The Son of Mystery - Harry Potter Male Insert

The Mad Teacher

The storm had blown itself out by the next morning, though the ceiling of the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter grey swirled overhead as Harry, Y/N, Ron ad Hermione examined their new course schedule over breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George and their friend Lee Jordan were discussing hoe to get past Dumbledore and enter the Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not bad... outside all morning," said Ron, who was running his finger down Monday on his timetable, "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures... damn it, we're still with the Slytherins."

"Double Divination this afternoon," groaned Harry, grabbing a slice of toast.

"Can we just skip that so I can have a go of the Firebolt Sirius bought me?" Y/N complained childishly, "I'd rather not start the year with another death omen."

"Well you should have just given it up like I did if you wanted to do that," said Hermione snobbishly, "Then you could also be taking something important, like Arithmancy."

Ron snorted, "You're eating again, I notice." he said, watching her liberally apply jam to a slice of toast.

"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," said Hermione haughtily.

"Yeah... and you were hungry." said Ron, grinning.

There was suddenly a ruffling sound of feathers above them as the owls delivered the post to their owners. Harry looked disappointed, there was no sign of Hedwig. Apollo made an appearance, delivering David's yearly first-day check up as he had the previous three years. Neville's owl dropped something wrapped in brown parcel - he almost always forgot something.

Y/N's thoughts and anticipation about riding his new broomstick travelled with him all the way to the greenhouses, even Caym seemed excited to fly for the first time Y/N could remember. When they entered the greenhouses however, Y/N was torn from his thoughts because Professor Sprout had placed out some of the worst-looking plants he had ever seen.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told them briskly, "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus-"

"The what?" said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus." repeated Professor Sprout, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves, the pus can do funny things when it comes into human contact."

Squeezing the bubotubers was a mixture of disgusting, and oddly satsifying. When they burst, they released a smell that reminded Y/N of petrol. Caym however, absolutely despised everything to do with this lesson, and gagged every time one of them popped.

"I didn't know it was possible for Elementals to gag."

"Shut your mouth before I rip out your vocal chords."

"Technically, I haven't ever opened my mouth to speak to you."

"Fine, I'll just destroy your brain."

"Then we both die."

"Precisely."

By the end of the lesson, the class had collected several pints of pus.

"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," said Professor Sprout, screwing in a cork on the final bottle, "An excellent cure for acne is Bubotuber pus. Should stop students from drastic measures trying to get rid of spots themselves."

"Like poor Elouise Midgen," said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff in a hushed whisper "she tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," said Professor Sprout, shaking her head, "Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose quickly enough though."