Note:

This chapter is for anyone who thinks Herbology class is just wizard therapy with plants that scream louder than you do.

"Because sometimes the biggest duel isn't about spells - it's about who can out-snark a Lestrange without losing a finger."

...

Left or right?
Making a decision was never easy, never. Even if it was a trivial one. Those were usually the hardest of all. One did not think that a minor decision could change life so much.
But decisions had a way of changing life. Each choice is a new path, and once taken, the old one vanishes, leaving no way back.

Left or right, this question dominated me.
With my schoolbooks pressed firmly against my chest, I stood indecisive in the corridor. Students streamed past, their figures blurring into a faceless crowd. A sigh escaped my moistened lips. Moistened, as my lower lip had previously been a victim of my teeth. It was a bad habit.
There I stood, a fork before me, longing to find the library but unable to recall the way. People avoided me, treating me like an obstacle in their path.

Waiting...
Waiting for what?
Misfortune?

»Watch out!«
In an instant, my schoolbooks scattered across the stone floor. I stumbled but caught myself, freezing in place. Motionless, unable to do anything, I stared at my books on the ground, some of them opened. The pages facing up and revealing their knowledge.

Why though? What could I possibly do?
Nothing, nothing...

Decisions felt like trying to stop a dam from breaking without knowing where the leak was. The dam's fate was inevitable - it would break. Just as I knew the fallen books signaled a coming storm.
»Behold, oh behold!« Laughter echoed down the corridor, and for the first time, I looked to the right.

Right or left?
Right, was the answer, or just an illusion?

A group of students stood nearby, their green-silver ties marking them as Slytherins. Five boys, smirking maliciously. They were my age or older, reveling in my misfortune. One pointed at me, clutching his stomach in laughter. Another flashed oversized front teeth, their eyes gleaming with cruel delight. The divide between houses had been explained to me, but experiencing it was another matter.
Among them was their alpha. He clutched his side, his mocking jeers directed solely at me. His followers, a loyal pack, sounded like dying animals as they laughed.
»Know this!«, the alpha boy suddenly stopped laughing. His glassy, gray eyes - glassy from the laughter that had shaken his body earlier - scanned the boys behind him. He brushed one of his brown hair strands from his face with a too-long finger, then continued speaking, »My father taught me to be courteous, so...« he bent down and picked up one of my fallen books, presenting it like a trophy. His words dripped with condescension.
He rose, looking down at me with a sneer. The tall, slim Slytherin curled his forehead and nose, offered a greasy smile. He acted as if he wanted to give me back the item that had fallen at his expense, but that did not happen.
His gray eyes looked at me and a shiver ran through me. My muscles tensed, readying for a fight. I looked at him with narrowed eyes. Panic rose within me.

»You must always fight, Phil!«
I can't...

»However, I am not like my father and do not treat others courteously...« His fingers released the book, and it landed with a dull thud on my feet, causing me to grimace in pain.
»Disgusting blood-scum should not attend this school. The name of your father is known, Aquila!« His words struck a nerve. My father's actions were beyond my control, yet I bore the burden of his infamy. Everyone hated me because of him.
The boy stepped closer. »One might think a Mudblood is the worst thing to find here. Now such a thing like yourself lives here!« He shoved me, causing the book to slip from my toes.
The corridor was empty, yet my inner voice told me that no one would help me anyway. Again, I heard laughter as I stumbled, and the boys had fun tormenting me.
»Dumbledore's standards are sinking ever lower. I feel sick just looking at you,« he said, stepping towards me menacingly. As he wanted to take another threatening step towards me, a figure blocked my view.
Someone stood between us, denying the Slytherin his dominance. Two hands rested on my shoulders, pulling me back. I let it happen, too shaken to resist.
»Mulciber Jr.,« a familiar voice said to my left. Sirius Black spat the name like it was filth.

Perhaps it is.

I became alert, recognizing James Potter in front of me by his tousled black hair. Sirius spoke again, »Do you have nothing better to do than to tyrannize innocent students, Mulciber Jr.? Maybe you should pursue your vile deeds as a Death Eater, hm?«
The Gryffindor crossed his arms, eyes blazing with anger.
Mulciber Jr. took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender. »Black, as he lives and breathes. Truly a disgrace you bear that name. Always meddling in other people's affairs, sad, truly heart-wrenching.« The Slytherin took a step back, then he spoke words of farewell, »But you're right, Black. I have better things to do, see ya.«
Mulciber Jr. signaled his followers to leave, then they were gone. I hardly felt any better.
I looked back to see Remus watching the Slytherins with a dark expression, his grip tightening on my shoulders. Remus' hands began to bother me. I freed myself from his hold, bending to pick up my books.
When I reached the last one, my book was picked up from the stone floor and offered to me. Remus Lupin stood before me, and looking into his green eyes, I took the book.
Now here I stood again, just like at the beginning. My schoolbooks pressed firmly against my chest.
»You okay?« Remus asked. James and Sirius seemed concerned too. I shrugged, replying softly, »I have to be.« I looked at each of them. »Apparently, I have to live with the fact that my family name is unpopular.«
Remus spoke immediately, »That still doesn't give them the right to harass you.«
I could see his jaw tense. As my gaze went through their ranks, I could see that all of them supported Remus' words.
»Thanks,« I managed, because they had helped me.
Sirius, still agitated, said, »You don't have to. I would have loved to hex him.« He glared in the direction the Slytherins had gone. The others were equally riled, wanting to protect me.
I decided to change the subject, »Is the library to the left or right?«
»Left, then a staircase up to the right,« Remus pointed, relaxing slightly.
Left was the answer, and I also had learned something else: The Marauders had developed a protective instinct for me. But wether that was good or bad, I did not yet know.

Sirius' POV:

Phil's figure vanished into the distance. Despite our offer to escort her to the library, she had politely declined. Moony's eyes lingered on her retreating form, and he did not look well. Soon, this mysterious girl would have been here a month, which meant that the full moon was getting closer.
Moony bore deep, dark circles under his eyes, a testament to his restless nights. Fatigue and edginess marked his every move, a stark contrast to Phil, who appeared to be doing better. Yet, my limited knowledge of werewolves prevented me from making any definitive judgments.
Remus, snapped out of his stare and we continued our way to class.
Herbology awaited us, a subject I detested. Professor Sprout, however, made it difficult to harbour any true animosity. She had been teaching this subject since this year and always wore this broad smile on her face. For some reason, she liked me, which was the only reason why I tried to get good grades.

On the way James chattered with Remus while Peter and I maintained a mutual silence. As we neared the greenhouses, the winter air greeted us with a biting chill, our breaths visible in the frosty atmosphere.
The Mandrakes were particularly disagreeable that morning. Someone had apparently over-fertilised them with dragon dung again, causing them to protest vociferously. Pruning shears seemed the only viable solution.
»Can't we just move them to another greenhouse?« someone else asked.
I had been thinking the same question. Unfortunately, I could hardly stand that voice more than the Mandrakes', as it belonged to Elizabeth Lestrange. We had Herbology with the Slytherins and had Mulciber Jr. been in my grade, I would have used the pruning shears for quite different purposes. Luckily, the jerk was a year above us, but still, we had classes with the Slytherins, and Lestrange's company was a particularly bitter pill to swallow.
I glared at the girl as she addressed Professor Sprout with a raised eyebrow.

I loathe you too, Lestrange, don't ya worry.

»I actually planned for us to take care of these lovely fellas today, before we move on to trimming the Shivering Shrubs. Winter has them in a calmer state,« Professor Sprout announced, prompting a collective groan, as the first students were already covering their ears. The protests of these Mandrakes were unbearable.
»As long as Black suffers, I can endure,« Lestrange sneered, her words dripping with malice as Sprout began taking attendance.
My gaze zeroed in on her, her black hair a stark contrast to her pale skin, a typical Lestrange trait. As a sister to the notorious Lestrange brothers, Rabastan and Rodolphus, she was every bit the venomous serpent I had come to despise. Since the first class I hated her excessively. And not for nothing.
I retorted, »As long as Lestrange loses a finger while transplanting, I'm in.«
Her eyes narrowed. »Oh, someone's feeling sadistic today. Are you sure you're in the right house, Black?«
We faced each other across the long table as students busied themselves with fresh soil and Mandrakes.
»Black?« Sprout's voice cut through the tension.
»Here!« I replied, then, locking eyes with Lestrange, added coldly, »I doubt that counts as sadistic, but go ahead. I'll have to believe ya; you're in the house of snakes, after all.«
»Lestrange?«
»Present!« she responded, her gaze shifting from the Mandrake in front of her to me, her poison-green eyes flashing briefly. »You're right,« she said with deceptive calm, »I probably know better. Interesting that you even mentioned it with your stupidity.«
»Who are you calling stupid?« I hissed, leaning over the table.
»You,« she shot back, leaning in as well. Just as I prepared to fling soil in her face, Sprout intervened.
»Could you two stop this?« she asked wearily. »Move away from each other. I don't want to reprimand you so early in the morning, let alone deduct house points.«
Sprout sent Lestrange to the other end of the table. The Slytherin yanked her Mandrake with unnecessary force, causing it to scream louder. As she scolded the plant, its cries intensified. Sprout shook her head and turned to James.
»Mister Potter, could you please not treat the plant like that?«
I glanced at James, who held the Mandrake aloft, a pot beneath it. He tickled the plant's belly, cooing, »Goochie, goochie,« but ceased and nodded at Sprout's reprimand.
Beside him, Moony handled his Mandrake with care, while Peter struggled to open a bag of soil. When it finally gave way, the whole bag ripped and soil spilled onto the floor.
Sprout sighed, clearly exhausted by this morning's foolishness, and moved on to Lestrange, whose Mandrake continued its ear-piercing wail. Reluctantly, I turned my attention to transplanting my own plant, my disdain for Herbology unwavering.