Next Monday came with a quiet chill in the early autumn air, the kind that whispered change was in motion.
In a classroom far from the usual bustle of students, Harry stood alone. He had arrived early—an old habit now—but this time, not to study or research. Today, he would teach.
The room he'd chosen was tucked into the west wing of Hogwarts. Now, it was to serve a purpose—training the next generation of Aurors.
Though he'd told Dumbledore that he could manage the class anytime, the bureaucratic and logistical process had taken longer than expected. Arranging for Auror trainees to be stationed at Hogwarts, even temporarily, was no small task. Ministry permissions, housing coordination, adjusting their schedules to align with their ongoing training... it had taken an entire week.
And today marked the beginning.
Harry took a final look around the classroom. It was clean and comfy, and he had enchanted the classroom so that the space inside will increase or decrease depending on the number of people inside the classroom. He had done this since he had no idea on how many trainees were arriving for the class. Harry planned on making the teaching method once he learnt the current capabilities of the trainees.
With the classroom set and quiet all around, Harry sat down at the edge of the desk. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a silver can of Coca-Cola, the crisp hiss of carbonation echoing softly as he popped it open. A simple touch from his fingers sent a light shimmer over the surface—instantly chilled. He took a slow sip, savoring the cold, sweet burn as he kept his gaze on the door.
Then, finally, the footsteps came.
One by one, they entered. Most walked in with confident strides, eyes flickering with faint curiosity, others with open skepticism. They were young—early twenties, some still with boyish looks, others already bearing the hardened faces of battlefield tension. Thirty in total, all clothed in practical Auror trainee uniforms.
Harry recognized one of them instantly.
Nymphadora Tonks. Her hair was a vibrant pink today, slightly spiked, and her smile widened when she saw him.
He gave her a small nod and a smile—friendly. He had only seen her once before and to be fair he was quite surprised that she was an Auror trainee.
Once the group settled, whispers danced through the room. Some stared. Others sized him up like a mystery they weren't sure was worth solving.
He let the silence stretch just enough before standing and placing the half-finished can gently on the table behind him.
"Welcome," Harry began, voice calm, clear. "My name is Harry Potter."
A few raised eyebrows. Some lips curled in the beginnings of smirks. A tall trainee near the back folded his arms, clearly unimpressed.
Perfect.
"I've been asked to instruct you all in a subject most people believe they already know—magic. But not spells. Not hexes or dueling forms or dark creature classifications. I'm talking about the Basics of Magic itself."
A faint scoff came from the right. Harry continued, unfazed.
"I know how it sounds. Elementary. Almost insulting to some of you, maybe. But let me ask you—how many of you have ever learned what magic is, not just how to use it?"
No one raised their hand.
Harry smiled, the edge of it sharp.
"Exactly. From day one, we're handed wands and incantations and told to repeat. Movements, spells, discipline. But why does magic respond? Why does it fail? Why does one person cast with more force than another?"
He stepped forward slightly, his aura subtly pressing outward—calm but undeniable.
"What if I told you that once you truly understand the Basics of Magic, you will never need to worry about wand movements or incantations again? That you could cast spells silently, without motion. That you could cast multiple spells at the same time. That your reaction speed wouldn't matter, because your intent would be faster."
Now the silence was attentive. Not everyone believed—but they were listening.
"Everything I teach you will build toward that. If you're willing to learn—really learn—I guarantee that you will never lose a battle because of magic ever again."
A pause.
"Some of you think I can't teach you anything. That's fine. I expect it. But I promise you this—by the end of this training, you'll remember today as the day your understanding of magic began."
Harry didn't waste time with theory. He lifted his hand slightly, eyes scanning the room.
"I need four volunteers."
Reluctantly, four trainees stepped forward. Tonks was among them, curious rather than skeptical.
"Each of you," Harry said, with a casual flick of his fingers, conjuring two long tables, two pitchers of water, and two large tubs, one on each table. "Will attempt two simple temperature-based spells. I want you to use Glacius to chill—not freeze—one of the pitchers. And then, using Calefactum or your preferred warming charm, slightly warm the tub—no steam, no bubbles. Just comfortably warm."
He stepped back, gesturing toward the setup. "Precision, not power. Go."
One by one, they stepped forward.
The first trainee cast Glacius—the water rimmed with frost and formed thin ice."Too much," Harry said simply.
The next tried to warm the tub—it barely responded. "Too little."
Tonks managed to chill the pitcher slightly, but the tub of water began boiling when she cast the warming charm. She frowned. "I even adjusted the incantation strength…"
"Exactly," Harry replied calmly. "You're guessing."
By the time all thirty had tried, no one had managed both correctly. Some froze the pitchers solid. Others left the tubs untouched or accidentally scalded the air with steam. The frustration was starting to show.
Harry smiled faintly as the last trainee stepped back into line.
Then, he walked to the table. No wand in sight.
With a mere flick of his hand, the first pitcher sparkled with thin condensation—chilled to perfection. He waved his fingers at the second—ice instantly filled the inside, the surface cracking lightly.
Another flick—one tub began bubbling, steam rising. Another—a soft shimmer ran across the surface of the second tub, and the temperature rose to a perfect bath-like warmth.
No words. No wand. No visible effort.
Harry turned back to face the room. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence like a blade.
"This is control. This is intent over repetition. Precision over power. This is what happens when you learn the basics of magic first before moving on to spells."
A pause. No scoffs now—only silence and a growing sense of awe.
"I will teach you exactly this, and some of you might even get a hang of wandless magic by the time you are done with this class."
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The Great Hall hummed with the usual buzz of chatter and clinking cutlery. At the Gryffindor table, Harry was focused on demolishing his fourth steak with relentless determination.
Neville, sitting across, blinked in disbelief. "Mate, how many steaks do you think your stomach can handle before it throws in the towel?"
Harry chuckled, spearing a roasted carrot. "I'm a growing guy. I need fuel."
Neville raised a brow. "You're feeding a dragon, not a boy."
Before Harry could retort, Abigail slid into the seat beside him, setting her plate down with a soft clink. A moment later, Ginny joined them, plopping down across from Harry with a grin.
""You're eating an ungodly amount of food, Harry," Ginny said, watching as he added a mountain of roasted vegetables to his already teetering plate.
Abigail glanced at Harry's meal, then at her own modest sandwich. "How are you still hungry, brother? Didn't you just finish five steaks?"
Harry shrugged and took a long sip from his goblet, "Brother is a growing guy, Abigail. I need my food."
Abigail giggled. "Mum will go spare when she hears how much you're starting to eat. Our food budget at home will be tripled just for feeding you."
Ginny who was helping herself to some mini pies, "Be glad, you only have one brother to worry about. Ask mum about our house."
Just then, Fred and George Weasley swooped in and sat on other side of Harry.
"Afternoon, honorable gluttons and lesser mortals," Fred announced.
George leaned over to peek at Harry's tray. "Blimey, today he's the Boy Who Ate, eh Freddie?"
"Seems like it, Georgie," Fred replied, nicking a steak for his own plate.
Neville chuckled as he stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "Alright, I'd better head to Potions. Don't want to be late—not with Professor Snape in this kind of weather."
Harry waved with a mouth full of mash. "Good luck."
"Yeah, you'll need it," George added solemnly.
The group waved to him as Neville made his way out of the Great Hall. As Neville, disappeared from the hall, Harry polished off another steak, and finally leaned back with a satisfied groan. HIs plate looked like it had survived a famine.
"That was…" he wiped his mouth with a napkin, "a proper meal."
Ginny stared. "That was six steaks. You had a herd."
Abigail giggled again, sipping her pumpkin juice.
Both Fred and George nodded in agreement and commented how they believed that Harry still had more space in his stomach.
Harry proved them right as he went ahead and pulled up an entire plate of mini tarts and pies in front of him.
They watched in horror as he made his way through four tarts before they could blink.
As Harry reached for his fifth tart, Fred watched in awe. "At this point, I'm starting to think you're using an Undetectable Extension Charm on your stomach."
Harry smirked. "Trade secret."
Abigail leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm, watching Harry with amused affection. "Are you ever full?"
"Rarely these days..." Harry bit into a strawberry pie with a pleased hum.
Ginny gave him a mock glare. "You do know there are starving first-years down the table, right?"
Harry protested, "Hey I'm not eating that much!"
Fred and George laughed. "Mate we watched you eat 2 steaks, a pile of veggies, 2 plates of mash and gravy and now you are halfway through the dessert plate."
Ginny tapped her fork against his goblet. "Moment of silence for the fallen steaks."
Abigail giggled again and turned to Harry, voice shifting into something a touch more serious. "So... got any plans for the day?"
Harry swallowed and leaned back slightly. "Actually, yeah. We're going home for dinner tonight."
Abigail blinked. "We are?"
"Yup," he replied, finishing off the pies. "Haven't seen Mum in a while and I am missing her food."
Abigail rolled her eyes. "How are you thinking about eating more food after ploughing through all that?"
Ginny and the twins burst out laughing at Harry's protest of him not having that much.
Harry leaned back with a content sigh, resting a hand over his stomach. "It's not that much."
"Right," Fred said dryly. "And Ron's subtle."
"Honestly," George added, "we're considering starting a betting pool. At this rate, we'll need to warn the kitchens before every meal."
Abigail gave him a playful nudge. "Well, you'd better not eat like that at home or Mum will actually start rationing food."
Harry grinned. "I'll charm her into forgetting."
Ginny raised a brow. "You really think that'll work on a pureblood matriarch who wrestled both of you and Sirius into submission during tea?"
Fred let out a dramatic sigh. "Bless her terrifying soul."
George leaned in. "So, you're heading back home, then?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Missing Mum's treacle tarts and I also happen have to check up on the distribution center."
Fred exchanged a quick glance with George. "Mind if we tag along? We need to drop by the Burrow anyway—Mum's threatening to set a Howler if we don't come fetch our potion kits."
"Please," George added, "save us from maternal wrath."
Harry smirked. "Sure. I'll drop you both off on the way."
Ginny, not missing a beat, crossed her arms and said firmly, "Then I'm coming too."
Abigail tilted her head. "You are?"
Ginny nodded. "Absolutely. I'm missing the rock cakes Mum makes and I'd rather not miss dinner because you lot vanished."
She hesitated for a second before continuing, "Also… I might bring someone."
Fred raised a teasing eyebrow. "Does she float? Talks about Nargles?"
"Possibly," Ginny replied with a grin. "You'll see."
George gave an exaggerated gasp. "This mission just got ten times more interesting."
Harry chuckled. "Alright. Meet by our usual apparating place after classes. We'll leave from there."
Fred saluted with two fingers. "Mission accepted."
As the group started to stand and collect their things, Abigail looped her arm through Harry's.
"Can we visit Honeydukes before we head home?" she asked.
"Of course Abby," Harry replied ruffling her hair.
With that Harry made his way back to the dormitory as Abigail went ahead to join Ginny for their classes.
As Harry stepped out of the Great Hall, wiping his hands on a napkin he'd conjured mid-bite, he nearly collided with someone standing just outside the doors. He looked up—and met Dumbledore's eyes.
The old wizard gave a small smile. "Ah, just in time."
Harry blinked. "You were waiting, professor?"
"I was."
"You could've just told me sir. I would've come straight to you."
Dumbledore chuckled, the lines near his eyes crinkling. "True, but it appeared you needed the food more."
Harry scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "My appetite's been ridiculous lately, sir. Feels like I'm always hungry."
"A good sign," Dumbledore chuckled, turning to begin a slow walk down the corridor. "Come, Harry. Walk with me."
They strolled through the halls of Hogwarts—quiet now, with most students still eating or outside enjoying the break or already making their way to their next class. The late afternoon sun filtered in through tall windows, painting golden streaks on the floor.
"How did the class with the Auror trainees go?" Dumbledore asked, voice light.
Harry exhaled. "Well enough. There was some…shock. But that was expected."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I imagine your demonstration had quite the impact."
"Yes, that's what made them quite attentive." Harry replied. "It's not easy to break the already set mold to give it a new shape."
"Indeed," Dumbledore mused. "But I believe you were able to just that today."
They walked a little further before Dumbledore asked, casually, "And how did you convince the Board of Governors to make Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger's research official? Fully credited and funded. Quite a feat."
Harry's expression didn't change. "I don't know what you mean, Professor."
Dumbledore gave him a sideways glance, then smiled faintly. "Ah. My mistake."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just... filled with understanding.
"So, Harry," Dumbledore said eventually. "What will you be doing for the rest of the year? Considering that you don't require the classes, I doubt things have been very mundane."
Harry nodded, "Yes sir, they have been. But so far, I have no idea. Maybe I'd do something crazy... That's what my signature style is after all."
Dumbledore hummed, the sound a soft chord in the fading light. "Ah yes, the legendary unpredictability of Mr. Potter. It does tend to keep things interesting."
Harry grinned. "I'm thinking that I'll make things more interesting for others by giving some of my craziness to everyone."
Dumbledore chuckled. "That would certainly be a sight at Hogwarts."
Harry was about to respond when something tickled the back of his mind—an unshakable thread of memory pulling him toward something he had meant to do. He stopped walking and reached into the inside of his robes.
Dumbledore paused and turned, curious.
From the subspace pouch clipped neatly beneath his uniform, Harry pulled out what looked like a small, worn notebook. But as it emerged from the pouch, it rapidly expanded—until he was holding a thick, leather-bound volume nearly the size of an encyclopedia.
"A gift?" Dumbledore asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
"Sort of," Harry replied, offering it to him with both hands. "This is everything I've developed so far. Spells. Charms. Wards. A few enchantments. Some hexes and jinxes too. It's all indexed. Categorized. I thought... the professors might want to go through it."
Dumbledore took it reverently, as though Harry had handed him something precious. Which, in many ways, he had, considering what Harry was capable of. The Headmaster's fingers brushed over the cover, his eyes twinkling as he felt the wards embedded in the book.
Rather than tucking the book under his arm, Dumbledore tapped it with his wand. A perfect duplicate shimmered into being, floating for a moment before settling neatly into his palm.
Harry stared. "I can't believe I didn't think of that."
Dumbledore offered him the original with a twinkle in his eye. "With age comes laziness, my boy. And, occasionally, a laziness so refined that it resembles brilliance."
Harry took the book back, still mildly irritated at himself.
As he slid it back into the pouch, Dumbledore asked, "So, tell me. Do you intend to pursue Masteries in the other subjects this year?"
Harry blinked, thrown for a moment. "I hadn't really thought about it."
"You already hold a master in Potions. Youngest Potion Master in history of magic."
Harry nodded, "Only in recorded magical history, sir. There is a huge possibility that there is someone even younger than me in unrecorded history."
Dumbledore chuckled, "Still humble as ever. But coming back to my question, do you intend on appearing for any Masters this year?"
"Well it won't exactly add anything apart from padding my reputation and securing my political presence. But then again..."
Dumbledore tilted his head.
"Well, it would be a record," Harry said excitedly. "No one's done that before, right? A full mastery set even before their third year?"
"Not to my knowledge," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Though I suspect the archives will be thrilled to have a new entry."
Harry smirked. "Then I might just do the entire set sir. Well, everything except Divination. That's just not my style. I prefer facts over fog."
"Understandable," Dumbledore replied, his expression fond. "Trelawney might still attempt to lure you in with omens of doom, mind you."
"Well I'll just hand over Abby to her," Harry chuckled. "She is bound to be more interested in it than me."
Dumbledore chuckled again, deeply amused. "Quite the way of escaping Trelawney's grasp—offering your little sister as tribute."
Harry shrugged, grinning. "She has the Sight, apparently. Let her make sense of the mists and tea leaves. I prefer things I can understand, test, improve. Something real."
"Wise beyond your years," Dumbledore said, a note of genuine admiration in his voice. "Though I do wonder how long Miss Abigail will suffer Divination before discovering its… ah, imaginative liberties."
"Oh, she'll probably outlast Trelawney herself," Harry said with a smirk. "Abby enjoys chaos a bit too much. The more vague and mysterious something is, the more she gets a kick out of making it sound profound."
"A budding philosopher, then?"
"More like a con artist in training," Harry replied, deadpan.
They shared a soft laugh, walking past a high-arched window where golden light filtered through dust-specked glass. The warmth of it made the stone corridors seem less ancient.
Dumbledore's tone shifted, becoming thoughtful. "If you truly intend to pursue all remaining Masteries, Harry, you'll need time, focus, and significant cooperation from the faculty. I presume you have a method to accelerate your preparations?"
"Not really sir. I'm ready even if they set up the exam today. The only issue is how fast the exam can be set up." Harry replied.
Dumbledore merely nodded, unsurprised.
"I recall," he said, his voice mild. "You did mention something to that effect during our first conversation in your first year. I believe your exact words were: 'Just tell me when and where, and I'll pass it.'"
Harry grinned. "Still stands, sir."
"Indeed," Dumbledore mused. "Then I shall speak to the respective Heads of Departments. We can likely begin staggering the Mastery evaluations over the next few weeks—though you may find some horrified at prospect of having to invigilate a 12 year old."
Harry chuckled, "I can just do what I did in Potions Mastery exam sir—making them rethink their decisions."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. "Yes, I do recall Bartha needing a calming draught afterwards. Purely due to the realization that a 11 year old outclassed her in her own subject."
Harry smiled, "I didn't want to do that to her... but I needed the Mastery for the Moonsbane Elixir."
The old Headmaster laughed, deep and genuine. "Merlin help us you'll rival the Department of Mysteries by the time you're thirteen."
Harry shrugged with mock innocence. "Might as well make things efficient, sir. Why should I keep giving the magical society a shock every year when I can give them a heart attack in just one?"
"Why indeed" Dumbledore chuckled. "Perhaps I should keep Madam Pomfrey on standby—not for you, of course, but for the professors and the Masters"
Harry smirked. "I'll try to leave a few of them with their pride intact."
"A noble goal," Dumbledore said with mock solemnity, "though I suspect a futile one."
They stood in companionable silence for a moment. The late afternoon sun bathed the corridor in a golden hue, casting long shadows that danced with the slow flicker of enchanted torches.
Then Dumbledore gave a small nod. "Very well, Harry. I'll speak to the Heads of Departments and begin the process. Enjoy the lull while it lasts."
"I'll try," Harry said with a grin, turning slightly. "Thank you, sir."
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled. "And Harry…"
Harry paused mid-step.
"Remember to be a child once in a while. The world will catch up to you soon enough."
Harry gave a soft, almost wistful smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
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Harry sat alone in the common room, one leg crossed over the other, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. The fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows on the carpet as he waited for the twins, Ginny, and Abigail to arrive.
The portrait hole creaked open, and in stumbled Ron and Hermione—both looking like they'd been dragged through a battlefield. Ron's eyes were bloodshot, Hermione's hair a frizzed mess, and both moved like their joints had rusted.
Without a word, Harry flicked his fingers. Two streams of pale golden light shot toward them—Energizing Charms. They hit home, sinking into the pair's chests.
Ron blinked. Hermione's posture straightened slightly. But only slightly.
Harry frowned. That settles it. The charms worked like caffeine—sharp and stimulating—but even those had their limits. No effect meant one thing: they hadn't slept in at least two days.
"You both need a shower," Harry said flatly. "And straight to bed after."
Ron groaned and flopped down beside him. "I'm starving."
Hermione dropped onto the other side, rubbing her eyes. "Same."
Harry glanced at them. "Want to go home for the night?"
There was a pause. Then a quiet, "Yes," from Hermione. Ron nodded in agreement.
"All right," Harry said. "But shower first. You both reek."
Ron muttered something unintelligible under his breath and dragged himself up. Hermione followed, too exhausted to argue.
By the time they returned—clean, dressed, and looking marginally human again—the common room had filled with quiet chatter. Fred, George, Ginny, and Abigail had arrived, waiting with eager faces and charmed cloaks.
Harry stood. "Good. You're all here."
He looked around the group. "Same place as always. Don't go together."
They nodded without needing further instruction.
The classroom was dim and quiet—the one Harry always used for group Apparition. Everyone had gathered. Ron and Hermione stood near the center, swaying slightly, their exhaustion obvious. Hermione's head lolled as if it were too heavy to hold up. Ron's eyes were glazed over.
Harry exhaled and lifted his hand. Silently, he bound both of them to himself with a magical tether—one that would keep them anchored to him during Apparition.
"Alright, hold on," he told the others.
Fred, George, Ginny, and Abigail all pressed in, gripping his arm or shoulder. Then, with barely a whisper of displaced air, Harry Disapparated them all.
They appeared in the Dursley Mansion's living room. Surprisingly, it was empty. No Petunia flipping through magazines, no Vernon with his evening paper.
Fred looked around. "Weird. Aunt Petunia's always here."
"They must've gone out," Harry said simply.
George nudged Ron. "Alright, Sleeping Beauty. Time to go home."
Ron made a noise halfway between a grunt and a snore.
The twins each took an arm and vanished, soundlessly.
Ginny gave Harry a nod. "See you tomorrow."
And with that, she too Disapparated.
Harry turned to Abigail. "Check with the elves. Find out where Mum and Dad are."
"On it," she said and hurried off toward the kitchen.
Harry shifted his focus to Hermione, still suspended midair beside him, sleeping deeply under the magical tether.
With a soft breath, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.
He reappeared in the Granger living room. The lights were low, and Mr. Granger sat in an armchair, reading a novel. His eyes widened as Harry appeared—then went completely white when he saw Hermione floating in the air.
"Merlin! Is she—?"
"She's fine," Harry said quickly, raising a hand. "She's just… tired. Really tired."
Mr. Granger stood up, heart visibly thudding. "Tired?"
"She hasn't slept in two days," Harry said. "Research. She wouldn't stop. I figured it was better to bring her home than leave her at Hogwarts where she'd just keep going."
Mr. Granger reached forward, worry still tightening his jaw. "So she's just asleep?"
"Fast asleep," Harry confirmed. "She'll be okay."
He lowered Hermione gently, but Mr. Granger stepped in and caught her, cradling her as if she were still a little girl.
"I'll take her to bed," he said softly. "She'll rest better there."
Harry nodded. "Tell her she's not allowed back to Hogwarts until the day after tomorrow. She needs to sleep—not argue with me."
Mr. Granger gave a small smile. "She'll probably try."
Harry smirked faintly. "I'll win."
Mr. Granger's expression relaxed. "Thank you, Harry."
Harry dipped his head. "Good night, sir."