Harry Potter had managed to glaze through class. Oh, sure, he never answered any questions (right, anyway), but this was utterly abnormal behavior for him. He liked class, liked the abilities he was learning to master (mainly by watching the teacher correct other people - Harry was rarely so abysmal that he had to be corrected).

Before this, Harry had known he was wealthy. Harry had money, and Harry knew money meant power.

But.

That was before. Before a stray comment to the older Weasleys had gotten him three different Mail Order Catalogs - I wasted some of my bowtruckle juice, and it's such a shame that I can't get anymore...

Three Different Catalogs (and only George's was purely potions).

It was like opening the doors into a new world. A world where Harry Potter (former Freak) could buy anything he wanted.

So, yes, Harry Potter was quite a bit distracted. In his mind (where Dudley wouldn't find it), he had already begun working on the list. And what a list it was! Scales, and spit, and eyes and whiskers galore! Harry hadn't actually made a potion right yet, and he really, really wanted to be able to see what they were like. Burn salve, he figured, would be safe enough, even if he needed to burn himself a bit to test it out. That should be okay, right? It wasn't like the infirmary didn't have any burn salve themselves, right? Harry'd have to read about side effects. Oh, and cauldrons, and Harry figured he'd find some clothing too - there was this skyblue hat that he wanted (and nevermind what Ron said, at least it wasn't green!).

Harry Potter had to restrain himself from simply buying the whole catalog (particularly Fred's, which contained many items in the gray area of legality, most of which were flat out banned for minors. Who wanted stimulants, anyway, when one had magic? Fireworks should be stimulating enough, but they weren't banned at all!).

Of course, working on a list was mapping out the Potions programme that he intended to follow. And that meant figuring out how many mortars and pestles he was going to need - and knives. Surely he could mail order knives? This wasn't going to work otherwise - he stole a glance at the catalog right before lunch. Yes, knives were on the menu! Not swords, and not garrottes, and Harry suppressed a shiver. Apparently muggles weren't the only ones creative about killing people.

Harry Potter was so occupied with his dreams, his plans, that he managed to walk straight through Draco Malfoy (and since Draco Malfoy was apparently more tangible to touch than to sight, the milkfaced git wound up on the floor before Harry). Harry blinked at the situation, looking down at him owlishly.

Before Harry could offer a hand (because that was simple courtesy), Draco Malfoy scrambled up, brushing past him with a hard blow to the shoulder, "Tomorrow night, midnight, Trophy room." he said all in a rush, and Harry Potter had to put together the words, before he could arrange a competent thought himself.

Oh, the duel. Harry'd forgotten about that, just like he'd forgotten about most things. With a mental note to tell Ron,* Harry Potter headed down to lunch. Perhaps today he... Harry abruptly realized that he had forgotten about slimes, salivas, and other colloids.

*which he promptly forgot.

[a/n: Harry Potter hasn't had anything of his own before. The books were from the library. He's now discovered something he can do with his money, and is rather distracted.

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