The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

20 // Wiggenweld & Fancy Hats

The hiss of flames under peculating cauldrons unnerved Harry more than he'd ever admit.

Everything about the dungeons had that same gloomy feeling to it in Harry opinion—especially the glowering professor who swept up and down the aisles between the tables as Harry's classmates did their best to brew the Wiggenweld potion. Snape's robes stirred around him like ink seeping through water whenever he stopped to leer into someone's cauldron, the man always seeming to be in motion, never pausing overly long before resuming his pacing.

Ignore it, Harry chastised himself, pressing his lips into a firm line as he returned his attention to his own brew. Next to him, Ron muttered under his breath and used curse words his brother Percy probably would have screamed at him for saying, stirring his potion. Like Professor Dullahan says, you won't always have the best conditions for brewing. Distractions have to be dealt with.

Harry hadn't been sure what to think of the Magical Theory professor—not for quite some time. His opinion on her had taken the longest to form of any of his teachers, because the witch was just so...odd. Odd in a way that Harry had decided he very much liked, but odd nonetheless. Ron called her weird and he agreed, but he privately thought that perhaps being normal was overrated.

After all, the Dursleys considered themselves the prime examples of being normal, and Harry would much rather be weird like Professor Dullahan than normal like his stupid relatives.

He'd continued the professor's weekly tutoring sessions with Hermione and a grumpy Ron, and Harry had come to realize he actually liked potions. He looked forward to those afternoons where he and his best friends would sit cross-legged on Dullahan's office floor, sunlight coming through the windows, cauldrons simmering, the professor trailing off on strange stories that made no sense to anyone aside from her but were full of such magic and wonder and mystery that Harry couldn't help but listen to every word.

He tipped salamander blood onto a clean spoon and let it dribble slowly into the cauldron.

"Control what you put into the mix." Professor Dullahan's voice echoed in Harry's ears. "Nice, even increments—no splashing!"

The murky liquid in the cauldron turned a dense shade of mustard yellow, and Harry added two more drops of salamander blood, tongue pressed between his lips as he concentrated. The color became more of a buttery, sunshine gold. He lifted his ladle to give the potion a few careful and deliberate clockwise stirs, twisting the liquid into a vivid lime green.

Harry found that he understood things better when Professor Dullahan explained them. So did Ron and, to an extent, Hermione—though she always paled as if pained when the professor said "The books aren't always right. They're someone's interpretation of information and can be more a suggestion than anything." The other professors taught well, Harry knew, but their lectures and practicals didn't click the same way.

Hermione guessed it was because they were all prodigies in their fields—McGonagall, Flitwick, even Snape. "Well, it's quite difficult for them to understand why some students struggle," she'd said when Ron had complained about Dullahan making more sense than their seething Potions Master. "They picked up the skills easily and have intrinsic knowledge of what to do. I don't think Professor Dullahan is like that. She must have had to learn what she knows the hard way."

Harry wasn't sure what 'the hard way' entailed, but he and his marks were grateful for the professor's odd tales and chipper patience.

He continued to doll out the salamander blood and stir when necessary, the Wiggenweld changing from green to turquoise to indigo, pink, and finally red. Before tutoring, Harry probably would have dumped all the blood in at one go and feverishly stirred in hopes of setting the color to rights, but he'd since learned about heating, layering, dispersing, and dissolving—all those types of things Harry would of disregarded before, not realizing how that impacted his work.