The Second Coming of Merlin

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### **Chapter 6: The Second Coming of Merlin**

The whispers had begun to spread throughout the halls of Hogwarts by the end of the first week. Everywhere Harry went, he could feel the weight of their eyes on him—students and teachers alike. In classrooms, in the Great Hall, even in the corridors between lessons, the murmurs followed him. **Harry Potter had changed**.

But this wasn't the same idle gossip that had surrounded him during his first year. This was something more profound, something born of both admiration and fear. It was the **power** they saw in him—raw, unrelenting, and unmistakable. The transformation he had undergone over the summer had not gone unnoticed.

The **Sharingan**, now fully awakened, had given Harry the edge he craved. His senses were sharper, his reactions faster, and his understanding of magic had deepened beyond anything he had ever thought possible. Spells that had once required weeks of practice were now child's play, their intricacies unraveling before his enhanced sight.

It wasn't long before the professors began to take note.

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### **Scene: Outshining His Peers**

In **Transfiguration**, Harry's progress had astounded even the strict and stoic Professor McGonagall. The second-year students were tasked with transforming mundane objects into living creatures, a complex spell that usually took months to master. Most of Harry's classmates struggled—attempts to turn wooden crates into ravens resulted in malformed birds with uneven wings or lifeless feathers.

But Harry had transfigured his crate into a **perfect raven**—its feathers sleek and shimmering, its black eyes gleaming with intelligence as it flapped its wings and soared gracefully around the room. The other students had watched in stunned silence, and even McGonagall had paused, her usually composed face betraying a flicker of surprise.

"Remarkable, Mr. Potter," she had said, her voice carrying an undercurrent of something that Harry recognized—unease. "You've shown a level of mastery that is… well, quite advanced for your age."

Harry had only nodded, his expression unreadable, but inside, he had felt a quiet satisfaction. The Sharingan had revealed the subtle movements of magic to him in a way that no ordinary student could perceive. He could see the magic flowing through the objects, the shifts in energy as they transformed, and with that vision came control.

In **Charms**, it was the same. Professor Flitwick, usually bubbly and excitable, had watched Harry with barely concealed awe as he cast the **Protego Maxima** shield charm, a spell meant for seventh-years. The shield that formed around Harry was nearly impenetrable, shimmering with a brilliant blue light that reflected across the room.

"Magnificent, Mr. Potter!" Flitwick had exclaimed, his tiny frame practically vibrating with excitement. "You're progressing at an incredible rate—dare I say, you might be the next **Merlin**!"

The whispers had followed him out of the classroom. The **second coming of Merlin**—that was the phrase now circulating among students. But Harry paid them little attention. His focus was singular—he was driven by something more than mere accolades.

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### **Scene: The Growing Divide**

In contrast, Harry's relationship with his former friends was deteriorating. **Ron**, **Hermione**, and **Neville** had become distant, their interactions with him growing increasingly strained with every passing day. Harry could see it in their eyes—the confusion, the frustration, and most of all, the fear.

At first, they had tried to reach out to him.

"Harry, we barely see you anymore," Hermione had said one evening in the **Gryffindor common room**. Her voice was gentle but filled with concern. "You've been acting… different."

Harry had barely looked up from his book, his face impassive. "I'm focused on my studies, Hermione. That's all."

Ron, who had been sitting nearby, had shot him a glare. "Yeah, well, it's not just that, is it? You've been avoiding us—avoiding everyone. You spend all your time with those Slytherins."

Harry's eyes had narrowed slightly at the mention of the Slytherins, but he kept his voice calm. "I'm learning from them. They're useful."

Hermione had frowned, her brow furrowed. "Useful? Harry, we're your friends. You don't need to shut us out."

But Harry had already turned away, his patience wearing thin. **Friends**—the word seemed meaningless to him now. They didn't understand what he was doing, what he was becoming. They couldn't see the bigger picture.

The **Golden Trio** was no more.

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### **Scene: Harry's Lessons with the Slytherins**

While Harry drifted further from Ron, Hermione, and Neville, his influence within **Slytherin** grew exponentially. The common room, once a place of idle chatter and posturing, had become a training ground—**Harry's training ground**.

**Draco**, **Pansy**, **Blaise**, **Theodore**, and **Daphne** now gathered around him regularly, their respect for him solidifying with each passing day. Harry had proven himself to them, not just as a skilled wizard, but as someone who could offer them something they all craved—**power**.

One evening, as the fire crackled softly in the hearth, Harry stood before them, his wand in hand, demonstrating a complex **Blasting Curse**. His Sharingan, though hidden behind his emerald green eyes, tracked every movement with precision, allowing him to control the spell with ease.

"You see how it's done," Harry said, his voice steady. "The key isn't just in the incantation—it's in your focus. You need to control the force behind the spell, otherwise, it's useless."

Blaise, who had been practicing the curse, nodded, though sweat dripped down his face from the effort. "I'll get it," he muttered, determination etched into his features. "I just need more time."

Harry's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Time isn't something you'll have in a real duel. You need to be faster."

Draco, always one to test Harry's authority, stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest. "Why don't you show us, Potter? You keep teaching us, but you never show us what you're really capable of."

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to Harry.

Harry regarded Draco coolly for a moment before raising his wand with a practiced ease. "Alright, Malfoy. Watch closely."

In an instant, Harry cast a **Disarming Charm**, sending Draco's wand flying across the room. Before Draco could react, Harry flicked his wand again, summoning a jet of red light that zipped past Draco's shoulder, narrowly missing him but leaving no room for doubt about Harry's skill.

"Do you see now?" Harry asked, his voice calm but cold. "This is the power I'm offering you. But if you hesitate, even for a second, you're finished."

Draco retrieved his wand, his smirk gone, replaced by a look of grudging respect. The others exchanged glances, their admiration for Harry growing stronger. He wasn't just a fellow student—he was becoming their leader, someone worth following.

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### **Scene: Snape's Watchful Eyes**

While Harry's influence in Slytherin flourished, one person had been watching him more closely than ever—**Professor Snape**.

From the very beginning of the school year, Snape had noticed the change in Harry. The boy who had once been a thorn in his side, constantly reminding him of James Potter, had become something far more intriguing. This Harry was different—**darker, more calculating**. And that fascinated Snape.

Snape had witnessed Harry's progress in class—his near-perfect execution of potions that most second-years couldn't even comprehend. There was a precision to Harry's movements, a controlled power that went beyond natural talent. It was as if the boy had gained an understanding of magic that was beyond his years.

Snape, always a master of observation, had seen Harry use spells that no second-year should know. And it wasn't just the spells—it was the way Harry used them, the way his eyes seemed to flicker with a dangerous intensity, as though he could see more than what was in front of him.

One evening, after a particularly grueling potions lesson, Snape had called Harry to stay behind.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice cold but curious, "I've noticed that your progress this year has been… **unusual**. You've been performing spells that are far beyond your level. How do you explain that?"

Harry's gaze didn't waver. "I've been studying."

Snape's lips curled into a smirk. "Studying? Don't insult my intelligence, Potter. You've been doing more than just studying. You remind me of someone."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Me," Snape replied, his dark eyes gleaming with something close to amusement.

The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken tension. Snape could see the potential in Harry, the hunger for power that mirrored his own ambitions from years past. But for now, he kept his distance, content to observe.

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### **Scene: The Trio's Suspicions**

While Snape watched from the shadows, **Ron**, **Hermione**, and **Neville** had begun to plot in earnest. They had taken to following Harry, trying to catch him in the act of doing something they could confront him about. But Harry was too careful—too calculated.

"He's always with those Slytherins now," Ron muttered one evening as they huddled together in the library. "Draco, Pansy, Blaise—all of them. He's up to something, I know it."

Hermione, her brow furrowed in thought, nodded. "We need proof, though. We can't just accuse him without knowing what he's doing. If we confront him without evidence, he'll shut us down."

Neville, who had been quietly listening, spoke up. "But how do we get proof? He's too careful. It's like he knows we're watching."

Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing. "There's one way… but it's dangerous."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"**Polyjuice Potion**," Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible. "If we can transform into Slytherins, we can get close to Harry and find out what he's up to."

Ron paled at the suggestion. "Hermione, that's advanced magic. We're only second years!"

"I know," Hermione replied, her eyes filled with determination. "But it's the only way. If we can get close to him, we might be able to stop whatever he's planning."

The decision was made. They would brew the potion, transform into Slytherins, and uncover the truth about Harry's activities—no matter the risk.

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### **Scene: Harry's Ambition Grows**

As the days turned into weeks, Harry's power continued to grow. His classes had become routine, his mastery of spells almost effortless. But it wasn't enough—Harry wanted more. He craved power like a fire craves fuel, and he knew that he had only scratched the surface of what he could achieve.

In the **Slytherin common room**, his allies gathered around him more frequently now. They listened as he spoke, hanging on his every word, eager to learn from him. They practiced the spells he taught them, their skills growing under his guidance.

One evening, as the firelight flickered over their faces, Harry stood before them, his expression calm but commanding. "You want power," he said, his voice low but firm. "And I can give it to you. But you need to be willing to go further than you've ever gone before."

Draco, who had been sitting by the fire, looked up, his silver eyes gleaming with curiosity. "How far are we talking, Potter?"

Harry's eyes flickered with a dark intensity. "Far enough that no one will be able to stop us."

The Slytherins exchanged glances, their respect for Harry deepening. They could feel it—the shift in power, the change in the air. And they knew that, under Harry's leadership, they were on the path to something greater.

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