was directed at those who decided to take a nap. "If need be, you shall stay after to finish up. Understand?"

The class nodded, and Sprout continued. "Mister Fowl failed to mention that Mandrake's scream is fatal. You'll need earmuffs, unless you would prefer to be dead."

There was an instant rush towards the earmuff tub in which Artemis was beaten severely by several girls. He aimed for the plainest one he saw (A black that strongly reminded him of the cat he was neglecting). He got the feathered orange one. However, it was better then the fuzzy pink one Sprout got stuck with, or the puke-green one Draco was unfortunate enough to snag.

"When I tell you to put these on," Sprout continued, "make sure they completely cover your ears. I simply cannot stress that enough. We have only had one death these last one-hundred years, and I certainly don't want the next to be in my class. However, since they are but seedlings, their cries won't kill yet."

Half the class breathed out a sigh of relief, including, Artemis noted, Draco Malfoy.

Sprout continued. "They will still knock you out for several hours, an since there is still several classes to go make sure they are completely secure. I will attract your attention when it is time to pick up."

"Four to a tray—there is a supply of pots by the Mandrakes—and Mister Adams, stop teasing the Venemous Tentacula unless you have the mind to be fed to it."

Spader pulled his hand away from it quickly, looking at the oozing red sap covering his hand suspiciously. A few of the Slytherins laughed at him, but the majority of the class had gathered around various trays along the side of the room. Artemis went for one of his own. Malfoy joined him.

Sprout assumed her position at the front of the classroom again, giving out more directions. "When I tell you to put them on," She indicated her pink and fluffy earmuffs, "make sure your ears are completely covered. When it is safe to remove them, I shall give you a thumbs-up. Now, put them on."

Everyone did, most of them double-checking their own handiwork. None thought missing lunch was a good idea.

Artemis, however, grimaced openly when he placed the orange abomination on his head, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Draco doing it as well. Their eyes met briefly, and turned away to look at Sprout again.

She had moved towards the table shared by the red-head and three Slytherin girls, waiting patiently for everyone to be looking at her. Apparently deciding that Spader and Chance were close enough to looking at her in ogling the girls, she gestured for them to watch carefully. Rolling up the ends of her voluminous green robes, she grasped one of the leave-tufts poking out from the tray and, bracing herself against the table, yanked.

As Artemis expected, the muddy 'body' of the Mandrake popped out, skin the shade of Draco's earmuffs mottled with bits of mud. His mouth was wide open, clearly bawling loudly enough to shame a stock broker during the Depression.

At his side, Draco stiffened, eyes taking on a slightly glazed look. Apparently, his lovely earmuffs weren't good enough to block all sound.

Smiling slightly, he continued to watch as Sprout plunged the Mandrake into the terra cotta pot offered by the red-head, burying it in the again offered compost until only the twitching leaves were visible. She dusted her thoroughly grimy hands—What Artemis' hands were about to look like—and gave them a thumbs up.

Artemis was one of the first to get his off, just in time to hear the sigh of relief from the students. Chancing a sidelong look, Artemis saw that Draco was still slightly blank-of-face. Perhaps there wouldn't be as much trouble as he had foreseen from him.

Or not; Crabbe and Goyle were still in full control of their somewhat diminished wits, and they had heard Draco's thinly veiled threats. Even if Draco was slightly out, he would have the trouble he had so wished to evade.

Artemis slipped his orange earmuffs back on shortly, looking mournfully at his hands. As much as he loved being clean, if he wanted to put that Granger girl back in her place he would have to get his hands dirty and get an A. An A, that is.

Shutting his eyes tightly, he picked his hands up, and plunged them into the tray before him. Eyes still shut, he groped through the soil and, gripping the base of the stalk, pulled.

The nasty, squirming thing before him was vicious, reaching up with root-like hands to tear at his white skin. It took several minutes of helpless pushing, pulling and yanking to have it all the way in his pot, but the problem of keeping it within his pot remained.

Much to his annoyance, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have been able to stuff theirs into the pot with a mixture of brute force and plant-torture, and they even reached across the table and helped Malfoy (Whose condition deteriorated as the hour passed by). They may have been little smarter then chimpanzees, but they were every bit as loyal as them as well.

All in all, that was without a doubt the worst hour of his life. It had not been so bad with the Holly incident; at least there his mind was challenged. This, however, had no thinking at all—just the steady rhythm of a fight; get hands dirty, get bitten (Or, optional, don't get bitten), get it in pot, let it escape once or twice…

His only consolation was the little plot he had cooking up in his head for lunch. Knowing Hermione, she would undoubtedly notice when a piece of her property went missing. And who would she ask first, of all the people that had sat near her?

Schemes were such a lovely thing. He really should make more of them.

It was this thought alone that bore him through class and kept the vaguely far-off smile on his face. Even when Sprout took him aside after class to talk about the importance of 'some knowledge that is best left forgotten', he let the words flow over him, registering in that distant part of his mind that would be sorted when peace came.

If peace came.

Ha. Ha. Ha. I feel very sarcastic today, so please excuse me. I shall edit everything I have so far soon, with input from friends at school, and post the fixed versions.

Posts shall be a bit more frequent until the 30th of June, after which I shall be gone until school starts.

Namárië,

Nallasariel the Weeper

P.S. The next chapter is going to be loooooong.