Ron and Hermione were at a loss over how to dissuade Harry.
Blindness, disfigurement, gender-swapping…these were definitely not good things.
Even Hagrid seemed unsure, glancing at Harry as though thinking Snape might actually be capable of doing such things.
"Hagrid, would you mind if I asked a small favor?" Harry looked around, his eyes brightening with a glimmer of excitement as he finished examining all the magical items in Hagrid's hut. Rubbing his hands together, he took a seat.
Hagrid nodded heartily. "Of course! As long as you don't ask about your parents again, ask away."
"I'd like to borrow a few ingredients to brew a…well…a potion." Harry waved his hand, keeping it vague. "Nothing dangerous, I promise."
"I'll even pay you for the materials."
Hagrid waved his hands dismissively. "No need for that—those things were just scraps I picked up in the Forbidden Forest. You're welcome to use anything you like."
Ron looked on in envy. "You just found these lying around in the Forbidden Forest? That's amazing! I mean, if I could do that one day, I'd love to be a groundskeeper."
Harry took him at his word and immediately got up, moving through the hut to gather what he needed.
Oil—most important ingredient.
He made his way to Hagrid's kitchen, scanning the shelves and eventually returning with two large jars—one of dog fat and the other of bear grease.
"Harry, that's what I use for cooking!" Hagrid's eyes widened.
Harry quickly put them down. "Don't worry, I'll only use a little."
"Alright then, but what kind of potion are you brewing?" Hagrid asked, intrigued. Although he'd only studied up to his third year at Hogwarts, he didn't recall potions that required grease. "Professor Snape's never asked me for anything like that."
"It's a special potion." Harry began setting up a cauldron. "Apply it to a sword, and it increases its power."
The Sorting Hat quivered, calling out, "What are you planning to put on Gryffindor's sword, you little devil?"
"It's called sword oil, not 'some weird potion,'" Harry replied matter-of-factly.
The Sorting Hat paused and muttered, "Sword oil?"
"I know about that—Gryffindor used to oil his sword before he had this enchanted one."
"Fine, it's clear you're attached to that sword," the hat conceded. "But it doesn't need oil; it's magically crafted by goblins and never dulls."
"I know, but sword oil isn't just for upkeep." Harry shook his head.
The Sorting Hat sighed but gave in. "Fine, but you'd better promise me one thing."
"Once you've coated the Gryffindor sword, wash it clean before putting it back in me. Don't go mucking up my insides."
Harry raised an eyebrow at the hat. "You're already dirtier than the oil."
"No, I'm not dirty!" the hat protested. "What you see is the dignity of age. I am an ancient but pristine hat."
Harry sighed, giving an indulgent nod. "Sure, sure."
The magical herbs between the two worlds weren't always the same—but for the basics, the similarities were enough.
Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest was an untapped treasure trove of ingredients. No witcher would turn down such a gold mine; Harry recalled how he used to check every path he walked, plucking any herb he found along the way.
For making beast oil? Dog fat and wolf liver.
Unfortunately, Hagrid didn't have wolf liver on hand…but could dog liver work? Harry glanced down at Fang, who gave a whimper and darted behind Hagrid, instinctively sensing his thoughts.
"What's gotten into him?" Hagrid wondered aloud, patting the dog's head.
Harry gave a slight sigh of disappointment.
Then there was the poison required for humanoid oils—the Hangman's Venom. Might as well have some on hand, just in case.
One part dog fat, four parts beggartick…
And for the necrophage oil, Harry glanced at Hagrid—who he often suspected might be a magical hybrid, with maybe giant or troll blood.
Hagrid shivered. "What's the matter, Harry?"
"Could you do me a favor, Hagrid? Next time you're in the forest, could you bring me a few wolf livers?"
"Wolf liver?" Hagrid scratched his head. "Tastes pretty bad, but sure."
Harry nodded, lighting a fire and starting to heat the cauldron. "It's not for eating; it's for potion-making."
"Well then, next time I trade with the centaurs, I'll ask if they have any to spare."
The Forbidden Forest was full of magical creatures, but there were also mundane animals like bears, wolves, rabbits, and forest sheep.
While Harry focused on brewing his oil, Ron and Hermione grappled with Hagrid's tough rock cakes, sharing tales about life at Hogwarts…and their dislike of Draco Malfoy.
They also discussed some recent wizarding news—how someone had managed to break into Gringotts and get away unscathed.
Hagrid shook his head, relieved he'd been at the bank just before the incident, running an errand for Dumbledore. Lucky for him, he hadn't encountered the intruder.
Harry, though, was unconcerned. He was young and practically unknown—Gringotts wouldn't exactly go handing him a stack of Galleons to investigate a robbery.
By dinner, Ron and Hermione finally dragged Harry away from Hagrid's hut, though he left with no small satisfaction.
Ron brought back a few of Hagrid's rock cakes, Hermione left with a collection of bruises from the hard treats, and Harry walked away with seven bottles of sword oil. He made a mental note that Hagrid's hut was a treasure trove worth visiting frequently.
But he didn't get many opportunities.
First-year classes weren't too heavy, but the new magic system and potions were a big enough pull to keep Harry absorbed, often trailing professors with questions—even Snape, when he could catch him without risking a blowup.
Ron was always on edge watching him.
Even Gryffindor's hourglass of rubies seemed to tremble whenever Harry approached Snape.
While Gryffindor gained points Monday through Thursday, they lost a steady flow of them every Friday during Potions. At first, his housemates were a bit unsettled by this, but eventually, they almost started rooting for it.
If the points were dropping, it meant Harry had once again stirred up the snake's den, and Gryffindor wasn't the only one suffering from Snape's wrath.
During the first few weeks, Gryffindor diligently focused on their studies under Harry's influence. But eventually, true to form, they drifted back into more mischievous pursuits.
Harry and Hermione alone kept to their schedules, faithfully studying in the library daily. As Ron had predicted on the train, he ended up relying on Harry's notes for his assignments.
Harry didn't mind. After completing his work, he'd leave his parchment out in the common room for others to use as a reference.
Hermione, however, was less impressed. "Harry, you can't keep spoiling them like this! They should be doing the work themselves."
The other Gryffindors stayed silent, burying their heads and feigning deafness. Even Ron mumbled something inaudible, knowing he couldn't argue with Hermione.
Soon, though, something more exciting took over the common room.
Flying lessons were about to begin. After copying Harry's homework, everyone eagerly discussed their upcoming flight class.
Harry was just as interested.
Flying might finally give him an advantage against creatures like griffins, wyverns, and sea harpies. His crossbow skills had always been mediocre, and nothing would thrill him more than learning to fly—even on a broomstick.
The only drawback? The class would be shared with Slytherin.
On Thursday afternoon, the long-anticipated flying lesson arrived, with Ron dragging Harry to the Quidditch pitch well ahead of time.
Madam Hooch, a striking figure, was a seasoned flier but took a cautious approach to teaching. Perhaps due to prior accidents—or maybe just because this class was a mix of Gryffindors and Slytherins.
But trouble was unavoidable.
There were two major troublemakers in Gryffindor.
One was Seamus, prone to magical mishaps. What would be harmless spells for others had a tendency to explode in his hands.
The other was Neville, who often bungled Potions class. Thankfully, Harry was usually nearby to help, so his worst outcome was a ruined potion.
Today, however…
Neville managed to lift off briefly—only to crash hard. Madam Hooch had to leave the students alone to rush him to the hospital wing.
"Did you see that giant oaf fall?" Malfoy jeered the moment Madam Hooch was out of earshot. "Just like a troll."
"I mean, honestly, who falls off a broom?"
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Parvati snapped.
"Oh, look at the little defender," Pansy sneered. "Are you sweet on the blubbering baby?"
Malfoy's eyes lit up. He darted to where Neville had fallen and held something aloft, waving it in Harry's direction. "Hey, Potter! Look what I've got!"
"Your dim-witted little pet's trinket."
"A Remembrall," he taunted. "Figures someone with his empty head would need one of these."
He shot Harry a challenging look, raising his eyebrows.
"First of all, Neville isn't my pet," Harry replied with a cool expression. "And second, I suggest you put that down, Malfoy."
"You'd better put that down," Harry said, his tone calm but firm.
Malfoy mimicked him mockingly, taunting, "Oh, look at Potter, so bossy. What am I supposed to be? One of your little minions?"
"Sure, you can order around the Gryffindors, Great Savior," he sneered, "but I'm a Slytherin."
Harry remained silent, his gaze cold and unyielding.
"Come on, Potter," Malfoy said, raising his broomstick. "How about a little contest? If—and that's a big if—you somehow beat me, then maybe I'll hand it over. Are you brave enough, or are you just a coward?"
Harry shook his head. "I won't ask a third time, Malfoy. Hand it back."
Malfoy took his hesitation as weakness. "Aw, scared, are you, Savior Potter? Guess you're not so brave after all."
"What should I do with this little toy of his?" Malfoy mused aloud. "Maybe I'll toss it up in a tree somewhere and watch that oaf Longbottom cry, clutching the tree trunk and bawling his eyes out—"
"Malfoy!" Harry's voice dropped, taking a step forward.
Malfoy instinctively stepped back, recalling the incident on the train. But glancing behind him, he saw more Slytherins around this time—not just Crabbe and Goyle, but several others too. Outnumbered, Potter couldn't take them all, right?
Emboldened, Malfoy regained his smug look. "What are you going to do, Potter? Throw a punch? Typical Gryffindor—brainless and brute. We're wizards, Potter. Noble wizards."
Harry sighed. "Malfoy, do you remember what you said on the train?"
Malfoy blinked, momentarily thrown off.
"You told me not to hang out with people like Ron here," Harry continued.
Ron's face shifted to confusion, gripping his fists, ready to fight at a word from Harry—until he caught Harry's gaze.
Wait a second...
What are you doing, Harry? I'm on your side!
Malfoy opened his mouth, ready to add his own insults, but Harry was faster.
"So, by 'refined' and 'noble,' you mean making fun of people? That's how you define class?"
The color drained from Malfoy's face, his sneer frozen in place.
Harry stepped closer.
"I have no interest in getting dragged into your childish, petty games," he said, his tone calm but cutting. "It's pathetic. You only ever pick on the weak."
In the world of the Witchers, Harry was young, only in his forties—a mere child among the Witchers' long lifespans. But he'd seen and heard enough of the ugly court battles of the human kingdoms to see through Malfoy's antics.
His words cut deep, his tone slicing away at Malfoy's pride.
"Still," Harry continued, voice soft but his amber eyes sharp, "they call me the Lion King in Gryffindor—even if it's mostly a joke." His voice grew firmer. "You should know what a pride leader does to those who threaten his pride."
Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but once again, Harry was quicker.
"Axii."
A soft, silvery glow emanated from Harry's fingertips, hitting Malfoy squarely. His eyes glazed over, his face slack and uncomprehending.
"Hand it over," Harry commanded, motioning for the Remembrall.
In a trance, Malfoy obediently tossed it to Harry, who caught it with ease.
Pansy gasped, her voice shrill. "Potter, what did you do? You used the Imperius Curse on him! You—you actually used an Unforgivable Curse!"
Even Hermione gasped. "Harry, you can't use spells on classmates! That'll get points deducted for sure!"
The Gryffindors, who had been poised to cheer him on, turned their surprised eyes on Hermione. Who says something like that right now?
Harry raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't the Imperius Curse, just a simple charm—"
But Pansy wasn't listening. "Attack him! Knock him out so we can rescue Draco!"
A bolt of red light shot toward Harry, but he didn't move. It whizzed by, hitting a nearby broomstick.
Ron shouted, his pent-up anger finally erupting, "Get them! Let's show these Slytherins who's boss!"
The Gryffindors whipped out their wands, sending off the few spells they knew in a chaotic flurry.
Hermione screamed, "Stop it! All of you, stop fighting!"
"Someone's going to get hurt!"
Her cries went unheeded, her words lost in the scuffle. Harry's fists proved as effective as any spell; no Slytherin stayed standing for long after taking a hit from him.
Moments later, the ground was littered with Slytherins groaning in defeat.
Draco, finally snapping out of his stupor, stared around in horror. He took in the sight of his fallen housemates, then turned his glare on Harry. "Potter, what did you do?"
Ron seized the opportunity, landing a swift kick to Draco's backside. "Down you go too!"
Hermione winced. "Harry, no—Professor McGonagall is going to be furious when she hears about this."
Ron, still pinning Malfoy to the ground, snorted. "Hermione, now's not the time for rule-following."
"Exactly!" Seamus chimed in, his face flushed with excitement. "This is about defending our house's honor!"
The other Gryffindors cheered, riding the high of their first victory in a brawl.
The Slytherins, cowed, retreated to one corner of the field, Draco nursing his black eye and glaring at the Gryffindors.
Madam Hooch returned soon after.
The tense atmosphere and broken brooms scattered on the ground told her all she needed to know.
"Would someone like to explain to me what happened here?" she demanded, scanning the crowd.
Hermione hesitated.
Malfoy raised his hand, his face twisted in anger. "Professor, it was Potter! He rallied the Gryffindors, and they attacked us!"
"And he used the Imperius Curse on me!"
Madam Hooch's face darkened. Fighting was one thing, but the Imperius Curse?
"Mr. Potter?" she turned to Harry, her gaze stern.
Harry remained calm. "Malfoy's exaggerating, Professor. It was mostly me involved in the fight; the others didn't do much."
Apart from Harry's punches, the hardest hit was probably Ron's boot to Malfoy's backside. Draco's black eye had come from a collision with a broom handle.
"Never mind the fight," Madam Hooch cut in, her tone sharp. "What about the Imperius Curse, Potter?"
Harry replied, "Professor, can a first-year really tell the difference between the Confundus Charm and the Imperius Curse?"
Draco protested, "I didn't know what was going on! I was just doing what you said—"
Harry raised his hand again. "Want me to show you again, Malfoy? Just to clear things up for Professor Hooch?"
Draco's face went pale, his body trembling.
Madam Hooch's expression softened slightly. She was inclined to believe Harry. As one of the Unforgivable Curses, the Imperius Curse was beyond the reach of most first-years—and she knew the influence Harry's name had against the idea of him using dark magic.
"Alright, Mr. Potter, I believe you. But this incident is serious. Fighting and causing trouble while the professor is absent—I have no choice but to deduct twenty points from Gryffindor!"
Hermione paled, her face contorting with dismay. Twenty points were the result of weeks of hard work in class, not counting the deductions Snape regularly imposed.
"Professor, would you be willing to hear my side of the story?" Harry replied, undeterred.
Madam Hooch raised an eyebrow. "Alright, let's hear it."
"Malfoy found Neville's Remembrall and refused to give it back," Harry explained. "I'm not trying to excuse myself, but we weren't the only ones at fault."
Madam Hooch turned to Malfoy. "Is this true?"
Draco tried to wiggle his way out. "It was just a harmless joke! How was I supposed to know Potter can't take a joke?"
"A joke that others don't find funny isn't a joke, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said coolly, cutting him off.
Madam Hooch sighed. "Very well, ten points from Slytherin."
Malfoy clenched his fists, his face twisted in frustration.
"And enough with the troublemaking, all of you!" She turned back to the Gryffindors and Slytherins with a stern gaze. "Now, Mr. Potter, I'll be escorting you to Professor McGonagall's office."
"No!" Hermione cried, her face paling. "Professor, Harry's already been punished!"
"Yes, you've already deducted points!" Ron protested, his face also anxious.
Madam Hooch shook her head. "This is about the spell. Professor McGonagall needs to know—even if I'm
inclined to believe Potter, Unforgivable Curses are no small matter."
Harry turned to his friends, giving a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Madam Hooch led him to McGonagall's office, sighing inwardly. Though she only taught a few classes each year, there was always something crazy happening in flying class. At this rate, it wouldn't surprise her if Dementors showed up next.
In the office, Professor McGonagall's face darkened as Madam Hooch recounted the events.
"Mr. Potter, I'd expected you to be one of my least troublesome students," she said, her tone filled with disappointment. "Instead, you're at the center of chaos!"
She clenched her fists, looking pained. "Twenty points from Gryffindor!"
Madam Hooch cut in, "McGonagall, I've already taken points off."
"Then another twenty!" McGonagall said, exasperated. "Starting a brawl and rallying Gryffindors against Slytherins—this is unheard of!"
Harry stayed silent, accepting the rebuke without protest.
"Now, about the spell," McGonagall continued, regaining her composure. "Mr. Potter, hand over your wand."
Harry complied, reaching into the Sorting Hat and drawing out his wand.
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