Chapter 5
Harry learned the power of a properly motivated nanny elf, and it had nothing to do with the wooden spoon she would jokingly wave at him or any disappointed looks.
He had always lived a regimented life. First, at the Dursleys with their idea of a chore list. Later on at school by the teachers. And nowadays with Hermione and her homework and study schedules, especially around exam time.
With Winky he had input though. They both bent their heads together to put down the best time table for him. This time, however, he had an experienced nanny elf who was concerned about his well-being and adamant that he relaxed and rested properly between studying and training. And who tailored his schedule to suit him best.
He'd never imagined that switching to different kind of subjects throughout the day helped him stay focused and interested. Or that he regularly had to schedule more physically involved subjects. Not just sports, but anything that made him use his hands instead of sitting and reading.
He'd fallen in love with potions under her guidance and he suddenly remembered how excited he had been for that subject as a first year, before... Before.
Winky taught him to listen to his needs and work with them. She taught him that it wasn't a weakness to need a break at different intervals than Hermione, and that he was allowed to prefer top-down learning and practical work. That being different was okay.
It was a slow going process.
He wondered sometimes if this was what having a mother might have been like.
---
"You'se is doing well with potions, but you'se is still hesitant. Winky told you that making potions will help with magic sense and Winky believes Harry Potter is feeling the magic better but not trusting himself, so-" The little house elf raised a single finger which Harry'd learned was her way of telling him that the next tidbit was very important. "Winky will teach Harry Potter how to make potions the elven way."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "Is that allowed?"
"Elves can teach, but other being has to swear not to share knowledge with not-elves."
"I swear on my magic that I will not willingly and knowingly share any knowledge I gained about the house elves way of making potions with any being that is not a house elf themselves, without the express permission of a house elf," Harry said immediately.
Winky looked both exasperated and proud when the glow of his magical vow faded. "Harry Potter gave a good vow, but what did Harry Potter forget?" She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
"Uh..." Harry couldn't help the flush crawling up his face. "I forgot to write down the vow and discuss it with you before I gave it. But I was so excited!"
Winky booped him on the nose, and Harry didn't know if he should be offended or delighted by it.
"Harry Potter forgot he has family now. Family that will miss him if he dies from a bad vow!"
Harry ducked his head to hide the tears that were suddenly welling in his eyes. "Oh."
He did have family now. People that cared and wanted him around for as long as possible. People who wanted him to think things through before he did something, so he would return to them.
Hermione's exasperated sighs and worried rants had nothing on the way Winky held his hands with understanding. It finally clicked.
"Oh."
The mug of hot chocolate and the gentle hand rubbing circles on his back helped him through the emotional storm that realisation caused. By the time his mug was empty, he felt utterly wrung out. And loved.
Parchment and writing implements were thrust in front of him. Harry blinked in confusion at the little house elf standing there with her hands on her hips and a determined look on her face. "Harry Potter will be writing an essay about magical vows and the dangers, instead of learning potions, until Winky is satisfied."
Yeah, Harry Potter definitely would.
---
They were finally in the cottage's potions lab for Harry's first lesson in the elven way of potion brewing, and now Harry was the one practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement.
He had come to love potions under Winky's tutelage, but sensing the magic during the process was essential to elevate yourself from being a decent brewer who could follow the steps of a recipe to an actual potion's master.
Harry had to admit that -aside from the peace brewing brought him- becoming a potion's master one day in spite of Snape was an attractive proposition.
He was a teenager. He was allowed to be petty.
Also, if Harry gaining a potions mastery gave Snape just a tiny measure of the misery he had heaped on his students, then Harry would be one deliriously happy wizard. At least Snape wasn't an innocent, naive child entrusted into his care.
Whatever.
In addition to all those considerations, it would give him the ability to make good quality healing potions, balms and salves. It's not like his planned resistance movement would be able to go to the hospital -and maybe even the apothecary- without some pointed questions being asked. And that would be disastrous for their anonymity.
Besides, Winky had said that this would hone his magic sense, allowing him to feel out other magical beings in a wider range than the current three meters surrounding him, sense the presence of magical artifacts, and aid him with setting and breaking wards (and curses). A really refined sense would enable him to read another's magical aura, sense changes to them, discern if they are being truthful, and maybe even pick up on their emotions.
He'd unintentionally been training his magic sense by practicing wandless magic. The shifts in magic during brewing were so subtle, however, they were the perfect training tool to take it to the next level.
Harry had already learned a lot, but as Winky had said: he was still hesitant. Feeling a shift didn't mean he understood what it was telling him. He didn't know how the elven way of brewing would help him, but he was eager to find out.
"So, does Dobby know to do this as well? Like, brewing basics for tiny house elves?" Harry bounced on the balls of his feet.
"Dobby's magic is too busy, busy, busy. Agitates the potions at the wrong time."
Harry stopped bouncing. "Oh," he said sheepishly.
"Harry Potter's magic is like ocean: deep with strong currents. Can be whipped up in frenzy when necessary. But is usually very steady."
Harry considered that. Dobby's magic felt like it popped and fizzled constantly, while Winky's felt like cool silk gliding over skin. Maybe that was Neville's problem with potions. Aside from being terrorised by their teacher, of course.
"Some have magic that is like earth: solid and vast, but slow. Too slow."
That sounded more like Neville, really.
Winky raised a finger and Harry straightened up. "Elven way of potion making is intuitive. It depends on magic of subject. It depends on problem. It depends on magic of brewer." She poked his chest. "To learn, easiest way is to brew for yourself. So you will make healing draught for yourself. Too often you have been hungry. Too weak your body is. Dverger can help, but until then you can help yourself."
Winky sat up in her seat, folded her hands in front of her, and closed her eyes. "Think about yourself, think about the problem. Think about growing strong. Think about reaching potential. Feel youse magic. What do you need?"
Harry followed her instructions diligently, but he was drawing a blank.
"What do you'se see? What do you'se feel? Images, symbols, ingredients?"
He drew in a sharp breath when she said the word symbols. Pictures bloomed in his mind and they felt right in his magic.
"Write it down."
He grabbed parchment and self-inking quill, and it was like the information simply streamed out of him. Apple for life and wisdom, acorn for potential and new beginnings, grass for growth and proliferation. Sandstone to give it a foundation that was still malleable, clay to bind and mold together, garlic to give it body, and ginger to spark the flame.
Harry stared at the list with some horror. Grass and clay, really? It made his magic sing, though.
It took a while to collect everything. His magic was quite choosy. Eventually, he was standing by his cauldron and Winky encouraged him to listen to his magic and follow its instructions. He reached for the apple since he'd written that down first, but that didn't feel right. That's where any instruction ended, though. He sighed and tried again. Keeping in mind what he intended to achieve and for who.
He sank deeper and deeper into his magic sense and before long he landed on the sandstone as the first ingredient. He let himself be pushed and prodded by his own magic in when to add what ingredient next, how to stir, which implement to choose, what heat to use.
By the end of the session he'd gained a deeper connection with -and appreciation of- his magic. The healing draught wasn't quite as good as it could be; he'd hesitated too often. But it would work. He knew it in his bones.
He gave Winky a tremulous smile filled with awe. Brewing made him feel peaceful before, but this had felt sacred.
He crouched and opened his arms hesitantly - for the first time in his life asking for a hug. This experience had been so profound, he needed to express it.
Winky gave him the gentlest hug he'd ever felt.