"From other herbologists, I expect," Jeremy answered with another puff of smoke, still as cheerful as ever, but with a different kind of energy. Jeremy was not a serious person; everything was a joke, he was almost always in a good mood, and responsibilities were for goblins and people like
Michael. However, when it came to herbology, he had always been a little less childish. He took great pride in his ability, and it was possibly the only subject Jeremy had ever excelled in. (Because -- according to a professor in his fourth year -- competitive eating was not a subject that was nor ever would be taught at Hogwarts.)
"If you create the strain, you get to name it," he took another puff from the joint, rolling it slightly between his fingertips to loosen up a bit of the hard-packed bits and holding it to her. "You know us wizards; we love to name shit." Jeremy was a victim of this as much as the next man, but at least he could joke about it, right?
Asking her about reading futures in the smoke, Jeremy let out a cough mixed with a laugh as she asked him to read hers instead. "Oh no, I am not the future-reader-er here," he said, shaking his head so quickly that tight red curls bounced to and fro from his shoulders.
And then she brought up rumpology, and he snickered like a fourteen-year-old thinking about butts. "Well, okay, maybe I could try,"
