Chapter 238: Vine Whips and Flying Leaf Blades

The morning class was Professor Sprout’s Herbology lesson, where Gryffindor and Hufflepuff studied together in the greenhouse, tending to magical plants as sunlight streamed through the glass roof, warming everyone comfortably.

Allen felt even more comfortable—he had never before realized how pleasant sunlight could be, so he swapped seats with Harry, whose spot received better light.

Under the sun’s rays, he felt a faint warmth flowing from the bud on his back, steadily pouring into his body, filling every limb and bone with a soothing heat, each cell as if bathed in a hot spring.

He wasn’t sure if it was an illusion, but he felt his body had grown slightly stronger.

He only knew that Bulbasaur could absorb sunlight to heal itself; he hadn’t expected such a useful side effect.

The Treecko lay lazily atop the bud, having not moved in a long time—it was perfectly content with its current life.

This comfort vanished in the afternoon, when Potions class took place in a dim underground classroom with no direct sunlight.

Today they brewed a Wit-Sharpening Potion, used to treat colds; it wasn’t unpleasant to drink, but it caused both ears to smoke for hours afterward.

Professor Snape clearly and efficiently explained the entire brewing process, then instructed everyone to begin practicing.

Allen had never devoted much effort to Potions, but with his learning ability, even this minimal effort was enough to pass exams.

He always behaved with calm precision in Potions, never giving Professor Snape, that old bat, any chance to catch him making a mistake.

Because of this, Snape never lingered near him—he knew Allen was unlikely to err.

Snape usually circled Harry and Malfoy, and the reason was obvious.

But today was different; Allen couldn’t recall how many times Snape had passed by him—he estimated at least twenty.

The reason was clear: Snape was interested in the bud on Allen’s back. Never underestimate the allure of a new magical material to a Potions master—but given Snape’s nature, he would never speak up first.

So Allen remained unmoved, calmly simmering his potion, measuring every ingredient with precision, adding each at the perfect moment.

“I’ll choke you, you old bat,” Allen thought bitterly—Snape had plucked him bald just two days ago, and he wasn’t giving him any favors now.

Snape’s behavior had no effect on Allen, but it deeply affected someone else—Neville Longbottom.

Neville was already terrified of Snape, and since he’d always struggled with Potions, he constantly made mistakes in every class.

Today was worse—he sat next to Allen, and every time Snape passed by, it crushed him with psychological pressure. He assumed each pass meant Snape was about to find fault with him, so he grew increasingly tense, his hands trembling and movements distorting.

He didn’t even know how much of the ingredient he’d cut—he frantically prepared to toss the hedgehog quills into the cauldron.

Allen caught the motion instantly—Snape had just emphasized not to drop hedgehog quills into a still-boiling potion, or it would explode.

Allen didn’t want an explosion. Neville had caused many before, and everyone around them was used to it—but this time, Allen didn’t want Neville’s potion to blow up.

Because perched on his back’s bud was a small creature. If the potion exploded, its molecules would be in chaotic motion—hot liquid splashing onto the Treecko could burn it to death, and Allen couldn’t explain that to Mr. Scamander.

So he couldn’t risk it.

But when he noticed, it was too late—he couldn’t reach the quills in time.

Neville realized he was about to mess up again; his face turned terrified. Then a green shadow flashed past him, barely catching the quill in midair.

The accident was averted. Many noticed—the two long green whips extending from Allen’s back now coiled tightly around the hedgehog quill.

Snape noticed too. Though no explosion occurred, he still coldly deducted a point from Gryffindor. But Allen saw that Snape’s interest in him had intensified.

For the rest of the class, Allen remained flawless, giving Snape not a single opening.

After class, Gryffindor students swarmed Allen, fascinated by the green whips emerging from the bud on his back.

Since the whips were exposed, Allen let them look—luckily, everyone was still innocent enough to avoid making improper associations with the whips’ tips.

Then Malfoy appeared with his two cronies, as expected, beginning his usual taunts.

“Didn’t know you’d sunk this low,” Malfoy sneered. “That garlic on your back must smell awful! Are you planning to use it to ward off vampires?”

Allen narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, reflecting inwardly: Have I been too kind to Malfoy lately? He’s forgotten his lesson and is showing off again.

Allen had no patience for such behavior. The whips had just been revealed—perfect chance to test them on Malfoy.

He quickly scanned the surroundings—they were in the corridor, with no professors or prefects nearby.

The whips instantly lengthened. Before Malfoy could react, they wrapped him tightly. As he bound him, Allen even took a moment to recall bondage techniques from videos he’d seen in his past life, tying Malfoy neatly.

Crabbe and Goyle finally reacted, roaring as they charged forward—next instant, two green shadows sliced across their waists, severing their belts.

These were the Flying Leaf Blades launched from the bud.

Crabbe and Goyle instantly lost their fighting ability, stumbling backward, frantically holding up their pants.

Malfoy finally realized he was trapped again—but he wouldn’t back down—he opened his mouth to curse, only to feel a supple foreign object shoved into his mouth, jamming against his throat—he couldn’t speak.

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