Magic? || Years 1-5

Taunts Through The Daily Prophet: Year 4

By morning the storm had died down, leaving the grey clouds to cover the sky in heavy blankets.

The wind, though calmer, still rushed past and a few faint drops of rain drizzled against the windows. Amisty, Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat looking over the breakfast selections of the day while Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were all scheming down the table, trying to figure out ways to age themselves and get into the Triwizard Tournament.

So far they seemed to be seriously considering Aging potions.

"Today's not bad... outside all morning," Ron told them, looking over their schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures... damn it, we're still with the Slytherins..."

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, his head falling into his hands at the sight.

"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you? Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy," Hermione piped up, spreading butter on a slice of toast.

"You're eating again, I notice," Ron commented, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," Hermione replied, tilting her chin up.

"Yeah..." Ron nodded, full on grinning now, "and you were hungry."

Hermione just huffed, but it was muffled as the rush of owls came soaring in through the open windows.

Neville got a package from a massive tawny owl, and when Amisty glanced over, she spotted Draco's owl, Argent, dropping off a supply of cake and sweets to him.

Echo didn't have any letters or packages for her today, not like she was expecting any.

They headed down to the greenhouses for Herbology, being greeted by very ugly, very slimy plants. They looked like black slugs covered in little bumps filled with liquid.

Not the best thing to see after eating breakfast. It didn't help that the plants were squirming around.

"Bubotubers. They need squeezing," Professor Sprout ignored their sounds of disgust. "You will collect the pus -- "

"The what?" Seamus almost shrieked, his face twisted up in pure and utter revolt.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," Professor Sprout replied impatiently, "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; it can do funny things to the skin undiluted, bubotuber pus."

Amisty wasn't too grossed out with the bubotubers, even with the disgusting scent of petrol leaking out of them when the swellings popped.

The pus was yellow-green, falling easily into the bottles Professor Sprout had given them. By the end of the lesson, they have several pints full.

Several nasty looking, smelly pints.

Maybe she was more grossed out then she let herself believe.

"This'll keep Madame Pomfrey happy. An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples," Professor Sprout informed them as she corked the last bottle.

Amisty kept that piece of information in the back of her mind.

"Like poor Eloise Midgen. She tried to curse hers off," Hannah Abbott whispered quietly, her mouth pulled down in a frown.

"Silly girl. But Madame Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end," Professor Sprout shook her head sadly.

Definitely keeping that information in the back of her mind.