Ahoy hoy, everybody! Friday night, I had nowhere to be, soI sat down at the computer and wrote... and wroteandwroteandwrote. It was awesome. And then, today (Saturday), I did a lot of editing. And... le chapitre trois of There's Something About Terry was born!
Crazy amounts of love to all reviewers: Desiree K Troy, Laney-Wood, strawberry-heavens and FUSSY! You guys are wonderful.
And here we go.
Chapter Three: A Herbology Catastrophe
It was a cold Wednesday morning. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the grey sky, though there were too few of them to accumulate anywhere. Except, perhaps, in Terry's hair.
He bustled across the stretch of lawn to Herbology, Padma and Michael on his either side. Padma and himself had been sensible and were dressed in scarves and sweaters, whereas Michael preferred to "be manly and tackle the elements". With defiance he had sauntered from the castle wearing nothing but his uniform slacks and a tee-shirt, but within seconds could not hush his chattering teeth.
"Mate, it's January. Stop kidding yourself," Terry advised, smirking.
"N-n-never!" declared Michael as he charged forward, his arms stuffed inside his shirt. Terry laughed and sprinted after his friend (he was cold too, after all) with Padma nipping at his heels. Breathless, the three entered the Greenhouse One.
The frigid air combined with the breath of thirty students fogged the glass walls, making it impossible to see in or out. It wasn't much warmer inside, either; many students chose to remain bundled in their layers. Terry and Padma continued to tease Michael, who had no layers to begin with, but insisted on maintaining his masculinity.
Professor Sprout waddled from the far end of the greenhouse, speaking as she made her way to the front. Terry observed Draco Malfoy do a crude impression of the professor when she passed him: his arms stoutly on his hips, his cheeks puffed out, shifting from one foot to the other in a half-squat. He and his fellow Slytherins snickered in their distinctive, condescending manner. Rolling his eyes, Terry glanced toProfessor Sprout. She hadn't noticed.
"Mooncalf dung," she was instructing, "is a powerful fertilizer. When used sparingly, certain plants benefit greatly from its properties by growing up healthy, strong, and happy."
Terry grinned. He loved Herbology partly for the way Professor Sprout referred to plants as if they were children that needed to be nurtured and loved (and maybe fertilized with mooncalf dung) in order to become "grown-ups".
"However," she continued with one stubby, cautioning finger raised. "Mooncalf dung can be dangerous if it is not handled carefully. For example: this particular greenhouse houses belladonna, for the purposes of potion-making." With the same finger, Professor Sprout pointed to a gnarly-looking plant along the wall behind the line of Slytherins.
"Belladonna is severely reactive to mooncalf dung. If more than a pinch of the fertilizer is applied to its base, it grows rapidly before one's eyes. So rapidly, in fact, it could fill this greenhouse in a matter of minutes."
Meeting eyes with his professor, Terry nodded receptively. She offered a chubby-cheeked smile in return, then clapped her hands together.
"That being said! Grab a partner and one of these potted dittanies on the center table, here. The dittany is not quite so reactive, hence we will be using it to study the affects of the mooncalf dung... which is stored on the supply shelves in the back. Mr. Boot, Miss Brocklehurst, please go retrieve four pots of it. Hurry, now, we must get started."
Obediently, Terry weaved through his fellow Ravenclaws, who chatted and searched for partners while pulling on their handling gloves. Their voices softened to a muffled murmur as Terry let the glass door to the supply area fall closed behind him. The noise rose again as the door was pushed open.
Terry turned. It was the same skinny girl with the long plaits that Michael had shoved down in the hallway a week earlier. Her cheeks flushed pink as Terry greeted her with a smile. He swiveled back around and began searching for the mooncalf dung on the shelving labeled "Fertilizer" by a sign hanging from the ceiling by a rusty, vine-entangled chain.
Unfortunately, the pots themselves were not labeled. Terry poked at a lumpy, foul-smelling black mush contained in a square pot, his brow furrowed.
"Is this it?" he questioned of the girl, who now stood beside him.
"No," she replied, her nose crinkled. "Mooncalf dung is silvery."
Terry squinted at her, his expression both quizzical and impressed.
"I read ahead in the text," she explained with another blush.
"Ah."
Terry watched her for a moment, thinking of her last name.
Brocklehurst, Brocklehurst. . .
A light bulb illuminated inside his head.
"You're Mandy, right?" he wondered aloud, meeting the girl's eyes for a moment before she looked away.
"Erm, yeah. Mandy."
"Thought so. I'm Terry."
"I kn—I mean, yeah. Hello, Terry."
The two continued their search for the mooncalf dung, finally finding the silver fertilizer on the top shelf. One by one, Terry handed four pots down to Mandy. The pots were large; each could easily fit a Quaffle inside when empty. Though filled to the brim with dung, they were practically weightless.
Terry followed suit as Mandy hoisted two pots from where she'd placed them on the ground, cradling one in each arm. She pushed through the opposite door that they'd entered from and started down the dirt path behind the Slytherins, who were lined up along the center table. The Ravenclaws stood attentive on the other side. Walking in perfect stride with Mandy, Terry trailed her by two paces.
As they neared Malfoy and his mates, Terry noticed the Slytherin whisper to Theodore Nott, who let out a hoot of laughter.
The events of the seconds that ensued occurred in slow motion.
Malfoy jutted a foot in Mandy's walkway ever-so-discreetly. Terry saw, but it didn't register.
Disaster struck.
Mandy tripped. She gave a short, high pitched shriek as she tumbled unceremoniously to the dirt, flinging the pots of mooncalf dung.
Unable to halt his forward momentum, Terry bowled over, landing precisely atop Mandy. His own pots of dung flew from his arms, high, high into the air...
He rolled off Mandy, worried that he may have hurt her, yet his eyes followed the soaring mooncalf dung. Upon falling, he'd lost track of who had held which pots, but it ended up not mattering. Terry watched, sprawled helplessly on the ground, as the individual pots landed and shattered.
The first pot broke on the center table. The second narrowly missed Pansy Parkinson's feet. The third and fourth broke over the plants, the belladonna, against the wall—
Oh, shit.
The reaction was both incredible and horrifying. Laughter of the Slytherins morphed into screams and profanity as panicked students kicked and shoved their peers in order to make it out of the greenhouse alive.
The ordinarily quill-thin stems of the belladonna thickened to the width of coffee cups. The stalks reached hungrily out, each growing a meter per second, gobbling up the available space. The plant's sharp-edged, brittle leaves and inch-long thorns clawed mercilessly at robes, arms, faces. Professor Sprout was shouting something, her words drowned in the commotion.
Terry groped along the ground, eventually finding Mandy's wrist. He yanked; she screamed. Stalks shot out above him, grazing his head. The plant multiplied, twisting and turning every which way, the sound of its growth resembling the ripping of fabric, the pulling-apart of Velcro. Terry's heart beat so furiously he was sure the thumping could be seen through his clothes. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He crawled sideways, guiding Mandy with him toward the exit. He could see outside through a tiny void in the belladonna...
The pair escaped. Terry threw himself from the greenhouse, landing face-down on the frosted grass. Mandy clambered out, thrashing to close the screen door with her feet, just as the glass wall cracked from its base to the roof. He watched her squirm ahead of him, gasping; her body fell limp as she began sobbing into her arms.
"Terry! Oh Terry, thank Merlin!"
Terry felt someone kneel beside him. It was a hysterical Padma, her face streaked with tears and mascara.
"You all right, mate?"
Terry rolled onto his back, groaning. Michael stood over him. The Ravenclaws, and even a few of the Slytherins, crowded around. Terry lost sight of Mandy. He lifted his body to a lounging position.
"Is Mandy okay?" he asked, trying to get a glimpse of her.
A few people mumbled, "Who?" but before anyone could answer Terry's question, Professor Sprout parted the mob of students and took hold of his arms. She hauled him roughly to his feet. Whimpering incoherent squeaks of rage, she grabbed Terry's ear and pulled him away from the crowd. He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, making a hissing sound.
"Class dismissed! Go to Madam Pomfrey if you have to!" his professor bellowed.
Terry spotted Mandy as the crowd began to dissipate, though many students loitered, trying to remain within earshot. With her free hand, Professor Sprout grasped Mandy's forearm and heaved the girl to her feet. She yelped, then wiped her face with a sleeve.
"Explain yourselves!" sputtered Professor Sprout, her eyes expansive and whipping from side to side. "How could you be so completely careless!? Excellent students like yourselves! After all I warned you about the reactions of the belladon—"
Terry spoke up.
"Professor, it wasn't carelessness. Malfoy tripped Mand—"
"That's a lie!"
Terry snapped his head around at the icy, drawling voice. Malfoy stood a few meters away, sneering maliciously, blood dripping from a cut below his eye. The deep red looked creepy against his pale skin. Arms folded across his chest, he stepped closer.
"You tripped her from behind," professed Malfoy, pointing an accusing finger at Terry. "Don't try to lay it on someone else, Boot."
Terry's protests were buried beneath a deafening crash. The screen door of the greenhouse had burst off its hinges, allowing the belladonna to explode out across the lawn. More screams rang out as people distanced themselves. Professor Sprout snatched her wand from inside her apron, aimed it at the plant and shouted an incantation.
The growth of the belladonna slowed as it turned a sickly yellow. The leaves shriveled and crackled as if struggling. Professor Sprout directed her wand to the greenhouse wall.
"Reparo."
The crack sealed. Professor Sprout turned on her heel, looking miserable.
"That, students, was a modified Drought Charm. I didn't want to resort to using it. But now, the belladonna is stripped of its water and cannot grow, but is also rendered useless for potion-making."
The professor glanced wistfully over her shoulder.
"Anyway, back to you two," she snapped at Terry and Mandy. "And you, Mr. Malfoy."
Mandy spoke. Quietly.
"Professor, please, Terry didn't trip me. It was—"
"Yes, he did," Malfoy snarled. "I saw him do it. I was right there."
"What's the trouble?" inquired a familiar, silky voice. Professor Snape's. "I have come for..." he trailed off, noticing the state of the greenhouse. "A stalk of belladonna. I see you have plenty, but none of it any use to me."
"There was a mishap with mooncalf dung," explained Professor Sprout wearily.
"Who did this?"
"It's their fault, Professor Snape, sir. I saw the whole thing," piped Malfoy, pointing again at Terry and Mandy.
"No! He's lying! It was an accident! Professor Snape, pl—"
Terry was silenced by Professor Snape's glare.
"I've heard enough," he hissed in his velvety, malevolent tone.
Heard enough? How could he have already heard enough?
"As Head of Slytherin House, I am qualified to interpret this situation and assign appropriate punishments." He paused, casting Professor Sprout an 'I'm-superior-to-you-and-therefore-will-be-taking-control' glance. "It seems to me that Mr. Malfoy, being a Prefect, is the more trustworthy party. Mr. Boot, Miss Brocklehurst; both of you will be serving a four-hour detention with me this Saturday."
Terry noticed a wicked grin spread across Malfoy's face.
"That's ridiculous!" he stormed, astonished. "You don't even know what happened! This is unbeliev—"
"My decision is final," growled Professor Snape. "Four-hour detentions. Both of you for carelessness, and Mr. Boot for his cheek."
Gritting his teeth, Terry stomped across the lawn toward the castle. He beat through a crowd of Slytherins, finding Michael and Padma beyond them. Beside himself with rage, he said nothing to his friends. In a matter of minutes he had a near-death experience, been involved in the wreckage of a greenhouse and the destruction valuable plant, received a four-hour detention...
Ugh. The injustice of it all.
He stared intently ahead, ignoring Michael and Padma's questions, too angry to look at them, too angry to speak. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair; he felt something wet, and cold.
Terry looked at his palm. His thoughts were bitter as he rubbed the moisture from his hand onto his sweater.
Bloody snowflakes.
Well, do I pass GO? Collect $200? Or did it suck? REVIEW to let me know!
Also - Mooncalf dung, belladonna, and dittanies are all "real" magical... things. I made up the stuff about the reactions, but found the names of them at the Harry Potter Lexicon, which is extremely useful for all your HP needs. Check it out! )