Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 184

Chapter 184: Healing the Whomping Willow

Leonardo followed Professor Sprout to the Whomping Willow.

The towering tree looked wilted now, its branches drooping without strength, none of its usual swagger left. The gaping crater in the trunk made Leonardo click his tongue. That impact had been brutal. Another little bit, and it would have snapped clean through.

“The Whomping Willow is injured and weak,” Professor Sprout said, her voice tight with regret as she stared at it. “But that makes it more irritable and more dangerous. The slightest disturbance, and it goes into a frenzy, striking blindly at anything nearby. That makes treatment and recovery much harder.”

She sighed, clearly pained by the whole situation.

“Normally, you can press a knot on one of its branches and it will freeze at once. But it won’t respond now.”

She paused, then grimaced.

“As for Lockhart’s method… forget it. Don’t even mention it.”

Leonardo grasped the issue at once. The Whomping Willow needed rest—quiet and stillness, something close to sleep. But weakened as it was, the tree had tipped into rage, and every time it struck out, it only worsened its own wounds, undoing whatever healing had begun.

Dumbledore was likely counting on unicorn saliva to replenish life force first, to stabilise the tree’s vitality, and only then start real healing once it could endure it.

Still, if the Whomping Willow could be calmed first, they would be treating the cause and the symptoms at once.

Calm. Sleep.

Leonardo pulled a pair of special earplugs from his pocket and offered them to Professor Sprout.

“Professor, please put these on first. I want to try making the Whomping Willow settle down. It will be easier to treat it properly.”

Professor Sprout looked puzzled. During the Herbology lesson, she had been checking other groups and had not noticed anything unusual about Leonardo’s. Even so, she put the earplugs in.

At the very least, she thought dryly, it could not be more ridiculous than Lockhart.

Leonardo raised his wand. His lips moved, and instead of a clipped incantation, a distant, drifting melody flowed out of him, soft as fog.

“Moonlight, velvet-soft, beneath your head,
Night draws deep and hides your dread.
Let your breathing sink to Silver Lake,
Let sweet dreams along moonbeams wake…”

The Whomping Willow’s trembling branches gradually stilled. Its leaves stopped quivering, as if the whole tree had been lowered gently into sleep.

Leonardo watched with his Magic Sight until the tree’s internal magic settled into something smooth and quiet. Only then did he step forward.

He had no intention of gambling on whether his “Diligent Little Gardener” affinity would work on a Whomping Willow in a true rage. Better to make it sleep first.

A plant sleeping might have sounded absurd.

Magic had never cared about the absurd.

The Moon-Sleep Song, at least, was doing its job.

Professor Sprout, seeing Leonardo walk into the Whomping Willow’s range, instinctively reached out as if to yank him back. But the tree did not react at all. That oppressive, violent restlessness was simply gone.

With her deep familiarity with magical plants, Professor Sprout confirmed it quickly. The Whomping Willow had entered a strangely quiet, steady state.

It was almost as if it really was asleep.

With the earplugs in, she could not hear what Leonardo had said or sung. She could only tell he had cast something. And she had never seen an incantation that long.

Leonardo reached the base of the tree and laid a hand on the jagged break in its trunk, offering a silent apology.

Then he took out a small vial and tipped a few drops of unicorn saliva onto the roots.

Almost immediately, the bark’s dull, withered look began to fade. Vitality returned, subtle but unmistakable.

Professor Sprout began her work as well. She applied a specialised restorative solution along the edges of the wound, then wrapped and secured the damaged area with bandages.

Leonardo could not help thinking, so bandages actually do work.

While Sprout treated the trunk, Leonardo collected the scattered debris on the ground: snapped branches, fallen leaves, torn strips of bark.

These materials could be used for potions or incorporated into alchemical items to produce more unusual effects.

But what Leonardo needed most was for a spell he intended to build.

It was an ancient piece of magic he had learned from an old spellbook.

Bastion of Knowledge.

Its effect resembled Occlumency. It resisted mental intrusion and shielded the soul.

Beyond Legilimency, it could also defend against soul- and memory-targeting magic such as the Imperius Curse and Memory Charms, covering far more angles overall.

As for the principles, it used the caster’s own knowledge as a foundation, combining alchemy and spellwork to create a semi-permanent defence. In a way, it resembled the modifications behind Magic Sight, only without needing any physical alteration.

What Leonardo liked most about it was simple.

The more knowledge you possessed, the stronger the protection became.

Compared with Occlumency, it suited him perfectly.

When Leonardo finished gathering branches, leaves, and bark, Professor Sprout was done as well.

Seeing that, Leonardo returned to the Whomping Willow with a bag, poured out fertiliser at its base, and helped speed its recovery.

Professor Sprout’s eyes sharpened instantly.

“This fertiliser is excellent quality,” she said, unable to hide her interest. “Leonardo, where did you buy it?”

As the Herbology professor and a true gardening enthusiast, she could not resist a good fertiliser.

…

In the Great Hall, the twins had made a spectacular show of setting up their Seventh Workshop (Hogwarts Special) stall, and their shouting quickly drew attention.

Some students drifted over at once. After being tormented by the moving staircases and then comparing themselves to Gryffindors who had bought the compass or map, the gap in experience hit hard.

No elaborate promotion was even needed. They had already learned where the items came from.

Draco Malfoy happened to stroll by with his two cronies. He paused to examine the goods laid out on the stall.

When he heard the inventions were Leonardo’s, his interest rose, and he quickly understood the function. The map that could plot routes was genuinely useful, and as for the price, it was irrelevant. Malfoy did not lack money.

He had Goyle ask the price and was just about to pay, partly to show support for Leonardo.

Then he heard the twins “chatting” to each other, far too loudly to be accidental.

“George, our custom map is nearly finished, isn’t it? Zabini pre-ordered it.”

"Right, right. Rich pure‑bloods always go for custom work. Put the family crest on it, or a personal seal. One of a kind. That's the proper noble standard, isn't it?"

“And if this is the first custom map, it’ll make everyone jealous.”

Malfoy’s hand froze halfway to his money pouch.

Custom. One of a kind.

Of course.

Buying the same thing everyone else bought, even the most expensive version, suddenly felt pointless.

Catching Malfoy’s expression, the twins exchanged a quick glance.

A matching grin flickered across two identical faces—gone as fast as it came.