Lucas wiped his hands on a towel and hurried to the door.
Professor Sprout stood on the step in a traveling cloak, the same patched pointed hat still perched on her head.
“Morning, Lucas,” she said cheerfully.
“Ready to go?
Oh—you look a little red-eyed.
Didn’t sleep well?”
“Morning, Professor.” Lucas stepped aside.
“I was too excited about Diagon Alley.
Want some tea?”
She smiled and shook her head.
“No time—we should leave right away.”
Her nose twitched.
Her eyes lit up.
“Merlin’s beard, what is that smell?
Herbs and warm nutty sweetness… Are you brewing a potion?
It smells far too good for one.”
“Not exactly, Professor.” Lucas grinned.
“I’m making a simple tonic soup—angelica, longan, red date, lotus seed, and white fungus.”
The string of unfamiliar words made Sprout’s eyebrows climb.
She went straight for the first one.
“Er… what’s angelica?”
Lucas laughed.
“It’s an Eastern Muggle herb.
Nourishes the blood, helps with dryness, that sort of thing.
Come see if you’re curious.”
He led her around back to a small, neatly walled garden that looked completely out of place beside the rugged farm fields.
Sprout’s eyes widened with delight.
Straight, tidy rows.
Thriving plots.
She recognized mint, rosemary, thyme right away.
In the damp corner stood tall, lush nettles.
A central bed blazed with bright calendula.
But other plants… She studied them closer.
One patch in the shade by the wall had large feathery leaves and umbrella-shaped white flowers that gave off a rich, celery-like scent.
Another bed held broad heart-shaped leaves on thick red stalks.
As the Herbology professor who knew every magical and non-magical plant, Sprout was certain she’d seen drawings of these somewhere.
They definitely weren’t native to Britain.
That’s right—Eastern Muggle herbs!
Lucas pointed at the white-flowered plants.
“That’s angelica, Professor.
We harvest the roots, process them, and use them in tonics.
Eastern Muggles love cooking with it—angelica and ginger lamb stew, angelica and astragalus chicken soup, things like that.”
His hand swept across the whole garden.
“Actually, everything here is medicinal.”
Sprout’s gaze landed on a wooden rack beside the calendula where thick, velvet-soft petals were drying.
She breathed in deep, taking in the layered herbal scents.
Every single plant in this garden really was a herb—even the culinary ones had medicinal value.
Her eyes sparkled with surprise and delight.
“Lucas, did you grow all of this yourself?”
He nodded.
“Grandpa’s not interested.
It’s all me.”
He pointed at a slightly wilted sage.
“That one dried out a bit in the sun.
I’ll move it to the shade tonight.”
Merlin’s beard!
Sprout’s heart swelled.
The boy was only eleven and already reading plant stress like a pro.
Even if these were only Muggle herbs, it proved real Herbology talent.
I’d bet most third- or fourth-years at Hogwarts couldn’t manage half this well!
Lucas McGregor…
She adjusted her pointed hat, gazing at him with warm pride.
You’re going to make a brilliant herbologist one day.
Back in the kitchen the sweet, complex aroma hit her again.
Remembering Lucas’s words, Sprout couldn’t help exclaiming, “So this is medicinal cuisine—cooking herbs right into the food!
I’ve only read about it in books.
It’s an Eastern Muggle practice, so imaginative.
I’ve never actually seen it done… Wait!”
She suddenly caught on.
“Does that mean every herb in your garden is meant for cooking?”
“Yes, Professor.” Lucas smiled.
“To me they’re not just medicine—they’re ingredients.”
He straightened up, eyes shining.
“Remember?
I’m a chef.
A chef who’s about to become a wizard.”
“Once it’s done, would you like a bowl?”
“An incredible idea.
How did Muggles even think of it?” Sprout murmured, then chuckled.
“I’d love to try some, but we really must leave now.
Where’s your grandfather?”
Lucas realized Finlay had quietly slipped away, probably on purpose.
He turned the stove flame down to the barest simmer so the soup could gently cook, left a quick note on the table, and followed Professor Sprout outside.
“Professor, where exactly is Diagon Alley?
How are we getting there?”
“For Muggle-born students we usually use ordinary Muggle transport—trains, buses—so they can ease into things,” Sprout said with a wink.
“But London’s too far; it would take days.
So we’ll try a magical route instead.”
“Apparition again?” Lucas braced himself.
“No, I still need to show you how to enter Diagon Alley from the Muggle world.
This time we’ll use Floo Powder.” She pulled out a faded map and checked the direction.
“There’s a fireplace nearby that’s still connected to the Floo Network.
The Ministry apparently forgot to decommission it.”
“Nearby” turned out to be a solid half-hour walk.
Along the way Lucas kept asking about the wizarding world and Hogwarts.
Sprout answered every question cheerfully.
The conversation naturally drifted back to the topic Lucas cared about most: wizarding food.
“Professor, you seemed surprised by my tonic soup earlier.
Doesn’t the wizarding world do anything similar?
Like using magical herbs as actual ingredients in dishes?”
Sprout shook her head.
“I’m afraid not.
Magical herbs are for potions.
Why on earth would we cook with them?”
Lucas blinked, genuinely shocked.
“Why not?”
Sprout looked even more surprised.
“Why would we?
Those plants have complex magical effects and toxic reactions.
I’ve studied Herbology my whole life and I’ve never heard of anyone sticking them between two slices of bread for a sandwich…”
Does it involve complex magical effects and toxicological reactions?
Is it a case where no one has ever bothered to study it, or have all the research attempts just been total failures?