Ron and Hermione had no idea how to talk Harry out of it.
Going blind, getting disfigured, changing gender...
None of those sounded good.
Hagrid also seemed at a loss for words. Apparently, he thought Snape might actually do something like that.
"Hagrid, could I trouble you with a favor?" Harry hadn't taken it too seriously. He had finally finished examining everything in the room that gave off a magical aura, and a faint smile spread across his face. Rubbing his hands together, he sat down.
Hagrid nodded readily. "Of course. As long as you don't ask me any more questions about your parents, anything else is fine."
"I'd like to borrow some of your supplies to brew a... um... a potion." Harry gestured as he gave a rough explanation. "It's nothing dangerous."
"I'll pay you fairly."
Hagrid waved his hands. "No need. I picked all that stuff up in the Forbidden Forest, so help yourself."
Ron looked envious. "You picked all of this up in the Forbidden Forest? That's brilliant. I mean, if possible, I'd love to be a Keeper of Keys someday too."
Harry took him at his word and didn't hold back at all.
He got right up and started rummaging around the hut.
Grease... that was the most important ingredient.
He went into the kitchen, picked through the supplies, and came back carrying two big jars—dog fat and bear fat.
"Harry, I use those for cooking." Hagrid's eyes bulged like light bulbs.
Harry gently set them down. "Don't worry. I won't use too much."
"All right. What potion are you brewing?" Hagrid asked, puzzled. He had at least made it to third year at Hogwarts, but he'd never heard of a potion that needed grease. "Professor Snape never asked me for any of this, either."
"A special kind of potion." Harry set up the cauldron as he explained. "You apply it to a sword to increase its power."
The Sorting Hat shuddered and cried out, "Kid, what strange stuff are you going to smear on the Sword of Gryffindor?"
"It's not strange stuff. It's Blade Oil," Harry retorted.
The Sorting Hat paused, then muttered, "Blade Oil?"
"I know about that. Before Gryffindor had this sword, he often used Blade Oil to maintain his swords."
"All right, you really do love that sword."
"But it's a magical object forged by Goblins. It doesn't need maintenance. It can withstand the passage of time, and it's at its sharpest every second of every day."
"I know, but Blade Oil does more than just maintain a sword." Harry shook his head.
The Sorting Hat reluctantly agreed. "Fine, you can do that, but you have to promise me something."
"After you apply Blade Oil to the Sword of Gryffindor, you have to clean it before putting it back. Don't get me dirty."
Harry stared at the Hat. "You're much dirtier than the Blade Oil."
"No, I'm not dirty!" the Sorting Hat declared loudly and indignantly. "Those are traces of time left on me. I'm a clean, but ancient, hat."
Harry sighed and humored it. "Yes, yes."
The biggest difference between the herbs in the two worlds lay in the magical ones. Most herbs without a magical aura weren't all that different.
And the most basic Blade Oil didn't need many complicated ingredients.
Ordinary herbs and grease were enough to brew it.
He would definitely visit the Forbidden Forest someday.
It was a natural treasure trove, and no Witcher could resist its allure. Back when he'd gathered ingredients for potions and Blade Oil, Harry had carefully checked for herbs along every path he walked, plucking a handful whenever he found some.
For oil against beasts, animal fat was essential.
It needed dog fat and wolf liver...
Unfortunately, Hagrid's Hut had no wolf liver. Come to think of it... would dog liver work? Harry stroked his chin and glanced sideways at Fang, who was happily bounding around beside him.
Animals had incredibly keen senses. Fang immediately froze, whined, and hid behind Hagrid.
Hagrid patted Fang's head, puzzled. What was wrong with him?
No.
Fang was Hagrid's pet.
Harry sighed in disappointment.
What about Hangman's Venom, for humans? Better to have some on hand, just in case.
One part dog fat, four parts flea wort...
As for Ogroid Oil, which targeted man-eating humanoids—at the thought, Harry glanced at Hagrid. He had always suspected Hagrid was a Half-blood creature, half human and half Giant, troll, or Troll.
Hagrid shuddered. "Harry, what's wrong?"
"Hagrid, could I ask you to bring me some wolf liver from the Forbidden Forest next time?" Harry casually made up an excuse.
"Wolf liver?" Hagrid muttered. "That stuff doesn't taste good."
Harry lit the fire and began heating the cauldron. "It's not for eating. It's for brewing a potion."
"Then I'll trade with the Centaur Tribe next time and get some for you." Hagrid nodded.
The Forbidden Forest wasn't made up entirely of magical creatures. It also had ordinary animals at the very bottom of the food chain, like bears, wolves, wild rabbits, and forest sheep. They usually served as food.
Harry focused on brewing the Blade Oil.
Ron and Hermione tried to figure out how to bite off a piece of Rock Cake, while chatting with Hagrid about life at Hogwarts and... that unpleasant Malfoy.
They also talked about things beyond Hogwarts.
Who would be bold enough to rob Gringotts? And how had the robber managed to escape?
Hagrid was relieved that he had gone to Gringotts that day to do something for Mr. Dumbledore. Luckily, he'd gone earlier and hadn't run into the vicious criminal.
Harry wasn't interested.
He was still young and had no reputation to speak of. It wasn't as if Gringotts would show up with a big pile of Galleons and ask an utterly unremarkable little wizard like him to investigate a robbery.
By dinnertime,
Ron and Hermione had finally had enough and dragged the reluctant Harry away from Hagrid's Hut.
They'd had an extremely productive day.
Ron came away with a handful of Rock Cakes, Hermione with a head full of bumps, and Harry with seven bottles of Blade Oil. He decided then and there that he'd have to visit Hagrid's Hut regularly. Hagrid was a friend worth keeping.
But there weren't many opportunities like this.
First-year classes weren't too demanding, but the new systems of magic and Potions fascinated Harry too much.
He spent the weekends pestering several professors with questions. Snape was the one exception—not because Harry didn't want to ask him questions, but because Snape flat-out refused to see him.
Every time, Harry could only wait until Potions Class ended and squeeze in a few questions before Snape blew his top.
It made Ron's heart pound with anxiety.
The ruby counter for Gryffindor felt anxious too.
From Monday to Thursday, the rubies climbed nicely. Come Friday, they plunged in a spectacular crash. At first, the Little Lions had trouble getting used to it, but before long, they were hoping even more rubies would be lost.
The great heir to the Lion King had challenged the old Snake King of Slytherin once again!
The more points he lost, the angrier Snape clearly was.
The Gryffindors had a healthy outlook: they might be losing points, but it was their Head of House who was suffering.
During the first few weeks,
the Little Lions had studied diligently under Harry's lead, but as time went on, their true nature began to show.
Playing around and having fun—that was what they really wanted.
Only Harry and Hermione were the odd ones out, heading to the library at the same time every day.
Just as Ron had said on the train, he'd have to rely on Harry to help him with his homework—and that was exactly what he did.
Harry didn't mind.
After finishing his own homework, he would casually toss it into the common room for everyone to read.
Hermione gritted her teeth. "Harry, you can't keep spoiling them like this!"
"They have to do it themselves."
The other Little Lions buried their heads, pretending they couldn't hear. Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again, mumbling something under his breath.
But before long,
another piece of news eased the unpleasantness Hermione had brought with her.
Flying Class was about to begin. After copying Harry's homework, the young wizards eagerly started discussing it.
Harry was excited too.
He had a hard time dealing with flying monsters like Griffins, Pterosaurs, and Sirens. Compared to his Signs and swordsmanship, he wasn't very good with a crossbow.
He wished he could fly himself, even if it meant riding a broom.
The only downside to Flying Class was that he'd have to take it with Slytherin.
Thursday afternoon.
The long-awaited Flying Class finally began. Harry hadn't even asked many questions before Ron pleaded with him to hurry, and they rushed to the Quidditch Pitch.
Professor Hooch was a very dashing woman, but she taught with great care. Perhaps it was because she'd witnessed many classroom accidents in the past, or perhaps it was because the Little Lions and Little Snakes were taking the class together.
But...
When an accident was coming, nobody could stop it.
Gryffindor had two major troublemakers in class.
One was Seamus. Trouble usually struck in Charms and Transfiguration. Spells that were harmless in anyone else's hands always ended in explosions when he cast them.
The other was Neville. His trouble usually came in Potions Class. Fortunately, Harry was always there to bail him out, and the worst that happened was a failed potion.
And now...
Neville was in trouble again.
He shot up into the air, then fell heavily. Professor Hooch had no choice but to leave the young wizards there and take Neville, now a patient, to the Hospital Wing.
"Look at that big oaf!" As soon as Professor Hooch left, Malfoy eagerly started mocking him. "He's exactly the sort of stupid, clumsy Troll our Head of House was talking about."
"I can't believe a wizard would fall off a broom."
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Parvati frowned and snapped at him.
Pansy sneered. "Oh, someone actually wants to defend Longbottom? Have you fallen for that stupid, chubby little crybaby?"
Malfoy's eyes suddenly lit up. He strode over to where Neville had fallen, picked something up, and held it high as he called to Harry, "Potter, look. What's this?"
"Your clumsy little sidekick's stuff."
"A Remembrall."
"Oh, with a brain like his, he really does need something only old people use."
He looked defiant, his eyebrows raised.
"First, Neville isn't my sidekick." Harry's face was expressionless. "Second, I think... you'd better put his things down, Malfoy."
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