Malfoy: I'm Extremely Excited (Seeking Monthly Votes, Seeking Follow-up Reads)

Ron and Hermione were at a loss as to how to dissuade Harry.

Blindness, disfigurement, a change in gender...

These were definitely not good things.

Hagrid also hesitated, his expression suggesting he too believed Snape was capable of such things.

"Hagrid, may I ask a favor?" Harry didn't take it to heart. He had finally finished examining everything in the room that radiated magical energy, a faint look of joy on his face as he rubbed his hands together and sat down.

Hagrid nodded readily: "Of course, as long as it's not asking about your parents again, anything is fine."

"I want to borrow some of your materials to brew a... well... a potion." Harry waved his hand, describing it simply, "It's harmless."

"I will provide you with appropriate compensation."

Hagrid waved his hands repeatedly: "No need, I just picked those things up in the Forbidden Forest, feel free to use them."

Ron looked envious: "These were all picked up in the Forbidden Forest? That's great. I mean, if possible, I hope I can be a gamekeeper in the future too."

Harry took him seriously and didn't stand on ceremony at all.

He stood up immediately and began scavenging around the room.

Grease... that was the most important thing.

He walked to the kitchen, picked and chose, and brought out two large jars—dog fat and bear lard.

"Harry, that's what I use for cooking." Hagrid's eyes widened like lightbulbs.

Harry set them down gently: "Don't worry, I won't use too much."

"Alright, what kind of potion are you brewing?" Hagrid grew suspicious. He had at least finished his third year at Hogwarts, yet he had never heard of a potion that required grease, "Professor Snape has never asked me for these things either."

"A special potion." Harry explained while setting up a cauldron, "Applied to a sword, it can amplify the weapon's power."

The Sorting Hat shivered and shouted: "Kid, what kind of weird stuff are you planning to smear on the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"It's not weird stuff, it's blade oil." Harry retorted.

The Sorting Hat paused, muttering: "Blade oil?"

"I know that stuff. Before Gryffindor even had this sword, the swords he used often required blade oil for maintenance."

"Fine, you really do love that sword."

"But it is a magical object forged by goblins; it doesn't need maintenance. It can withstand the passage of time. Every minute, every second, it remains in its sharpest state."

"I know, but blade oil serves more than just a maintenance purpose." Harry shook his head.

The Sorting Hat reluctantly agreed: "Fine, you can do it, but you must promise me."

"After you use the blade oil on the Sword of Gryffindor, you must clean it thoroughly before sheathing it back. Don't get me dirty."

Harry paused and looked at the hat: "You're much dirtier than the blade oil."

"No, this isn't dirt!" The Sorting Hat insisted, super loudly, "These are the marks left by time upon me. I am a clean but ancient hat."

Harry sighed and gave a perfunctory response: "Yes, yes, yes."

The biggest difference between the herbs of the two worlds lay in those magical ones—while most herbs without magical auras were not much different.

And the most basic blade oil didn't require too many complex materials.

Ordinary herbs and grease were enough to brew it.

He would definitely have to go to the Forbidden Forest later.

It was a natural treasure trove, and no Witcher could resist the temptation of such a place—back then, in order to collect materials for potions and blade oils, Harry would carefully check the surroundings for any herbs while walking, plucking a handful whenever he could.

Blade oil for beasts: beast oil was essential.

It required dog fat and wolf liver...

It was a pity there was no wolf liver in Hagrid's hut. Come to think of it... was dog liver useful? Harry stroked his chin, glancing sideways at Fang, who was frolicking beside him.

Animals had extremely keen senses; Fang immediately froze, let out a whimper, and hid behind Hagrid.

Hagrid patted Fang's head, feeling a bit confused. What was wrong with him?

No.

This was Hagrid's pet.

Harry sighed in disappointment.

What about Hangman's Venom for humans? Just in case, he should prepare some.

One part dog fat, four parts mouse-ear...

As for Ogroid Oil for man-eating humanoids, Harry glanced at Hagrid—he had always suspected Hagrid was a half-breed, half-human and half-giant, troll, or ogre.

Hagrid shivered: "Harry, what's wrong?"

"Hagrid, could you please help me bring back a few wolf livers from the Forbidden Forest next time?" Harry casually made up an excuse.

"Wolf liver?" Hagrid muttered, "That stuff doesn't taste good."

Harry lit a flame and began heating the cauldron: "That isn't for eating; it's for brewing potions."

"Then I'll trade for some for you next time I deal with the centaur herd," Hagrid nodded in agreement.

The Forbidden Forest wasn't entirely filled with magical creatures; there were also ordinary animals at the very bottom of the food chain, like bears, wolves, hares, and forest sheep—they usually existed simply as food.

Harry focused on brewing the Blade Oil.

Ron and Hermione were trying to figure out how to bite off a piece of a Rock Cake, chatting with Hagrid about life at Hogwarts and... that annoying Malfoy.

There were also topics beyond Hogwarts.

Like who would have the guts to rob Gringotts, and how they had actually managed to escape.

Hagrid felt fortunate that he had also been at Gringotts that day on business for Dumbledore; luckily, he had been there a step earlier and hadn't run into that heinous criminal.

Harry didn't care about that.

He was still young and had no fame—Gringotts certainly wouldn't be handing over a pile of gold Galleons to ask a plain, unremarkable little wizard like him to investigate a theft.

It lasted until dinner.

Ron and Hermione finally couldn't take it anymore and dragged a still-eager Harry away from Hagrid's hut.

Today's harvest was extremely rich.

Ron gained a handful of Rock Cakes, Hermione gained a bump on her head, and Harry had successfully brewed seven bottles of Blade Oil. He made up his mind that he must visit Hagrid's hut often; he had definitely made a friend.

But such opportunities were rare.

The first-year curriculum wasn't too heavy, but the brand-new magic system and potion system held too much appeal for Harry.

He would even chase down professors on weekends to ask questions—Snape was the only exception. It wasn't that Harry didn't want to ask him questions; it was that Snape didn't want to see him at all.

Every time, Harry could only seize the moment when Potions class ended, rushing to ask a few questions before Snape could fly into a rage.

It left Ron terrified.

The Gryffindor house-point hourglasses were also terrified.

From Monday to Thursday, the points would climb beautifully, only to crash and burn on Friday. At first, the little lions weren't quite used to it, but later on, they actually wished they could lose even more points.

The great lion prince had once again provoked that old snake king of Slytherin!

The more points deducted, the more it proved how angry he was.

The Gryffindors had a great mindset: even though we're losing points, it's your Head of House who's suffering.

In the first few weeks.

The little lions had been diligent and hardworking under Harry's leadership, but as time went on, their true natures were exposed.

Playing around and games were what they truly pursued.

Only Harry and Hermione were like outliers, going to the library punctually every single day.

Just as Ron had said on the train, his future homework would have to rely on Harry's help—and he had indeed done exactly that.

Harry didn't mind.

After finishing his own work, he would carelessly toss it into the common room for them to pass around.

Hermione gritted her teeth: "Harry, you can't keep spoiling them like this!"

"They need to write it themselves."

The other little lions kept their heads down, pretending not to hear. Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again, muttering something unintelligible.

But soon.

Another piece of news diluted the unpleasantness brought by Hermione.

Flying lessons were about to begin, and after copying Harry's homework, the little wizards began to discuss it eagerly.

Harry was also very interested.

He found it a massive headache to deal with flying monsters like Griffins, Pterosaurs, or Sirens. Compared to his Sign and swordsmanship abilities, his crossbow skills weren't very good.

He wished so much that he could fly, even if it was just on a broomstick.

If there was one drawback to flying lessons, it was that they had to be with Slytherin.

Thursday afternoon.

The highly anticipated flying lesson finally began. Before Harry could ask many questions, he was begged by Ron and couldn't wait to get to the Quidditch Pitch.

Professor Hooch was a very dashing woman, but her teaching was meticulous, perhaps because she had seen many classroom accidents, or perhaps because the little lions and little snakes were attending class together.

But...

When an accident is meant to happen, no one can stop it.

There were two big troublemakers in the Gryffindor class.

One was Seamus, whose problems always arose in Charms and Transfiguration. Spells that were perfectly harmless in anyone else's hands always ended in an explosion when he cast them.

The other was Neville, whose problems always arose in Potions. Fortunately, Harry was always there to cover for him, so at worst, the potion would just be a failure.

And now...

Neville was in trouble again.

He had taken flight, only to plummet heavily to the ground, forcing Professor Hooch to leave the group of young wizards behind and escort the injured Neville to the hospital wing.

"Look at that big oaf!" No sooner had Professor Hooch departed than Malfoy couldn't wait to mock him, "He's exactly the kind of dim-witted, clumsy troll the Head of House described."

"To think a wizard could actually fall off a broomstick."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Parvati frowned and snapped at him.

Pansy sneered, "Oh, look at that, someone is actually defending Longbottom. Have you taken a fancy to that dim-witted, chubby little crybaby?"

Malfoy's eyes suddenly lit up; he lunged toward the spot where Neville had fallen, snatched up an object, held it high, and shouted at Harry, "Potter, look, what's this?"

"It's your stupid little sidekick's toy."

"A Remembrall."

"Oh, his brain certainly needs something that only old people use."

He wore a provocative expression, his eyebrows arched high.

"First of all, Neville is not my sidekick," Harry said, his face expressionless, "Secondly, I think... you'd better put his things down, Malfoy."