Harry Potter wasn't known for thinking during the best of times. That was Hermione's job. She was a brilliant thinker. Had she known what her best friend was up to, she'd be lecturing him right now and showing him the folly of what he was about to do to his life. Hermione was in Australia with her parents, though, and had no inkling of what her friend was about to do.

Harry had very cleverly stolen a book from the Hogwarts Library. Not just any book. This was the tome Hermione had discovered in the Restricted Section in their second year, Moste Potente Potions.

The ingredients had taken some time to gather as he had to owl-order the ones he didn't have. The other difficulty was he could only work on the potion at night. If his relatives had caught him...

If Aunt Petunia had caught me, she'd smash my brains from my head with her iron skillet, and then toss me out with the trash.

No one would suspect, since it was a common stereotype, but the verbal abuse, the beatings, had mostly come from Petunia, not Vernon. Harry's Uncle Vernon was no prize since he helped to spoil his pig of a son Dudley rotten. Vernon would make up lists of chores, and he'd yell, but he'd never raised a hand to his nephew. He hadn't the stomach for it. There were times, though, when he'd had to step between Petunia and Harry. Petunia had a terrible temper and an unreasoning hatred for her late sister and Lily's 'freakish kind'. Vernon was frightened of the wrath that could come down upon them if Petunia's temper ever slipped so quickly, she'd not hesitate in killing Harry.

Harry knew this and did his absolute best this summer to hold his tongue and to do everything required of him. The nights were then his to brew his potion.

Finally, today, his potion was finished and Harry sat on the center of his lumpy bed staring at the cerulean blue liquid. He was rather proud of the job he'd done and almost wished that his despised Potions Master could have seen it. For a brief moment he pretended that this blue, crystalline shimmering potion was just the thing to melt the wizard's hard exterior. Maybe the man would even award him a few points.

Harry chuckled at the absurdity. Snape would never view any of Harry's work with pride and he'd certainly never award Gryffindor points.

Lifting the jelly glass that his potion was in, he tipped it back into his mouth, swallowed, and smiled. It didn't taste bad at all.

As Harry slowly passed out, he wondered if he would remember his friends.