The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

For every student stepping through the school gates, September always carries a contradictory fragrance—a bittersweet warmth remnants of summer, yet also the bleakness of approaching autumn. Hogwarts is no exception.

But at this moment, Julien Black felt that the air at the beginning of the new semester was filled with another kind of sour smell that made him uncomfortable: the strange smell that was unique to mandrakes when they were repotted, a mixture of earthy smell and baby saliva.

"Welcome to the Third Greenhouse," Professor Sprout said, waving his arms like a moving cabbage as he stood at the doorway.

Unlike other professors who preferred to wear solemn black or ornate robes (Lockhart), her robes were always grayish-brown and stained with dirt, prioritizing practicality.

Julien followed the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students into the greenhouse, his eyes sweeping over the neatly arranged terracotta pots.

After a summer vacation, the mandrakes were clearly doing well, their thick leaves emerging from the soil like a group of babies eager to see the world.

"Today we're repotting the mandrakes. Remember, wear earmuffs; their cries are loud enough to knock an adult unconscious—but for you little brats, they might just turn you into idiots."

"Julien!" Hannah Abbott squeezed in from the side, a suspicious green leaf clinging to her blond hair. "Where did you go for summer vacation? I wrote you three letters!"

"Excuse me. I went to the French Riviera then," Julien said, taking his earmuffs off the shelf as he recalled the ghostly underwater city, "and sunbathed and looked at the fish."

"Fish?" Hannah asked with interest, her shyness from last year gone. "Does Nice have any special sea fish?"

"Yes," Julien recalled the octopus clinging to the clock tower, "a fish that can tell time."

"Pay attention!" Professor Sprout clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "I need to remind you that Neville, who fainted this morning, is still in the university hospital."

Of course, the young wizards, who were used to Neville's misfortune, didn't seem to care much about it, except for Hannah, who showed a look of pity.

"Before we begin," the professor looked around, "can anyone tell me what the purpose of mandrake is?"

Suddenly, a forest of arms appeared in the greenhouse.

The Ravenclaw students were particularly enthusiastic; Terry Boots even stood on his tiptoes, while Kayson Moretti tried to use a levitation charm to float even higher. He was met with a glare from the professor and sheepishly put down his wand.

Julien didn't raise his hand. He was staring at the hound totem on the inside of his right wrist, the one that had appeared in his nightmares. The mark hadn't reappeared since the hallucinations of Azkaban, but he could always feel a faint burning sensation, as if something was sleeping beneath his skin, waiting to be awakened.

"Mr. Blake."

Julien looked up abruptly and found Professor Sprout watching him with a half-smile. All eyes around him turned to him, some with schadenfreude, others with pity.

"I noticed you didn't raise your hand," the professor said slowly. "Although you got the best grade in your class in Herbalism last semester, even surpassing Hermione Granger from Gryffindor, I want to remind you that class participation is just as important."

"Miss Granger has earned nearly 50 points in the Academy just from Herbalism alone," she said, raising her voice deliberately. "Every student should learn from Miss Granger. Especially you, Mr. Black."

A suppressed laugh echoed from the greenhouse. Julien saw Liria next door pursing her lips, a mischievous glint in her icy blue eyes.

"So," Professor Sprout crossed his arms, "Mr. Black, please tell us—what is the use of mandrake?"

Julien sighed, suppressing the strange sensation on his wrist.

"Mandragora, scientific name Mandragora officinarum," he began, his voice as steady as if he were reciting "A Thousand Wonderful Herbs and Mushrooms."

"Its root is shaped like a human and has extremely strong magical regeneration capabilities. Mature mandrake is a key ingredient in the preparation of 'resurrection potions', which can restore a petrified person to their original state."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the ceramic pots: "Furthermore, its leaves can be used to make powerful sleeping pills, and its flowers are an ingredient in 'love potions'—although I don't recommend anyone try the latter unless you want to receive a warning letter from the Ministry of Magic on Valentine's Day."

Professor Sprout raised his eyebrows, the daisy on his hat stopped swaying, and he tilted his head to examine Julien.

“Very complete,” she said. “Ravenclaw, five points. But—” her tone suddenly became meaningful, “I noticed you mentioned ‘mature mandrake.’ Mr. Black, you seem quite interested in the growth cycle of mandrake?”

Julien's heart skipped a beat. He did have a question he wanted to ask, but he had originally planned to ask it privately after class. Since the professor had brought it up himself…

“Yes, Professor,” he said frankly, “I’d like to know, how long does it typically take for mandrake to mature from seedling to maturity? Is there…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “…a method to accelerate maturation?”

The greenhouse suddenly fell silent.

Professor Sprout's eyes narrowed, like a cat that had spotted a mouse. She walked slowly to Julien, the scent of earth mixed with some ancient, indescribable magical aroma wafting towards him.

"An interesting question," she whispered. "Very interesting. Most students are only concerned with how to prevent the mandrake from crying itself to death, while you're thinking about how to make it grow faster."

Sprout paced back and forth with his hands behind his back. "I did see it in a book, I think it was called 'The Magic of Early Ripening and the Ethical Dilemma'."

She hesitated, seemingly considering whether it was appropriate to reveal everything. "There is an ancient method of accelerating growth, involving moonlight extract, dragon's blood diluent, and—" she paused, "a forbidden spell known as the 'Time Thief.' But this method is extremely dangerous and strictly controlled by the Ministry of Magic."

Julien's heart skipped a beat. A time thief? All magic involving time is probably extremely dangerous.

"There's no need to use this method right now," Professor Sprout said, his thoughts returning to the classroom, his tone regaining its usual affability. "Our mandrake will mature naturally next spring, just in time for the fifth-year Potions class. Professor Snape will then demonstrate how to make the 'Resurrection Potion'."

Professor Sprout had already turned and walked to the center of the greenhouse, clapping his hands: "Alright, stop daydreaming! Put on your earmuffs, work in pairs, and start repotting! Remember, grab the leaves, not the roots—unless you want to spend a pleasant weekend at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries!"

Julien put on the earmuffs, and the world suddenly became dull and distant. He looked at his partner—Liria—who was silently pushing a ceramic pot towards him, her long, silvery-white hair curling slightly in the steam of the greenhouse.

"Why did you ask about methods to ripen fruit artificially?" Her voice sounded muffled through the earmuff, but her icy blue eyes were full of inquiry. "And what did you find out?"

Julien shook his head and reached out to grasp a leaf of a mandrake. The touch was unsettling—soft, warm, like that of a real baby.

"Why 'again'? Just out of curiosity," he said, then added in a low voice before the mandrake was pulled from the soil and began its first piercing scream, "I've figured out where that meteorite should be."

The mandrake's screams could still penetrate his earmuffs, like a dull saw cutting into his brain.

Julien gritted his teeth, stuffed the writhing, human-shaped plant into the new ceramic pot, and quickly covered the roots with soil.

The screams stopped abruptly, replaced by a satisfied, burp-like sound.