Harry Potter: Forging the Flame Ch. 13

Update on Chapter Access

Hi everyone! Just a quick heads-up about chapter availability:

Currently, 9 chapters are available on public platforms, and 12 chapters are on Patreon. When I publish this Chapter 13, it will initially be available only to Tier 3 - Aficionado patrons. This is because I want to ensure Tier 1 - Basic Reader and Tier 2 - Enthusiast stay within the "3 chapters ahead" benefit.

Once Chapter 10 is released publicly, Chapter 13 will be unlocked for Tier 1 and Tier 2 as well.

Thank you for your support and understanding! 💖

Chapter 13.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at his toast while Ron shoveled eggs onto his plate. The usual morning buzz of the Great Hall surrounded them, but Harry’s thoughts were elsewhere.

“I’m serious, Ron,” Harry said, breaking the silence. “I’m thinking about dropping Divination.”

Ron didn’t look up from his plate. ‘You said that yesterday,’ he said around a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, and I mean it.’ Harry pushed his plate away. ‘What’s the point in staying? All we do is stare at crystal balls and hear Trelawney predict my death for the hundredth time.”

Ron swallowed hard, finally looking up. “But it’s easy, Harry! You don’t even have to try! You just make something up, and she calls it brilliant.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Harry said irritated “It’s useless. I could spend that time actually learning something.”

Ron’s fork clattered against his plate. “Learning something? Come on, Harry. You’re just going to leave me to sit there on my own while you swan off to… to what? Ancient Runes? Arithmancy?”

At that moment, Hermione slid onto the bench across from them, neatly setting down a stack of books. “What’s this about Arithmancy?” she asked, glancing back and forth between them.

Ron leaned toward her, looking desperate. “Can you believe it? Harry’s talking about quitting Divination!”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up, and Ron grinned, expecting her to agree with him. Instead, she said, “Really? That’s great!”

Ron froze, staring at her in betrayal. “What?”

“It’s not like you didn’t see this coming,” Hermione said briskly, pulling out a quill. “Harry’s been talking about how much he hates Divination since last year.”

Ron slumped in his seat, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Unbelievable. My own friends. Betrayed.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, even as he shook his head. “Come on, Ron, you’ll survive without me.”

“I doubt it,” Ron grumbled, peeking out from under his arm. “Alright, fine, if you quit, what’re you even going to take instead?”

Harry hesitated, but before he could answer, an owl swooped down and landed in front of him. It dropped a brown package onto the table, narrowly missing Ron’s goblet.

Harry unwrapped the parcel, revealing two worn leather books with faded gold titles: Broken Mind and Broken Body.

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, leaning forward. “I don’t recognize these.”

Ron squinted at the cracked leather covers. “They look ancient. Are they even in English?”

Harry flipped one of the books open, his initial excitement dimming as his eyes scanned the pages. The text was written in a strange, looping script, with letters that seemed to shift if he stared at them too long. “Not English,” he muttered.

“Let me see,” Hermione said, reaching for one of the books. Harry handed it over, and she flipped through its pages. “This doesn’t look like any magical text I’ve read before. The script… it might be an old dialect, or maybe even a cipher.”

“A cipher?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

“A code,” Hermione explained distractedly, flipping carefully through the pages. “Some wizards used codes in their writings to protect sensitive information. Especially when dealing with dangerous magic.” She glanced up at Harry. “Where did these come from?”

“Sirius sent them,” Harry said, pulling out the accompanying letter from his bag.

“Sirius?” Hermione’s eyes widened. “Why?”

Harry glanced at Ron, then back at Hermione. “I… I asked him to send me anything that might help with reversing the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.”

Ron let out a low whistle. “Blimey, Harry. You’re taking on a lot. That’s heavy stuff.”

Hermione, however, didn’t seem surprised. She nodded thoughtfully. “It makes sense. Sirius would have access to old texts—Black family magic and all that.”

Ron stared at the books, frowning. “Yeah, but can you even use them if you can’t read them?”

Harry sighed, closing the second book. “That’s the problem. I was hoping for something more straightforward, but this feels like it’s going to take weeks just to understand the basics.”

“Don’t give up,” Hermione said “If these really are from the Black library, they could hold something important. It just means we’ll have to take it one step at a time.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about we’ll, but he nodded anyway. Sliding the books back into his bag, he pulled out his schedule, needing to focus on something else.

Wednesday

• Morning

• Double Transfiguration (Professor McGonagall)

• Lunch

• Free

• Afternoon

• Study Hall

• Care of Magical Creatures (Hagrid)

“McGonagall first,” Harry said, tucking his schedule into his bag.

Ron groaned, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You think she’s going to be stricter this year? It’s fourth year—she’s bound to up the difficulty.”

Harry smirked. “You’re always complaining about how strict she is, but you’re not wrong. I just wonder what kind of spells we’ll get to learn this time.”

“Spells that’ll land me in detention, probably,” Ron muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she fell into step beside them. “Maybe if you focused for once—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron interrupted. “Work hard, pay attention, don’t daydream. Heard it before.”

They turned the corner, nearly colliding with Luna Lovegood, who stood in the middle of the corridor, tilting her head as if listening to something.

“Luna?” Harry asked, startled.

She turned toward them, her wide, dreamy eyes blinking slowly. “Oh, hello, Harry. I think I’ve lost my classroom. Or maybe it’s just hiding.”

Ron gave Harry a look, but Harry stepped forward. “What are you looking for?”

“Charms,” Luna said adjusting her radish earrings.

“That’s on the second floor,” Hermione said, gesturing toward the stairs. “You’re on the wrong level.”

Luna nodded, her expression unbothered. “That makes sense. I’ll find it eventually. Thank you.”

With that, she drifted off in the opposite direction, humming softly. Ron watched her go, shaking his head. “I don’t know how she makes it through the day.”

Harry grinned. “Probably the same way you do. She’s just more interesting about it.”

Ron snorted, and they continued toward the Transfiguration classroom.

The room was already half-full, with Ravenclaws sitting in neat rows on one side and Gryffindors scattered more haphazardly on the other. Harry made his way to his usual seat without much thought, dropping his bag onto the floor with a dull thud.

Professor McGonagall strode into the room. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“This year,” she began, “you will face new challenges. Advanced Transfiguration requires more than just proper wandwork. It demands clear intention and a thorough understanding of magical theory. If you wish to succeed, you’ll need to give this subject your full focus.”

With a wave of her wand, McGonagall filled the board with the words: Switching Spells: The Foundation of Advanced Transfiguration.

“Switching spells,” she said, pacing briskly at the front of the room, “are about balance. You’re not just transforming one object into another—you’re exchanging their properties. Precision is everything. A single lapse in focus can lead to failure. Today’s lesson will cover the basics.”

Trays of objects appeared on the desks with a faint pop. Harry glanced down to see a feather and a coin resting on his.

“Your task,” McGonagall continued, “is to exchange the properties of these two items while maintaining their integrity. The feather must take on the weight and density of the coin, and the coin must acquire the lightness and texture of the feather. Begin.”

Harry stared at the feather and coin, his wand balanced in his hand. The objects seemed simple enough, but the task was anything but. He glanced at the blackboard again. Page 327, McGonagall had written beneath the chapter title.

Flipping open his textbook, Harry quickly found the section on Switching Spells. The page detailed the theory, the incantation “Permutatio,” and the specific wand movement—a small arc ending in a precise flick. The key, though, was intent.

“Success depends on complete focus and the ability to visualize the properties of the objects as fluid and interchangeable. The caster must direct magical energy with clarity and purpose, or the transformation will falter.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, thinking of the magical core exercise he’d tried in the library the previous day. He hadn’t quite managed to feel anything then, but maybe now, with a clear goal, it would work. If controlling his core was the foundation of advanced magic, it had to be worth trying again.

He rested his wand on the desk for a moment and closed his eyes. Slowly, he brought to mind the image from the book—the flame deep inside, steady and quiet. He pictured it as clearly as he could, imagining the power flowing through him and into his wand, ready to shape the transformation.

Opening his eyes, Harry picked up his wand and pointed it at the feather. He pictured its softness solidifying, its weight increasing, while the coin grew light and airy in its place. “Permutatio.”

The spell fizzled. The feather wobbled, giving the faintest metallic sheen before collapsing back into its natural state. The coin remained stubbornly solid.

Harry frowned, glancing back at the book. The troubleshooting section mentioned focus and intent, but nothing about magical cores. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right approach—if only he could figure it out.

Closing his eyes again, Harry tried harder this time. He imagined the flame more vividly, felt it spreading through his body, connecting him to the objects on the desk. He raised his wand and cast, “Permutatio!”

The feather quivered and stiffened again, but the transformation halted halfway, leaving it stuck in a bizarre state—half soft, half solid. The coin gave a faint twitch but didn’t lift.

A few Ravenclaws glanced his way, their curiosity evident, but Harry ignored them.

“Focus, Potter,” McGonagall’s voice cut through his thoughts as she walked past. “The spell requires control, not brute force.”

He raised his wand again but hesitated. Why was he so fixated on this magical core idea? It wasn’t in the textbook, wasn’t even mentioned in McGonagall’s instructions. Yet, the thought of controlling his core wouldn’t leave him alone.

Then, out of nowhere, the memory hit him.

The trial.

“You are cleansed, but you are not whole. What is taken cannot be replaced. What is left must be enough. Carry it well.”

Harry’s hand tightened around his wand, his pulse quickening. What is taken cannot be replaced. What had Merlin meant? Could it have affected his magical core?

Harry set his wand down, his hands trembling slightly. He took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Panic wasn’t going to help, not here, not now.

Maybe he’d pushed too hard, trying to jump ahead. Maybe he wasn’t ready to use his core the way the book described. He had to focus on what he could control.

The end of the lesson arrived with the usual flurry of parchment rustling and students packing away their supplies.

Harry sat back and stared at the desk. The feather and coin hadn’t fully switched, but he’d managed to make the feather heavier and give the coin the slightest softness at its edges. It wasn’t perfect—not even close—but it was better than where he’d started.

“Many of you,” McGonagall said, “struggled with today’s task, as I expected. Switching spells are not beginner’s work. However, failure to complete it will result in an assignment.”

A collective groan spread through the room. Harry barely noticed, his mind still turning over the spellwork.

“Your homework,” McGonagall continued briskly, “is to write two feet on the principles of Switching Spells, including the importance of intent and precision. Due next week.”

Harry sighed and stuffed his textbook into his bag.

“Before you go,” McGonagall said, her voice cutting through the shuffle of chairs and bags, “I’d like to acknowledge that one of you managed to complete the spell successfully. It was a difficult task, and such effort deserves recognition. Ten points to Ravenclaw. Well done, Mr. Selwyn.”

Harry froze mid-motion, halfway through stuffing his textbook into his bag. Selwyn?

His eyes darted toward the Ravenclaw side of the room, where a boy was calmly packing up his things. He had short, tidy brown hair and didn’t seem the least bit fazed by McGonagall’s praise. Harry didn’t know him, couldn’t even put a name to his face—other than the one McGonagall had just said.

Selwyn.

A chill ran down Harry’s spine. Adrian Selwyn. The Death Eater from the forest. The man who had tortured Tracey and—Harry swallowed hard—nearly killed him.

And then it clicked. Back in the hospital wing, Hermione had mentioned it offhandedly, while they were going over everything that had happened that night. Adrian Selwyn had a son at Hogwarts.

Harry’s grip tightened on the strap of his bag as he watched the boy—Caleb Selwyn, that’s what Hermione had said, right? Was he anything like his father? Did he know what his dad had done?

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice snapped him out of it.

“What?” he said, jerking his head toward her.

“Are you coming, or are you planning to stand there all day?” Hermione asked, waiting by the door with Ron.

“Oh. Yeah. Coming,” Harry muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder and following them out.

They walked down the corridor, Hermione already discussing the finer points of today’s lesson.

But Harry couldn’t shake the thought that had been bugging him since breakfast. Divination felt like such a waste of time, and the idea of sitting through another year of it made him itch to do something about it.

He glanced at the two of them as they approached the main staircase.

“You know what,” he said suddenly, stopping in his tracks, “you two go on ahead to lunch. I need to ask McGonagall something.”

Hermione blinked at him. “What? Now?”

Harry shrugged. “Best I can do is ask, right?”

Ron frowned. “You’re not gonna ask her to cancel the homework, are you?”

“No,” Harry said flatly, giving Ron a look.

Hermione, however, caught on quickly. “This is about Divination, isn’t it?”

Harry didn’t answer, but the way he adjusted his bag was all the confirmation she needed.

“Well, good luck,” she said, though her tone carried a note of approval. “We’ll save you a spot.”

Ron gave Harry a skeptical look but shrugged. “Rather you than me. McGonagall’s not exactly what I’d call chatty.”

“She’s fair,” Harry said simply, turning back the way they’d come. “I’ll catch you up later.”

Hermione and Ron continued on toward the Great Hall, while Harry retraced his steps toward the Transfiguration classroom. It wasn’t like him to march into something like this without a plan but he figured he didn’t have much to lose.

Harry hesitated outside the Transfiguration classroom before knocking softly and stepping inside. Professor McGonagall sat at her desk, sorting through a pile of parchments, her quill moving briskly over one.

“Potter?” she said, looking up, her expression slightly surprised but not unkind. “Was there something you needed?”

“Er—yeah,” Harry said, stepping forward and scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted to ask about… dropping Divination.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Dropping it?” she repeated, setting her quill down and folding her hands in front of her. “That’s a rather sudden decision, Potter. May I ask why?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his words spilling out in a rush. “It just feels like a waste of time, Professor. We don’t really learn anything useful—we just stare at crystal balls and listen to Professor Trelawney go on about grim fates. I’d rather spend that time on something that’s actually worth it.”

McGonagall considered him for a moment. “I understand your frustrations,” she said at last. “But it’s not as simple as dropping a subject halfway through the year.”

Harry frowned. “Why not? I mean, it’s my timetable, isn’t it?”

McGonagall shook her head slightly. “Elective courses, Potter, are not chosen on a whim. You were given the opportunity to select your electives at the end of your second year, after careful consideration, with the understanding that those choices would form the foundation of your education starting in third year. They’re not intended to be swapped out mid-term simply because a student changes their mind.”

“But what if I wanted to take something else instead?” Harry pressed.

“That,” McGonagall said, “would still require a proper reason, and significant effort on your part. Hogwarts rules are quite clear on this matter. A student can only drop an elective mid-course under extraordinary circumstances—such as if they need additional time to pursue mastery in another subject, or if there is a compelling academic reason. And even then, the decision must be approved by the Headmaster and the relevant professors.”

“Next year, then?” Harry asked, though he already felt his frustration mounting.

McGonagall nodded. “You could potentially request a change next year. However, you would be required to replace Divination with another elective, and you would need to catch up on the first four years of that subject. For something like Ancient Runes, for instance, that would mean reviewing all the foundational work you’ve missed.”

Harry winced. “All four years?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “That includes understanding the basic runic alphabets, their magical properties, and the theoretical principles underpinning their use. It’s a rigorous subject, Potter, and one that builds heavily on prior knowledge. Any student wishing to transfer into it would need to take and pass an assessment to demonstrate that they are capable of handling the current curriculum.”

Harry let out a sigh, slumping slightly. “So, basically, I’m stuck with Divination.”

McGonagall’s lips twitched, almost as if she were suppressing a smile. “I wouldn’t put it that way, Potter. But yes, for the time being, Divination remains part of your schedule.”

“That’s… brilliant,” Harry muttered, his frustration seeping into his tone.

McGonagall straightened slightly. “Potter, I do understand how you feel. Divination is not everyone’s cup of tea—and between you and me, it is… an unconventional subject.” Her eyes flicked to him knowingly, and Harry was sure he saw the faintest glimmer of amusement there. “However, I would advise you to approach it as an opportunity. Even if it isn’t the most useful subject in your eyes, there is value in completing what you started. You may find it teaches you patience, if nothing else.”

Harry let out a humorless laugh. “Patience isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

“Then perhaps this is the perfect challenge for you,” McGonagall said, her tone turning brisk again. “Now, is there anything else?”

“No, Professor,” Harry said, hoisting his bag back over his shoulder. “Thanks for explaining.”

McGonagall inclined her head. “Of course. And Potter—if you’re truly serious about pursuing a different path next year, I suggest you start reviewing the material for any potential subjects now. You’ll find that Ancient Runes is far more demanding than a crystal ball.”

Harry gave her a faint smile, though he didn’t feel much like smiling, and left the room.

By the time Harry reached the Gryffindor table, Ron and Hermione had already started eating. Hermione glanced up first, her curious expression morphing into a knowing look.

“Well?” she asked as he slid onto the bench.

Harry sighed, reaching for the nearest dish. “She said no.”

“Told you,” Ron said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Harry ignored him and started piling rice and meatballs onto his plate. “She said I could switch next year, but only if I catch up on everything I’ve missed—and pass some kind of test to prove I’m ready.”

Hermione perked up at that. “Really? That’s fair, don’t you think?”

“Fair?” Harry echoed, stabbing a meatball with his fork. “She basically told me I’d have to redo four years of work just to ditch Trelawney.”

“Well, it’s not unreasonable,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Electives are designed to build on prior knowledge. If you want to take Ancient Runes, you’ll need to learn the foundations first. And it’s not impossible. I could help you—”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, cutting her off gently, “but I’ll think about it after I finish the project with Snape. I don’t want to pile too much on right now.”

She paused, studying him for a moment before nodding. “Alright, but don’t wait too long. If you’re serious about it, you’ll need plenty of time to catch up.”

Ron snickered, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth. “Looks like you’re stuck seeing Grim after Grim, mate. Should’ve thought this through in second year.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. “That’s really helpful.”

“Anytime,” Ron said cheerfully, reaching for more bread.

As Harry half-heartedly ate his lunch, he decided to put Divination out of his mind for now. Hermione’s offer was kind, but the thought of juggling another huge task alongside Snape’s project felt impossible.

The Owlery was quiet save for the soft hooting of owls shifting in their perches. Harry climbed the winding stone stairs, the faint smell of straw and feathers filling the air. Hedwig spotted him before he reached the top, letting out an affectionate hoot as she fluttered down to meet him.

“Hey, girl,” Harry said softly, holding out his arm for her to land on. Her feathers were smooth beneath his fingers as he stroked her back. “Haven’t had much time to visit, have I?”

Hedwig nibbled his finger gently in response, her amber eyes bright. Harry smiled faintly.

As he moved further into the Owlery, his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure standing near one of the open windows. Percy Weasley was tying a letter to the leg of a sleek tawny owl, his expression serious as ever.

“Percy?” Harry said, a bit surprised.

Percy turned, adjusting his glasses. “Oh. Hello, Harry.” He cleared his throat, finishing the knot before the owl flew off into the distance. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Harry shrugged, still holding Hedwig on his arm. “Just visiting Hedwig. I’ve got a free period after lunch, so I figured I’d come up here. What about you?”

“Work correspondence,” Percy said, brushing some owl feathers off his robes. “The usual.”

There was an awkward pause, Percy shifting slightly before he spoke again. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you.”

Harry tilted his head. “Why?”

Percy adjusted his glasses again, something uncharacteristically unsure in his demeanor. “I wanted to thank you. For what you did for my family. The money, I mean. I know you probably didn’t expect anyone to say it outright, but… you should know it made a real difference.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “I—well, it wasn’t a big deal, really.”

“It was,” Percy insisted. “Mum and Dad decided to use it wisely. Thanks to you, Bill’s coming back to Britain. He’s going to work for Gringotts again. The certifications he needed… well, they weren’t exactly affordable. You know how it is—Gringotts has strict requirements for their curse breakers, especially in their main centers like the one in London. When Bill first started, he couldn’t afford those courses, so he took the job in Egypt. They didn’t require the certifications abroad, but it meant being so far from home.”

Percy’s voice softened, his usual stiffness giving way to something more genuine.

“Bill never said it, but I think he’s wanted to come back for years. He just didn’t want to burden Mum and Dad with the cost, you know? But now he can take those courses, and once he’s certified, he’ll be working in London. Close to home.”

Harry was silent, absorbing that.

“And as for me,” Percy continued “I’ve been able to take additional courses for my Ministry work. Specialization in magical law enforcement policy. Without that, I’d probably be stuck in some corner office forever.”

Harry’s face flushed slightly, and he looked down at Hedwig, who tilted her head curiously at him. “I didn’t know that. I just thought… I don’t know. That it might help somehow.”

“It did,” Percy said, a rare warmth in his voice. “You gave us more than just money, Harry. You gave us opportunities. And we’re not going to waste them.”

Harry shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to say. “Well… I’m glad. Really.”

Percy gave a small, tight smile. “Anyway, I should get back to work. But… thank you. From all of us.” He nodded once, then turned to leave, his polished shoes clicking against the stone steps as he descended.

Harry watched him go, feeling an odd mix of embarrassment and pride settle in his chest. Hedwig hooted softly, as if sensing his thoughts.

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured, giving her one last pat before guiding her back to her perch. “Guess I didn’t mess that one up, huh?”

As Harry left the Owlery, he wandered toward the lake, letting the cool breeze wash over him. The water shimmered in the midday sun, rippling gently against the shore. He found a spot under a tree and sat down, resting his back against the trunk.

The quiet felt nice. The chaos of the castle, the endless projects, and the noise in his head—all of it seemed to fade here. He watched the giant squid lazily glide near the surface, its tentacles creating gentle ripples in the water.

With a sigh, Harry pulled his Transfiguration book out of his bag, along with a roll of parchment and his quill. He figured he might as well cross off the homework now rather than leaving it for later.

Harry stared at the blank roll of parchment in front of him, quill in hand, and let out a sigh. “Two feet on the principles of Switching Spells,” he muttered to himself, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it easier. He dipped his quill in the ink and scribbled down the title, then paused, his mind completely blank.

The lesson itself hadn’t been awful, but the homework? McGonagall wasn’t kidding when she said Switching Spells were advanced magic. The feather and coin in class had barely done what he wanted, and now he was supposed to explain it all like he understood every word in the textbook.

He glanced at the lake, hoping the gentle ripples would somehow inspire him. When nothing happened Harry groaned and forced his eyes back to the page.

“Alright,” he said under his breath, “intent and precision. Start with that.”

The quill scratched faintly as he wrote, his handwriting a little slanted from leaning awkwardly on the uneven grass:

Switching Spells require the caster to focus on the properties of two objects and exchange them without damaging either. This involves clear intent, precise wandwork, and a solid understanding of magical theory.

He stopped, rereading the sentence. It wasn’t great, but it would do. Harry leaned back against the tree, running a hand through his hair as he tried to remember what else McGonagall had said.

He thought back to her pacing at the front of the room: “The spell demands balance. It’s not just about transforming objects, but understanding their nature and respecting the exchange.”

“Respecting the exchange,” Harry repeated to himself, frowning slightly. That felt important, but it also felt vague. How exactly were you supposed to “respect” an exchange when all you were doing was shouting Permutatio and hoping for the best?

Still, he jotted it down:

The caster must respect the properties of each object to ensure the exchange is stable. A lack of focus can result in instability or failure.

He paused again, chewing on the end of his quill. His thoughts drifted back to his own attempt in class. The feather had stiffened slightly, and the coin had twitched—but that was as far as he’d gotten. Maybe he should write about that?

With a sigh, Harry added:

During practice, it became clear that even minor lapses in focus could affect the outcome. My attempt to switch a feather and coin only worked partially, as I struggled to maintain a clear image of the desired result.

Harry leaned back, looking at what he’d written so far. It wasn’t bad—definitely not two feet yet, but at least it was a start.

After Harry had come back from his quiet time at the lake, he headed to the study hall near the dungeons. Now sitting with Hermione and Ron at one of the middle tables, he found his attention wandering.

Ron was slouched over his parchment, muttering under his breath as he scratched out something that might pass for homework. “How does McGonagall expect two feet on this? ‘Switching Spells are difficult.’ There, done!” he grumbled.

Hermione didn’t even look up from her own essay. “Maybe if you actually read the chapter, you’d understand the principles behind it,” she said, her quill moving furiously across the parchment.

Harry barely heard them. His gaze had landed on Daphne Greengrass, who sat alone at a desk in the far corner. She was writing something, her head bent low over her parchment.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then stood up.

“What are you doing?” Ron whispered, raising an eyebrow as Harry slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Just… I’ll be back,” Harry muttered, heading toward Daphne’s table before he could second-guess himself.

She didn’t look up as he approached, her quill scratching softly against the parchment. Harry stopped next to her desk.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

“Hello, Potter,” Daphne said, looking up briefly. She nodded toward the chair across from her.

Harry slid into the seat, setting his bag down beside him. “What’re you working on?” he asked, gesturing to the books and parchment spread out in front of her.

“Research,” she replied, dipping her quill into the inkwell. “Proper brewing techniques. It’s for our project.”

“Oh,” Harry said, leaning forward a little. “You’ve already started on that? What’s your idea?”

“I’m thinking healing potions,” Daphne said, glancing at him briefly before returning to her notes. “They’re tricky to brew correctly, but they can be really effective when done right.”

Harry sat back, intrigued. “Healing potions? That’s… a solid idea, actually.” He gave her a nod. “I’ve been thinking about that too—figuring out how to make something that could help with, you know, real damage. Especially stuff like… the Cruciatus.”

Daphne’s quill froze mid-word, and her eyes flicked back to him. “The Cruciatus?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, not noticing her reaction. He reached into his bag and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, spreading it out on the table. It was covered in scrawled notes and ingredient lists, some circled and underlined. “I’ve been looking into ingredients that could target physical and nerve damage. Silverweed, comfrey, even dittany—though that’s tricky. I talked to Professor Sprout about some of them.”

Daphne’s eyes stayed on the parchment, her brows slightly furrowed. “You’ve really put a lot of thought into this,” she said after a moment.

Harry shrugged, leaning back slightly. “Yeah, well, I have a couple of old books I’ve been going through. They’re… not exactly easy to read—some old script or code or something. But I think they might have something useful about reversing dark curses—maybe even the Cruciatus. Just going to take a bit of work to figure them out.”

Daphne looked at him, genuinely surprised. “You’re deciphering books now?”

Harry gave a small, self-deprecating grin. “Kind of? It’s slow, but if there’s even a chance it could help, I think it’s worth it.” He tapped the parchment again. “Until I get through them, though, I’m focusing on ingredients that might make sense for healing. There’s a lot out there I still need to figure out.”

Daphne stared at him for a second longer before she smirked faintly, shaking her head. “You’re a lot more prepared than I thought you’d be, Potter. Not bad.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Harry said with a small laugh. “Anyway, we should plan this out properly. Saturday morning, library?”

“Fine,” she agreed, dipping her quill back into the inkwell. “I’ll work on brewing techniques and refining the process. You stick with ingredients and see what you can dig up in those books of yours. We’ll compare notes then.”

Harry nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks, Greengrass. See you Saturday.”

Daphne gave him a nod, her focus already shifting back to her notes. Harry stood, gathering his things and heading back to Ron and Hermione.

c.