Hearing Ciel's nervous words, Hermione's previously disappointed expression instantly brightened. "Really? You think I'm smart, too?" She beamed. "Okay, I know it sounds like I'm bragging, but all my previous teachers said the same thing. I'm still trying to decide between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. They say Ravenclaw is for the curious, but Gryffindor is the best house, of course."
As Hermione launched into a non-stop analysis of the Hogwarts houses, Neville's mood began to sink. "Cousin," he mumbled, looking down at his shoes, "were you just calling me stupid?"
Ciel looked at him calmly. "Neville, what did I just tell you? You're a Herbology prodigy with an amazing physique. How could you forget already? Of course, I gave you the Goldfish Vine because you're a genius. I have complete faith that you'll take good care of them."
Neville immediately perked up, clutching the pots protectively and eyeing Hermione with a new wariness, as if her intelligence might physically harm his precious plants.
Hermione didn't seem to mind. She sat down, and Ciel, ignoring her for the moment, took out another small pot filled with rich soil from the Sprout family greenhouse. He waved his wand.
After the Soil-Loosening Charm worked its magic, he carefully buried another Goldfish Vine seed in the loose earth. He watered it with a nutrient-rich potion, ensuring the soil was moist but not waterlogged. Throughout the process, his movements were deliberate and precise, as if he were handling a delicate work of art. It wasn't until a line of text shimmered into existence above the pot that he allowed himself a small smile.
[You have successfully planted Goldfish Vine]
[Reward Available...]
He then placed this new pot into Neville's hands. "Neville," he said solemnly, "I am entrusting this new life to you."
Neville's face was a mask of seriousness. "Okay, Cousin. But... I don't know how to take care of them. I mean, how often should I water them? Do they need sunlight?"
Before Ciel could answer, Hermione, the self-proclaimed know-it-all, jumped in with extraordinary enthusiasm, rattling off the standard answer directly from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
"Goldfish Vines prefer bright, indirect light, ideally five to six hours a day, but you must be careful not to expose them to direct midday sun in the summer," she recited. "They like moisture but are prone to root rot if waterlogged, so the ideal standard is to keep the soil moist but not soggy. Specifically…"
As Hermione continued her lecture, Neville's expression shifted from serious concentration to utter confusion.
Ciel watched him for a moment, then asked, "Neville, did you remember any of that?"
Neville looked at him blankly. "I think so. Maybe fifty percent?"
Ciel waited another moment. "And now?"
Neville's mouth opened, then closed. "Thirty percent."
A few more seconds passed in silence.
"Cousin," Neville finally said on his own, his voice full of despair. "I've forgotten everything." He looked utterly dejected. "My memory is terrible. Grandma was right not to let me water her flowers. I can't raise plants at all. Maybe I should just give these back to you… I'll kill them."
But Ciel was beaming. His gaze fell on the pot he had just planted. A tiny, thin sprout had already pushed its way through the soil, a feat that should have taken days. The other Goldfish Vines were not only greener, but the small, goldfish-shaped leaves had begun to swell visibly.
He clapped Neville firmly on the shoulder. "No, Neville. You can forget everything Miss Granger just said. Only mediocrities need to remember those things. But you, my cousin," he said, his voice full of conviction, "you are a genius. A true genius. You just do your best and leave the rest to the plants. I am so confident in you that I'm going to plant even more, and I'll entrust them all to you."
Hearing his cousin's unwavering trust, something lit up in Neville's eyes. His entire life had been a chorus of criticism. His grandmother, his relatives—they all saw him as a disappointment, a pale shadow of his brave parents. They'd even suspected he was a Squib, pushing him off a high platform to try and shock some magic out of him. Growing up in that environment, it was a miracle he wasn't more timid.
But now, for the first time, someone had entrusted him with an important task. Someone believed in him. Neville's resolve hardened. He would not disappoint Ciel. He would study Herbology with all his might and raise these plants to be the best they could be.
Just then, a harsh, mocking laugh echoed from the corridor.
"What did I just hear? Did I hear that correctly? Neville Longbottom is a genius? Merlin's beard, if that's true, then everyone at Hogwarts must be Dumbledore."
The compartment door slid open to reveal a boy with slicked-back, platinum-blonde hair and a cruel sneer, flanked by two large, thuggish-looking boys.
Ciel recognised them instantly: Draco Malfoy, and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. He recalled that Malfoy had a surprising number of fans from the movies, but anyone who had read the books knew the boy was an absolute git in his early years.
Neville's face turned a deep, blotchy red, his throat seeming to close up as he struggled to speak. Ciel sighed inwardly. This was not the confident, snake-slaying Neville of the future.
Hermione, however, had no such reservations. "Whoever you are," she said sharply, her face flushed with anger, "eavesdropping on people is incredibly ill-mannered!"
Malfoy's sneer turned into an ugly scowl. He glanced at Hermione with contempt, seemingly able to identify her as Muggle-born from her demeanour alone. "A Mudblood?" he drawled. "You probably don't even know what the name Malfoy represents."
He then cast a superior look at Ciel and Neville. "Longbottom, you truly live up to your reputation as a near-Squib. And your cousin… oh, I suppose you're the one they found in the Muggle world? I heard your talent is about the same as his. It's fitting that you two are hanging out with a Mudblood. I really don't know how Hogwarts can admit people like you."
Ciel remained expressionless. "Oh," he said calmly. "Is your father planning to become the headmaster of Hogwarts, then? Did he send you to test the waters? Is he going to expel all the Muggle-born students after he takes office? And us wizards with 'poor talent'? Will Hogwarts implement an elite-only education under Malfoy's leadership? I'll be sure to ask my aunt about it today, and I'll have her ask Headmaster Dumbledore as well."
As Ciel spoke, Malfoy's face went rigid. Even as a child, he knew some things were better left unsaid. He had no answer to that.
Malfoy snorted, turning to leave. Ciel was about to slide the door shut when Crabbe's gaze landed on the Goldfish Vine in Neville's hands. The vibrant green plant, shaped like a tiny fish, seemed to remind him of Chocolate Frogs.
"What's this?" he grunted. "Did the Chocolate Frog company make a new flavor? Matcha?" He licked his lips. "Looks tasty."
Crabbe reached a beefy hand toward the pot. "Let me have a taste."
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