Friday arrived, bringing with it the first Potion class—Double Potions with Slytherin. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way down to the dungeons after breakfast. The cold, and dimly lit room was epic in its own way, the eerie sight of pickled creatures floating in glass jars lining the walls adding to the unsettling atmosphere. It was the classic 'Witch's lair' from the children's stories Harry had heard in his past life. The trio quickly settled into empty seats, waiting for Professor Snape to come to the class. Just a moment later, he arrived, his black robes billowing behind him like a specter.
Snape, just like Flitwick, seemed to like to start with roll call. He paused dramatically as he reached Harry's name.
"Ah, yes," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut through the silence. "Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity."
Draco and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, snickered from the back. Snape's cold, empty eyes scanned the classroom before he addressed them all after he finished .
"You are here to master the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving in this class, many of you will find it difficult to believe this is magic at all. However, for those who possess the necessary intelligence, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and ev en put a stopper in death—provided you are not as incompetent as the usual dunderheads I am forced to teach."
A heavy silence followed his speech. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, brows raised, while Hermione sat at the edge of her seat, eager to prove that she is not a dunderhead.
Then, without warning, Snape's gaze snapped to Harry. "Potter! What is the antidote for the Draught of Living Death?"
Harry met Snape's piercing stare. "Sir, the Wiggenweld Potion can counteract the Draught of Living Death."
Snape's lips curled slightly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"You'd create the Draught of Living Death, sir."
Snape's expression darkened. He wasn't expecting Harry to know the answer. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"In the student supply cupboard, but if you need a fresh one, they're found in a goat's stomach." Harry replied.
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."
Harry clenched his jaw. It was clear now—he was being bullied for what James did. His doubts were confirmed when Snape, determined to humiliate him, raised the difficulty of the questions to Auror-level standards.
"What are the primary ingredients and their magical properties in the Wolfsbane Potion?"
Harry took an annoyed breath. "The Wolfsbane Potion requires ingredients such as wolfsbane, silver, and a sprig of Gillyweed. The wolfsbane must be harvested under the full moon to maintain its potency. The potion allows a werewolf to retain their human mind during transformation."
A flicker of surprise crossed Snape's face before his usual sneer returned. "It seems you've actually read your textbooks, Potter." Then he looked around at the class, "Well? Why aren't the rest of you writing that down?"
The class hurriedly scribbled notes as Ron shot Harry a thumbs-up while Hermione beamed at him. Snape on the other hand looked as though someone had just canceled Christmas.
The lesson moved on, with students brewing a simple Boil-Cure Potion. Snape roamed the room, offering sharp critiques—except to Malfoy, whom he lavished with unwarranted praise. The dungeon was filled with the clinking of glass vials and bubbling of potions at different stages of brewing. The air grew thick with the scent of burnt herbs and acrid ingredients as some students struggled to follow the instructions.
Neville was visibly trembling as he measured out his ingredients, his hands shaking as he tried to crush dried snake fangs into a fine powder. Hermione, seated beside him, whispered hurried instructions, but it was too late. Neville accidentally tipped too much porcupine quill into his cauldron, and the mixture immediately began to froth violently. Before he could react, the potion exploded with a loud hiss, sending a cloud of acidic green smoke into the air. His cauldron cracked, spilling the bubbling mixture across the desk and onto the floor.
Snape swooped down upon him like a bat descending on prey. "Longbottom! You absolute dunderhead!" he bellowed, his dark eyes gleaming with displeasure. "Have you been listening to a single word I've said, or do you simply enjoy setting my classroom on fire?"
Neville stammered, his face pale. "I—I—"
"Ten points from Gryffindor for your incompetence!" Snape snapped, vanishing the mess with a flick of his wand. "And another five for endangering your classmates. If I had any sense, I'd ban you from handling potions altogether."
"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Potter."
Harry, who had been carefully sealing his vial, looked up sharply. "Sir?"
Snape loomed over him, his expression one of manufactured disappointment. "For failing to assist your unfortunate housemate, Longbottom. What a shame. You must have been far too preoccupied ensuring your own success to spare a moment for someone in need. I imagine it makes you feel quite... superior?"
Harry's hands clenched into fists, but he forced himself to remain silent. He knew this had nothing to do with Neville and everything to do with Snape's hatred for his father. Protesting would only worsen things. Snape could get particularly nasty if pushed.
Instead, he met Snape's gaze levelly and gave a short nod. "Understood, sir."
Snape's lips curled slightly, as if daring him to push his luck. Then, in a seemingly careless motion, his hand knocked Harry's vial of completed potion off the desk. The glass shattered upon impact, the golden liquid pooling across the stone floor.
"Oh dear," Snape said, voice devoid of actual remorse. "How clumsy of you, Potter. It seems you'll have to start over. What a shame."
The Gryffindors gaped at the blatant sabotage. Even Ron looked ready to protest, but Harry remained calm. He reached into his bag and pulled out a second vial, filled with the same perfectly brewed Boil-Cure Potion.
"I thought something like this might happen," Harry said smoothly, setting the extra vial on the desk. "Luckily, I brewed a backup."
Snape's expression darkened. For a brief second, Harry swore he saw something like grudging respect flicker in his eyes before the professor's face returned to its usual sneer.
"Five points from Gryffindor for your arrogance," Snape muttered, sweeping away from the desk.
Ron leaned over and whispered, "That was brilliant."
As the students packed up, Harry motioned for Ron and Hermione to leave without him. He hesitated, then approached Snape's desk.
"Professor Snape, may I have a word?"
Snape, looking irritated, barely spared him a glance. "Make it quick, Potter."
Harry took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologize, sir. I know my father... well, he wasn't always kind to you. I'm not him, and I don't want to carry the weight of his actions."
Snape's expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. "Apologies do not erase the past."
"I know that, Professor," Harry said earnestly. "But I do respect your skills and everything you've been through. I just hope we can start fresh, without the history between you and my father clouding things."
Snape studied him, his dark eyes searching. Unbeknownst to Harry, the professor used passive Legilimency, probing for deception—yet he found none. After a long pause, he spoke.
"Your father's arrogance is not yours to bear." His tone was measured, grudging. "But words are meaningless without actions, Potter."
Harry nodded. "I understand. Thank you for your time, Professor."
As he turned to leave, Snape's voice stopped him.
"Harry."
Harry turned back, startled to hear his first name from Snape. The professor's expression was unreadable, yet there was something almost broken in his gaze.
"You have your mother's eyes."
Harry didn't know what to say. He simply nodded, offering a quiet, "Good day, sir," before slipping out of the dungeon. Just before the door closed, he caught a glimpse of Snape, his head bowed, staring at his desk in silence.
As he walked, Harry hoped that someday he would be able to change things for this man, as he had hoped he could have when he read the books.
On Saturday evening, Harry slipped into the Forbidden Forest, his pulse steady despite the challenge of evading Ron and Hermione. Convincing them he would be in the library studying some advanced wards had taken some effort, but once he managed to shake them off, he wasted no time. With a quick Disillusionment Charm, he blended into the surroundings and moved past Hagrid's hut, careful not to make a sound.
Harry was sure no one would see him due to his disillusionment. And the fact that it was almost dark surely helped his cause. As soon as he reached the tree line, he broke into a sprint, weaving deeper into the forest. The further he ventured, the more the world around him transformed. The night light coming from the stars and the moon, barely trickled through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows over the moss covered ground. The Forbidden Forest had always intrigued Harry, since he had read about it in his past life—how Ron and Harry followed the spiders to Aragog in their second year and all the other creatures the books had mentioned. Well now that he was Harry Potter, nothing can stop him from exploring the forest. Today, he would at least uncover some secrets off this forest along with getting to know his wand.
As he moved, his eyes caught a faint shimmer from a bush nearby. Curiosity piqued, he stepped closer and pushed aside the leaves. His breath hitched. Nestled within the foliage was a flower he had read about—Luminaflora Diurna. Its white petals glowed with a faint red halo, radiating a gentle warmth. According to magical botany texts, keeping one in a room would guarantee restful sleep and pleasant dreams. Carefully, he picked it and stored it in his subspace pouch. A small smile touched his lips—Ginny would love this. He made a mental note to send it to her and realized, with some guilt, that he hadn't written to her since coming to Hogwarts. Well in his defense, he had not written back home either. Well, he would have to change that tonight.
After collecting the flower, Harry continued on. After a few more steps, it was becoming too dark to walk ahead. He considered casting Lumos but hesitated—it might attract unwanted attention. As if sensing his dilemma, his wand pulsed gently and emitted a soft glow, just enough to illuminate his surroundings without drawing notice. He smirked. Ollivander had said this wand would respond to his thoughts rather than just his actions. It seemed the old wandmaker was right.
After about five more minutes of walking, Harry came to a small clearing where he decided to experiment with his wand. He performed a series of spells—charms, curses, jinxes, and hexes—finding that he didn't need to do any of those weird wand movements. The wand reacted instantly, channeling his magic with astonishing efficiency. The more he used it, the more he could feel it… responding, almost as if it were alive. It wasn't just a tool—it was sentient. Now almost all wand had some degree of sentience since they decided which master they wanted, but this wand seemed to be a lot more sentient than that.
Harry's thoughts drifted to the deeper mysteries of the wand. He had read about Yggdrasil wood and its connection to nature. His wand had another unique ability—one he hadn't tested yet. He focused his mind on the concept of time, directing his magic toward a small area ahead. With a single thought, time in that space slowed. Leaves drifted like they were moving through honey, the air itself growing thick with slowness. Fascinated, he reversed the effect, and in an instant, time sped up. Leaves swirled frantically, the wind howled through the branches, and the forest seemed to race forward in a blur.
He exhaled sharply. This… this was incredible. Time manipulation, even in a limited space, was an ability no one has ever heard of. He would have to be careful—there was no telling what consequences might come from reckless use. Still, the possibilities were exhilarating.
Satisfied for now, he decided to head back. But as he prepared to pocket his wand, it vanished from his grip. Panic shot through him. Had he dropped it? His heart pounded as he scanned the ground, but the wand was nowhere in sight. Just as he was about to dive into full-blown worry, it reappeared in his hand as effortlessly as it had disappeared. He froze. Then, experimentally, he thought about putting it away. Once again, it vanished. Summoning it back, he watched in awe as it rematerialized in his grip.
Flipping open an old scroll he had brought about Elythral's crafting methods, he quickly scanned the parchment. Thoughtforge. That was the ability's name—the wand could retreat into its own subspace and return to his hand whenever he willed it. This was beyond useful. He would never have to worry about losing his wand again. And in battle? His enemies wouldn't see it coming.
Harry's mind whirled with possibilities, but a distant rustling snapped him back to the present. He wasn't alone.
He stilled, listening intently. The Forest was home to countless creatures, some harmless, some deadly. His instincts screamed at him to be cautious. Slowly, he drew his wand, its glow dimming as he willed himself to blend into the shadows. The rustling grew closer.
And then… silence.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. Something was watching him.
Harry tightened his grip on his wand. He had tested its abilities today, but perhaps it was time to see how well they worked in a real confrontation.
"As long as it's not a dragon, I can take it…" He muttered to himself frightened—but still trying to be brave.
A quite rustle of leaves made him snap his head to the right. The rustling persisted, and with it came the rhythmic sound of hooves against the forest floor. Harry's brows furrowed. "Hooves? A centaur, perhaps?" He lifted his wand towards the sound, with the light from it now at full power.
Moments later, from behind the trees, a figure emerged—a unicorn. Harry's breath hitched in his throat. The creature was majestic, its coat a pure, almost iridescent white. Its long mane cascaded down its neck like woven moonlight, and its spiraled horn glowed softly, casting an otherworldly luminescence around it. The unicorn moved with grace, its intelligent, ancient eyes locking onto Harry's.
Harry slowly lowered his wand, not wanting to startle the creature. Yet, the unicorn showed no fear. Instead, it stepped forward, its movements unhurried and deliberate, as though drawn toward him by some unseen force. It came to a halt just within arm's reach, its large eyes filled with curiosity.
A quiet chuckle escaped Harry. "Well, this is a magical encounter."
The unicorn, as if understanding him, nudged him gently with its nose. Hesitant but awed, Harry reached out, fingers brushing over the silken strands of its mane. To his surprise, the unicorn did not pull away but leaned into his touch, its warmth a silent acceptance.
Harry let his fingers trail through the unicorn's mane, marveling at its softness. The creature exuded a quiet, calming presence, and Harry felt his magic stir in response, as if recognizing something ancient and profound within the unicorn.
"You're not afraid of me, are you?" he murmured.
The unicorn simply blinked at him, then huffed softly, its warm breath ghosting over Harry's hand. It took another step closer, resting its head against his shoulder with surprising familiarity. Harry stilled, caught between awe and wonder. He had read about unicorns—how they shied away from most wizards, how they were drawn to purity. Yet here one stood, leaning into him like an old friend.
"Do you… like me?" Harry asked, feeling rather foolish.
The unicorn snorted, nudging him again, this time with enough force to make him stumble back a step.
"Alright, alright," Harry chuckled, regaining his balance. "I'll take that as a yes."
The unicorn let out a soft, almost melodic whinny before lowering its head slightly. Harry tilted his head, watching as the creature's gaze flickered toward his wand. He hesitated.
"You can feel it, can't you?" he mused aloud. "My magic."
At that, the unicorn gently pressed its nose to Harry's wand hand. A strange warmth spread through his fingertips, like an unspoken connection forming between them. The air around them shimmered faintly, as if responding to their bond.
For a moment, neither moved. The only sound was the distant rustling of the Forbidden Forest. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, the unicorn turned and took a few steps away before looking back at him expectantly.
Harry smiled. "You want me to follow you, don't you?"
The unicorn stomped a hoof lightly, almost impatiently, before turning again and walking deeper into the forest.
Shaking his head but unable to suppress his grin, Harry fell into step behind it, feeling as though he were being led into something far greater than a simple evening stroll.
Before long, they arrived at a secluded grove, bathed in a perpetual twilight glow. Harry's breath caught at the sight before him—a field of Aurora Petals. The flowers pulsed gently with shifting hues, radiating a soft, soothing light. He recognized them instantly from his studies; Aurora Petals were known for their calming fragrance and rare magical properties. Despite typically blooming only during the day, here they flourished, untouched by the passage of time.
Harry crouched to examine the flowers more closely. The gentle luminescence of the petals played across his fingers as he traced their delicate form. He turned to the unicorn and, with a quiet smile, asked, "May I take one?"
The unicorn regarded him for a long breath before giving a slow, approving nod.
Carefully, Harry plucked a single Aurora Petal, its glow dimming slightly as it left the stem. He placed it inside his subspace pouch, ensuring it remained undisturbed. A strange, comforting warmth spread through his fingers as he sealed the pouch, as if the flower's magic still lingered against his skin.
Before he could straighten, the unicorn let out a soft huff and nudged his shoulder again, more insistent this time. Harry chuckled, turning to face the creature fully. "You're persistent, aren't you?"
The unicorn tilted its head, then lowered it until their faces were nearly level. Harry met its gaze, a silent exchange passing between them—one of trust, of understanding. Slowly, he reached up, his fingers running through the silken strands of its mane. It felt like woven starlight, cool yet alive with energy.
"You know," Harry mused, a fond smile tugging at his lips, "I can't just keep calling you 'unicorn.' How about… Lumos?"
The unicorn flicked its ears forward, then tossed its head in what Harry could only interpret as approval. Its luminous horn pulsed faintly, casting shifting patterns of light onto the forest floor.
"Lumos it is, then," Harry said, giving its mane a final stroke.
At the name, Lumos tossed its head, seeming pleased. But rather than stepping away, the unicorn remained by his side, watching him expectantly.
Harry furrowed his brows. "What is it?"
Lumos let out a quiet huff before turning slightly and lowering itself just enough for Harry to understand.
He blinked. "You want me to ride you?"
The unicorn let out an amused snort.
A grin tugged at Harry's lips. "Alright, if you insist."
He hesitated only a moment before gripping Lumos's mane and swinging himself onto its back. The unicorn's body was warm and steady beneath him, and as soon as he settled, Lumos rose gracefully, barely shifting under his weight.
Then, without warning, Lumos took off.
Wind rushed past Harry's face as they wove through the trees, the forest blurring around them in streaks of green and silver. Lumos moved with a smooth, otherworldly grace, its hooves barely making a sound as they touched the earth. It was unlike flying on a broom—this was something deeper, more primal, as though he was connected to the very magic of the forest itself.
Minutes later, the trees began to thin, and the towering silhouette of Hogwarts came into view. As they neared the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Lumos slowed to a gentle trot before stopping altogether.
Taking the hint, Harry slid off, landing softly on the ground. He turned to Lumos, resting a hand on its shimmering coat. "Thanks for the ride."
Lumos let out a soft whinny before nudging him one last time. Then, with a final flick of its tail, the unicorn turned and trotted back into the depths of the forest, vanishing into the shadows.
Harry stood there watching the place where he saw Lumos disappear, not being able to believe the encounter he just had. It was unbelievable to think that a unicorn not only came near him but also let him ride it.
Later that evening, after smoothly convincing Ron and Hermione that he had accidentally dozed off in the library, they headed to the Great Hall for dinner. The usual lively chatter surrounded them, but Harry remained lost in thought, barely paying attention to his food. His mind kept drifting back to the breathtaking glow of the Aurora Petals and the way the wind had rushed against his face as he rode Lumos through the trees.
After dinner, he excused himself early and retreated to his dormitory. The room was quiet, illuminated only by the flickering candlelight on his desk. He reached into his subspace pouch and carefully retrieved the single Aurora Petal he had taken from Lumos's grove. The petal's luminescent hues shimmered under the warm glow, shifting like liquid stardust. He then took out the Luminaflora Diurna, its soft golden glow pulsing gently in his palm.
Smiling to himself, he conjured two small, ornate boxes—one for Abigail and one for Ginny. He placed the Aurora Petal inside Abigail's box, knowing she would be fascinated by its ever-changing colors. For Ginny, he carefully secured the Luminaflora Diurna, ensuring it would remain fresh and radiant.
Taking out fresh parchment, he quickly penned two letters—one to his parents and another to Ginny—before sealing them neatly inside their respective packages.
Even though it was past curfew, he wasn't particularly worried. Casting another Disillusionment Charm, he moved through the castle undetected, his steps light and confident.
Upon reaching the Owlery, he found Hedwig waiting on the windowsill, her bright eyes watching him expectantly.
"Hey, girl," he greeted, scratching her head affectionately. She nipped at his fingers in response.
Carefully, he secured both packages and letters to her legs. "Take this one home first," he murmured, patting the box meant for his parents and Abigail. "Then deliver this one to Ginny, alright?"
Hedwig hooted softly in understanding. Not wanting her to tire from the long journey, Harry flicked his wand and muttered, "Aero Vigoris." A faint golden shimmer settled over her wings, ensuring she would remain energized until both deliveries were complete.
"Safe flight," he whispered.
With a graceful leap, Hedwig spread her wings and soared into the night, vanishing into the vast stretch of sky.
Harry watched her go, exhaling softly. A part of him longed to be flying alongside her, to feel the rush of wind and the weightlessness of the sky. But for now, he was content. With one last glance at the stars, he turned and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, a quiet sense of warmth settling in his chest.