Extra 6

Harry carefully handed the weighed Porcupine quills to Cassandra, who was intently watching the liquid in the cauldron gradually turn pale green.

The Dungeon Classroom was filled with the smells of various medicinal herbs, including but not limited to the strange smell of dried nettles, the fishy smell of snake tooth powder, and the indescribable sticky smell of slugs being boiled.

Fortunately, they are all quite young, otherwise this place would be filled with all sorts of unpleasant body odors.

"Very good. Now slowly add the Porcupine quills, and remember to remove the cauldron from the flames." Cassandra's voice remained indifferent, but Harry noticed her gaze never left the cauldron. "Adding it all at once will cause a violent reaction; add it in three batches, five seconds apart."

Harry did as instructed.

As the last Porcupine quills was placed into the liquid, pink smoke rose from the crucible, and the potion turned a beautiful lake blue.

"We did it!" Harry couldn't help but cheer softly.

"Quiet, Potter." Cassandra glared at him, but Harry noticed a barely perceptible upward curve at the corners of her mouth. "Now stir seven times clockwise, three times counterclockwise, then turn off the heat."

Harry picked up the stirring stick and focused intently on each step. When the blue flame beneath the cauldron died down, the potion was in a perfect, textbook state—a clear blue, slightly viscous, and with a faint minty aroma.

"Impressive, Miss Malfoy, Mr. Potter."

Professor Sharpe appeared at their table at some point, bending down to examine the potion in the crucible closely, his nose almost touching it.

"Perfect Itch-Cure Potion. Slytherin gets 10 points, Gryffindor gets 5 points."

Harry could hardly believe his ears.

Gryffindor got extra points! Because of his Potions!

"It's mainly Miss Malfoy's doing, Professor," Harry said honestly.

Cassandra raised her chin as usual, but said nothing.

Professor Sharpe shook his head. "Potions making is a team effort, Mr. Potter. You completed your assigned task precisely, which is commendable. Keep up the good work."

After the professor left, Harry others carefully began to pour the potion into glass bottles.

Just then, a piercing hissing sound and a scream suddenly came from the next table.

It's the group of Natsa Onai and Imelda Leyes.

A foul-smelling, yellowish-green fumes were billowing from their crucibles, and the liquid was bubbling and bursting like boiling lava.

"Back off!" Professor Sharpe shouted, waving his wand and instantly creating a transparent barrier that covered the smoking cauldron.

With a muffled thud, the crucible Implosion the barrier, splattering a viscous yellow liquid everywhere, which was completely blocked by the barrier.

"The Porcupine quills were added too early and not properly crushed," Professor Sharpe said coldly, removing the barrier and cleaning up the mess with Cleaning Charm. "Miss Ernest, Miss Leyes, each write a twelve-inch essay discussing the importance of the order and timing of the addition of the ingredients to the Itch-Cure Potion. Slytherin, five points deducted; Gryffindor, five points deducted."

Natsa and Imelda nodded dejectedly.

Harry couldn't help but feel fortunate to be paired with Cassandra. Although Miss Malfoy had a bad temper, at least her knowledge of Potions was impeccable.

"You did a good job with the shredding." Cassandra spoke suddenly as Harry was tidying up his tools, her voice still calm. "Most freshmen overdo it at this step, resulting in uneven fang powder particles."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Th-thank you, Miss Malfoy."

"I'm just stating the facts," Cassandra, already deftly clearing her tools. "However, your weighing technique needs improvement. Your hand was shaking when you weighed the dried nettles, which affected the accuracy."

"I'll be careful," Harry nodded, but a hint of doubt lingered in his mind.

Why would this high and mighty Miss Malfoy give him pointers?

After the Potions Class, the students walked out of the Dungeon Classroom in groups.

Gareth immediately moved closer to Harry and whispered, "Merlin, you and Malfoy were a team that survived! And you even got extra points! How did you do that?"

"It's mainly Miss Malfoy's doing," Harry said honestly, glancing back at her.

Cassandra was surrounded by several Slytherin students, including the silent boy named Ominis Gaunt and the Saru siblings.

She seemed to say something, and the group laughed.

"She seems to be quite popular in Slytherin," Harry commented.

"She's the Malfoy family's eldest daughter," Gareth shrugged. "Pure-blood families among Pure-blood families. I heard that when his brother was in Slytherin, he even founded an organization—but I've forgotten what it was called."

"But you have to be careful," he continued in a low voice, "My aunt said that the Malfoy family never do anything meaningless."

There must be a reason why she volunteered to be in your group.

Harry pondered Gareth's words, a sense of unease rising within him.

Yes, why would Cassandra Malfoy —the pride of a Pure-blood families and the daughter of the Hogwarts school board member —voluntarily choose to be grouped with him, a "Muggle-born" orphan?

Harry spent the next few days thinking about this question, but he still couldn't find an answer.

After Potions Class, Cassandra reverted to her cold and aloof attitude, not even glancing at him when they met in the hallway, as if they had never worked together.

Harry and Gareth's friendship deepened, and they shared many things, including Harry's experiences at his aunt and uncle's house.

But to Harry's surprise, Gareth became completely astonished after hearing his story.

"Merlin's stinky socks, I dare say, Harry," Gareth said in shock. "Your aunt and uncle are absolutely kind people. Not only did they adopt you, they didn't make you do any hard labor—God knows I had to help drive away Goblin when I was three, and when I was seven, my father even made me sell newspapers in Diagon Alley to supplement the family income—"

Harry:?

Sometimes when I type this question mark, it's not because I have a problem, but because I think you have a problem.

Were you a hundred years ago... uh...

Is this a bit too rough and ready?

But what Harry didn't know was that in this era, his aunt and uncle were practically saints. Keep in mind, back then, chimney sweeps were generally around five years old—

Why don't you let the adults go?

Sorry, older children won't be able to fit through the chimney.

Just Britain; you'll get used to it.

Do you have a child protection law?

Bullshit! You're protecting children? You think you can clean up the men's chimneys? Do you even have the build?

On Saturday afternoon, Harry arrived at the Charms classroom as promised.

Professor Ronan was already there waiting for him. The thick curtains in the classroom were still drawn, and only a few candles provided a dim light source.

I don't know if this is a habit of India, but Harry felt that Professor Ronan might have some unknown hobbies.

Perhaps it's because of his faith? Harry comforted himself.

"Today we'll practice dealing with faster targets."

Professor Ronan said, waving his wand, "And some figures shrouded in black robes appeared in place. Remember, Mr. Potter, the key to the Lumos Charm is not brightness, but concentration. You must use your light like a sword."

Harry took a deep breath and raised his wand. "Lumos!"

A ball of light shone from the tip of the wand, but the black-robed creature easily dodged it.

They swarmed in from all directions, and Harry had to dodge left and right awkwardly while constantly trying to hit them with his light.

"Concentrate!" Professor Ronan's voice came from the darkness. "Don't just wave your wand; aim!"

Harry gritted his teeth, forcing himself to calm down.

He stopped waving his wand haphazardly and instead focused on one target, concentrating all his attention on the tip of his wand, which was "Lumos!"

This time, the light shot out like an arrow, accurately striking a black-robed creature.

It let out a piercing scream and vanished into black smoke.

"Alright!" Professor Ronan raised his voice, a rare occurrence for him, "Continue!"

Over the next half hour, Harry gradually found his rhythm.

While he couldn't eliminate multiple targets with a single blow like Professor Ronan, he could at least protect himself from being hit.

When he put down his wand, exhausted, his robes were soaked with sweat.

"Significant progress, Mr. Potter." Professor Ronan drew back the curtains, letting sunlight stream into the classroom. "Your reaction time and concentration have improved. Continue next Tuesday."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said breathlessly, then suddenly remembered something. "Professor, may I ask you a question?"

Professor Ronan paused for a moment as he organized his lesson plans. "Of course."

"Why did you choose to tutor me individually?" Harry asked, mustering his courage. "I mean, I'm just a Muggle-born freshman, and my Charms skills aren't the best..."

Professor Ronan turned around, his dark eyes scrutinizing Harry intently. "I've tutored many students, Mr. Potter. Pure-blood, Half-blood, Muggle-born. I have only one criterion for choosing students: potential. The adaptability you showed in your first lesson impressed me greatly."

"Adaptability?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Most students unconsciously imitate the professor's gestures and tone of voice when learning a new Charms," Professor Ronan said. "But you are different. After observing, you adjust it to the way that feels most comfortable to you. This is a rare talent, indicating that your magic is an innate instinct, not something learned through imitation."

Harry was stunned; no one had ever described him like that before.

Whether it's magic or studying at Muggle School.

"Of course, this requires proper guidance," Professor Ronan added, "Otherwise, this instinct might just fade into obscurity. Alright, you should go eat something now to replenish your energy."

Harry's mind was in a jumble when he left the classroom.

Instinct? Talent? These words seem completely out of place with him— Harry Potter, the boy who grew up in the cupboard.

On Sunday morning, Harry decided to explore the castle.

Gareth was still fast asleep in bed because he and Randall had played Gobstones too late the night before (and ended up getting sprayed with foul-smelling liquid).

Harry tiptoed out of the dormitory and walked alone in the quiet corridor.

Sunday at Hogwarts is completely different from any other day.

With fewer students bustling about, the ancient castle revealed its tranquil side.

Harry wandered aimlessly, admiring the portraits lining the corridor.

Some of the figures in the portraits were still asleep, snoring; others had already woken up, curiously observing him, the first-year student walking alone.

Before he knew it, Harry had arrived at a huge oak door.

The door was ajar, and a faint scent of books and old Parchment wafted from inside.

He hesitated for a moment, then pushed open the door and went inside.

It's a library.

The Hogwarts library was even more magnificent Harry had imagined.

High ceilings, countless bookshelves arranged in maze-like corridors, thousands upon thousands of books piled from floor to ceiling.

The morning sunlight slanted in through the tall windows, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air.

In a corner deep inside the library, Harry discovered a small reading area with several tables placed by the window.

To his surprise, someone was already there.

It's Cassandra Malfoy.

She sat by the window, a thick, ancient book open in front of her, with three or four other books piled up beside her.

The sunlight shone on her long, pale golden hair, making her seem to glow.

Her expression was focused and calm, a stark contrast to her usual arrogant demeanor.

Harry intended to slip away quietly, but he accidentally kicked the base of a bookshelf, making a slight noise.

Cassandra immediately looked up, her eyes sharp as she looked toward the source of the sound.

When she saw Harry, her eyebrows rose slightly.

"Potter." Her voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet library, "Seven o'clock on a Sunday morning? That's surprising—"

99

Harry stood there awkwardly. "I was just—uh, just taking a walk. Sorry to bother you, Miss Malfoy, I'll be going now."

"Wait." Cassandra closed her book and looked him over. "Since you're here, don't leave. I'm researching something, and perhaps you can offer a different perspective."

This was completely unexpected for Harry. He hesitated for a moment, then walked over and sat down in the chair opposite Cassandra.

"What are you studying?" Harry asked curiously.

"The history of the Founders of Hogwarts," Cassandra said without looking up, "Especially Salazar Slytherin and the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry remembered the Sorting Hat's words—that Slytherin could help him achieve great things.

He shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind.

"The Chamber of Secrets of Secrets?" Harry asked. "What's that?"

"An ancient legend says that Slytherin built a secret room at Hogwarts, which only his true heir can open." Cassandra's fingers tapped lightly on the pages. "It is said that a monster is imprisoned inside, and it can be used to Purification the school, to purge those whom Slytherin deems unworthy to learn magic."

Harry felt a chill. "Unworthy of learning magic?"

(Let me write a side story first to warm things up; it might even serve as an "what if" scenario for Cassandra.)