citrine

sodalite

sodalite crystals represent truth, intuition, and the verbalization of feelings

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Harry abandoned his self appointed pity party, determinedly sitting up. He was going to go to her. He wasn't going to let his anxiety keep him away from his sunshine anymore.

Dandelion curiously watched on at his side as he almost frantically rushed away from the creek, stumbling towards the cottage. Harry pauses for a moment, looking curious himself at his floppy eared companion. The rabbit maintained eye contact with him for a moment, and Harry knew exactly what she was trying to tell him.

"You're right, I should make that potion," he mumbled, reaching down and patting Dande on the head. She always knew what he needed (although Harry could argue that he just used Dandelion as a way of justifying something he wanted to do anyway). She had given him the idea to concoct a calming potion; a quick solution to eliminate those remaining jitters at reacquainting himself with the human world.

Unlike most of the witches Harry grew up around, he doesn't have a potion and ritual room. When making his cottage, he decided he'd like to take up that type of space for a closet instead. To make up for that, he conducts his rituals and mixing outside, preferring to have Mother Nature guide him through the process. Harry collected his ingredients in his garden, plucking a few hawthorn berries and digging up a small amount of the roots, a sprig or two of skullcap, and his own additions of watermint and the leaves of knitbone for protection.

He put all of the plants together into a mortar lined with lemon balm oil, and began crushing and mixing with the pestle. Through the mixing he recited the ritual spell:

"Gydag aeron drain a phenglogau ar ddail, ewch â mi ymhell y tu hwnt i'r coed, byddwch yn olau tywys i mi ac achub fi rhag fy nychryn ffuglen."

It was a centuries old one his mother had taught to him, and her mother to her, and so on. It was one of the few he needed no referring to the book to remember. He ran through the enchantment a few times, continuing to mix until the potion formed a thick paste. He added a small amount of water, folding it in to form a drinkable consistency. Bonnie had emerged from the surrounding forest, sitting herself next to Harry. She had those sad kitten eyes that always broke Harry's heart just a tiny bit every time. She must know he was going to be leaving her, even if for just a few hours.

"Bonnie, l know," Harry cooed, setting down the mortar with his potion, "But I promise I'll come back." She whined a sad meow and bumped her head against his. "Darling, I'll be back soon. Y'have m'word. I jus' need to go meet (Y/N)."

She seemed to understand (although a bit begrudgingly if the slight squint of her eyes is anything to go by), giving a purr and a small lick to his cheek. She shuffled back, giving Harry a little bit of space. He gave her a little smile before putting the mortar to his mouth and tipping his head back and drinking. He almost immediately felt the calming effect go through his veins, convening in his heart and helping relax each of his muscles and regulate his breathing. Confidence filled him; he could do this, no doubt in his mind.

He patted Bonnie in between her ears before leaving to go inside to get ready. He waved his fingers behind him, the mortar and pestle cleaning itself up and poofing to it's original spot. Harry shuffled through the rolodex in his mind of what to wear. As he put together a bag to take with him, filled to the brim with everything he could possibly need, he decided on this black lace shirt that had all these pretty ruffles on his chest, and a pair of wide legged white trousers and matching suspenders. To finish off his "adventure outfit" as he's dubbed it, a pair of patent leather, black boots and a wide brimmed black hat. He figured this would be a good outfit for traveling through the village to find (Y/N); he'd blend in just fine.