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Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 183
🕑 Added 2025-12-21 15:35:17 +0000 UTCChapter 183: Mandrakes, The Moon-Sleep Song
Greenhouse Three.
Leonardo took a pair of earmuffs without hurrying. There was no need to fight for them anyway. There was exactly one more set than there were students, and the leftover pair was clearly meant for Professor Sprout.
Sure enough, once everyone returned to their places with earmuffs in hand, Professor Sprout picked up the last remaining pair.
Pink.
"All right, everyone, earmuffs on! Make sure they're on properly and nice and tight. When I hold up two fingers, you can take them off. Now, get them on!"
The students obeyed at once, even helping each other check the fit.
Professor Sprout demonstrated. She seized the leaves, gave a hard yank, and pulled the Mandrake clean out of the soil.
What emerged was not a root. It was an ugly baby, pale green, pitted and blotched with uneven spots. Its face was scrunched in misery, and its mouth opened and closed in a furious scream.
The earmuffs were excellent. Leonardo could not hear a thing.
With practised speed, Professor Sprout stuffed the Mandrake into a larger pot, packing soil and fertiliser around it until only the leaves stuck out. Then she raised two fingers.
The students removed their earmuffs.
Professor Sprout slapped sharply at her shoulder, knocking back a deep red tendril covered in spikes. It was a Venomous Tentacula.
“Be careful when you take fertiliser. These Venomous Tentacula have started growing teeth. Right. Get started. Four to a group.”
Leonardo ended up with Terry, plus two Hufflepuffs, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones. Each of them took a pot with a Mandrake and laid out their tools.
Leonardo pulled his Mandrake out smoothly. It did not shriek, keeping its mouth firmly shut.
He was used to it. Thanks to his “Diligent Little Gardener” title, he had a degree of affinity with plants. Unless someone was deliberately controlling them, magical plants generally did not try to hurt him.
The others were not so lucky. Terry and the Hufflepuffs yanked theirs free, and their Mandrakes immediately opened their mouths to scream.
The sound could not reach them through the earmuffs, but the Mandrakes still fought like mad. They twisted their bodies, flailed their limbs, and thrashed in outright disgust at being pulled from the soil, yet they did not seem to want to go back either. Even when shoved into a new pot, if they were not quickly buried under soil and fertiliser, they kept wriggling nonstop.
Leonardo finished burying his quiet Mandrake and looked up.
Hannah was wincing and clutching her hand. Her Mandrake had slipped from her grip and dropped to the floor. Bitten, most likely. They were still seedlings, but their bite was nothing to laugh at.
Leonardo drew his wand and cast a healing charm over her hand. Hannah felt the pain ease at once. She pulled off her dragon-hide glove and watched the row of fresh red tooth marks fade quickly.
Startled, she looked up at Leonardo and began thanking him rapidly, adding a few more heartfelt lines for good measure. Then she remembered, too late, that they were all still wearing earmuffs. No one could hear her.
Leonardo simply nodded.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dropped Mandrake writhing on the ground again, its mouth opening as it lurched toward Hannah’s ankle. There was no dragon-hide protection there. One bite would tear flesh.
Leonardo’s lips parted. In a strange, lilting tone, he sang a single obscure word.
“Sleep…”
The Mandrake froze. Its mouth worked twice, weakly, and then it toppled into slumber.
Oddly, because they stood so close, Terry and the others caught a faint trace of the word through their earmuffs. Their eyelids drooped instinctively, but since Leonardo didn’t continue the song—and what little sound reached them was muffled—they snapped awake almost at once.
They also noticed their own Mandrakes had calmed, no longer thrashing as violently as before.
Leonardo pointed at Hannah’s feet. Hannah followed his gesture, saw the Mandrake near her ankle, and went rigid with fear.
Knowing how hard a Mandrake could bite, she shuddered at the thought. Madam Pomfrey could heal it, sure, but torn flesh still hurt like nothing else.
Hannah hurriedly picked the Mandrake up. She did not understand why it seemed to be asleep, but she patted her chest in relief all the same. Still holding it, she began thanking Leonardo again, forgetting once more that no one could hear her through earmuffs.
Leonardo waved it off and replayed the feeling of using the Moon-Sleep Song just now.
It still was not smooth enough. His control was not fine enough.
He had learned the Moon-Sleep Song from one of Nicolas’s collected spellbooks, created by an ancient witch or wizard with Veela blood. It could soothe living beings, humans, animals, even magical plants, and lull them into sleep.
The magic was unusual. It required a special melody for the incantation, and the incantation itself was long, long enough to feel like lyrics. It was less spoken and more sung.
And the moment the singing began, the magic took hold. The longer the song continued, the stronger and more complete the effect became.
Leonardo had been fascinated by it. Many forms of ancient magic, at least in their shape and method, differed greatly from modern spellcasting. When he asked Nicolas why, the answer was simple.
Magic was created and passed down by witches and wizards.
In the beginning, those who awakened magical power by chance had no ready-made spells, no established potions, no alchemy. They explored everything for themselves, step by step.
Each person understood magic differently and excelled in different things, so the magic they created was diverse and brilliant in its own way. Perhaps ancient witches and wizards, in theory, knew fewer spells overall, but the magic they developed themselves was always best suited to them.
When you build something from nothing, you understand every step, every detail. You witness its birth and growth. That was how you pushed a spell to its limits.
Those old spells were hard to learn because they carried the clear imprint of an individual. Over time, fewer and fewer survived to be passed on.
That was what made it such a pity. Some knowledge, no matter how desperately you wanted to preserve it, simply could not be inherited.
Herbology class passed quickly, but the students were drenched in sweat, aching, and sore. Those ugly Mandrakes had fought them every step of the way. Leonardo felt little strain. For him, this amount of work was barely a warm-up.
After class, Hannah thanked Leonardo again. This time, she had clearly remembered that earlier, he could not hear her through the earmuffs.
Then Leonardo went to look for Professor Sprout. That morning, Fawkes had delivered him a letter: Dumbledore wanted Leonardo to help treat the Whomping Willow.
After all, it was the only Whomping Willow in Britain. If it truly died from being hit by a car, that would be a terrible waste. Its branches, leaves, and bark all had valuable medicinal uses, and Snape came to harvest some from time to time for potions.
Leonardo understood what Dumbledore wanted. He wanted Leonardo to use unicorn saliva to heal the Whomping Willow before it failed to recover, and he had promised Leonardo could collect any fallen branches, leaves, and bark.
Leonardo was happy to help, and not only because those materials were valuable. There was a spell he wanted to build, and it just so happened that it needed Whomping Willow branches and leaves.
