Harry had never seen so many magical things before in his eleven years of life. When he returned to the oppressively ordinary surroundings of the Dursleys' house on Privet Drive, he felt as if he were floating several inches above the ground, his mind was still soaring through the magical corridors he had wandered earlier today.
The only regret that tugged at the edges of his fresh happiness was that he had forgotten to ask Hagrid more about his parents. Hagrid had mentioned his mother's talent for potions, and that single thread of information now felt like a precious treasure Harry wanted to grasp with both hands and never let go.
But there would be opportunities in the future, he reassured himself. The wizarding world was apparently filled with people who had known Lily and James Potter—people who could tell him stories about who they truly were, beyond the lies the Dursleys had fed him for years.
Because of some events he had inadvertently triggered earlier—involving a certain temperamental magical plant with sharp teeth, his aunt and uncle had reluctantly allowed him to move out of the cramped, spider-infested cupboard under the stairs and into Dudley's second bedroom.
Now as he lay in the actual bed, not a cot or a mattress on the floor, but a real bed with springs and a frame and everything—he gazed up at the ceiling where faint cracks formed patterns.
The worn sheets beneath him still smelled faintly of the laundry detergent Aunt Petunia used. Outside, the summer evening was settling in, painting the sky in shades of deep orange and purple that filtered through the dusty curtains.
Harry felt a sense of tranquility wash over him, a feeling so foreign that it took him several moments to identify it. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt that his life wasn't so terrible anymore. He had a proper bed with actual pillows, a magical wand, and the beautiful snowy owl he had named Hedwig who was currently dozing in her cage by the window, and he had a teacher who genuinely seemed to care about him—Mr. Westeros, whose kindness still felt like a miracle to Harry.
And soon—just a matter of weeks now—he would even be going to Hogwarts, a place where, according to Hagrid, he wouldn't be considered a freak or a burden, but just another student learning magic. The very thought made his heart flutter with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement.
'What would life at Hogwarts be like?' Harry wondered silently as he drifted off to sleep.
......
"Tap, tap, tap."
Early the next morning, as the first pale rays of dawn began to seep through the gaps in the curtains, Harry was awakened by a persistent noise at the window.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, and fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he turned toward the source of the noise and looked outside through the dirty glass pane.
An owl with a slightly crooked beak was repeatedly pecking at the dust-covered window.
"It's Mr. Westeros's owl!" Harry exclaimed in a whisper, instantly becoming less alert as he recognized it.
A surge of excitement flowed through him, chasing away any remaining drowsiness as effectively as a bucket of cold water. He threw back the thin, faded blanket and jumped out of bed. With a speed born of enthusiasm rather than urgency, he hurried to the window.
Under the owl's clearly disapproving gaze, Harry received an elegant box, along with a sealed parchment letter. The letter was naturally from Adrian.
[ Harry, happy birthday, though your birthday gift is arriving a bit late.
I need to leave Privet Drive for a day to make certain preparations.
Friendly reminder, please read the instruction manual for your birthday gift carefully.
Adrian Westeros
]
After reading it, Harry excitedly put down the letter and turned his attention to the elegant box, which was clearly the gift from Adrian. He hadn't expected Adrian to send him a birthday gift at all; in fact, he hadn't expected anyone to remember or acknowledge his birthday.
Opening the box, inside was a small bottle containing a murky black liquid. A small note was tucked beneath the potion.
[Remember the Chomping Cabbage I gave you before? Next time you water it, try adding this potion.]
"Chomping Cabbage?" Harry murmured thoughtfully, his brow furrowing slightly as he turned his head toward the bedside table.
A broken flowerpot sat on top of the cabinet with the Chomping Cabbage planted in it.
The Chomping Cabbage currently had its mouth buried in the soil, giving it the appearance of any normal (if unusually toothy) houseplant. The gentle rise and fall of its leaves showed it was breathing softly, looking fast asleep and illusorily harmless.
Come to think of it, Harry realized, he hadn't yet properly thanked his Chomping Cabbage.
Just two days ago, it had helped him retrieve his Hogwarts letter from the Dursleys. Because of that incident, his uncle's face now bore several scars.
Since that day, the Dursleys hadn't dared approach the Chomping Cabbage. Thinking about this, Harry couldn't help feeling a wave of satisfaction.
At the same time, he felt somewhat anxious.
What if the Dursleys decided they'd had enough? What if they kicked him out because of this?
Uncle Vernon had threatened as much, his face purple with rage as he'd roared about "ungrateful freaks" and "dangerous abnormalities." Then Harry would truly be homeless, with nowhere to go until the Hogwarts term began.
'No,' Harry quickly shook his head to dismiss the worrying thought. He still had Mr. Westeros!
The realization acted like a balm to his anxious mind. Mr. Westeros would never let him live on the streets; he was certain of that.
With this reassuring thought, his heart became much calmer, the tight knot of anxiety in his chest loosening enough to allow him to breathe easily again.
When Harry approached the Chomping Cabbage, it instantly became alert, baring its sharp teeth at him. However, once it recognized his scent, it buried its mouth back in the soil.
It had clearly recognized Harry's presence and believed him familiar enough to lower its guard. After all, this person watered it every day, carefully ensuring the soil remained moist but not waterlogged; it would be impossible not to become familiar with him.
Seeing this reaction, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing from a tension he hadn't realized he was holding. Although the Chomping Cabbage had never bitten him, in fact, it seemed to reserve its aggression for the Dursleys—every time he saw its mouth full of sharp teeth, gleaming white and undeniably menacing despite their small size, he felt a chill run down his spine.
There was something clearly unsettling about a plant that could bite back.
Following the instructions given my Mr. Westeros in the letter, Harry found a watering can from the junk room, filled it with water, and poured in the potion Adrian had given him.
Under Harry's expectant gaze, the liquid immediately dispersed in the water. Initially, the surface of the water turned a faint gray, but then it gradually became crimson, like fresh blood.
Harry frowned as he detected a strong scent of rust permeating the air.
"Is this... really a potion?" Harry covered his nose with his free hand and muttered.
Although he had been studying potion knowledge with Adrian for quite some time, he still couldn't identify what kind of potion this was.
In fact, this was a specially brewed potion to promote plant growth and mutation, with Adrian's blood as the main ingredient. Adrian's magic had the effect of causing plants to change, and his blood was the best medium.
For plants, Adrian's blood was the best supplement. The same was true for Harry's Chomping Cabbage.
The leaves of the Chomping Cabbage trembled slightly, seemingly catching the scent of the liquid in the pot. As the scent grew stronger, the Chomping Cabbage even pulled itself out of the flowerpot.
Harry could almost feel the Chomping Cabbage's desperate desire for the liquid in the watering can.
"Don't rush, little one," Harry said as he raised the watering can next to the Chomping Cabbage, preparing to pour the potion onto the soil.
But the Chomping Cabbage clearly couldn't wait for such traditional methods; it lunged forward with surprising speed and agility. Before Harry could react, it bit down firmly on the spout of the watering can and began drinking directly.
Harry stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with astonishment behind his glasses, his mouth forming a perfect "O" of surprise.
Harry: "..."
He had completely forgotten that the Chomping Cabbage had a mouth that could function in this way.
It took only a few seconds for the Chomping Cabbage to consume all the potion in the watering can. After swallowing the last mouthful, it suddenly stopped moving. It returned to the flowerpot, its leaves seeming to soften, as if relaxing, and buried its head back in the soil, not moving at all.
"Uh... is that it?" Harry stood there somewhat at a loss. He had expected some special transformation. How could such a large amount of potion simply disappear into the Chomping Cabbage's tiny body?
It didn't seem reasonable no matter one looked at it.
Harry was puzzled and crouched down to gently poke the Chomping Cabbage's leaves with his finger, but it still showed no reaction.
After trying for a while to wake the Chomping Cabbage, Harry gave up. He couldn't just pull the Chomping Cabbage out of the soil. It might harm its development.
…...
As Harry was pondering what to do, Vernon Dursley roughly pushed open the door.
"Get to work, you little freak!" Vernon shouted angrily at Harry. "I'm not keeping you here so you can sleep all day and waste my hard-earned money! The garden needs weeding, and your aunt wants the kitchen floor scrubbed before breakfast!"
Looking at his uncle's face which was as red as a lobster, Harry couldn't help but shrink back.
No matter what, he had always been afraid of his uncle. However, when he noticed the still-unhealed scars on Vernon's face, some of his fear suddenly vanished.
Vernon glanced at Harry, his gaze falling on the Chomping Cabbage on the bedside table. He shuddered as the scars on his face were still tingling with pain.
"You'd better get rid of that biting little monstrosity!" He said, his voice slightly higher than normal, showing his fear despite his attempt at maintaining an authoritative tone. "Otherwise, I'll call the police! They know how to deal with dangerous... things!"
With that final, somewhat impotent threat hanging in the air between them, Vernon immediately retreated from the room as if afraid the plant might suddenly launch itself at him again. He slammed the door hard behind him, leaving Harry standing alone in the middle of his room, stunned by his abrupt leaving.
Harry didn't know if the police would concern themselves with a Chomping Cabbage—somehow, he doubted that the Surrey Police Force had a department dedicated to magical plants with a penchant for biting unpleasant relatives.
He suspected that if anyone should handle such matters, it would be the Ministry of Magic. The thought of official-looking wizards in their flowing robes arriving at Number Four Privet Drive to interview a Chomping Cabbage about its assault on a Muggle was so absurd that Harry had to suppress a sudden urge to laugh out loud.
'Maybe I should leave the Chomping Cabbage with Mr. Westeros tomorrow,'
Harry thought to himself as he gazed at the still-motionless plant.
Despite its current usefulness as a Dursley-deterrent, he couldn't help feeling concerned about its unusual response to the potion. Besides, once he left for Hogwarts, he wouldn't be able to take proper care of it anyway, and the thought of leaving it at the mercy of the Dursleys was unthinkable.