Harry Potter: Forging the Flame

Hagrid's hut loomed ahead, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. The Gryffindors lingered awkwardly near the paddock, their chatter fading as they scanned the grounds.

"Where's Hagrid?" Ron asked, craning his neck toward the forest. "You don't think something… ate him, do you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly, Ron."

Before anyone could reply, a low tremor rippled through the earth, making a few students stumble. Harry turned just in time to spot Hagrid emerging from the trees, dragging a hulking wooden crate behind him. The thing rattled ominously, every step shaking loose a metallic clank from its unseen contents.

"Sorry I'm late!"

His cheeks were red from exertion, but his grin was as wide as ever.

"Got a bit held up in the forest, yeh see."

The crate hit the ground with a loud thud, and a collective step back rippled through the group. Whatever was inside growled—a deep, unsettling sound that made Dean Thomas shift uneasily.

"What's in there?" He asked

Hagrid's face lit up. "Somethin' special, that's what! Been workin' on this all summer. Wait till yeh see."

Harry shot Hermione and Ron a cautious glance. The last time Hagrid had brought out something "special," they'd ended up dodging a nest of angry Bowtruckles.

From the Slytherins' side of the group, Malfoy's drawling voice cut through. "Oh, wonderful. Another one of this Oaf brilliant ideas. Can't wait for it to maim someone."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Hermione snapped.

Hagrid ignored the muttering as he yanked off the canvas with a dramatic flourish.

"Behold—Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

A gasp went through the students as the creatures came into view. They were… grotesque. Pale, segmented bodies glistened under the sun, twitching with unsettling vigor. Their sharp, spindly legs clattered against the crate, and their rear ends emitted tiny bursts of sparks that popped like firecrackers. The smell hit a moment later—a stomach-turning mix of sulfur and wet dog.

"What are those?" Neville Longbottom asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts!" Hagrid repeated, beaming. "Hybrid creatures! Bit o' Fire Crab, bit o' Manticore. Brilliant, aren't they?"

"They're horrifying," Pansy Parkinson said flatly, pinching her nose. "And they stink."

"They're fascinating," Hermione said, though her enthusiasm sounded forced.

"They're perfectly fine if yeh handle 'em right," Hagrid assured her.

As if on cue, one of the Skrewts released a crackling spark that sent a small plume of smoke into the air. A few Gryffindors jumped back with startled yelps.

"Er—mostly fine," Hagrid amended. "Right, here's what we're gonna do. Each o' yeh'll pair up and take care o' one. Feed 'em, handle 'em, get 'em comfortable. It's important ter bond with 'em!"

Malfoy looked outraged. "Bond? With that? This is ridiculous! We're students, not dragon tamers."

"Not up fer debate, Malfoy," Hagrid said firmly, handing a Skrewt to a terrified-looking Seamus Finnigan. "Now, everyone, grab a partner."

The paddock quickly descended into chaos. Harry's Skrewt wriggled violently, nearly slipping out of his grasp as Ron tried to wrangle its sparking tail. Neville's Skrewt flipped over in his arms, stinging itself in the process, while a particularly feisty one sent Theodore Nott ducking for cover when it let off a loud bang.

"That's it!" Nott shouted, his sleeve smoldering slightly. "This is insane. I'm not touching that thing again!"

"It's harmless!" Hagrid protested.

"Harmless?" Malfoy sneered. "If anyone gets hurt, my father will—"

"Alright, enough!" Hagrid boomed, silencing the grumbles. "Stop yer whinin' and get to work! They're not dangerous if yeh follow instructions."

By the end of the lesson, the paddock looked like a battlefield. Hermione, of course, had her Skrewt sitting obediently in front of her, while Harry's had singed a hole in his robe. Neville was trembling, clutching a jar of suspicious-looking meat Hagrid had handed out as "Skrewt treats."

"Great job, everyone!" Hagrid called cheerfully as the students began to retreat, frazzled but mostly intact. "Yer naturals, all of yeh!"

As the Gryffindors began heading back toward the castle, Harry trailed slightly behind Ron and Hermione, still shaking his head at the chaos they had just endured.

"Can you believe those things?" Ron was saying, his voice still tinged with disbelief. "Hagrid's completely lost it this time."

"They're certainly… unique," Hermione said diplomatically. "But he does mean well."

"Well, meaning well doesn't stop them from blowing up in your face," Ron grumbled.

As they started up the sloping path toward the castle, Harry heard someone calling his name from behind.

"Potter!"

He turned, seeing Daphne Greengrass standing a few steps back, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Greengrass," Harry greeted, slightly surprised. He stepped away from Ron and Hermione, who exchanged a curious glance but didn't follow.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Harry nodded, glancing at his friends. "I'll catch up with you in a bit."

Ron raised an eyebrow but shrugged, leading Hermione up the path.

"What's up?" Harry asked once they were out of earshot.

Daphne tilted her head slightly."It's about our project. I want to get started on it as soon as possible."

Harry blinked. "Oh. Right. Did you have something specific in mind?"

"I have a few ideas," she said, "but I'd rather we sit down and brainstorm properly. We'll need time to research, plan, and actually brew whatever it is we decide on."

Harry nodded, impressed by her straightforwardness. "Makes sense. How about Saturday morning in the library? That should give us some time to think things over."

Daphne considered this, then nodded. "That works. Bring your ideas, and we can narrow them down together."

"Sounds good," Harry said. "See you then."

As she turned to walk away, she added over her shoulder, "Saturday morning. Don't be late, Potter."

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry found himself seated at a small table with Ron, a deck of Exploding Snap cards spread out between them. The familiar crackle and pop of the game helped ease the tension from the day's events, though it was clear that Ron was taking the match far more seriously than Harry was.

"Boom! Another win for me!" Ron declared triumphantly, slamming his last card down as it ignited in a tiny, harmless explosion. He grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Face it, mate, you're no match for my strategic brilliance."

"Strategic brilliance?" Harry repeated, laughing. "You're just lucky I'm still thinking about those Skrewts."

"Excuses, excuses," Ron said, shuffling the cards for another round.

Nearby, Hermione was curled up with a book, occasionally glancing over at their game with mild amusement.

After Ron's fourth victorious round of Exploding Snap, Harry had had enough. He leaned back in his chair, stretching, and let out a sigh.

"Alright, I'm done being destroyed for the evening,"

He stood and grabbed his bag from beside his chair.

"Where're you going?" Ron asked, already shuffling the cards again.

"Library," Harry said, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"Library?" Ron repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What for?"

"Research," Harry replied "For the Potions project. Might as well get started now."

Hermione's head popped up from behind her book, her interest immediately piqued. "That's a great idea, Harry," she said, lowering the book slightly. "The sooner you start, the better. Do you have any ideas yet?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "But I thought I'd see what the library has on advanced potions. Maybe something will spark an idea."

Hermione nodded approvingly. "Let me know if you need help finding anything."

"I will," Harry promised.

He turned to Ron. "You coming?"

Ron made a face. "To the library? On a Monday night? No thanks. I'll hold down the fort here."

Harry rolled his eyes but gave them both a wave as he headed for the portrait hole. "Don't wait up," he said, disappearing into the corridor.

The library was as still and silent as ever, the faint scratching of quills and the soft rustle of parchment the only sounds in the vast room. Harry made his way to the Potions section, the scent of aged leather and ink filling the air.

He ran a finger along the spines of the books, pausing every now and then to read a title. Most seemed dense and unhelpful: Advanced Alchemical Theory, The Chemistry of Magic: An Analytical Approach, Volatile Mixtures and Stabilizing Spells. He sighed, leaning back slightly, his eyes scanning the top shelves.

Pulling out a book at random, he flipped through the pages. It was titled Essentials of Experimental Brewing and had an entire chapter on modifications to potion bases. That seemed promising. He tucked it under his arm and grabbed another book, Healing Through Herbology, for good measure.

With his arms full, Harry made his way to a table near the back, setting the books down with a soft thud. Madam Pince gave him a glance from across the room, and he gave her an apologetic nod before settling in.

Opening the first book, he began skimming through the chapters. Most of it was technical jargon he struggled to follow, but every now and then, a key phrase caught his attention: "binding agents," "nerve regeneration," "restorative properties." He jotted down notes on a scrap of parchment, though most of it was fragmented at best.

His quill hovered over the parchment as his thoughts began to wander. He knew Snape expected something creative, something challenging. But what could he and Daphne realistically tackle that wouldn't be impossible to pull off? As his mind drifted, an idea began to form—not fully realized, but a seed of something bigger.

The Cruciatus Curse, he thought, his quill pausing mid-air. Could there be a way to reverse its effects? His conversation with Neville from the other night resurfaced in his mind. His parents hadn't just been tortured—they'd been broken. Tracey Davis had suffered something similar, though to a lesser extent. It wasn't just pain; it was destruction, deep and irreversible. Or… was it?

Harry's brow furrowed as he scribbled down a question: Can potions repair damaged nerves or restore mental stability after trauma? It was vague and ambitious, but it was something. He could almost hear Hermione's voice in his head: "You'll need evidence, Harry. Actual research."

But where would he even find something like that? Modern texts barely touched on such topics, and even the books here—though detailed—weren't giving him what he needed. He'd have to dig deeper.

The idea hit him suddenly. Sirius. His godfather had access to Grimmauld Place and its massive library. . Maybe something there would have answers. If nothing else, it was worth a try.

For now, though, Harry turned his focus back to the books in front of him. He flipped through the pages of Healing Through Herbology, scanning for any mention of ingredients tied to nerve or mind restoration. A section caught his attention: "Historical Uses of Essence-Infused Plants in Restorative Potions."

His eyes skimmed over paragraphs describing various plants, but a particular phrase made him pause: "Valerian root has long been used in calming potions for its effects on the nervous system, providing temporary relief from overactive synaptic activity." He underlined the phrase and jotted it down on his parchment.

The next page listed another intriguing ingredient: Jobberknoll feathers. The text explained, "When powdered and prepared properly, these feathers amplify memory-retentive properties in restorative draughts, often used to counteract the effects of mind-wiping spells." Harry frowned thoughtfully, adding it to his growing list. It wasn't directly related to the Cruciatus Curse, but it hinted at the possibility of reversing damage done to the mind.

The next book, Essentials of Experimental Brewing, offered more advanced alchemical insights. A diagram of potion bases for advanced healing brews caught his attention. It detailed the effects of incorporating rare substances like powdered Moonstone, which was said to "enhance the absorption of healing properties within potions." Harry scribbled that down as well, alongside an observation about Phoenix tears, though he knew they were impossibly rare and likely out of reach for their project.

He pushed the books aside for a moment, staring at his parchment filled with scribbles. It was a messy collection of notes, but patterns were beginning to emerge. Many of the ingredients mentioned had properties that calmed, strengthened, or repaired either physical damage or mental strain. If he could combine these in the right way, maybe they could create something that targeted both body and mind—perhaps even broken nerves.

Another thought struck him, and he reached for a smaller book titled Magical Properties of Uncommon Ingredients. Flipping through the index, he found an entry on Murtlap essence, known for soothing physical injuries and nerve endings. He added it to his list with a note: Potential stabilizer?

More mentions of other ingredients followed:

Gillyweed: Not just for breathing underwater, but its regenerative properties had been studied for potential use in healing injured tissue.Aconite: Toxic in high doses, but ancient texts noted that in diluted form, it could aid in repairing damaged magical cores and nerve pathways.

Harry leaned back, rolling his quill between his fingers as his thoughts swirled. These ingredients, while promising, would need to be carefully balanced. They couldn't simply throw them all into a cauldron and hope for the best. He also couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was missing something crucial—some overarching principle or ancient method that might tie it all together.

He copied down a list of healing-related ingredients and their known properties:

Valerian Root: Calms overactive nerves.Jobberknoll Feathers: Memory amplification, mental restoration.Moonstone (Powdered): Enhances absorption of magical properties.Phoenix Tears: Regeneration of nerves (theoretical).Murtlap Essence: Soothes nerve endings and injuries.Gillyweed: Regeneration of tissue.Aconite (diluted): Repairs magical and nerve pathways (high risk).

By the time Madam Pince announced closing, Harry had filled nearly an entire page of parchment with potential ideas. The list wasn't complete, but it was a start.

As Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower, his footsteps echoed softly in the quiet corridors. His mind buzzed with thoughts of the ingredients he'd listed. Valerian root, Moonstone, Jobberknoll feathers… they were a promising start. But as the initial excitement faded, reality settled in. It was only Monday—the first day of the term. These ingredients were helpful, sure, but they weren't revolutionary. They weren't the game-changing discoveries he would need to reverse the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

For something as ambitious as healing nerves and restoring minds, he'd need something extraordinary, something no ordinary potioneer would consider. He yawned, his thoughts slowing. The corridor stretched ahead of him, dimly lit by torches flickering in their sconces. He hadn't even been paying attention to where he was walking, too engrossed in the storm of ideas swirling in his head.

Another yawn overtook him as he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. It had been a productive day, no doubt, but he still felt the itch to do more. He'd need to call Sirius soon—there had to be something in the Black family's infamous library that could help.

Harry dropped his bag onto one of the armchairs. He reached in and pulled out the enchanted mirror Sirius had given him.

"Sirius Black,"

Sirius's familiar face appeared after a moment, a teasing grin already forming as he leaned into view.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite godson! What's got you calling so late, Harry? Couldn't resist my dashing looks?"

Harry chuckled, feeling a wave of comfort at seeing Sirius's mischievous expression. "I just wanted to talk, that's all. It's been… a long day."

"First day back, huh? How bad could it be? Snape give you a hard time already?"

"More than usual," Harry admitted, slumping back into the chair. "He paired us with Slytherins for some big potions project—partners until December. I got paired with Daphne Greengrass."

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "Daphne Greengrass? Isn't she one of those Slytherin purebloods?"

"Yeah," Harry said, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. "She's… not bad. She actually knows what she's doing, which is more than I can say for some of the others."

Sirius smirked, leaning closer. "Not bad, huh? Hot babe, this Daphne? Huh? Go for it, Harry!"

Harry's face turned crimson. "What?! Sirius, no—it's not like that. She's just my partner for potions."

"Uh-huh," Sirius said, his grin widening. "Whatever you say. Just don't let her outshine you too much, alright? Gotta keep that Potter pride intact."

Harry groaned, shaking his head. "Can we not talk about this? I actually had a question for you."

"What's on your mind?"

"Do you remember anything about healing magic or potions in the library at Grimmauld Place? Like… something old, rare, or obscure? I've been looking into ingredients that might help with restoring nerves and the mind, but I think I'm going to need something more advanced."

Sirius's expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by thoughtfulness. "The library at Grimmauld Place is a treasure trove of weird, ancient, and sometimes downright creepy stuff. If there's anything on healing magic, it's probably buried in there somewhere. I'll take a look tomorrow and let you know."

"Thanks," Harry said, relief washing over him. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Sirius said. Then, with a sly grin, he added, "You're really throwing yourself into this project, huh? Guess your Slytherin partner's keeping you on your toes."

"It's not just the project," Harry said quietly. "It's… something bigger. I'll explain more once I've got it figured out."

"Alright, Harry"

"Thanks, Sirius. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, kiddo. "

On the next day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood at their usual workstation, watching as Professor Sprout held up a knobbly, greenish Bubotuber for the class to see.

"These are Bubotubers," Professor Sprout began "The pus they produce is an effective remedy for stubborn magical ailments, particularly acne, but it must be handled with care. If it comes into direct contact with skin undiluted, it can cause painful boils. Now, watch carefully."

She demonstrated, holding the Bubotuber over a basin and giving it a gentle squeeze. A thick, yellowish-green fluid oozed out, splattering into the container below. "Steady hands and patience are key. You'll each have a turn. Take care not to over-squeeze, or you'll have a mess on your hands—and quite literally, if you're not careful."

The students groaned collectively as they eyed the Bubotubers at their workstations. The plants were lumpy, grotesque things that seemed to pulse faintly, almost as though alive.

"This is going to be disgusting," Ron muttered as he reached for his dragon-hide gloves. "Why does it always have to be disgusting?"

"Stop complaining," Hermione said briskly, already positioning her Bubotuber over the basin. "It's fascinating how plants like these can be so useful. You should read up on their applications."

"I'd rather not," Ron replied, wrinkling his nose as he squeezed a Bubotuber. A stream of pus shot out, barely missing his hand. "Merlin's pants, this stuff smells like troll sweat."

Nearby, Neville worked with practiced ease, extracting the pus smoothly into his basin. "It's not so bad once you get the hang of it," he said, glancing at Harry. "Just don't squeeze too hard."

Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, wasn't having as much luck. "This is revolting," he sneered, holding a Bubotuber at arm's length. "Honestly, why don't we have house-elves for this sort of thing?"

As if to prove his point, he gave the Bubotuber an impatient squeeze. A thick stream of pus erupted from the plant, splattering across his robes and face. There was a stunned silence before the Gryffindors burst into laughter.

"Perfect form, Malfoy," Ron called out, snickering.

"Shut up, Weasley!" Draco hissed, frantically wiping at his robes while muttering something about dry-cleaning charms.

Professor Sprout clapped her hands, silencing the laughter. "Let that be a lesson to everyone. These plants demand respect and proper handling. Over-squeezing is not only messy but dangerous. Do be careful."

As the class packed up and students began filing out of the greenhouse Harry approached Professor Sprout, who was tidying up her workstation.

"Professor Sprout," Harry began hesitantly, his hands gripping the strap of his bag. "Do you have a moment?"

Sprout looked up, her weathered face lighting with a smile.

"Of course, Harry. What can I do for you?"

Harry hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I've been thinking about… healing plants. Ones that might help with repairing nerves or restoring the mind. Specifically, after damage from something like the Cruciatus Curse."

Professor Sprout set down her tools, her expression growing thoughtful. "That's quite an advanced question, Harry. You've certainly piqued my curiosity. What's brought this on?"

Harry shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Just… thinking about Potions class. We're supposed to come up with a project, and I thought I'd ask about plants that could help with something like that."

Sprout nodded slowly, brushing a streak of dirt from her cheek. "An ambitious idea, but one worth exploring. Though I'll warn you—it's not a straightforward path."

Harry nodded. "I figured."

She tapped her chin, her brow furrowed in thought. "When it comes to healing nerves, there are a few plants with known restorative properties, though they're either difficult to come by or extremely temperamental. For instance, Silverthorn—a plant that only grows in the wild during full moons—has mild regenerative qualities for the nervous system. However, it's so rare and elusive that few Potioneers ever bother with it."

"Silverthorn," Harry repeated, filing the name away in his mind. "What else?"

"Then there's Nulla Root, used primarily in experimental calming drafts. It can soothe overstimulated nerves, but it's highly volatile—mixing it with other ingredients can cause more harm than good unless you know exactly what you're doing."

Harry's heart sank slightly at that. "Anything… less complicated?"

Sprout gave him a kind smile, shaking her head. "Not really. That's the challenge of working with the human nervous system—it's so intricate that even the smallest imbalance can disrupt everything. The best we can often do is manage symptoms, not reverse damage."

"What about plants for restoring the mind?" Harry pressed.

Sprout looked impressed at his persistence. "For mental healing? That's even trickier. A few ancient texts mention plants like Whispervine, which was said to calm shattered minds, but it hasn't been reliably cultivated in centuries. And there's Fluxweed—used in Polyjuice Potion, yes, but some Healers claim it has untapped potential for reconnecting fractured magical pathways. Again, though, it's experimental at best."

Harry frowned. "So… it's all just theories and rare plants?"

"For now, yes," Sprout admitted. "But theories are where breakthroughs start, Harry. If you're serious about this, I'd recommend studying magical botany and cross-referencing with healing techniques in Potions. There's a text I recall—Herbal Pathways to Magical Restoration—but it's likely very advanced. Madam Pince might have it in the Restricted Section."

"The Restricted Section?"

Sprout nodded. "I imagine you'll need a professor's approval, but it's worth a try if you're determined."

Harry sighed softly, half-deflated. "Thanks, Professor. I appreciate it."

"Don't be discouraged," she said warmly. "These are complex problems, but the fact that you're even asking the right questions is a good start. Just remember—patience is key. Nature works in its own time."

Harry nodded, managing a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

As he left the greenhouse and walked back toward the castle, his thoughts churned. He'd hoped for a more concrete lead, but all he had were whispers of rare plants and impossible methods. Silverthorn, Nulla Root, Whispervine—it all sounded promising but far out of reach for a fourth-year student.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He'd need more than this to make any real progress. Maybe Sirius would find something in Grimmauld Place's library. Harry picked up his pace, ready to catch up, but a sudden sensation stopped him in his tracks—a faint, rhythmic pulsing in his bag.

The mirror.

With a quick look at the students disappearing over the crest of the hill, he stepped off the path and into the shade of a nearby tree. Hidden from view, he slid his bag off his shoulder and rummaged inside, pulling out the mirror.

Its surface rippled as he whispered, "Sirius Black."

Sirius's face appeared instantly, surrounded by stacks of dusty books. "Harry! I've found something—two books: Broken Mind and Broken Body. They're ancient, written by a Potioneer trying to reverse the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry's breath caught. "Do you think they'll help?"

"They might. They're personal notes, raw but brilliant. I've sent them with a reliable owl—you'll have them by tomorrow."

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said "This could be exactly what I need."

"Don't burn out," Sirius warned

"Goodbye, Sirius."