Chapter 30: Malfoy's Misery and Hufflepuff's Pride

(TL NOTE: I AM SO SORRY!!!!) A strangled choking sound escaped Professor McGonagall's lips as she tried, and failed, to suppress a cough. A peculiar, amused smile spread across her face, and though she said nothing, she gave Professor Sprout a silent, approving thumbs-up. Well done, Pomona. Professor Snape, on the other hand, looked as if he had swallowed a lemon whole, his face a mask of ashen fury. With a sharp, angry flick of his wand, he levitated the whimpering, foul-smelling Malfoy into the air. An invisible barrier seemed to shimmer into existence around the boy, containing the worst of the stench. Though the foul odor still permeated the air, everyone could finally breathe a little easier. Snape forced a vial of potion down Malfoy's throat and, with a final glare that promised retribution, swept away from the scene, Malfoy floating ignominiously behind him. "Head of House, they're insidious!" Malfoy wailed on the way back to the castle, his voice a pathetic, lisping whine. "They plotted against me!" But his cries were met not with sympathy but with Snape's explosive rage. "You idiot!" he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Of all the houses to provoke, why did you have to pick the badgers of Hufflepuff? Did you truly believe those simpletons were easy targets? It was bad enough you provoked them before; a few days pass, and you fall right into their obvious trap. How can Slytherin have such a foolish student? I am tempted to ask the Sorting Hat to re-sort you!" Malfoy's face went white with terror. "Head of House, I know I was wrong," he pleaded. "Please, you have to help me!" Snape's brow furrowed, but he held his tongue. Considering his long-standing friendship with Lucius Malfoy—and the generous annual donation Lucius provided to the Slytherin house—he was obligated to deal with the boy's predicament. "Without Wisteria dew, the stench on your body cannot be removed," he said coldly. "Fortunately, it only lasts for a week. You will have to bear it. Do not attend class. Find an empty room and stay there by yourself." He paused, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "These scabs and boils, however, are more troublesome." He sighed inwardly. The boils caused by Troll-bog Arum were not something an ordinary potion could cure. Of course, for a Potions Master of his caliber, brewing the correct antidote was not difficult. But all such potions required a key ingredient: Snow-in-Summer grass. It was an obscure herb with few uses, grown only in the Hogwarts greenhouses. Snape didn't even have any in his private collection. And with Professor Sprout refusing to provide it, he was helpless. A clever cook cannot make a meal without ingredients. After a moment of thought, he said, his voice devoid of warmth, "There is only one other method. It is... cumbersome. Go to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will have to cut open each of your boils and squeeze out the pus roots. Aside from being a tiny bit painful, recovery should be quite fast." Malfoy breathed a sigh of relief. A solution! Just a little bit of pain? He could handle that. It was better than being tormented by this itching, burning agony. "Professor, I can do it," he said eagerly. "Take me to the hospital wing now, I can't stand it anymore!" Snape cast a look of what might have been pity at the boy. He escorted him to the hospital wing and handed him over to Madam Pomfrey, whose murderous glare made even Snape feel uneasy. He quickly produced another bottle of potion and poured it down Malfoy's throat. "A pain reliever," he explained, before fleeing the infirmary as if escaping a dragon. Malfoy stared blankly at Snape's retreating figure, a sudden sense of deep unease rising in his heart. He said it would only be a tiny bit painful. Why would I need a pain-relieving potion? The next moment, he was being strapped to a hospital bed by a grim-faced Madam Pomfrey, who was pinching her nose. A towel was unceremoniously stuffed into his mouth. Just as Malfoy's panic began to reach a fever pitch, Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand. A bright red boil on his arm was lanced open. She flicked her wand again, and the foul-smelling pus root was squeezed out. An intense, gouging pain, sharp and white-hot, exploded through Malfoy's body. His vision went black. This is a TINY bit of pain?! Then, as he gasped for breath, something even more despairing happened. Madam Pomfrey looked at the dense constellation of boils covering his body, sighed deeply, and took out a small bucket. "You'll have to bear with it, dear," she said, her voice not unkind. "And drink that pain-relieving potion sparingly. I estimate there are still about a hundred of these. That bottle might not even be enough." Instantly, Malfoy's world shattered. A hundred?! This agony, a hundred more times? In his mind, only one thought remained, screaming on an endless loop. Why, oh why, did I ever provoke the badgers? Screams of pure agony began to echo from the hospital wing, carrying throughout the entire castle floor. While Malfoy was suffering, the Hufflepuff common room was filled with joyous laughter. The little badgers had finally vented the frustration that had been building for days. Everyone was reliving the events of the afternoon, roaring with laughter at the memory of Malfoy's stinking predicament and Snape's speechless fury. Having only been at school for a short time, the first-year badgers were now completely, unshakeably united. Just then, Professor Sprout walked in, her face glowing. She brought news that astonished everyone. "I've just found out," she announced, "that after today's flying lesson, Professor McGonagall has made an exception and allowed Harry Potter to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He'll be their new Seeker. The youngest house team member in a century!" A buzz of discussion immediately filled the room. But Hannah Abbott, her brow furrowed, whispered, "Why can Harry join the team? I'm not saying he doesn't fly well; he does. But I think Ciel flies just as well. If Harry can join, why can't Ciel? It doesn't seem fair." Susan Bones and the other badgers nodded in agreement. They all remembered Ciel's breathtaking flight to save Hannah. Harry was good, but in their eyes, Ciel was better. Professor Sprout smiled. "Harry did indeed set the record for the youngest house team member in a century. But unfortunately for him, that record only lasted for half an hour." She beamed, her eyes landing on Ciel. "Because I also have an announcement to make. Ciel will also be joining the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. He is the youngest house team member of this century!" Ciel was slightly stunned. He wasn't against joining the team; he knew how much it would mean to his aunt. But for her to announce it so publicly... wasn't this blatant nepotism? The next moment, however, his concerns were drowned out by a wave of ecstatic cheering. Hannah Abbott was on her feet, her face red with excitement, waving her small fists in the air. The other badgers were shouting. "That's fair!" "Completely reasonable!" Professor Sprout looked at Ciel, her smile full of pride, as if to say, See? This is our house. In any other house, such special treatment might breed jealousy. But Hufflepuff was different. When it came to unity, no one could compare. They were all genuinely happy for him. A warm current surged through Ciel's heart. Quidditch... I have to win. For my aunt, and for these wonderfully loyal badgers. After the cheering gradually died down, Professor Sprout looked at him, her eyes twinkling. "So, Ciel. What position do you wish to play?" (End of Chapter) *** [Check Out My Patreon For More Chapters On All Of My Fanfics!!] [www. 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