For the remainder of the class, Hermione behaved herself, quietly holding her teacup and earnestly attempting to learn.
Though...
Like Harry, she still found the idea of interpreting fate through tea leaves to be utterly ridiculous.
By the ti class ended, the young wizards were entirely captivated by Trelawney. Even those without Harry's sharp intuition could tell that the professor had made a genuine prophecy during class.
As they left the classroom, the students buzzed with excitent, fervently discussing the lesson.
Hermione clutched her parchnt tightly, deep in thought. "What does this prophecy an?"
"'The red-haired raven…'"
She looked up and stared at Ron.
Ron touched his head uncertainly. "I an, I've got red hair, but I'm not a raven, right? I'm obviously a person."
"Do ravens beat cats in fights?" Harry asked Hermione with mock seriousness.
Before Hermione could answer, Ron exploded. With a wave of his wand, he sent a book flying toward Harry. "Are we seriously not letting this go?!"
Harry deflected the book with his wand. "I'm being serious."
"Maybe we'll find so similarities between you and a raven," he mused.
Hermione added thoughtfully, "Like a raspy voice?"
"Or the appetite," Harry suggested.
Ron turned redder and more flustered, angrily brandishing his wand.
At that mont, Filch appeared—seemingly as omnipresent as Peeves around the Weasley twins. "Mr. Potter, spells are not ant to be used in the hallways," Filch said, his tone surprisingly gentle.
The passing students shot envious glances at Harry.
Potter's charm was incredible; even Filch's usual scowl softened for him. Normally, Filch treated them all with the sa sour expression as Snape.
"Apologies, Mr. Filch." With a wave of his wand, Harry tidied up all the scattered books, arranging them neatly in the air behind them.
Filch nodded, hesitated, and then said, "And thank you. Mrs. Norris is very fond of the treats you sent her."
Harry blinked. "Oh, don't ntion it. I'm glad she likes them."
Hearing the ntion of "she," Filch's face brightened even more. "Well, I won't keep you from your lessons. Have a great term."
He turned and left, continuing his patrol for other misbehaving students.
"When did you start giving Filch gifts?" Ron asked, astonished. Harry wasn't the kind to network or maintain social relationships.
Harry froze and shrugged. "I didn't. Maybe it was Hedwig?"
"She's made a lot of owl friends recently."
Hermione teased, "Even Crookshanks seems to like Hedwig. This morning, I saw Hedwig riding on Crookshanks, and I have no idea where they went."
"Hedwig's amazing," Ron said, looking down at the scratches on his hand and sighing in admiration.
As they walked back toward the castle, Hermione stopped near the Great Hall. "Harry, wait a mont. I need to use the restroom."
Ron counted on his fingers. "Ten minutes at least."
He seed genuinely puzzled about why girls always took longer in the bathroom than boys, even though they wore skirts.
But this ti, he was wrong. Barely three minutes later, Hermione ca rushing back.
"Let's go, Harry." She rejoined them naturally.
"That was fast," Ron remarked, surprised.
Hermione tilted her head. "There wasn't a line."
Harry sniffed the air and frowned. "Hermione, your scent has changed."
Hermione froze, then sniffed herself. It still slled like sage—her usual faint herbal fragrance. "Did I pick up so strange odor?"
"No," Harry shook his head. "My scent has faded significantly."
Hermione blushed and glared at him. "What do you an, 'your scent'? What nonsense are you spouting?"
Harry paused, speaking seriously. "I'm not joking. Not just mine, but the scent of the Divination classroom too. It's like you weren't in the restroom for three minutes—it's as if you were gone for fifty."
Hermione exhaled deeply, her disappointnt evident. "Your nose is annoyingly sharp."
"This has to do with what Professor McGonagall gave —it helps avoid missing overlapping classes."
A fleeting silver thought crossed Harry's mind, and his voice dropped. "A ti-traveling device?"
Hermione nodded.
Ron's eyes widened in astonishnt.
The Sorting Hat muttered, "I knew what it was all along."
Hearing Hermione confirm his guess, Harry was equally astonished. Magic... could tamper with ti? Was it similar to Ciri's Elder Blood abilities?
The thought sent an excited warmth through him.
To go back in ti.
Those four words held an irresistible allure.
As they walked toward the Transfiguration classroom, Harry hesitated before asking, "Can I see it tonight?"
Hermione froze, then grabbed Harry's hand tightly. "Harry, don't get any ideas. Professor McGonagall told it can't be used to go too far back."
"And…"
"What's already happened can't be changed."
Harry didn't reply and simply nodded.
"I know you might want to try sothing, but it's not possible," Hermione said, exhaling sharply. "It's dangerous, especially for you."
Ron, initially confused, began to understand.
"Harry, I know it's hard, but dead people can't co back to life. Even the fabled Deathly Hallows can't truly resurrect soone." He reached for Harry's hand, but Harry pulled away.
"I know," Harry said with a forced smile. "I won't dwell on it, don't worry."
Hermione nodded but still looked uneasy.
"All right, fine." Harry sighed. "I won't ask to see it. Just be careful with it yourself."
Hermione relaxed. "That's for the best."
"Professor McGonagall warned to keep it a secret, especially from you. If I couldn't, I was to ensure you never got your hands on it."
"Who would've thought I'd slip up on the very first day."
They continued toward the Transfiguration classroom, Hermione and Ron deliberately steering the conversation toward lighter topics. They discussed a prank the Weasley twins had pulled on Malfoy, which Hermione had overheard in Arithmancy class.
On the first day of school, the twins' prank had landed the platinum-haired boy in the hospital wing—his tongue had swollen to the size of his body, tearing the corners of his mouth.
This stunt had cost Gryffindor 100 points.
Slytherin lost 100 points as well. After the prank, the Gryffindor and Slytherin students, having spent the sumr apart, couldn't resist their pent-up energy and broke out into an epic brawl.
Not to be outdone, the Ravenclaws joined in.
Why should Gryffindor have all the glory?
The Hufflepuffs, anwhile, watched with tears in their eyes, daring to hope: Could this be the year they finally had a shot at the House Cup?
When they arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, Professor McGonagall was already waiting, her expression severe.
By third year, their textbook had been upgraded to Interdiate Transfiguration, and the curriculum now included more dangerous material—human Transfiguration.
Their first lesson involved transforming their own hair into plants or animals.
The classroom beca a chaotic ss.
Seamus handled his transformation cautiously, worried it might blow up in his face.
Hermione attempted to turn her hair into gold.
Harry, anwhile, transford his into writhing snakes. The sight made his fellow Gryffindors uneasy. Couldn't he pick sothing cuter? Snakes were a bit much.
After an exhausting Transfiguration class, the students packed up their bags and hurried to their final morning class—their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year.
The Gryffindors were already placing bets.
What kind of blunders would this year's professor make? Could they be worse than Lockhart?
Neville was certain Lockhart represented rock bottom for a professor—surely no one could match him, unless Neville himself took the job.
When they arrived, Lupin wasn't there yet.
He entered just as the bell rang.
Speaking in a crisp, straightforward manner that clashed with his frail appearance, he began: "Good morning. From what Professor Dumbledore has told , your past two years haven't been ideal."
"So, put your textbooks back in your bags. Today, you'll only need your wands."
"We're moving to a different classroom for a practical lesson."
The Gryffindors exchanged uneasy glances.
Lockhart's first class had also been practical, and the blue-skinned pixies from that lesson had left a lasting impression.
Still, seeing Harry rise from his seat reassured them. Even if this professor wasn't reliable, at least they had Harry.
With that in mind, they followed Lupin out of the classroom.
As they rounded a corner in the corridor, Peeves swooped down.
"Loony Lupin's a silly fool! Loony Lupin's a silly fool!"
He sang gleefully, hurling chalk at Lupin.
The students were surprised.
Peeves, while a notorious troublemaker, usually respected professors—even Lockhart hadn't been an exception.
Was Peeves starting to share their lack of faith in Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers?
"If I were you, I wouldn't treat a professor like that," Lupin said, raising his wand.
The chalk hovering in the air froze.
Undeterred, Peeves continued his antics, throwing more chalk.
Lupin sighed, turning to the students. "Let teach you a very handy little spell."
"Pay attention to my wand movent. It's simple but needs to be swift."
"Waddiwasi!"
The chalk shot backward at high speed, striking Peeves squarely.
The mischievous poltergeist yelped, clutching his head as he fled from the rebounding chalk.
"If Peeves ever bothers you again, or if there are any small objects nearby," Lupin said, waving his wand to collect the chalk and deposit it neatly into the bin, "this spell will be very useful."
The students broke into applause, their eyes sparkling with newfound admiration.
Perhaps this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor might just be competent after all.
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Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: /michaeltranslates
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