The next morning began as usual for Harry, but a lingering sense of urgency had taken root. During his meditation, he considered the limitations he currently faced. He lacked the power to create a self-contained environment like Newt Scamander's suitcase, and Room of Requirement was not a safe option with Quirrell under Voldemort's influence.
He decided to first grow stronger and accumulate knowledge then make his secret base in future. But that for future.
In the common room, Harry found himself chatting with Hermione about potion theories and transfiguration nuances. It was during this conversation that Neville approached them, his posture hesitant, eyes flickering with uncertainty.
"Um… Harry," Neville began, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "I was wondering if you could maybe help me with Potions. I—I mean, Professor Snape doesn't seem to torture you as much as the rest of us, and I… well, I'm really struggling."
Harry blinked once, then leaned back with a thoughtful look. He saw an opportunity.
"I can help," he said, slowly, "but not for free. Time is valuable. How about a hundred Galleons for the year—one subject."
Neville looked stunned but then nodded, realizing the value in the offer. "I—I think I can manage that. Gran gives me an allowance."
"Deal."
Right then and there, Harry began teaching him the fundamentals of potion logic—the subtle connections between ingredients, the brewing process, and how certain herbs interacted based on magical potency. Neville absorbed the knowledge quickly, and more importantly, began to see how his own passion for Herbology connected with Potions. It was like watching a light click on behind his eyes.
Hermione, who had been quietly listening to the entire lesson, had her own realization. "It all makes so much more sense now," she murmured. "Snape may be a brilliant potion master… but he's a terrible teacher."
Harry smirked.
Later that evening, Harry sat in a quiet corner of the library, a thick book open in front of him. Hermione had left to finish her homework, and Harry had turned to reading about spiritual manifestations and ghost lore.
An idea popped into his mind, unbidden: Ghosts were souls that refused to move on. A Horcrux was a fragment of a soul forcibly anchored to the world. Theoretically… if purified, the soul-energy from a ghost could be absorbed, strengthening his own soul just like what happened with the Horcrux fragment.
He stared at the page, unmoving. The logic was sound. But the implications were too dark.
He closed the book with a quiet thud. "No," he whispered to himself. "Not that path."
There were lines even he would not cross.