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Harry Potter: Forging the Flame Ch. 21
🕑 Added 2025-03-22 18:54:41 +0000 UTCChapter 21.
“Last week,” Snape began, his voice slicing through the low murmur of the dungeon like a well-aimed Severing Charm, “I informed you all about our dear Headmaster’s brilliant idea for a collaborative Potions project. A week has passed. I do hope… you’ve used your time wisely.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long. Harry, seated next to Daphne at their usual workstation, could feel the tension in the air already. No cauldrons were lit. No ingredients were laid out. Just students holding their breath, wondering who was about to be verbally shredded first.
“I will call out the pairs,” Snape continued, sweeping his dark empty eyes over them. “You will explain your proposed topic, the purpose of your experiment, and the resources you intend to use. If your project is deemed idiotic, redundant, or Merlin forbid… ambitious beyond your means… I will tell you. Kindly. For now.”
Ron made a low noise that might’ve been a groan or a whimper. Harry didn’t blame him.
Snape scanned his list, then looked up.
“Granger and Parkinson. Enlighten us.”
Hermione took a deep breath and stood up. She clutched her notes a little tighter than necessary, but her voice stayed even.
“We’ve chosen to work on the Veriditas Elixir,” she said. “It’s used to boost magical plant growth, especially in poor or depleted soil. The original brew is unstable in certain magical environments. We’re aiming to improve that.”
Snape raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed already. “Depleted soil,” he repeated.
Hermione nodded. “Yes. The current formula tends to trigger magical overgrowth. We want to rebalance it to work in more controlled ways. More stable results, less… jungle-in-your-greenhouse situations.”
Pansy spoke up then, casually leaning her hip against the bench. “And honestly, the base version smells like boiled cabbage. We’re fixing that too.”
Snape blinked once. “Of course. Why focus on practical outcomes when you could chase aromatherapy?”
Pansy smiled, unapologetic. “Presentation matters.”
Hermione didn’t even glance at her. “The potion has value, Professor. If we can get it working properly, it could help in areas where magical ecosystems have collapsed. Old battle sites, cursed land, that sort of thing.”
Snape gave them both a long look, then let out a low, unimpressed hum. “You intend to refine a flawed potion into something useful,” he said. “That is… tolerable. Do not grow anything in my classroom.”
Pansy gave a mock salute. Hermione sat back down, resisting the urge to mutter thank Merlin under her breath.
Snape didn’t offer praise, of course not, but the fact that he moved on without insulting their intelligence was probably the best outcome possible. He called up Longbottom and Bulstrode next, followed by a few other pairs Harry barely registered. Some of the ideas sounded rushed, half-baked. Others were just boring. A modified Pepper-Up with fewer side effects, a Beautification Draught for spot-prone teens, something that involved powdered moonstone and a lot of stammering. Snape shot them all down with the same bored cruelty he used for detentions. Harry barely paid attention. He was too busy going over what he and Daphne had planned, hoping Snape wouldn’t rip it to shreds in front of everyone.
And then Harry heard something that made him forget all about his own project.
“Malfoy and Weasley,” Snape drawled. “Enlighten us.”
Ron stood up slowly, his chair scraping a little too loudly against the stone floor. His face was already going pink. Malfoy didn’t even bother looking at him as he rose, posture perfect, expression smug.
Snape didn’t look at Malfoy. He looked right at Ron.
“Well?” he said. “You do possess a mouth, Weasley. Use it.”
Ron scratched the back of his neck. “Er… it’s a cosmetic potion. Sort of.”
Snape’s expression didn’t change, but somehow it managed to get worse. “Clarify.”
Ron cleared his throat. “It’s meant to improve… appearance. Hair. Skin. Stuff like that.”
Across the room, someone snorted. Seamus. Definitely Seamus.
“And the name of this vanity project?” Snape asked flatly.
Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. His ears were now a solid shade of red. “I… don’t remember what Malfoy wanted to call it.”
Snape’s eyes slid over to Malfoy, who looked far too proud for someone presenting a hair potion.
“Mr Malfoy?”
Malfoy smiled, lifting his chin. “Malfoy’s Magnificent Elixir.”
There was a beat of stunned silence and then the dungeon exploded with laughter.
Dean nearly fell off his bench. Seamus wheezed out something that might’ve been words. Even Lavender let out a loud giggle. A few Slytherins tried to stifle their reactions, but it wasn’t going well.
Malfoy’s cheeks turned red.
Snape didn’t bother telling them to be quiet. The laughter faded on its own, trailing off as everyone realized Malfoy was still standing, still holding himself like he was presenting to a panel of Ministry officials.
“If you’re quite finished,” Malfoy said coldly, glaring at the Gryffindors. “It is a multi-purpose cosmetic tonic designed to enhance clarity of skin, improve hair texture, and strengthen magical follicle integrity. All brewed using ethically sourced Mooncalf milk and diluted essence of belladonna and a refined base of powdered pearl and unicorn hair.”
Snape tilted his head, lips curling into something that might’ve passed for a smirk if it wasn’t so vaguely menacing.
“Powdered pearl and unicorn hair,” he repeated, voice dry. “Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, will your potion also sing lullabies and grant wishes?”
Malfoy stiffened, clearly biting back a retort.
Snape stepped forward, folding his arms. “Unicorn hair is notoriously difficult to work with in liquid solutions. What binding agent do you plan to use to maintain structural cohesion?”
“Er…” Malfoy hesitated, but only for a second. “Mandrake root, finely ground and steeped in moonwater for twelve hours.”
Snape arched an eyebrow. “And the belladonna? Even diluted, it has a reputation for reacting poorly with calcium-based infusions.”
“We’re introducing it post-simmer,” Malfoy said evenly “Very low heat. We’ve done the theoretical work..”
“Which is all very impressive,” Snape interrupted smoothly, “if you manage not to poison your testers in the process.”
A few students snorted. Ron was looking more and more like he wanted to sink into the flagstones.
Snape’s eyes slid to him like a knife. “And you, Mr. Weasley. What exactly have you contributed to this… follicular fantasy?”
Ron flushed instantly. “Testing,” he muttered. “I’m doing the testing. Trial batches and notes.”
Snape blinked slowly. “Of course.”
He turned back to Malfoy. “Your proposal is idiotic, shallow, and vain. But I suppose even foolishness has its place. Proceed.”
Snape turned back to his list with a faint sneer.
“Potter and Greengrass.”
Harry stood. Daphne was already on her feet beside him. She gave him a tiny, barely-there nod.
Snape looked up from the parchment. “I do hope this will be more than posturing.”
“We’re working on developing a new potion base,” Daphne said, smooth as ever. “A layered foundation with restorative properties, focused on repairing magical and neurological strain.”
“Restorative, you say. How novel. And what, pray tell, makes your proposed base any different from existing formulas?”
Harry stepped in. “We’re not replicating. We’re aiming for something adaptable. Modular. A base that can support more complex healing brews—stuff that targets magical exhaustion, nerve damage, or degraded magical pathways.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you intend to construct this miracle?”
Daphne answered without missing a beat. “We’ve been looking at traditional restorative cores, Valerian, Jobberknoll feather but their compatibility’s a problem. They destabilize quickly.”
“So we’re experimenting with layering methods,” Harry added. “Starting with a modified salamander oil base. Cold-pressed, steeped with basil balm to dampen its natural volatility.”
Snape blinked slowly. “And what made you think of salamander oil?”
“We found a section in Essentials of Experimental Brewing,” Harry said. “It mentioned salamander oil as a potential medium for magical conductivity if buffered properly.”
Daphne nodded. “It holds magical charge without overreacting if you temper it first. And it can carry regenerative agents better than something like thinned tinctures.”
Snape tilted his head. “Mm. And your buffering agent?”
“Moonstone,” Harry said. “Powdered and layered post-infusion. Slow-release. We think it’ll stretch the absorption curve without overwhelming the base.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Stretch the absorption curve,” he repeated.
“It’s theory for now. But if we get the proportions right, it should help stabilize things like Jobberknoll or even Gillyweed extract without compromising the structure.”
Snape let the silence hang just long enough to make it uncomfortable.
“You realize that powdered Jobberknoll destabilizes when exposed to ambient magical fields over time.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, flipping to the next page of their notes. “That’s why we’re planning to introduce it post-brew. Very low heat. Short window. That way we avoid core corruption and over-excitation.”
Snape studied him. “And how, Mr. Potter, do you intend to anchor this concoction? Your entire structure will collapse the moment you add anything as temperamental as diluted aconite.”
Harry didn’t answer right away. He scribbled something quickly onto the edge of his parchment, muttering under his breath.
Snape’s voice turned cold. “Are you taking notes?”
“Yeah,” Harry said without looking up. “You just brought up anchoring agents we hadn’t considered. Could be useful.”
Snape stared. “So rather than defend your ignorance, you intend to… revise.”
Harry shrugged. “Isn’t that what research is for?”
Snape’s eyes moved to Daphne, who was now flipping her own notes open, revealing a page full of messy arrows and margin scribbles.
“We’re also looking at a potential stabilizer combo,” she said calmly. “We think a thread of Murtlap essence might work. It’s soothing to nerve pathways, and it’s already used in minor wound restoratives.”
“And you believe Murtlap and aconite won’t interfere with each other?” Snape asked sharply.
“No,” Daphne said. “Not without something to bridge them. We’re not using both in the same sequence. Not yet. Just running parallel theories.”
Harry added, “There’s a study in Healing Through Herbology that hints Gillyweed has tissue-regenerative properties beyond respiratory application. We’re testing how it interacts with salamander oil in isolation.”
A few students around them were now openly staring.
Snape was still watching them like they were puzzle pieces, trying to decide if he was annoyed or impressed.
“Your theory,” Snape finally said, “is overly ambitious, fundamentally incomplete, and will most likely collapse the moment you apply heat.”
He paused.
“Proceed.”
Harry blinked. That was it?
Beside him, Daphne jotted something down in the margins of her parchment without changing expression.
Snape, meanwhile, had already turned back to his list.
“Bletchley and Macmillan.”
Harry leaned over and whispered, “Did he actually say yes?”
“He didn’t say no,” Daphne replied under her breath, still scribbling. “Which is basically a yes. Snape-style.”
Harry let out a slow breath. Their project was still alive.
For now.
“We will now begin brewing the Wit-Sharpening Potion. Merlin knows most of you could use the help.” Snape said.
A few groans rippled through the room. Snape ignored them.
“The instructions are on the board. Ingredients are in the cupboard. You have forty-five minutes. And if any of you overheat your ginger root again, don’t bother turning in a sample.”
Harry tossed in the beetles and gave the cauldron a nudge with the stirrer, watching the brew shift from pale to something closer to ink. Decent. Wouldn’t win awards, but definitely not exploding.
They were halfway through prepping the ginger root when Harry glanced up and caught her mid-concentration. Daphne had this way of frowning just slightly when she was measuring something, like she was doing math in her head no one else could see. Her eyes were blueish-grey, and focused. Pretty. Too pretty, actually. Especially this close.
He blinked and looked back down at the cutting board.
A second later, she said, “Do I have something on my face?”
Harry looked up again, instantly guilty. “What? No. It’s nothing.”
She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but didn’t push it.
Harry stirred the potion absently, then said, “Your mum’s really something else.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”
There was a beat.
“I don’t know anything about your dad, though.”
She didn’t look up right away, just dropped the ginger into the cauldron and gave it a careful stir.
“He’s in politics,” she said. “International stuff. Magical law, trade agreements, that kind of thing.”
“Does he work at the Ministry?”
“Sort of. Mostly works with other Ministries. Spends more time out of the country than in it.”
Harry nodded slowly. “So he’s not around much?”
“Not really. Sends owls. Shows up for holidays when he can.”
Another pause. The potion was coming together nicely. Clear, no smoke, steady simmer.
Harry glanced sideways. “You talk to him much?”
“Depends what you count as talking,” she said, not bitter exactly, just matter-of-fact. “He signs letters ‘Warmly, Father.’”
Harry didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just gave a small nod and started grinding the next ingredient.
Daphne added the last pinch of scarab shell, gave it a stir, then leaned just slightly over the cauldron, checking the consistency. When she was satisfied, she wiped her hands on a cloth and said casually, “So… did you find one?”
Harry looked up, confused for a second. “Find what?”
She gave him a look like he was being deliberately thick. “A classroom.”
“Oh.” He dropped his voice automatically. “Yeah. Down near the end of the dungeon corridor. Third one past the tapestry of the drunk troll.”
“Locked?”
“The first two were. One was full of junk. Third one’s alright, though. Dusty, but it’s got space. No weird enchantments, either, far as I could tell.”
She tilted her head. “What about wards?”
“Standard stuff. Nothing active. Might’ve been used for brewing before, actually. There’s an old cauldron in the corner, and shelving along the walls. No supplies, but we’ve got our kit.”
Daphne looked thoughtful. “Ventilation?”
Harry grinned. “You’re terrifying.”
“You didn’t answer.”
He laughed quietly. “Yeah. There’s a vent charm in the ceiling still running. It’s weak, but it works. I can strengthen it with a few charm tweaks.”
That earned him a small nod. “Good. I’d rather not pass out from salamander fumes on our first real attempt.”
The potion was done. Daphne gave it a quick once-over, then nodded. Harry grabbed a vial, and she poured. He corked it and slid it to the front of the table with the others.
Snape passed by a moment later. He stopped, picked up their vial, held it up to the light. No comment. Just a sniff, then he moved on.
Probably a good sign.
The bell rang.
“Clean your stations. Out,” Snape said without looking back.
They wiped everything down quick, packed their stuff, and joined the slow shuffle toward the door.
Harry leaned toward her. “Hey. Want to skip the Hall? Eat in the classroom?”
Daphne gave him a look. “You bringing food?”
“House-elves owe me.”
She smirked. “Alright then.”
And they turned left, heading deeper into the dungeons while everyone else went up.
The old classroom was quiet except for the soft clink of cutlery. They sat across from each other, plates full thanks to Dobby—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, and two mugs of pumpkin juice that were still steaming faintly. It was weirdly peaceful. No crowd, no noise, just the two of them and the hum of old magic soaked into the stones.
They didn’t talk much at first. Just ate.
Daphne wiped her mouth with a napkin and glanced over. “Back at the restaurant… when Mum asked about your relatives.”
Harry didn’t look up. “Yeah.”
“You never answered.”
He set down his fork. “Yeah.”
Silence stretched between them. Not tense, just… expectant.
Finally, he glanced up. “Just between me and you, alright?”
Daphne gave a small nod. No smirks, no teasing. Just listening.
“They’re not exactly a fan of magic,” Harry said. “My aunt and uncle. I think they hoped if they ignored it long enough, it’d go away.”
He poked at his potatoes. “I lived in the cupboard under the stairs till I was eleven.”
Daphne blinked. “Wait… what?”
Harry looked up. She was staring at him now, really staring, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
“You were a kid,” she said, her voice low. “You were just a kid. And they were adults. How does that even happen?”
Harry gave a small shrug. “Dunno. It just did.”
“No, but… a cupboard? Under the stairs?”
“Yeah.”
She leaned back a little, shaking her head. “That’s insane. You lived there?”
“Until I got my Hogwarts letter. Thought it was normal.”
She didn’t say anything right away. Just kept staring at him like he’d told her he used to sleep in a volcano.
“It’s not,” she said finally.
“Yeah. Figured that out later.”
Daphne leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. “They were supposed to take care of you.”
Harry just nodded.
“If I ever meet them,” she said, “I’m going to hex them so badly they won’t even remember their own names.”
He let out a short laugh before he could stop it. It wasn’t even that funny, but something about how serious she looked cracked through the weight of it all.
“I mean it,”
“I know.”
He did.
Harry sat in the quiet for a second longer, then pushed back from the table and stood up.
Daphne watched as he crossed the room and dropped to one knee beside his bag.
He muttered something under his breath while digging through it. Scrolls. A vial case. Spare quills. A box of Chocolate Frogs. More parchment than he remembered packing.
Finally, with a soft “Aha,” he pulled out the compact reinforced transport box—the one the shopkeeper at Twilfitt’s had packed for him in Diagon Alley. Matte black, sealed with layered enchantments and faint arcane scrawl curling around the edges like silver veins.
She raised a brow. “You brought it with you?”
Harry set the box carefully on the nearest table. “Well, yeah. Kind of wanted to keep an eye on it.”
Daphne stood beside him now, arms folded, eyeing the box like it might do something dramatic.
Harry tapped the top with his wand and murmured the unlocking charm the shopkeeper had taught him. The lid gave a low mechanical click and slid open with a soft hiss of magic.
The Magnus Crucible unfurled from its compact form, expanding and unfolding like something alive.
They both leaned in.
It looked even more ridiculous out in the open. Starforged silver, dark and gleaming like the surface of still water at midnight. The arcane markings etched across the rim shimmered faintly with blue and violet light, shifting if you stared too long.
Harry reached out and ran his fingers along the rim. It was cold to the touch. Cooler than metal should’ve been.
“Alright,” Daphne muttered, “I’ll admit it. That’s beautiful.”
Harry smirked. “Told you it was dramatic.”
“It looks like it could brew a potion that splits time in half.”
He snorted. “Honestly, for 500 Galleons, it better.”
They stood there for another second in quiet, just looking at it. The Crucible hummed softly now that it was fully activate.
Daphne finally said, “You ever name a cauldron before?”
Harry blinked. “Is that a thing people do?”
“No idea.” She smirked. “But it feels rude not to, looking at this.”
He tilted his head, considering. “Something majestic?”
“Something unhinged.”
He grinned. “Sir Bubbles the Third.”
Daphne gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “Absolutely not.”
Harry snorted. “What? It’s dignified. Regal, even.”
“It sounds like a duck with a monocle,” she said flatly.
He grinned. “Well, now I’m attached.”
“Of course you are.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a tiny upward twitch at the corner of her mouth. “We’ll workshop it.”
Harry shrugged. “Fine. Sir Bubbles is pending.”
She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Merlin help me before turning toward the door. “Alright. If we’re actually going to use this place, we should probably make sure it’s not wide open to every lost first-year and nosy prefect.”
Harry perked up. “You thinking wards?”
“I’m thinking something subtle,” Daphne said, already pulling her wand again. “Alert charms, maybe a sound buffer. Nothing obvious.”
Harry set to work near the back window, running a charm to clear out dust and reinforce the sill just in case they needed airflow during brewing. Daphne moved to the doorway again, raising her wand in a practiced arc.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, peeking over his shoulder.
“Greengrass warding charm,” she replied, tracing slow patterns through the air. “It’ll let me know if anyone steps inside without us.”
Harry blinked. “Wait, you can just… make wards like that?”
“Family spell. Ties into blood magic, sort of. Not super powerful, but reliable. And quiet.” She finished the sequence, and the wood pulsed faintly before settling back into stillness.
Harry stared for a second. “So… that’s family magic?”
Daphne nodded. “Yeah. Most old families have a few things like that. Spells that only work properly if you’re blood. Stuff they don’t teach at Hogwarts.”
He leaned against the desk, watching her. “Is it… inherited, or learned?”
“A little of both. You grow up around it. Hear the stories, learn the shapes. It’s not just about wand movement, it’s intent too. Who you are, where you’re from.”
Harry let that roll around in his head. “So… you’re saying I might have stuff like that?”
“If the Potters were a Sacred Family? Definitely.” She gave him a sideways glance. “You should look into it. There might be more than just a fancy vault with a dragon-sized budget.”
Harry chuckled, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Where would I even start?”
“Your estate, if you’ve got one. Old records, family grimoire, heirlooms if they survived.”
Daphne crossed the room slowly, boots quiet against the stone. She stopped in front of him, arms folded, head tilted like she was still working something out.
“You’re way behind, Potter.”
Harry gave her a look. “Thanks for the reminder.”
She didn’t smile this time. “I mean it. I get it now. After what you told me about those relatives of yours…”
Her voice trailed off for a second. Then she met his eyes again.
“You were never told any of this. Nobody gave you the map, or the rules, or even a clue how things work in our world. So yeah, you’re behind. But not because you’re slow. Because no one ever gave you the chance.”
Harry didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure he could.
Daphne shrugged one shoulder, casual again, but her eyes stayed serious.
“You’re smart. You’ll catch up. Read the history. Learn about the Sacred Families. Maybe some etiquette so you stop using your sleeve like a napkin.”
Harry opened his mouth in protest, but she was already rolling on.
“It’s all connected, Potter. Old magic. Politics. Power. You don’t have to play the game, but you should at least know the rules.”
He looked at her for a long second.
“…Thanks.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a lot of reading ahead.”
“Ugh. Can I at least pretend I’m doing it for extra credit?”
She smirked. “Sure. If that helps your pride.”
It kind of did.
They ended up spending the last bit of the period elbow-deep in rearranging shelves and clearing out years of grime. At one point, Harry reached for a particularly dusty jar and immediately recoiled, coughing as a puff of ancient soot hit his face.
Daphne snorted. “Seriously? You don’t know Scourgify?”
“I mean, I’ve heard of it,” Harry said, waving the dust cloud away, “but it’s not exactly on my usual spell list.”
She raised an eyebrow, already pointing her wand. “Watch and learn, Potter. Scourgify.”
The jar practically gleamed.
Harry blinked. “Alright, that’s cheating. You made it look easy.”
She smirked. “Because it is. Now your turn.”
He mimicked her wand movement—nearly too sharp on the flick—and muttered the incantation. The spell worked, sort of. Half the grime vanished. The rest just… relocated.
Daphne gave him a dry look. “Close enough. Try not to Scourgify your own eyebrows off.”
He grinned. “No promises.”
They got into a rhythm after that, clearing out cabinets, stacking jars, organizing a small corner shelf for their ingredients. Daphne transfigured an old cracked stool into a second workspace while Harry repaired a dented burner stand. The place didn’t look perfect, but it was starting to feel like something. Like theirs.
By the time the distant bell rang through the stone walls, they were both flushed and a little dusty, standing back to admire their handiwork.
Daphne grabbed her bag and headed for the door, but Harry hesitated. Something tugged at him.
“Hey,” he said, before she could step out.
She turned, one brow raised.
“I just… I really enjoy this. Being here. With you.”
It was quiet for a second.
Then Daphne’s eyes softened, and a small blush crept across her cheeks. She didn’t look away.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said, slow and genuine.
And then she walked out, leaving him alone in their half-fixed classroom, trying not to grin like a total idiot.
Comments
Thrivean
Oooooo she’s got a crush. I need Tracy back pronto for teasing
