Chapter 292: Itching Vine

“Little Green, I always said you have talent, no matter what you do.”

At the greenhouse door, Senior Bruce hummed a cheerful tune, as if talking to himself.

There were too many legends about this senior; for a moment, Wizard Sean felt it was perfectly understandable that he had slipped itching powder onto Lockhart without anyone noticing.

The question was, how had Senior Bruce discovered that Professor Lockhart was a fraud?

Before he was exposed, the professors had still held a bit of respect for him.

Even now, Professor Sprout hadn’t forcibly driven Lockhart away—but after Senior Bruce entered, her warm smile never faded.

Now she looked into Wizard Sean’s eyes and said:

“Today we’re repotting mandrakes. Who can tell me what characteristics mandrakes have?”

The young witches and wizards who had just returned from break were mentally blank; as usual in Herbology class, when you couldn’t answer, it didn’t matter—just look behind you for the quiet Wizard Sean Green.

“Mandrake, also called mandrake root, is a potent restorative.”

“It restores people who have been transfigured or cursed back to their original state.”

Wizard Sean replied.

“Excellent answer, right? Let’s give Mr. Green some applause. He already shows the same flair I had when I was at Hogwarts.”

Lockhart seized the moment, like a narcissistic peacock constantly fanning his feathers.

This time, he received none of the applause he expected.

“Excuse me, are you referring to Wizard Sean Green?”

Michael couldn’t help grinning as he spoke.

The young witches and wizards around them wore peculiar expressions. The Slytherins didn’t care much for Lockhart, but now they wore clear looks of disdain.

Malfoy outright laughed out loud.

Does this guy even know what he’s saying?

Even his father wouldn’t dare belittle this Green now.

“Of course, such a wonderful young wizard, right? Perhaps he can even catch up to my shadow.”

Lockhart continued in a smooth tone, casting Wizard Sean an encouraging glance.

“So you’re the rising star Dumbledore himself has acknowledged, Professor? We truly underestimated you.”

Michael praised, nudging Terry beside him.

Terry was counting mandrake leaves, tirelessly tallying data; now he responded dazedly:

“Oh, according to this—you’re far more powerful than Dumbledore was at your age.”

Lockhart jolted. In this school, the only person he couldn’t understand—and dared not try to—was the Headmaster.

“If we were all trapped in a phone booth with a werewolf, Dumbledore probably couldn’t have done better than me. Want to hear the details of that thrilling story? I wrote them all in my book.”

“Alright, children, anyone remember? It’s ‘Wandering with Werewolves’.”

“Let me share a little secret: reading brave books written by brave wizards is extremely useful.”

He explained slowly, but the Ravenclaws were no longer buying it.

Even the witches who had just looked at him with admiration now wore complicated expressions and stopped staring.

Come to think of it, Mr. Green and Lockhart seemed quite similar.

Both were brilliant, well-read, and had published their own books.

But Mr. Green’s story was right before their eyes; the young witches and wizards couldn’t imagine anyone more outstanding.

Especially one acknowledged by Headmaster Dumbledore.

Lockhart faced his first silence at Hogwarts—Ravenclaws ignored him, Slytherins sneered.

Only then did Lockhart notice the young wizard’s uniqueness.

“Oh, I mean—oh oh oh—”

He suddenly felt an all-over itch, with no strength left to explain, only meaningless sounds escaping his mouth.

Then he dashed out of the greenhouse like he was tap-dancing; outside, Senior Bruce hadn’t left yet:

“Oh dear, Professor, you’ve encountered itching vine! Do you know this plant?”

“Of course I know—it’s just that if it hadn’t ambushed me, I’d have subdued it in two minutes—”

Lockhart managed to utter a few sentences after a long pause.

Inside the greenhouse, all the young witches and wizards stared wide-eyed, falling silent; some former admirers among the girls turned beet-red, utterly incredulous.

“What a pity—I’m sure you’d have found a way to handle it.”

Senior Bruce said, feigning concern.

“Obviously, but now—”

“Let me help you—helping someone as great as you has always been my dream—”

“Good lad—what are you sprinkling on me?”

“You should know—it’s the powder that neutralizes itching vine.”

“Then why am I still so itchy?”

“That’s exactly right—it means it’s working—”

Professor Sprout shut the greenhouse door, doing her best to preserve Lockhart’s dignity—even for someone like him.

“Excellent answer. Ten points to Ravenclaw.”

Professor Sprout said,

“Mandrake is a vital component in most antidotes. But it’s also dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

…

Without Professor Lockhart, Herbology became perfectly normal.

Wizard Sean effortlessly pulled a grotesque little infant from the soil, its leaves growing from its head. Its skin was pale green, speckled with spots. The little thing was clearly screaming at the top of its lungs.

Michael and the others crowded around Wizard Sean, holding pots; elsewhere, a deep red, thorny plant stretched out its tendrils at the students, sending them into shrieks.

“The compost is in the bag over there—watch out for the poison tendrils, it’s growing teeth.”

Professor Sprout also warned.

【You fully handled a mandrake to expert standard. Proficiency +10】

Each plant had subtle differences; Wizard Sean always felt passionate about these magical plants, and his handling speed was the fastest.

By class end, the young witches and wizards were all drenched in sweat, aching in back and waist, caked in dirt. Weary, they trudged back to the castle for showers, then hurried off to Transfiguration.

Passing the greenhouse door, Professor Lockhart was drenched in sweat, forcing a smile as he stood there:

“Oh, children, I expended tremendous energy subduing the itching vine. How did you all fare inside? After I dealt with it?”

A few Ravenclaw girls glanced up at him and hurried past.

He felt no shame at all, loudly proclaiming his method of handling the itching vine.

“That was a fake plant, right?”

Wizard Sean said.

“Of course it was fake—but someone needs to believe it’s real, or it’d be too embarrassing. Speaking of which, the fakes aren’t limited to itching vine.”

Senior Bruce winked.

Bruce blinked his eyes.