HP: The Boy who Planted

The Slytherin first-years huddled together in their common room, the greenish light from the lake outside casting eerie shadows on their faces. They were tired, their arms sore from endless hours of Lumos practice. But Malfoy's words had struck a chord. Why keep slogging away at a spell when there might be a shortcut to victory?

Malfoy's plan was simple, cunning, and very Slytherin. "We just need to make the other houses lose points," he'd said. "That's as good as us gaining them." The others had nodded, some with sly grins, others with relief. The idea of spending the next two weeks drilling spells was unbearable. If there was a way to win without all that effort, why not take it?

So, with a few snide remarks and plenty of whispered laughter, they drafted several "duel challenge" letters. Malfoy's handwriting was neat and precise as he wrote out invitations to Harry Potter and Char Sprout, among others. The letters were full of taunts and provocations, designed to prick at pride and make refusal impossible. The Slytherins sent the notes off with Hogwarts' owls, already imagining their rivals being caught by Filch and watching their house points plummet.

Malfoy's heart thumped with anticipation. "It would be perfect if they got expelled," he thought, a small, vindictive smile curling his lips.

Meanwhile, Char was in the greenhouse, lost in the quiet rhythm of his work. The magic of the soil, the gentle glow of the mushrooms, and the soft hum of spells made the world outside seem far away. Suddenly, a bell chimed near his experimental field, breaking his focus.

He paused, puzzled. Then he remembered: Professor Sprout had explained that the greenhouse bells were enchanted to alert students to incoming mail. It was a precaution born from a past tragedy, when a student had missed the news of a grandparent's passing because they were too absorbed in their work. Now, the bells ensured no one missed important letters.

Char wiped his hands and murmured, "I know," to the bell, quieting its insistent ringing. Who could be writing to him? Besides Professor Sprout, he couldn't think of anyone who would send him a letter at Hogwarts. Perhaps, he thought, it was news about the Nimbus 2000 broom Professor Sprout had ordered for him.

He left the greenhouse, making his way back to the castle, his mind full of possibilities. As he approached the Hufflepuff common room, he was surprised to see a familiar figure waiting for him.

"Char… can we talk?"

It was Hermione Granger, her bushy brown hair slightly mussed, her eyes red-rimmed as if she'd been crying. Char blinked in surprise. Since the Sorting Ceremony, they'd hardly spoken outside of class. Hermione was always in the library, and Char was always in the greenhouse. Their worlds rarely overlapped.

"Of course," Char said gently. "I was just heading back to the common room. Want to walk with me?"

Hermione nodded, looking relieved. As they walked, Char noticed her troubled expression. "Hermione, is something wrong?"

That was all it took. Hermione's composure crumbled, and she began to pour out her worries in a rush of words. "I just don't understand," she said, her voice trembling. "I work so hard to help Gryffindor win points, but nobody seems to appreciate it. They act like I'm a problem, like they can't stand me…"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she covered her face, embarrassed to be crying in front of Char. He listened quietly as she continued. "There are two weeks until the final Lumos test. We all know how important it is for the House Cup. I'm confident I can get first place, but if Gryffindor could get another spot in the top three, we'd be in the lead! So I suggested we practice together on the weekends, but… but nobody wanted to. They just want to sleep in, play games, or wander around the castle. Only Neville listened to me. I just don't understand!"

Char felt a pang of sympathy. He could see how much Hermione cared, how hard she worked, and how much it hurt to be brushed aside. He smiled gently. "It's okay, Hermione. I understand. Of course our top student is confident about first place."

Hermione managed a watery smile. "I'm not trying to sound arrogant, really…"

Char chuckled. "Don't worry. I get it. Let me guess—you suggested extra practice sessions, and they all ran for the hills?"

Hermione nodded, frustration etched on her face. "Exactly! Wouldn't it be better to practice instead of wasting time?"

Char shook his head, amused. "It's just how kids are. Gryffindors are the most energetic, restless bunch in the school. Unless it's a dueling club or something dramatic, they're not going to give up their free time for extra lessons. Especially not from a fellow first-year, even if you are the best in class."

Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Maybe you're right. I just wish they cared as much as I do."

Char's mind was already racing. The Hufflepuffs, unlike the Gryffindors, were desperate to improve. They'd been disappointed with their last performance in Charms, and though they hadn't said it aloud, Char knew they didn't want him to carry the house alone. They wanted to contribute, to prove themselves, and to help Hufflepuff keep its lead in the House Cup.

He smiled, a plan forming. "Hermione, would you be willing to help us? The Hufflepuffs, I mean. We'd love to have you teach us the Lumos charm. I know everyone would listen to you. Our little badgers want to get better—they just need a good teacher."

Hermione hesitated. "But… wouldn't that be helping your house against mine?"

Char grinned. "Just think of it as a friendly visit. Come have some snacks and tea in the Hufflepuff common room. It'll be a nice break for you, and I'll be grateful for the company."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking. Finally, she nodded. "Alright. I suppose a little break wouldn't hurt."

Char's eyes sparkled with triumph. He knew that once Hermione saw the badgers practicing, she wouldn't be able to resist helping. She was a natural teacher, and her desire to correct mistakes was stronger than her loyalty to any one house.

They arrived at the Hufflepuff common room, where the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. The badgers were scattered around, practicing Lumos in small groups, their faces set in determined concentration. Char led Hermione to a cozy chair, offering her a plate of pastries and a cup of steaming tea.

At first, Hermione tried to relax, sipping her tea and nibbling on a biscuit. But as she watched the badgers, she grew increasingly agitated. She saw Hannah Abbott fumble the spell, Susan Bones flick her wand the wrong way, and Ernie Macmillan mutter the incantation with his wand pointed at his own nose.

After five minutes, Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She stood up, her wand at the ready. "Stop!" she called out. "That's not how you use the Lumos charm!"

The badgers looked up in surprise, then relief. Hermione strode to the center of the room, her eyes blazing with purpose. "Let me show you the right way," she said firmly.

Char smiled, settling back in his chair. The plan had worked perfectly. With Hermione's help, the Hufflepuffs would be ready for the final test—and maybe, just maybe, they could keep their lead in the House Cup.

As Hermione began her impromptu lesson, the badgers gathered around, eager to learn. The room filled with the soft glow of magic, the sound of laughter, and the sense of hope that comes from working together toward a common goal.

And somewhere, far away in the castle, a group of Slytherins plotted their next move, unaware that the little badgers—and their new Gryffindor friend—were about to shine brighter than ever.