Ron really ought to thank Fang for not having midnight snacks. The kid slept like a log, snored like a freight train, and by morning he'd already forgotten the weird stuff from last night's dinner.
Sunday morning, Lynn slipped out of the dorm super early. The herbs he'd picked needed processing, but thanks to his multitasking telekinesis, invisible octopus-arms got everything done in minutes.
By the time he reached the Great Hall, the early-bird little wizards were just trickling in for breakfast.
"Sigurd!"
Lynn had barely sat down when the morning owl post arrived. Sigurd flapped over with a massive package, looking a little winded.
"Good job, buddy!"
Lynn scratched the owl's head and offered some owl treats. Sigurd, spoiled as ever, nibbled one pellet then immediately went for Lynn's fried eggs. Tiny talons shoved the plate closer, and he even used Lynn's milk as a mouthwash.
"You little thief."
Since Sigurd had delivered all the potion ingredients Lynn ordered, Lynn just let him have it and tidied the owl's feathers while he ate.
"Sigurd's put on weight, huh," Harry said, reaching over with a creepy giggle. "Hehehe, sticking my hand in there is so warm, lemme rub that belly~"
"Goo-goo-gah!"
Sigurd fluffed up in outrage, snatched the rest of the fried egg plus a peeled boiled egg Lynn had ready, and took off like his tail was on fire.
"Stingy. Hedwig's way nicer," Harry pouted. An adult Sigurd could probably eat a hawk for lunch, so yeah, he was a proud one.
"Even Hedwig would explode if you mauled her like that," Lynn said, chugging a fresh glass of milk and flicking Harry's forehead.
"Lynn, stop bullying Harry," Qiu said, walking up after finishing her own breakfast and swatting his hand away.
"Occasional head trauma promotes brain development."
"As if!" Harry shook her head. "You just hold grudges, that's why you've corrupted Sigurd."
"I settle scores on the spot. Holding grudges isn't my style."
Right as Lynn stood up to say goodbye, chaos erupted at the Gryffindor table.
"BLEEERGH!"
A loud, wet vomiting sound echoed through the hall, followed by someone bent over the table hurling like a fountain.
Ron, who'd completely forgotten yesterday's incident, had been happily scarfing breakfast and plotting which poor soul would face his chess mastery next. Then that weird feeling came back.
At first he didn't think much of it. His mouth suddenly tasting like rich beef stew mid-bite wasn't exactly bad. But after his second sandwich, second meat pie, a pumpkin juice, and a homemade ham-and-cheese burger… an indescribable flavor exploded in his mouth.
"IT'S SHIT! ACTUAL SHIT!!!"
After emptying his stomach, Ron screamed, pupils blown wide, staring into the void.
"THERE'S POOP IN THE BREAKFAST!!!"
Every kid within earshot dropped their cutlery in horror and whipped around to stare.
But the real star of the show was the fat rat on the table rolling around and screeching while spraying from both ends. Owner and pet performing abstract art in perfect sync; nobody had ever seen anything like it.
"It's bitter, it's foul, it's got this funky tang, and it's all sticky and pasty!"
"BLEEEURGH!"
"And there's liquid bits…"
Ron's face had gone green. He was on his knees now, brain completely scrambled from the ultra-realistic taste experience. The words just fell out of his mouth without filtering.
Every kid who heard his "professional review" instantly felt their souls leave their bodies. Dude, you eating it is bad enough; why describe the texture?!
"And there's hay in it! Horse manure!"
Ron suddenly smacked his lips for some reason.
"Wait… kinda sweet?"
The entire Great Hall detonated. Students fled like he was patient zero of the plague, pinching their noses and bolting. Even his own brothers (Percy, Fred, and George) backed away, faces redder than baboon butts from secondhand embarrassment.
"Can't stay in the Great Hall anymore; I'm out."
Lynn teleported straight out the castle doors, reappeared in front of Hagrid's hut, and immediately regretted every life choice that led him here.
"Fang! Stop eating poop, WHAT THE HELL, THAT'S A WHOLE MOUNTAIN OF IT!"
Fang lifted his head at Lynn's shout. Hagrid turned too, holding a giant manure fork.
"What are you doing, Hagrid?!"
"Oh, this?" Hagrid waved it off like it was nothing. "Gotta prep fertilizer for the Halloween pumpkins. Magic can make 'em huge, but good fertilizer is a must. Fresh stuff needs to ferment a while; mix in some unicorn dung and it's perfect. Been doing it for decades; best pumpkins every year."
"I fed you this morning! Fang, why are you snacking again? Shoo! Don't come crying to me tonight when you've got the runs."
"…"
Lynn went silent, unsure what to say. Hagrid seemed to catch on anyway.
"I'll brush his teeth real good. But, y'know, dogs… they get cravings. It's in their nature. Feed him all you want, he'll still do it."
"…Okay then."
Lynn opened his mouth, closed it again. He couldn't exactly tell Hagrid that, thanks to Fang, someone in the castle was currently taste-testing dog poop in real time… Nobody would believe him anyway. Magic had limits.
Surely no wizard in history had ever invented a curse that made someone taste this stuff, right? …Right?!
"I get how you feel, Lynn," Hagrid said helplessly, leaning on his poop fork. "Once you start Herbology you'll be dealing with this all the time. Growing magical plants is like growing veggies; fertilizer is life. Professor Sprout is way pickier than me; she taught me everything I know."
"I'm fine with manure for plants," Lynn waved. "I've grown vegetables before. It's just… if Harry ever finds out Fang eats this stuff…"
"I'm cleaning him right now; don't you dare tell Harry!"
Hagrid immediately hoisted Fang up, marched to the well, and hauled up a huge bucket of ice-cold water.
"WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!!!"
Fang howled in betrayal as the freezing water hit him. Hagrid was practically scrubbing the fur off the poor dog. His beautiful shiny coat!
Then Hagrid shoved an extra-large shoe brush into Fang's mouth for a proper tooth-brushing. Fang's protests turned into pathetic muffled gurgles.
Lynn could only sigh. "…Hope Ron's okay."
He turned to leave, but the second he teleported back to the eighth floor, he lost it; shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"…Actually, maybe I really could invent something like this… Nah, poor Ron. I'll make it up to him later."
"Forget it. Money, money, money! That's what matters!"
Flames licked the bottom of the cauldron, bubbles rising in steady rhythm. Every stir was precise, elegant; even Snape would have to give it a grudging "acceptable."