ℒℯ𝓈𝓈ℴ𝓃 ℴ𝒻 ℒ𝒾𝒻ℯ 𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ

❀ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓉𝓎𝓈ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃 ❀

❤︎𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓰𝓸 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓪 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮❤︎

With a graceful sigh, I settled into my place beside Hannah Abbot, the verdant embrace of the greenhouse enveloping us. Professor Sprout, her friendly smile adorning her lips, began the day's lesson on Herbology, her robust enthusiasm palpable.

Hannah, her countenance marked by a hint of concern, leaned toward me. "Have you been studying? I must admit, I wasn't entirely focused during our last session."

I cast an amused glance at the blonde Hufflepuff. "Indeed, Hannah. We were discussing the plangentine, a plant adorned with leaves of a deceptively glassy veneer. It is a plant bound to the whims of the moonlight, only to be harvested when the moon's silvery rays embrace its dark blue foliage. An untimely plucking of this enigmatic herb can transform its healing properties into venomous maladies."

Gratitude danced in Hannah's eyes as she reached for her gloves, her attention returning to Professor Sprout, who was presently engaged with Neville Longbottom, stationed to her left.

"Pay heed, dear students," Professor Sprout chimed in. "Today, we shall revisit the plangentine, for I suspect its intricacies have yet to find a firm footing in your memories."

A knowing grin adorned my lips as Hannah, my steadfast comrade in this scholarly undertaking, and I exchanged glances filled with relief. The hours I had devoted to plumbing the mysteries of the plangentine were now bearing fruit, granting me the luxury of not having to wholly immerse myself in the professor's lecture. In the verdant embrace of the greenhouse, we toiled amidst fragrant, moonlit leaves, delving into the intricate knowledge of this elusive herb.

Our hands moved with a delicate precision, fingers dancing over leaves that shimmered like translucent glass under the ethereal light. Each leaf, a moonlit pane of nature's stained glass, whispered secrets of when it should be gathered to harness its healing grace, lest it turn venomous in its defiance of the lunar cycle. The air was imbued with an intoxicating blend of earthy notes and the tantalizing fragrance of plangentine, an alchemy that spoke of ancient, hidden wisdom.

As Professor Sprout's words floated on the breeze, we absorbed her wisdom like nourishing rain on parched soil. The plangentine, she informed us, was a delicate dance with the moon, a siren's call for those who sought to heal. It was a plant that wove its magic in harmony with the celestial bodies, drawing strength from the moon's gentle touch.

With the lesson now drawing to its close, I began the careful task of gathering my academic paraphernalia, sensing that the conclusion was imminent.

However, our expectations were upended by the abrupt entrance of a fellow student. The greenhouse doors swung wide with an ear-ringing collision against the walls, capturing the attention of the entire class. It was a young Slytherin, her presence marked by hesitance and uncertainty. Her gaze, after a sweeping scan of the gathered students, found its destination: me. As I made my way toward her, curiosity knitted into my features, she delivered her message.

"Excuse me, but Professor Snape sent me to inform you that he awaits your presence in his office."

Without a moment's hesitation, I deftly stowed my academic paraphernalia into the capacious confines of my satchel. The moon hung in the night sky like a celestial lantern, casting a silvery sheen upon the landscape below. Its radiance, usually a source of comfort, now bore a slightly disquieting pallor as it bathed the grounds of Hogwarts in its ethereal glow.

As I embarked on the solitary path toward the castle, my footsteps echoed softly in the stillness of the night. The early summons from Severus, an occurrence rarer than the elusive phoenix, left me with an undeniable sense of intrigue and, perhaps, the slightest edge of concern. He was not privy to my current academic engagement, a detail I had omitted in the rush of my scholarly pursuits. The thought that something of considerable import might be afoot swirled through my mind like a shadowed wisp, prompting a quickening of my pace.