Harry Potter wasn't going to plan his revenge on a Wednesday. No, a good and proper revenge took time, and he definitely didn't have that on Wednesdays. Instead, he decided to brew, as that was the subject he was furthest behind in. He hadn't managed to make one perfect potion the whole year, and even though that was a deliberate move, it still chafed. He rolled his sleeves up, and got down to work.
Chopping and dicing were familiar tasks to him, though he had to consult his dusty potions book to find the exact proportions demanded. For potions was a far more exact science than cooking - rather like baking, it was the proportions, the timing, the precision.
As Harry stirred the bubotuber pus into his cauldron, he wore a soft smile, which only got larger as he added the pixie wings. It wasn't that he was making something difficult, ti was that he was making something Right.
When you've spent the last month deliberately breaking the rules, it feels good to actually make something perfect.
Burn Salve, one of the easiest potions of all time, and yet Harry felt a strong satisfaction as he decanted it. He studied a flame, wondering if he could or should burn himself, just a bit, just enough to test this.
Eventually, he blew the flame out, concluding that Seamus was likely enough to get someone to burn, in one class or another.
Slipping the potion into his belt, he gently shut the door, walking back to the common room
"Oi! where've you been?" Ron asked cheerily, ducking another of his brothers' experiments.
"Out walking." Harry responded blandly. Always best to chose something boring, if you had to lie.
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