Chapter 4
June 19, 1993
Harry glances at the clock that was set on the fireplace mantle. The Hogwarts Express would have long since left the station.
Would his absence have been noticed yet?
Nerves started fluttering in his stomach. He had been so distracted by the adventure of sneaking down here, and then the transformation of the Chamber of Secrets and the tent Dobby set up for him that all thoughts of being caught had been driven out of his mind.
With the sudden silence of the tent, his worry over being found and dragged back to the Dursleys comes rushing back. There really was no way to tell if Dumbledore or anyone else had realized he wasn’t on the train.
He supposed he’d find out when someone blew open a wall or something to get into the Chamber to ask what he thought he was doing.
Harry pulls the Maurader’s Map from his pocket and spreads it out across the table. Tapping it with his wand and saying the passphrase, Harry scans the various hallways and rooms of the castle above him carefully.
It looks like most of the professors have returned from Hogsmeade Station. He wonders if they all stay there all summer long or if they eventually will depart for the summer months too. If they’re going to leave, Harry hopes it’s soon.
He’d feel better if the castle above him was empty of everyone but the ghosts.
Harry spends the next little while just staring at the map, tracking each professor's movement. Dumbledore is apparently pacing in his office, in stark contrast to Snape who must have been seated in the dungeon, as his little dot never moved once the entire time Harry was watching.
Sprout was moving briskly through the greenhouses, and McGonnagall was taking such a meandering path through the hallways that Harry imagined she might have transformed into her cat form and gone for a wander.
It was oddly fascinating just sitting there observing the professors' movements and tracking their patterns. Faced with months of endless free time, Harry wasn’t in any rush to find amusement elsewhere and found he was quite content to just watch the map.
Nearly an hour into his silent watch, Harry had moved to the couch in the living room and sprawled out on his stomach with the map on the floor in front of him. It was then that Harry finally got an answer on whether or not his teachers remained at Hogwarts all summer.
Professor Sprout was the first to leave, Harry watched as she moved from her quarters on the fourth floor, out the main exit, and left the front gates in the direction of Hogsmeade. Shortly after Sprout vacated Hogwarts, Snape left as well. Harry probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been staring right at the little dot below Snape’s name. It moved towards a wall in Snape’s office and suddenly disappeared off the map entirely.
Harry scrunched his brows in confusion for just a moment, before the fireplace in his tent let out a pleasant crackle of wood pulling Harry’s attention away from the map.
Staring at the cheerful flames in sudden comprehension, Harry realized that Snape must have flooed away from the castle, returning to wherever he spent his summer holiday.
Ugh. Don’t think about what Snape’s house is like. Probably as grim as the dungeons, and filled with dead things.
Glancing at the clock, Harry saw that it was just a few minutes past three o’clock. Exactly four hours after the Hogwarts Express would have left for London. It looked like this was a significant time, as over the next few minutes professors around the castle left via the main gates or disappeared when Harry wasn’t watching, surely using Floos to leave.
By three fifteen, the only staff that remained in the castle were Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Filch. Harry was sure Hagrid was still here too, likely just in a part of the grounds not displayed on the map.
Setting aside the map for now, content that Dumbledore was still up in his office, and McGonagall had returned to her quarters - and surely they’d be together if his absence was reported - he concluded that he must be in the clear for now.
Leaving the map unfolded and still displaying Hogwarts on the dining room table, so he could double-check it whenever he wandered by, Harry went upstairs. Realizing that he had never changed out of his robes, Harry quickly pulls them off and pulls a jumper on.
Even with the fireplaces, it’s still a bit too chilly down in the Chamber of Secrets to wander around in just a t-shirt.
Harry spends a moment considering getting a start on his homework, but in the end, decides to allow himself at least a couple of days to be schoolwork free. Instead, he grabs his Nimbus 2000 from where he had propped it in the corner of his bedroom.
Why not get some flying practice and exploring done in one go?
Leaving his bedroom in a sudden rush, Harry can’t help himself and mounts his broom while still inside the tent. Launching himself over the railing that looks down into the living area on the first floor of the tent, Harry gleefully flies through the space. As he nears the tent flap, he quickly raises his wand and points it at the flap of canvas blocking his way.
"Ventus!"
A gust of wind from his wand blows the flap open just in time for him to soar out the opening into the open chamber beyond.
Tucking his wand back into his jeans pocket, Harry quickly climbs in height almost all the way to the ceiling before leveling out and taking in the Chamber from his new vantage point. He hadn’t been able to tell before, but the chamber was surprisingly tall. Nothing compared to the quidditch pitch of course, but he’d be able to get enough height for a decent enough dive, he thought.
Eyeing the stone floor, Harry promised himself he’d look up cushioning charms before he tried any truly daring stunts.
It’d be awful to snap his neck and no one to be the wiser about it until he didn’t show up on September 1st.
Reckon Dobby would find me before then though. Merlin, the mad little thing would probably plan some grand state funeral for me if he came upon me dead.
Brushing aside the horrifying thought of his eulogy performed by Dobby, Harry leaned forward to begin a gentle cruise around the chamber.
From this height, he was able to make out the intricate carvings along the ceiling and pillars. Lots of snakes - real shocker there, Harry thought sarcastically. But there were also a number of odd shapes and symbols that Harry didn’t recognize.
They didn’t look like any kind of alphabet Harry had seen before, so he wondered if they were examples of the ancient runes that Hermione had chosen to do an elective on next year. Maybe he’d try and copy some in a letter to her this summer and she could help him translate.
Harry spends the next few hours doing as many loops and tricks as he dared. Briefly, he even carefully positioned himself over one of the pools and practiced his Transylvanian Tackles. Harry would love to use the fake-punch trick move on Malfoy next year. Successful use of the move had to be convincing enough to distract the opposite team, while still missing contact entirely to avoid a foul, and practicing it typically caused Harry to topple off his broom.
With the soft(ish) landing of the pool of water beneath him though, Harry thought he nearly had the move down pat with only a slightly embarrassing number of bellyflops. At least the cool water of the pool washed off the sweat Harry had managed to work up, despite the chill of the Chamber.
Harry desperately wanted to try out the Wronski Feint but forced himself to wait until he figured out the cushioning charm. Flying directly into the water at that speed would be nearly as bad as doing a faceplant on the stone floor, and Harry had no expectation that he could practice that move without many, many crashes.
By the time Harry was feeling pleasantly sore and ready to call it quits for the night, he was feeling a bit peckish again.
Dismounting, Harry returned to his tent and proudly placed his Nimbus in the wall mount Dobby had so thoughtfully set up for him. It placed his broom in a clear place of prominence on the tent wall - as it should be, Harry thought proudly.
Moving into the kitchen, Harry checked the pantry and cold cellar and thought he had all the ingredients necessary for one of his usual recipes from the Dursleys.
In short order, he had a shepherd's pie ready to be dished up on the stovetop. Remembering Dobby’s words at lunch, he also served himself more salad that the house elf must have left in the cold cellar for him.
Treating himself to pumpkin juice and another slice of treacle tart, Harry carefully carries his plate, silverware, and glass over to the dining room, and pauses briefly at the table to check for any changes on the map.
Seeing all of the staff who remained at Hogwarts gathered together in the Great Hall, Harry carries his dinner out the back door of his tent and seats himself at the little table in his garden.
Out here, everything seems so real it’s like he’s left Hogwarts far behind. The grass tickling his feet, the slight breeze ruffling his hair, and a sunset painting the false sky above him beautiful shades of pink and orange, all made for one of the best meals he’s ever had. Once again he’s struck by the thought that this is all his. The dittany growing over in the raised garden bed - his. The patch of strawberries - his. The tree that stretches shade over the little creek running in his backyard, which he’s already decided would be a perfect spot for an afternoon nap - his.
Even most of the school things he bought for Hogwarts are second-hand. Hagrid had guided him to the less expensive options on his first trip to Diagon Alley, and last year when Mrs. Weasley had done most of the shopping, they only visited thrift stores. Some of the things he had gotten for second year had even been hand-me-down items from the Weasleys, things that Ron had outgrown or were just too small for him to start with.
Harry didn’t mind using things second-hand - for most of his childhood he had seen Dudley throw out perfectly good things, and for Harry, who was also in need of something, it had seemed so wasteful. So while he wasn’t opposed to having hand-me-downs, or shopping in thrift stores…owning something - and something so big as a fully furnished home, that was just his and only ever his, filled Harry with a sense of pride that he didn’t think he had ever felt before.
He was proud of his home. It was a sensation Harry had never felt before.
Brushing aside his introspective thoughts, Harry returns inside and carries the dishes over to the sink and begins to clean up. While scrubbing out the pan he used to cook the pie with, Harry remembers the charms Mrs. Weasley had used at the Burrow last summer.
He didn’t mind cleaning up after himself, after all - he’d done it for years. But he had spent a solid week entranced with Mrs. Weasley’s wandwork after each meal and had sat and watched the dishes wash themselves and a broom dance around the kitchen sweeping up.
Mrs. Weasley had always done the spells so absentmindedly, Harry hoped they’d be somewhat easy to learn.
He added housekeeping spells to his list of things to research this summer.
A list that was rapidly growing. In just a matter of hours, Harry had decided to teach himself cushioning charms, whatever housekeeping spells he could find, runes, any third-year coursework he could safely do on his own, and of course - as many quidditch maneuvers as he could.
Harry didn’t think he had been this self-motivated regarding learning in a long time.
His hands stilling where they were scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot of grease, Harry looked out over the window positioned above the sink and thought over the last two years.
He had been unmotivated in his schoolwork. And why?
Harry knew why he hadn’t cared much for school back in Surrey. Any attempt to do well would inevitably end with Harry scoring better than Dudley, and then being punished for being a “no-good cheat.”
Harry had given up on good grades years before he ever came to Hogwarts. But two years ago when he was waiting for September 1st at the Dursleys after Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley, Harry had thought Hogwarts would be a fresh start for him. Somewhere he could actually try and maybe do well.
Earlier today, when he first decided he would make more of an effort to study this summer, he had told himself he had average, or even poor grades because he was so distracted with mysteries throughout the last two years, but that wasn’t totally true.
Harry came to Hogwarts and met Ron and Hermione. Ron, who viewed studying as the most boring thing imaginable to spend time on, and Hermione, who so clearly identified as “the studious one” that Harry had never wanted to encroach on her space.
So Harry had happily gone along with Ron’s apathetic attitude towards school, content to remain middle of the pack and not risk competition with Hermione.
He wondered if his parents would be proud of him.
Sure, he might have defeated a basilisk, but what did that matter in the long run if he flunked out of Transfiguration?
Harry attacked the last of the dishes, his resolve to do better in his third year even stronger now that he’d been honest with himself about all the reasons he’d allowed himself to slack off the last two years. He’d take his classes seriously, and put in the time in the evenings and on weekends to revise, and even research things just because they interested him.
Wiping down the counters, Harry rinsed and rung out the towels he used for cleaning, and draped them over the sink to dry.
It was a bit weird, being completely without supervision.
His time at Privet Drive and in Hogwarts was pretty well scheduled for him. Having the freedom to do whatever he wanted was a bit disconcerting, so Harry figured he’d just go to bed.
Wandering around the ground floor of the tent, Harry tidied up the few things he had disturbed during the day, straightening cushions and pushing in chairs, and then gathered up the map to bring upstairs with him.
Once he reached his bedroom, Harry spread out the map again on one of the nightstands next to his bed before heading into the bathroom.
He took a quick shower and noticed he was running low on soap and shampoo. While lathering up his hair, that got him thinking about other things he’d need to restock up on. We had used up almost all of his parchment and ink, and could definitely do with some new quills. Most of the ones he was using were what he bought before his first year.
And, if he wasn’t going to have to live off Dudley’s cast-offs anymore, maybe he could buy some clothes that actually fit. He’d love to have some socks that didn’t have at least two holes on each foot.
Based off of Dobby’s recounting earlier today, Harry thought he was significantly richer than he had assumed. So there was no need for most of his belongings to be so shoddy.
Harry figured all of this could wait until Dobby returned, but he began another mental list of “things to buy,” and made sure to add as many third-year books as he could find so he could begin studying ahead.
After brushing his teeth and using the bathroom one last time, Harry snagged one of the muggle books he had pilfered from Dudley years ago to read until he was tired enough to fall asleep.
By the time his eyes were drifting shut, and the candles in his bedroom were dimming themselves, Harry had just enough time to smile sleepily to himself about his brilliant plan to hide in the Chamber of Secrets working out so well before the book hit his stomach with a slight thump and his eyes closed completely.
*
The next few days passed in much the same way.
On the first morning, he took some time to write letters to Ron, Hermione, and the twins, letting them all know he had reached the Chamber successfully and seemed to be avoiding suspicion so far.
He spent a little more time on Ron and Hermione’s letters, describing the changes to the chamber and the tent that Dobby had set up for him.
He even told Hermione about his decision to study more this summer and asked if she had any book recommendations for him to further his learning in the classes he did poorer in. For Ron’s letter, he drew a quick sketch of the tent, and labeled the guest room that he had designated in his mind as “Ron’s room” since he thought Ron would appreciate the view of a sunny little meadow the window in that room showed.
Harry didn’t know if or when Ron might be able to come and stay in his tent, but he hoped that by making a small part of it Ron’s right from the start, he could avoid any jealousy from his friend. Harry had essentially become a homeowner at twelve after all, and he had heard Ron complain many a time about how cramped the Burrow could get when his entire family was there.
After writing out his letters, Harry placed them in the post office box in his study that Dobby had pointed out on the tour and forced himself to be patient while waiting for return letters, as he knew this process would take longer than when he sent a letter with Hedwig.
But otherwise, Harry quickly fell into his own little routine.
Each morning, Harry woke up, and made himself breakfast. He’d go flying for a few hours and even started jogging around the chamber or swimming laps in the pools to try and up his stamina. He discovered that some of the pools were actually connected underneath the stone walkways that weaved between them, and had fun holding his breath and swimming between them all.
The ones with koi fish were unfortunately entirely separate - Harry would have liked swimming with them but figured Dobby put them in the blocked-off pools for a reason, so he kept out of those. Still, Harry would spend some time each day standing over those pools and chatting at the fish, most of which he had taken the time to name.
After a simple lunch, Harry took to his books and reviewed everything he supposedly learned over the last two years.
It was embarrassing how much he had just skimmed over or spent the bare minimum amount of time on the first time around.
At first, he had been just picking a random spell to revise, but after discovering that he had somehow missed an entirely foundational theory in Charms from his first year, which made all of the subsequent charms spells easier, he started back at the very beginning for all of his classes and was slowly working his way through the textbooks.
He was also startled to find that the textbook for History of Magic, which he had basically ignored up until this point, barely even covered the various Goblin Rebellions. Going off of Binn’s lectures, homework, and exams, Harry would have assumed the only thing of note in Wizarding history ever were Goblin Wars, as that was all the ghost seemed to mention.
Harry was pleased to find that A History of Magic by Bathelda Bagshot, which Harry wasn’t sure if he had opened since picking Hedwing’s name out of, covered significantly more than Binn’s lectures. It went all the way back centuries before the Statute of Secrecy, and Harry was fascinated to read about how Muggles and Wizards lived (mostly) in harmony until the fifteenth century when witch burnings began. It took another couple of centuries for the persecution of wizards and witches to become common, but by the late 1600s wizardkind around the world came together to create the Statute of Secrecy.
Following the section on the Statue of Secrecy, A History of Magic spent most of the remaining chapters discussing witches' and wizards' interactions with other magical species, such as the various Giant Wars, the Werewolf and Vampire conflicts of the eighteenth century, and the succession of Wales from the British Ministry of Magic fifty years ago. And of course, the much-discussed Goblin Wars.
The book also had several chapters giving the history of specific branches of magic, including some that Harry had never heard of before.
Reading the chapter on necromancy gave him chills, but he did find the description of how it was used in Ancient Egypt and Ancient Rome fascinating. Runes were covered extensively, and Harry was pleased to see some of the same symbols carved in the Chamber depicted as examples of some of the older Rune systems.
There was a section that tracked various inherited traits through the centuries, where parselmagic was mentioned, but also metamorphmagic, the ability to change your appearance at will, and elemental magic, used by someone with extraordinary control over the four elements, along with many other forms of magic. It sounded like all of these inherited magics were very rare.
After reading the section on parselmagic, Harry had a brief internal war between shame that he had probably somehow gotten parseltongue from Voldemort and pride that he had this incredibly rare ability. The conflicting emotions didn’t last long, however, as Harry was quickly distracted by the next rare magic the book discussed.
One of the last chapters of the book even focused on Machimagic, which was an experiential branch of magic that had only recently begun to be explored in Japan and was an attempt at blending magic and muggle machinery.
The last page of the book had a little summary of the author, and with a jolt, Harry realized Bathelda Bagshot lived in Godric’s Hollow, the same village he had lived in with his parents until Voldemort attacked them. Considering the first edition of the book was published ages ago, so the author must be quite old, he wondered if Mrs. Bagshot had known his parents.
By the time he closed the history book, Harry realized he had missed dinner entirely, and it was nearly an hour past when he usually went to bed. As if suddenly aware that Harry was no longer distracted by a book, his stomach let out a grumble and he realized how hungry he was.
Hurrying downstairs, Harry grabs one of the scones he made the day before and quickly slathers it with some jam. Before going back upstairs, he hesitates, guilty over such a substandard meal that would probably cause Dobby to go into fits. Heading back into the cellar, he grabs a few more supplies so he can make a quick sandwich, and then slices up an apple to go with it.
Sitting down at the table, Harry thinks over everything he had read in the History book. He had learned so much about wizarding culture, things he didn’t even know he didn’t know, and there were whole chapters of the book that he had just skimmed through and promised himself he’d come back to. And that was just one history book! It was a shame Binns explained everything in the most boring way possible, or the History of Magic class would be much more popular.
Remembering another frequently mentioned history book, Harry grins to himself at the thought of quoting Hogwarts: A History at Hermione the next time there’s an opportunity for it. He’d have to add that book to his shopping list.
*
June 23, 1993
The next morning, Harry wakes to the uncomfortable feeling of someone staring at him. Jolted into awareness, Harry sits bolt upright - sure that Dumbledore or another professor has tracked him down - only to find Dobby standing at the foot of his bed, greeting him with a massive smile.
“Master Harry is awake! Dobby be returning from his travels to check on him!”
Heart still racing from the sheer panic he had experienced for about five seconds, Harry takes in the changes to Dobby’s attire.
The elf was wearing a variety of clothing items, all emblazoned with various tourist locations. Dobby’s hat, which he had cut holes in for his ears, had an image of Big Ben on it, and his shirt was printed with Stonehenge. Dobby’s trousers, oddly, looked like they came straight from a Mansfield United gift shop, and were printed with little footballs and the team crest.
Later, Harry would be pleased that Dobby had taken him at his word when he told the elf that he could wear whatever he wanted, as long as it wasn’t torn or dirty. For now, though, Harry was still in a fugue state from the quick transitions from sleeping, to terror, to relief that his hiding space was still safe.
Thumping back on the bed behind him, Harry rubs his eyes as Dobby begins to chatter about some of the sights he toured while climbing up to sit on the foot of Harry’s bed.
“And how has Master Harry been doing?”
Smiling at Dobby, Harry answers honestly, “I’ve been great Dobby! Been doing some studying, and lots of quidditch practice! The tent has been great, and I’ve barely made a tent on the food you stocked it with. I’ve had a really nice start to my summer!”
“Good! Dobby being happy that Master Harry is enjoying his holiday. Now, Dobby is fixing breakfast, and Harry best be coming downstairs after dressing.” With that, Dobby pops out of the room.
Figuring it best to go along with Dobby’s instructions, Harry throws back his covers and heads to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
*
Downstairs, Dobby has set out a much larger breakfast than Harry has been making for himself. In addition to the toast, fried egg, and diced fruit that was Harry’s usual breakfast, the elf has managed to make some bacon and sausage, as well as a platter of crepes filled with strawberries and whipped cream in the short time that Harry was upstairs.
Pouring himself a cup of tea first, Harry is pleased to note that Dobby has already set the table for two this time, without waiting for Harry to invite him.
Breakfast passes pleasantly, with the two continuing their discussion on the sights Dobby saw while traveling - and the question of if Dobby liked traveling or not, is a definite and resounding yes.
Harry shares what he had been studying while Dobby was gone, and mentions some of the spells that Harry has decided he wants to try and learn this summer.
After Dobby has cleared the table and set the dishes to washing, Harry asks if Dobby might be willing to go pick up a few supplies that Harry has determined he needs. Giving Dobby the most crucial items off of the running list Harry had started, Dobby cheerfully pops out of the tent after saying he’d be back in a few hours, and Harry heads out for his daily check on the koi fish.
*
In the early afternoon, when Dobby returns with the toiletries, school supplies, and a selection of books that Harry had asked him to pick up, Harry asks where Dobby wants to visit next.
As Dobby begins to expound on the next sightseeing spots on his list, Harry goes into the potions lab, leaving Dobby to trail behind him.
Harry had been a bit too nervous to experiment in the potions lab when he was by himself, and Dobby was days away from returning. But now, with the elf here and able to help if Harry accidentally poisons himself, Harry feels more comfortable picking a potion from the second-year curriculum and attempting to make it.
Harry sets himself to the task of brewing the Fire Protection Potion since it seemed easy enough when rereading the theory, but Harry remembered his practical attempt earlier in the year not going well. Setting purified water to come to a boil, Harry begins slicing bursting mushrooms while he listens to Dobby compare the merits of visiting Rome or Paris next.
After adding all of the ingredients, Harry sets the potion to simmer for the requisite 34 minutes and goes back to studying the instructions in the book, trying to determine where he went wrong the first time. He thought he had followed all of the instructions exactly while in class, but his potion had been a murky green color instead of the light pink it was supposed to be. It had also stunk of rotten eggs.
When he had first started at Hogwarts, Potions had been one of the classes he was most looking forward to. He thought his experience with cooking at Privet Drive would give him a bit of an edge in that class, familiar as he was with knives and standing over a hot pot.
Alas, even when he looked past Snape’s obvious disfavor and the occasional sabotage attempts from Slytherins, Harry’s performance in the class had gotten significantly worse over the last two years, instead of improving with the additional classes and practice.
For the life of him, Harry couldn’t figure out why.
He was just as confused now, staring at the cauldron as his attempt at the Fire Protection Potion, instead of turning the wrong color or letting off stinky smoke, slowly became the exact shade and consistency described in the book.
Murmuring quietly in response to Dobby’s query as to whether Harry would like a souvenir from Moscow, Harry looks over his ingredients again and then glances at where he had stashed his potions kit a few days ago. He dropped it off here after unpacking his trunk but had ignored it and used the ingredients that Dobby had stocked the tent with.
If he prepared everything the same way, then wouldn’t the only difference be what he put in the potion? Harry gets the potions kit and thunks it down on another work space, before opening it and pulling out some of the ingredients he had used in the Fire Protection Potion, before carrying the little jars over to the table he had used. Picking up some of the diced fluxweed that remained on his cutting board, Harry holds it and the jar of fluxweed up to the light.
The fluxweed Dobby had prepared for him has bright purple buds, each looking like they are nearly about to flower as if the plant had been plucked just moments ago. In contrast, the fluxweed from his potions kit is shriveled and dry, and the buds a faded grey color.
A quick glance at the rest of the ingredients shows a similar difference between the new supplies and what Harry had been using in potions class. The ingredients in his kit look old, and dried up, whereas what was in his tent all look fresh.
“...and Dobby should like to see America of course, but that being such a big country -”
“Dobby,” Harry interrupts, “The ingredients you gave me…did you do something to make them last longer? They all look much fresher than what I’ve been using in my kit for Potions class.”
“Dobby not be doing anything himself, Master Harry. But Dobby does be buying better vials and glasses to store ingredients in. They being enchanted to keep ingredients fresh for long time. Shopkeeper promises Dobby this brand being what professional potioneers use.” Dobby tells him proudly.
Holding out the jar of fluxweed that came in his potions kit, Harry asks, “Can you tell if this jar has any enchantments on it?”
“No Master Harry, that being the plain jar that ingredients come in from the apothecary. There being no spells on that jar. You is supposed to empty it out into another set of jars that have been spelled.”
“What?” Harry is a bit outraged that no one told him this, “Why do they give you a jar and then make you empty it in another one?”
“Enchanted jars being very expensive Master Harry. You can be buying them in a variety of strengths of course. Some make the ingredients last for a year or two and these costs less, or one can be buying the ones I got for you, which is supposed to be having ingredients fresh for five centuries. And then there being the options that fall in the middle. Many potioneers pass down their enchanted jars, they can be being an heirloom.”
Harry considers this for a moment. If he compares the small glass jars that ingredients come in to the plastic and cardboard packaging that muggle food comes in from the grocery store, then it makes sense that he’s supposed to decant them into enchanted jars that keep them fresh.
Harry supposes the apothecaries aren’t likely to just included spelled jars for free with the ingredients if they can charge people extra for them. Now that he thinks about it, he does remember seeing a wall of empty jars and vials in the apothecary, with little labels on the shelves below them. Harry had been so impressed with the different ingredients he spotted - unicorn tails, and dragon scales, and eye of newts, and pickled rat brains - that he had ignored the empty jars.
If my ingredients were slowly going bad over the last two years, no wonder my potions were getting worse and worse. It’s a wonder I haven’t created something seriously toxic.
Harry gives himself another thirty seconds to be irritated no one had told him this - not even Snape, who must have realized Harry was using the wrong jars and expired ingredients, if even Dobby could do so with just a glance - before forcing himself to focus on the more positive indication that perhaps much of his failure in potions was due to his ingredients, and not a lack of ability.
Cheered by this thought, Harry throws out all of his old ingredients, and while he’s at it tosses out his potions tools as well. The knives, cutting boards, set of scales, and stirring tool had all been purchased secondhand, and half of them were broken. When summer was over, he’d just stock up his classroom kit with items from the potions lab in the tent.
When his timer buzzes that the potion is done, Harry lowers the flames under the cauldron and allows it to cool slightly before dipping one of his old quills in and swirling it around to make sure it was covered in the potion. Withdrawing it, Harry casts ventus at the feather to dry it and then places it on the ground.
“Dobby, I’m going to cast a fire spell at this quill. The potion should have protected it, but can you be ready to put it out?”
At Dobby’s cheerful acceptance, Harry raises his wand again and aims carefully at the quill, “Incendio!”
The spell leaves Harry’s wand and clearly hits the quill, but other than a little bit of smoke rising, there’s no change to the quill at all - it’s impervious to flame. The potion was successful!
“Master Harry did it! Master Harry being so brilliant at potions!” Dobby cheers. Before Harry has a chance to thank him, Dobby snaps his fingers and the potion decants itself into three empty jars that float out of one of the cupboards. Another snap and Dobby has fixed labels on the jars, denoting the potion name, the date they were made, and listing Harry as the potioneer, before they float across the room to some empty shelves.
Dobby congratulates him again and tells him his work is deserving of a special pudding with lunch, before trotting out of the room into the kitchen where Harry hears him begin to prepare their meal. Smiling at the compliments from the little elf, Harry wonders how much different his potions classes would have been if Harry had been using good ingredients. Maybe Snape wouldn’t have been so awful if Harry’s potions had been better.
No, that’s probably giving him too much credit. He insults me for my dad and my personality more than he does my potions anyways., Harry reminds himself.
Still, now that he’s got better ingredients and a summer to practice, Harry’s going to make it harder for Snape to find excuses to give him detention and point deductions. If Harry can keep his temper under control, and not talk back - even when Snape is being ridiculous - it would just be that much harder for Snape to get away with it. Even if Snape doesn’t change his behavior toward Harry, he thinks he’d get a sick sort of joy out of being the model student in Snape’s class.
With this new goal in mind, Harry smiles to himself as he cleans up the workspace he used to Snape’s - Professor Snape, I guess I should call him, Harry admonishes himself - Professor Snape’s exacting standards before going to collect his broom and telling Dobby he’s going to fly until lunchtime.