The Year Begins

The third year at Hogwarts was already proving to be more eventful than Harry could have anticipated. Between secret conversations with the professors about Sirius Black's innocence and his own ever-growing power, there was never a dull moment. But today, something entirely different was weighing on his mind: Divination class.

He, along with the rest of the third-year students, shuffled into Professor Trelawney's classroom. It was dimly lit, with heavy drapes, crystal balls, and the overwhelming scent of incense making the atmosphere feel almost suffocating. Trelawney, with her large glasses and mystic aura, immediately began speaking in her usual, ethereal tone.

"Welcome, my dears," she said, her eyes wide and full of prophetic intent. "Today, I have seen something most... concerning. One of you here, I fear, has been marked by death."

The room went eerily quiet, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He glanced around, seeing his classmates already getting nervous. Lavender Brown looked especially pale, clutching her cup of tea as if it were her lifeline.

Harry smirked a little to himself. He could already tell what was coming.

"Mr. Potter," Trelawney said, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "I sense... I see... danger surrounds you, and I fear your life may soon come to an end. The Grim has marked you."

A few gasps echoed through the room. The students shifted uncomfortably, the air now thick with unease. Harry, however, didn't even blink. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.

"Professor," he said, his voice calm but firm, "if I believed every time someone said I was marked for death, I wouldn't have made it to my second year, let alone my third."

There was a ripple of nervous laughter from some of the students, though most of them still looked pale. Trelawney blinked, her oversized glasses magnifying her expression of surprise. Harry's retort had cut through the tension, and for a moment, it seemed as though the haze of dread lifted from the room.

"One should be careful about what they believe," Harry added, his words laced with more meaning than just Trelawney's ominous prediction. He wasn't just talking about divination—there was a deeper message here, one that echoed in the hidden corridors of Hogwarts, the Ministry, and the wizarding world as a whole. His life had been shaped by assumptions, lies, and half-truths. He had learned to question everything, and he was slowly teaching others to do the same.

Professor Trelawney, taken aback by his calm demeanor, seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, as if regaining her mystic poise, she waved her hands theatrically. "Ah, well, the future is always... uncertain, Mr. Potter. But be warned... the signs do not lie."

Harry smiled but said nothing more. He'd let her have her moment, but he could already see the fear that had gripped the room beginning to melt away. After class, a few students even approached him, thanking him for easing their nerves.

He made a point to catch Professor Trelawney alone before the day ended.

"Professor," Harry said softly, "you could connect with the students better if you toned down the dramatics a bit. Most of them are already scared enough being here. Maybe show them there's more to divination than doom and gloom."

Trelawney stared at him, blinking rapidly as if processing his words. It was the first time someone had spoken to her with both respect and gentle advice.

"I... I will consider your words, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice less airy than before. "Perhaps I have been too... dramatic."

Harry gave her a small nod and left, hoping that she would take his advice to heart. If nothing else, it would make Divination a lot less stressful for everyone.

Outside of classes, Harry had taken on a new responsibility: training the Slytherins. He had managed to gather a group of students who were eager to learn more about practical combat magic, something beyond the regular curriculum. Harry's reputation had reached new heights, and his Slytherin followers admired his mastery and ruthlessness when it came to magic.

The Slytherin common room had become a training ground of sorts. Harry organized small, private tournaments where students would compete, using their magic not just for duels, but for practical, real-world combat. The rewards were small but enticing—rare spell scrolls, enchanted items, or sometimes even just the honor of being the best in their year.

One night, after a particularly intense duel between Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy, Harry called for a break.

"You're improving," Harry said as he watched Draco catch his breath. "But remember, it's not just about power. Precision. Control. You need both if you want to win in a real fight."

Draco nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'll work on it, Harry."

Harry smirked. "Good. You've got potential, Malfoy. Don't waste it."

The group admired his authority. He wasn't just their leader—he was their mentor. And he enjoyed it, molding them into competent witches and wizards, preparing them for a world that was far more dangerous than they realized.

When Harry wasn't training the Slytherins or attending classes, he was on the Quidditch pitch, practicing with his team. His agility, instincts, and quick thinking made him a force to be reckoned with. Every time he soared into the air, it felt like he was born for it—he ruled the skies.

And then, of course, there were the professors. Harry couldn't help but tease Professors Sprout and Sinistra whenever he had the chance, throwing them casual glances and remarks that seemed innocent enough on the surface but held a hidden meaning that left both women blushing.

At first, it had been harmless fun, but now he could feel their growing interest. He saw it in the way their eyes lingered a little too long, the way their voices softened when they spoke to him, and the way they bit their lips when they thought no one was looking. They were burning with desire, though they did well to hide it behind professional facades. But Harry noticed everything.

It amused him. He liked pushing them just to the edge, without crossing the line. For now.

Harry had gained access to the restricted section of the library, ostensibly to study advanced charms and spells. Officially, he was looking into methods of flying without a broom, a challenging feat that most wizards wouldn't even dream of attempting. But Harry had a deeper goal—he wanted to devour every bit of magical knowledge the library held.

Late into the nights, he would sneak into the library, slipping through the shadows under his invisibility cloak. He scoured ancient texts, learning spells that were long forgotten, and uncovering secrets that most wizards wouldn't dare to explore.

Winter descended on Hogwarts, and with it came the first visit to Hogsmeade. Harry, who had been granted special permission by Snape after explaining the Sirius Black situation, was more than eager to escape the castle's walls for a while.

He walked through the snowy streets with his three girlfriends—Daphne, Tracey, and Hermione—enjoying the crisp air and the festive atmosphere. They visited Honeydukes for sweets, the Three Broomsticks for butterbeer, and took leisurely strolls around the village.

"Are you sure you're safe, Harry?" Hermione asked, her concern evident as they passed the Shrieking Shack.

"I told you," Harry replied, smiling reassuringly. "I've made sure of it. There's nothing to worry about."

Daphne smirked. "Knowing you, I'm guessing there's more to that than you're letting on."

"Maybe," Harry said with a wink. "But for now, just enjoy the day. We deserve a break."

The girls laughed, and the four of them spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying each other's company, the worries of the wizarding world momentarily forgotten. For now, everything felt right. But Harry knew that the shadows of his past—and his plans—were never far behind.

As they returned to Hogwarts, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the real games were only just beginning.