The Rise of Devil's Snare
Jon Snowslaps his Herbology textbook onto the hardwood table with a thud, quietly taking an end seat on the table's bench in the foggy, misting greenhouse. The leaf-tinted, hissing classroom was silent and empty— that is, except for a few early, independently working students.
And Tormund.
"You said what to her?!" He squeezes in next to him, plopping down on the side stool with a grunt, much to Jon's dismay.
"I dunno. It just sorta... slipped out."
"Slipped out?!" Tormund mocks, "How does that just slip out?!"
Jon shrugs apathetically, as two Hufflepuff students, quietly enter the greenhouse— unsuccessfully though, as they not-so-quietly try to repress their muffled laughter. One of them, was a skinny boy with reddish brown hair and freckles, while the other was a harshly featured, but very pretty, raven-haired witch— and for a Hufflepuff, Jon noticed in curiosity, that her golden brown eyes held an unusual depth of darkness.
Behind them, now follows in Dany, chatting animatedly with a straight-faced, Greyworm.
Why did she always sit with that Hufflepuff boy? Not that he didn’t seem nice and all... but they just seemed like unlikely friends...
Jon's eyes' follow her languidly, as she walks by, curiously ignoring him. Her silver hair was braided into neat twists that met at the back of her head—like usual, while the rest fell wavy, tucked softly into the hood of her robes. White on black. She really was pretty. Jon feels his stomach flutter. No. Stopit, he tells himself. It isn’t like that.
Dany was headed straight to the front of the mossy, vine wrapped classroom, now sitting down square in front of the professor's desk. Well, the professor’s empty desk... He still hadn't shown up yet.
Amused by her hostility, Jon smirks, taking out his quill and messy notebook, flattening it on the table.
"So tell me then, Snow. A 'set up'...” Tormund leans in whispering, “is that how they do it in Durmstrang? Is that how you get your women, up there in the North?”
“What?”
Tormund snorts, “—Oh. Or is it your men?" His eyebrows lift teasingly, "I know there's not many lasses to choose from up there.” He nudges him with his shoulder, cackling.
Jon rolls his eyes haphazardly, "Yeah funny, cause we're an all male school, ha-ha, like I haven't heard that one before..." He huffs, now slowly thinking about what happened. "But no really, this was... different. She misunderstood me."
Tormund squints back at him, still confused. "Uh-huh..."
"Well, when you all left me with her, alone, by the way,” Jon squinted at him, “I started to worry if the interview was more than just about... Quidditch."
“Aye,” Tormund quirks an impatient, bushy eyebrow, "How so?"
Jon stares back at him for a moment. Deciphering his expression before going on. "Well, the truth is, I had started getting nervous that, well, the whole thing was really... just a trick to get some more... information about me, for the newspapers,” he exhales reasonably, “I didn't know what she was going to ask me, or have on record—"
"What?” Tormund gawks at him, “No?! If that witch wanted to sell ya words to the bloody Prophet, I didn't know anything about that! I swear, Jon. None of us did, we were just messing with ya—"
Jon smiled at his unexpected loyalty, then chuckles sadly, "No, no, I know. Really, it's all right. It actually wasn't like that at all." He suddenly pouts, now playing with the feather of his quill. "I was just paranoid. I don't know..."
"But she's just a sixth year student... what could she even do?" Tormund looked genuinely concerned.
"Uh. Apparently anyone can send in anything to the Prophet. And get money for it too, if it's worthy enough information..." He looks away to the ground. Trying not to remember.
Tormund glances away in thought, and then slowly, he realizes, frowning back at him. "That's happened to you before, hasn't it, Snow? ...With some scum reporter? Or—" he pauses gravely, "Or was it... someone you knew?"
Jon takes a beat, and then nods back, his eyes ringing with reminiscent disdain. “Yeah. A classmate of mine. Right before I left... he uh, he told the press that I had a dangerous animal coming with me to Hogwart's.” He raises his brows angrily, “And that the students... wouldn't be safe.”
"What?! Tormund gasps in outrage. “Ghost wouldn’t hurt a fly!" Then he stops, casually second guessing, "—Well, as long as no one tried to hurt you, he wouldn't."
"Yeah... Well, it caused quite the hysteria for those- what, two days...” Jon says dryly. “They took him away from me before I left.” He dips his quill into the fresh cup of ink across the table. “But Dumbledore, and an old professor of mine, they made sure I could keep him with me. ...Thankfully.”
Torment sighs sympathetically. "Wow. You must really not trust anyone."
"No, I don't," Jon admits with a bleak chuckle, then corrects himself softly, "I can't."
”You trusted us, though?” Tormund says lightly, “Why was that?”
Jon bit his lip before answering, “I don’t know, honestly.” He half smiles at him, “...just a gut feeling, I guess.”
Trying to lighten the mood, Tormund gives him a half-smile back. "Okay... So then, how did you figure out, well, that we weren’t... settingyouup?"
Jon’s lips curve upward, then he observes Dany again, chatting obliviously in the front row. "I don't know. I'm good at reading people, I guess."
”Reading people?” The other boy hums sarcastically, “Okay, sure.”
Jon refrains his expression, still watching Dany jabber on in a passionate one-sided conversation, while a patiently half-listening Greyworm, sifts confusedly through his Herbology textbook.
"But I thought you like, fancied her?” Tormund argues lightly, “Why would you think she was tricking you all of a sudden?"
Jon actually laughs out loud. Then he quiets his voice, "Uhm. I don’t fancy her?” he whispers, “I just thought she was a Veela... uhm, for obvious reasons?”
Tormund mocks a frown in disbelief. “Right.” He narrows his eyes coyly. “So... then what did she say to make you think—“
”—It wasn’t her, it was you?” Jon shakes his head, scowling, “Remember when you warned me beforehand, ‘Be careful what you say to her,’” he mimicks his deep voice, “‘she’ll probably hold it against you.'"
Tormund flushes guiltily. "Ohhh..."
”Yeah?” Jon huffs with a smirk, “‘Ohhh’ is right.”
”Sorry, I was just messin with ya...”
"It’s fine. You didn’t know.” Jon half-sighs, “And it wasn’t just that... Because, well— right when you all went up to bed— that was when she told me all about how she wants to be a journalist someday...” He bites his lip, “And that was when I really panicked."
"Oh,” Tormund grumbles, “Yeah, well, that would do it." He opens up his raggedy notebook. Its pages filled with years and years of scribbled notes— a mesh of all subjects.
How on earth did he ever pass any of his classes?
Jon leans back in his chair, so Dany no longer was in his line of vision. ”Yeah, so, and then I decided to ask her if it had been planned all along.” He cringes slowly, “For us to be alone."
Tormund smacks his forehead, a winced smile spreading, “And she took that, as you askin' her out on a sunny picnic date, am I right?"
"...Basically," Jon scrunches his nose, masking his chagrin.
“Oh... fuck, that's brilliant.” Tormund laughs, beaming, “So then wait, how did ya explain yourself?”
”I don’t know... I thought she’d gotten embarrassed, so I just kinda let it go,” Jon hides his chin, slightly smirking towards the wooden door as more Gryffindor students piled in.
“Oh, come on. No. How did it go though, afterthat?" He wiggles his bushy, red eyebrows, "You were down there for a lot longer than we thought you'd be..."
“Yeah, you were snoring like a bear when I came in.”
”Well, was it awkward?” Tormund presses.
A part of Jon really wanted to tell Tormund to leave him alone and mind his own business... But somehow, the other part, really couldn’t help himself.
“Well uh...” Jon arches a brow, "No. Everything after that was fine. And, much better than before, actually... She just asked me about other positions I played at Durmstrang, and made sure I knew the rules of the game,” he twitches a small shrug, “...and I don’t know, it was fine."
“...andIdon’tknow, itwasfine,” Tormund mimics a girly voice paired with a grimace. And when Jon smiles at him, he draws out his name like a warning, “Snowww.”
"Yeah...?" Jon warns back, straightening up his other papers, as the room got progressively louder, everyone waiting happily with no complaint on their late professor. "The whole situation was kinda funny, really,” Jon says plainly, pushing his new friend’s buttons a little now. "It was cute."
"Cue— Snow?!” Tormund nearly shouts, getting the attention from a couple students side-eyeing them from nearby. He quiets his voice strictly, “A Peruvian Vipertooth, is also very cute from afar— but that doesn't mean ya try to get up all close and hug it?!” he bangs his fist on the table, then sighs loudly, withdrawing with a grumble, “‘less ya want it to snap yer bloody head off, of course..."
"What?” Jon laughs in exasperation, “Stop being dramatic, I didn’t mean it like that,” he squints, “I’m done talking about this, all right? Also, where’s our professor? He’s late, isn’t he?”
“Uh yeah, probably,” Tormund glances around. Then his eyes scan back across, passing over Dany again. They narrow cautiously, as she helps— no rather, man-handles Greyworm’s wrist, seemingly to reteach him a spell, the ‘correct way’.
Tormund looks back at Jon, then plainly gestures to Dany, as if she were strangling a puppy in broad daylight. "If you’re into that kinda mental my friend, be my guest,” he scoffs, “but I’m warning you now, she’s a ticking time bomb, Snow— let it be known."
"Hello, friends!" Sam inserts his voice between the two boys, suddenly greeting from behind them with a bubbly grin, nearly scaring Jon out of his seat.
Gendry noses in next to him, “What were you two just talking about?” He smirks judging their expressions, “You look like you just saw Grindelwald in the flesh.”
Gilly scowls at him, taking her seat next to Jon. She shakes her head.
”How many fucking times do I have to tell you—“ Tormund barks, “Don’t say his goddamn name.” He nods to Gilly dutifully, “Gilly knows.”
”Grindelwald, Grindelwald. Grindelwald.” Gendry whispers mockingly.
Jon smiles absently in response to Gendry, as they gradually became background noise, as he now truthfully, was more obviously eyeing Daenerys in his peripheral vision. And there was no reason he kept wanting to watch her. She wasn’t completely the most interesting girl he’s met. He just couldn’t help it.
An agile, Gryffindor girl with dark curly hair, skips over to the front, hopping into a seat next to Dany.
Who was she? He doesn’t think he’s seen her yet with Dany. —Why does he care?
The girl whispers something excitedly into Dany's ear. And then processing her news, Dany beams back at her, doting a newly scandalous expression.
Suddenly, the door flies open— and the class immediately falls a bit quieter. Dany and the other girl both turn around fast, giggling silently at the wild, old wizard scuttling into class late— blindly holding out a box in front of him, filled with about six or seven pots of angry, serpenting plants.
"Aye, hello my dear students!" the man shouts gruffly, "Do not fear, Professor Seaworth is here!" The door to the greenhouse slams shut, and the class giggles at him quietly. It seemed like a routine.
The plants hiss, stretching their unreaching necks at flinching students as the professor trots past them, “Late, late, late— oh, how the time always escapes me...” Professor Seaworth hums, carefully scurrying over to his desk, “I’m sorry,” he says, balancing the box of magical cabbage plants, still chomping angrily in his arms. He sets them down onto the wooden table in the back of the room. Their leave-like mouths, snapping and growling in hasty aggression.
"I have to thank you, my lovely students,” he winks, walking back to his desk, “You are so patient with me... Because you see, this morning, I had a terrible situation with some Chinese Chomping Cabbage." He sighs in exhaustion, "They seem to have mistakenly found their way into the kitchen."
The quietly freckled boy with strawberry blonde hair, bites his lip for a moment, then guiltily raises his hand. "...Uhm, Professor." He smiles sheepishly, "That may have been my fault..."
"Ah, yes... of course," the professor’s tone changes instantly, “Newt,” he articulates the “t”, sighing with familiar disappointment. "Mr. Scamander... you know well, that I cannot condone further my appreciation for your tireless work ethic— but, I have told you, on numerous occasions, that there was to be no more transferring of flesh-eating plants back to your studies—“ he cuts short with a dry chuckle, “or anywhere, for that matter."
"Well... they're not flesh-eating, sir. They just like... vegetables," Newt argues innocently, while his friend, the sharp featured, raven-haired girl, bubbles out a muffled laugh next to him.
"That is completely inaccurate, Newt—“ Professor Seaworth furrows his brow strictly, “in fact, your fantasies are beginning to concern me.” He now shifts his gaze to the girl, unamused.
"And as for you, my dear..." he reprimands haughtily, "Don't expect me to believe that you had no silly part in this, Ms. Lestrange.” He looks back to Newt. “You and I, and your partner in crime, Miss Leta, will be having a word after class. Five points from Hufflepuff."
Half of the class groans in unison.
Professor Seaworth mock-groans back at them, apologizing. But then he frowns, noticing all of the students glaring accusingly at Newt and Leta.
“Hey, now...” he shakes his head at them in disappointment. And then with a sudden solution, he chuckles out brightly, "Aye, well now, wait a minute! How about a quick chance to get it back, Hufflepuff?"
Rolling his eyes, Gendry quietly scoffs to Jon. "What's the point of taking it away then?" he scowls, "He always does this..."
The kindly old wizard huffs on the contrary, "Or perhaps a way for Gryffindor to take the lead? Hmmm? How 'bout it!"
Some of the class responds, and some of them don’t at all as the majority were half enthused.
The professor scratches his silvery-bearded chin, puzzling in thought, "All right! Oh, here we go! Okay my friends, who can tell me why there has been a suddenly, dangerous increase in the deadly, magical plant, Devil's Snare?"
Dany’s eyes widen, shooting up her hand in immediate response.
Jon smirks on the inside. Dany really did love to participate... Or maybe it was more that she loved to win.
That was something he’d noticed in almost every class, besides Defense Against the Dark Arts. Which was funnily enough, the only class he actively participated in back at Durmstrang.
Straining her arm, Dany reached up even further, upon witnessing a smug, Leta Lestrange, pompously holding her hand up high as well, while Newt obliviously stared past her, dreamily gazing out the window.
The professor hums indecisively. "Hmm... All right. Well, how 'bout we give, Ms. Lestrange, a chance at some redemption, shall we?"
Dany bites her lip, dropping her hand in disappointed, frustration.
Leta smiles innocently, "Well, Professor, there has been an increase in Devil's Snare because of the recent dramatic change in climate. The continuously, plummeting drop in our hemisphere's temperature, sir." She side-eyes a coy smile wickedly back at Daenerys.
Jon frowns. She seemed rude.
"Yes, that is correct, Ms. Lestrange! Well done. Five points returned to Hufflepuff."
Gendry shakes his head in disbelief, then mumbles under his breath, "Unfair."
The professor clears his throat, "All right then... uh, how 'bout one more," he promises. "Who can tell me though specifically, why this would happen to the species? Why has the temperature affected these deadly plants?"
The professor skims the class hopefully, wavering between a lack of choice hands. His hope fades though, as some put their hands back down- and Dany and Leta, are again, the only competing participants.
"Ah, Ms. Targaryen?" he smiled, whispering encouragedly, "Go ahead, give it a go."
Dany grins, straightening her posture, "Well, Devil's Snare hates sunlight... or fire. Anything hot, actually. And now, with the odd news of weather protection counter-charms proving as unsuccessful against the cold— they've been overpopulating as a species."
"Right, and—"
"—And at this rapid rate," she finishes quickly, "there will soon be nothing to kill it off."
"That is precisely correct, Ms. Targaryen, well done!” The professor points out, “Except, that we do have TheControl of Dangerous Magical Plants and Creatures Department to help take care of that— if the time were to ever come."
“Uh—“ Newt interrupts, impulsively calling out, "Or the help of a Magizoologist, Professor. From The Care of Magical Plants and Creatures Department."
Professor Seaworth stares at him hopelessly. “Right, Mr. Scamander. Except for the thousandth time, that profession, does not exist.” He turns back to Dany, "Five points awarded to Gryffindor, well done, Ms. Targaryen."
Tormund rolls his eyes at the proud look on Dany's face, while Sam leans back, lightly tapping Jon's shoulder, "Jon," he whispers, flashing a sudden light bulb-like glow in his eyes.
He taps him again, "Jon. I just thought of something. About the monster—"
Jon's eyes widen in shock, shaking his head at him in disapproval as the professor neared them, "Not now Sam, later—" he winces, upon hearing the man’s shuffled feet, now standing right behind him.
"Ah, Mr. Snow..." Professor Seaworth interrupts them, "Our infamously talented newcomer," he tisks, "Yet, I'm afraid— it seems that he's already talking out of turn?"
Students carefully turn around, hitting Jon with dense, penetrating stares. Some, whispering darkly under their breath.
Professor Seaworth begins to leisurely walk down the aisle, "You wouldn't want to begin the school year off on the wrong foot now, would you, Mr. Snow?"
He eagle eyes Sam, adding thoughtfully, "Especially not with our loquacious, repeat-offender, Mr.Tarly?"
Jon shakes his head solemnly, "No, sir."
Sam peers away, thickly embarrassed.
The gray old man clears his throat, pointing at him gently, "Right you won't." He claps his hands, turning around in a snap decision. "Now class," he heads back towards his desk, "Open your textbooks and let's turn to page 394..."
Sam shrugs at Jon apologetically, mouthing the word, Sorry.
Then cautiously eyeing the Professor, he risks getting caught, whispering to him again, "I'm serious though, Jon.” He eyes him, intensely stressing the serious importance, “I think I've figured something out."