Chapter 89: Goodwill and Malice
Chapter 89: Goodwill and Malice
Weed glanced at Michael and shook his head.
"Huh?" Michael was taken aback. "You don't like that idea? So, what are you planning to do instead?"
"I'll go by myself," Weed replied.
"All right," Michael nodded. "I'll make sure to get the whole gang together."
"No, Michael. I mean, I'll go by myself," Weed emphasized again.
Michael's eyes widened in shock, his face a picture of astonishment. After a moment, he frowned and asked, "Who are you? You're not my friend, Weed. Are you an imposter from Gryffindor?"
Weed was speechless. "I'm not joking," he said.
"Have you gone mad?" Michael asked, his voice a mixture of seriousness and urgency, almost shouting. "They're a group, and you're just one person!"
"Yeah, I know," Weed acknowledged.
He patted Michael on the arm to calm him down, as his reaction was so strong that even the slow-speaking Professor Binns looked over.
Michael quickly lowered his head, holding up his 'A History of Magic' book to block the professor's gaze. Turning back to Weed, he glared at him fiercely and said through gritted teeth, "Any normal student knows that when a group of people wants to bully you, the right thing to do is to report it to a professor!"
"You're right," Weed agreed quietly. "But after that, the Slytherins will think we're cowards and bookworms who only know how to tattle to teachers. They failed this time, but they'll definitely plot something else."
"Then let's teach them a lesson they'll never forget!" Michael's eyes took on a mysterious depth. "Listen, I have an idea. Professor Snape teaches Potions to the fourth years in the afternoon. After class, you go and ask him a question to keep him occupied. Meanwhile, I'll spread the word to the Slytherins, letting them think you're alone over there. They can start by throwing a few dung bombs as a greeting..."
"And then Professor Snape, drowning in dung bombs, will swallow the Slytherins alive?" Weed countered.
"How does that sound? Pretty great, right?" Michael asked eagerly.
Weed nodded. "It's great."
"So, we—"
"I still decide to go by myself," Weed insisted.
Michael fell silent for a moment, then said softly, "Don't tell me... you were moved by Harry and Neville's efforts and have decided to lean towards Gryffindor?"
Weed laughed at the suggestion. "How could that be? I just... well... I can make sure I don't lose out, and... I don't want to take advantage of Professor Snape's goodwill and sense of responsibility..."
Michael was silent.
He slumped on the table in a show of defeat and sighed helplessly. "Weed, people with too much moral sense will always be at a disadvantage."
Weed couldn't help but smile.
"Not this time," he said.
Weed was grateful for Michael's constant concern and willingness to stand up to the Slytherins, even going as far as to try and involve Professor Snape. However, there were some things he couldn't bring himself to share with Michael.
For instance, the fact that Voldemort and his Death Eaters would visit the school every year from now on, and that the situation they would face in the future would be far more brutal, resulting in many deaths, including possibly even Dumbledore, who seemed all-powerful in the eyes of the students.
Or that when the Slytherins confronted him, there would be a few house-elves watching the situation unfold, ensuring he was never in any real danger.
And... Michael's guess was correct; he had been influenced by Harry and Neville.
As he watched them train in the umbrella-covered shack, getting injured time and again only to pick themselves up and try again, Weed couldn't help but think of the protagonist in the story who, without even mastering the Disarming Charm, had faced Quirrell and Voldemort alone.
Of course, Weed still thought that had been reckless of him... but from another perspective, wasn't he, Weed, being overly cautious and lacking in courage?
If, even in an environment with a safety factor of over ninety percent, where any accidents could be promptly addressed, he still couldn't directly face the threats of a few children and instead had to resort to plotting and scheming, relying on others' strength to resolve the issue... Then, what would he do when Voldemort resurfaces? Would he still flee Britain with his tail between his legs?
Even if he had to leave this land one day, he should do so uprightly and openly, rather than abandoning his friends, mentors, dreams, and future, escaping like a stray dog with his parents.
Moreover, during this period of combat training, Weed had also been observing, learning, and growing. He realized that even the top students, Harry and Hermione, had a very limited arsenal of spells at their disposal, and their offensive capabilities were not as impressive as they seemed.
When faced with incoming spells, they wanted to dodge and reposition themselves. However, any movement would alter their spellcasting gestures, leading to a failed or misdirected spell—this was true for both of them, and the Slytherin students couldn't be much better.
This was the standard level of first-year students.
Thus, even if he faced twice as many people, Weed couldn't think of a reason why he would lose.
...
Coincidentally, the Herbology class in the afternoon was still a joint lesson between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. While the two groups maintained their distance, the Slytherins' malicious intentions were almost tangible—
They weren't master actors; being able to keep a secret for an entire day was already their limit. Their furtive glances and occasional smug and gloating looks toward Weed completely gave away their intentions, alerting even the students unrelated to the matter.
"Weed, Slytherin seems to be plotting something nasty."
During the practical session, Anthony Goldstein ran over to Weed and said, "Let's all leave together after class to prevent them from causing trouble for you."
Weed looked at him and then glanced past his shoulder at the few students behind him. He shook his head with a smile at their concerned gazes and said, "Thanks, but no need. I know what I'm doing."
Goldstein turned to Michael and said, "Michael—"
"Don't bother," Michael shrugged. "When he's made up his mind, no one can change it!"
As the class ended, a few Slytherin students loitered outside the greenhouse, while the Ravenclaws, at Weed's signal, left with Goldstein.
"Mr. Grey—" Professor Sprout suddenly said, "These Bubotubers need to be moved to another greenhouse. Could you help me with that?"
Weed, who was about to leave, paused and then said, "Of course, Professor."
He picked up a pot of Bubotuber, and Professor Sprout took one herself. As they left Greenhouse One, the Hufflepuff Head of House eyed the Slytherins lingering around the greenhouse, her face darkening as she asked sternly, "Is there something else you need?"
Don't be fooled by Professor Sprout's usually cheerful and easy-going demeanor; when she scowled, it was as if a volcano was about to erupt within her, an intimidating sight.
Malfoy and the others quickly replied, "No, nothing," and scurried away.
Weed almost laughed out loud.
Professor Sprout turned her gaze to him, and her expression immediately softened into a kindly smile. "Mr. Grey, I think you might need some assistance?"
Weed shook his head with a smile. His eyes were clear, and his tone was gentle as he said, "Thank you, Professor. It's just a small misunderstanding—I can handle it myself."
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
