Harry pulled a sandwich out of his bag and took a big bite. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was tired. And satisfied. Training with Hermione and Ron had been, to be honest, fantastic. A completely different vibe compared to when he trained alone. The big green turtleneck he had on today; the one Hermione said matched his eyes perfectly, was a little soaked with sweat since he hadn't really had time to change. But it didn't smell, so he figured it was fine and made his way toward the library. Even though he had been chosen as a Triwizard Champion, his other projects hadn't been forgotten. If anything, the "Super Potion" for Snape was starting to gain momentum. As he passed a few younger students who looked at him with wide eyes, he headed down the stairs to the quiet floor where the library was.
Harry realized that somehow two whole months of school had already passed. It was the first of November, and the time had just… gone. What was even weirder was that it had gone by without Quidditch. Normally that was his way to check out, to clear his head. And now, apparently, that job had been taken over by… studying. Well, it is what it is. But the more he thought about it, the more it felt like something in him had changed. Not recently, more like back during the Trial. The Merlin thing.
What is taken cannot be replaced. What is left must be enough.
Existential dread could wait. Right now, he had a half-broken potion draft to untangle.
Harry dropped into his usual spot by the window, pulled his bag open, and started unpacking. Notes, a half-folded piece of parchment, one of the library books Daphne told him to check out, and the mess he was calling a recipe draft. He flattened it out with his hand and stared at it for a second. Last Sunday they'd tested dragon's blood in a clean base. That had been a good day. Now they had to see what dragon's blood did in a toxic base, which was a whole different thing. It needed to be unstable, unpredictable. They couldn't even start brewing until they had a proper recipe for it.
He looked down at the draft and tried not to cringe. At the top, in slightly crooked handwriting:
Toxic Base – Prototype A
Do not brew without Daphne looking at this first.
Start with 250ml distilled water (room temp).Add 3 crushed valerian roots, stir clockwise 7 times.Heat slowly until steam rises. No bubbling.Add 1 pinch boomslang skin ash. Stir twice, then wait 30 seconds. Add chopped knotgrass. Still unsure,might react badly with fluxweed.Lower heat. Add 1 strand fluxweed while stirring counterclockwise.Optional: 1 drop sage oil? (Stability? Ask Daphne.)Simmer for two minutes. Watch for discoloration. Purple = bad.Cool slightly before adding any stimulant (dragon's blood not included yet).
At the bottom, he'd scribbled, "Try different order? Or cut knotgrass entirely?" followed by a very honest: "this is bad."
He exhaled through his nose and tapped the quill against his chin.
He stared at the word "toxic" for a while like it was supposed to explain itself. Toxic how? Biologically? Magically? Emotionally? He snorted at that one, then scratched his head and flipped open the book Daphne told him to check out. Nothing. No actual definition, just references to toxic reactions and stabilization patterns, like whoever wrote it assumed you already knew what a toxic base was. He checked his notes from class. Still nothing. Flipped through Magical Infusion Theory again. Page after page of diagrams and advanced reactions, but no entry-level explanation. What made something "toxic" in a magical brew? Was it about spell damage? Residual curse energy? How the ingredients interacted with the body? He rubbed his eyes, frustrated. He didn't need a whole lecture, he just needed a starting point. After a minute of swearing under his breath, he shoved the book aside and stood up.
He found it on the lower shelf, wedged between two books. Foundational Potioncraft: Structure, Base, and Reaction. Exactly what he needed. He pulled it out, flipped it open, and spotted "toxic bases" right there in the index. Page forty-two. Finally. He turned to head back to his table, and that's when he heard it.
"…Potter still thinks he's…"
He narrowed his eyes and stepped further into the rows, trying to catch the rest.
"…got into the Tournament in the most blatantly unfair way, bloody Potter…"
"I feel bad for Cedric, honestly. Got robbed of his moment."
"Oi! Guys, check this out! Malfoy's idea."
Harry stood there, listening with a blank look on his face. He didn't need to see them to recognize the voices: Flint, Warrington. Both from the Slytherin Quidditch team. But what were they on about now? He moved a little closer and leaned out from behind the shelf.
Warrington and Flint were there along with two other guys Harry didn't recognize probably sixth or seventh years, all of them packed in close around the table. They were passing around these round, shiny badges, gold at first, each one reading SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY in neat block letters. Harmless enough. But then one of them tapped his with a finger, and the letters changed into POTTER STINKS. That's what got the laughs. Another tapped his, then another. All of them flipping their badges back and forth, Cedric to Potter, Cedric to Potter.
"Bet he begged Dumbledore for it," one of them said. "Little orphan hero gets a prize for surviving again." "Maybe he cried about his dead mum and they just handed him a slot," someone else added, and the others howled. Flint was leaning back in his chair, badge flashing red as he spoke. "Only thing he's good at is not dying. Should put that on a plaque." "He'll probably choke in the first task anyway," Warrington said.
Harry shook his head and turned back toward his table. No use standing there. He took a few deep breaths as he walked, trying to pull his focus back to the book in his hand, the reason he came here in the first place. Still, as he dropped into his chair and opened it to page forty-two, he muttered under his breath, "Morons." He grabbed his quill and forced himself to focus.
A toxic base is a magically unstable foundation used in advanced potionwork to simulate hostile internal environments, particularly those associated with long-term spell damage, exposure to cursed or malignant magical artifacts, and failed magical restoration. Toxic bases are characterized by reactive instability, temporal volatility, and a high likelihood of sympathetic magic backlash. They are not designed for ingestion, but rather to test the viability of stabilizing agents within corrupted magical conditions.
Harry read the definition again, then leaned over his notes. Reactive instability. Temporal volatility. All of it sounded horrible. Which probably meant it was exactly what they needed. He tapped his quill once against the page, then started writing.
Toxic Base – Prototype B
He scratched out the old distilled water. Replaced it with magically active saline something with a bit of flux to it, unstable enough to start reacting even before any ingredients hit it. Then came the structure: belladonna for baseline toxicity, obscura root for magical distortion, whispervine sap for sympathetic resonance. That last one made him hesitate. It was hard to source and worse to stabilize, but Daphne had mentioned it once, and the book confirmed it was one of the few ingredients that could mimic long-term spell trauma. Fluxweed went in late, right before the tipping point to spike volatility without collapsing the brew entirely. Aconite stayed on the "maybe" list. Too dangerous unless diluted just right, and he didn't trust himself to get the measurements right without blowing something up.
He underlined "temporal volatility" twice and made a note to ask Daphne how to fake time-based instability because he had no clue. Another question: how long should it hold before they added the dragon blood? Ten seconds? A minute? Did it matter more how long it held or how it reacted when the blood hit?
He didn't know. But it was a start. A shaky, uneven, probably-needs-to-be-fixed-by-someone-smarter start.
Harry walked in right on time. Daphne was already there, sitting at their table with her notes spread out and a fresh pot of something steaming next to her. She didn't say anything when she saw him, just gave him a long look, then went back to whatever she was writing. It was the first time they'd seen each other since the champions were picked.
Uhhh. She was mad. Harry could tell.
"So, are you still in, or should I be finding a new partner?"
Harry glanced up and met her eyes. He gave her a small, lopsided smile.
"Of course I'm still in."
She raised an eyebrow. "And the Tournament? Didn't know you had a thing for fame. Are you an idiot, or what?"
He exhaled, pulling out his notes. "Maybe. Wanna work on the toxic base while I explain?"
Daphne shrugged, but it wasn't convincing. "If that's how you want it," she said, quieter than before.
Harry set the crucible on the stand, pretending not to hear the edge in her voice.
"Wait, are you seriously pairing aconite with fluxweed?"
"Not directly," Harry answered. "It's staggered. I think it'll hold."
Still adjusting the crucible, Harry realized Daphne had gone quiet. He glanced over and paused when he saw her sitting completely still. She was trembling. Just a little, but enough that he noticed.
"Hey, everythi…"
"They're really making you do it?" she interrupted.
Her expression wasn't annoyed anymore. It was worried. Actually worried.
Harry set down the vial he was holding and walked closer.
"Yeah. Dumbledore said it's a magical binding. Goblet made it official. If I refuse, I lose my magic. And for the record, I didn't put my name in. I didn't even want to be in the damn thing."
She just kept looking at him. "You weren't at the feast that night," she said. "I looked for you."
He rubbed the side of his face, unsure how to explain.
"Halloween's not really a celebration for me. Most people treat it like a holiday. The end of the war. The day You-Know-Who disappeared."
He paused.
"For me, it's the night I lost my family. And this year… I don't know. Everything's been changing so fast, I guess I just… realized I never really said goodbye. So while everyone was watching the Goblet, I was at the cemetery. With them."
She stood up so fast he barely registered it before her arms were around him.
Harry froze. Arms half-up, completely unsure what the hell was happening. She pressed her face against his jumper and held on.
The wetness soaking through the front of his shirt.
She was crying.
"Uh," he managed. "Are you… are you okay?"
He slowly lifted a hand and hovered it awkwardly in the air before it landed on her back.
She pulled back. Her eyes were red, her cheeks streaked. She looked at him like it was his fault.
"I hate you."
"What?" Harry blinked.
"You always make me cry," she snapped, wiping at her face.
"I didn't do anything!" he said, completely baffled.
"We had a whole discussion about this, remember? I don't like not knowing where you are!"
Harry just stared at her. "Daphne, I went to a cemetery. I wasn't exactly off partying."
"I know that," she shot back. "That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
She sighed, frustrated. "The point is… You matter. This thing matters. And I'm not good at…" She waved her hand vaguely between them, like the words refused to come out. "This. People stuff."
Harry looked at her for a long second.
"I didn't mean to worry you."
"Well you did."
"I'm sorry."
She didn't say anything. Just leaned against the edge of the table, arms still folded, blinking fast like she was trying to pull herself back together. Harry watched her and finally decided he needed to say something.
"Look, I'm still here. We're still doing this. You're not getting rid of me just because I got thrown into a stupid tournament."
Daphne wiped her face one last time and let out a sharp breath. "Sorry."
"For what?"
"For losing it. I just… whatever."
He didn't push. Just nodded. "Okay."
She stepped back toward the table, grabbed the parchment, and looked at it. "This is a mess."
"I know," Harry said. "That's why I brought it to you."
She shot him a dry look, but her voice was softer now. "Whispervine? Really?"
"It was either that or powdered banshee tooth. Thought you'd appreciate the less cursed option."
She scanned the parchment again, tapping her quill. "We'll start with the whispervine, but I want to buffer it this time."
Harry pulled the pestle from the drawer and set it between them. "You alright now?"
She didn't look at him. "I'm fine."
They worked in silence for a bit. Belladonna was weighed. Obscura root quartered. Fluxweed sorted and set aside.
After a minute, Daphne said, "You're still in, right? For the potion. All of it."
Harry glanced at her. "Yeah. I'm in."
"Good," she said. "Because I'm not doing this with anyone else."
He gave a short nod. "Same."
Daphne adjusted the brass dial beneath the cauldron, setting the flame to Level Two steady, sub-boil heat. Ideal for initial infusion.
"Begin with whispervine sap. Eight milliliters. No more."
Harry uncorked the vial, noting the resin's viscosity slightly more congealed than last week's sample. He tilted it against the light.
"It's thick. Might oxidize too fast."
"Drizzle method," she replied. "Stir on contact. Silver rod only."
He nodded, swapped his wand for the polished silver stirrer, and began the slow pour, counting internally. One. Two. Three. At five, the surface tension broke. The sap hit the solution with a soft hiss. He stirred in a tight figure-eight pattern, clockwise-heavy to prevent base destabilization.
The mixture changed, dull ochre to pale green. Still within expected margins.
"Color's holding," he said.
Daphne finally glanced up. "Good. Add belladonna. Pre-ground. One gram sharp."
Harry measured it with a flat blade, leveled the heap precisely, and tapped it into the cauldron. The reaction was immediate: a faint shimmer passed over the surface.
"Pulse reaction," she noted, scribbling on the margin of his draft. "No spiking."
"Means it's tolerating the toxicity," Harry muttered. "Saline base was the right call."
"Next is obscura root. Quartered, not minced. Volatility curve's steeper that way."
"Right," Harry said. "Fewer active planes to bind."
Daphne uncapped the fluxweed jar. The strands had been prepped into fine, uniform threads clean enough to pass for silkskein.
"Introduce one strand at a time. Three rotations, counterclockwise. Magnus will regulate."
The crucible's array of etched runes had already read the viscosity change and compensated with a minor output shift, recalibrating heat and convection flow. Harry used precision tweezers to dip the first strand in mid-stir, maintaining circular momentum without surface disruption. Color shift: pale green to bronze. No foaming. No pulse flare.
"Second," Daphne said, eyes on the hovering thermal glyphs projected just above the cauldron lip.
Harry waited for the convection lapse. Five seconds. Second strand entered clean. The flux binding rate held steady, shimmer around the meniscus confirming stable absorption curve.
"Third," she said. "Then two drops of saline binder. No more than two seconds apart."
The surface resisted briefly, then cleared. He administered both drops timed to the Magnus' pulse interval. A ripple moved across the potion, distortion pattern consistent with high-reactive energy buildup, but the crucible's output self-corrected within margin.
Daphne leaned in. "This is where it breaks. One microdose of dragon's blood. On my mark."
Harry uncorked the vial. "Say when."
They looked at each other.
"Now."
The second the dragon's blood hit the surface, the potion flared violet around the edges, then dropped back to bronze, thicker now. Harry held his breath, eyes fixed on the swirl. It wasn't bubbling. The color wasn't breaking. A soft steam rose in the middle. He counted four turns of the stir before it started to smooth out.
Daphne leaned closer, one hand braced on the table. "It's stabilizing," she muttered. The bronze had settled into something darker, almost metallic. It caught the light weirdly. "We need to test the edge response," she said, reaching for the obsidian probe. "If it holds against spell contact, we move to phase two."
Daphne dipped the obsidian probe into the center of the potion. Harry watched the tip disappear beneath the surface, the ripple it left behind slow and even. His eyes darted to the edges of the cauldron, checking for any sign of backlash, but the mixture held. No flare, no shimmer, just a clean wave that passed and faded.
She kept the probe in place, counting under her breath. When she finally pulled it out, the glass shaft was stained bronze with a faint violet sheen near the tip. Harry leaned in to check. That color balance was exactly what they wanted. He glanced at her and saw her nod just once. That was their green light. First stage was stable.
Harry moved to the side counter and grabbed the second binder. This one was thinner, with a slower activation rate meant to stretch the reaction long enough for the next set of compounds to take hold. He uncorked it, held it over the brew, and waited. Daphne checked the time, then gave a small nod. He released one drop, then another. The mixture pulsed once and settled.
"Technically, we're supposed to wait for cooldown before the catalyst layer," Daphne said. "But if we let it drop too far, we risk losing momentum." Harry frowned, already knowing where this was going. "You want to stack the stimulant tier without the buffer pass?" She gave a short nod, biting her lip. "We either push it now or start over tomorrow." Harry looked at the cauldron, then back at her, and shrugged. "Let's push it."
Daphne tipped in the catalyst. The reaction was instant and wrong. A sharp crack split the surface, violet veins flaring through the bronze like lightning under glass. The potion surged, lifting too high, too fast. Harry jolted back and grabbed Daphne by the hip, pulling her behind him on reflex. Before either of them could reach for their wands, the Magnus Crucible roared to life. The runes along the base ignited all at once, flaring gold, and a wave of stabilizing magic burst from the rim. It hit the brew like a shock collar the potion slammed back into control, surface sealing with a hiss, but the force of the pulse left Harry and Daphne both frozen, wide-eyed, ears ringing.
"What the hell was that?" Daphne didn't answer right away. She pushed hair out of her face, eyes moving back to the still-glowing runes.
"I think it… corrected us?"
Harry let out a breath and leaned forward, watching the surface of the potion settle into a slow, steady swirl. "Alright. So… we nearly blew it, and the cauldron saved our arses." Daphne gave a short, breathy laugh. "Worth every bloody Galleon."