The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the great hall was still glooming; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead.


They arrived in greenhouse three, Professor Sprout showed the class the ugliest plants Harry had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had several large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told them briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragonhide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."

Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. They caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.

"That'll keep Madam Promfrey happy," said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus.

A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Slytherins heading for the big oaf's hut.

He was standing outside, one hand on the collar of his mutt. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet. As they drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached their ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

"Only just hatched," the oaf said proudly


I'm not typing out Hagrid's accent it gives me a headache.


"And why would we want to raise them? Harry said.

The oaf looked stumped.

"Why would anyone want to see this abomination? Harry said you're fired."

There was a snap like noise.

"Pack your bags" Harry said you have one hour or you will escorted off."