"Not only that, the Malfoy family has also lost their seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. You understand what that means, don't you, Harry?" Professor Flitwick continued, his tone light but pointed. "When it came to establishing the Shamanism course and appointing you as the new professor, the Malfoys—well, let's just say certain Slytherin-affiliated governors—were vehemently opposed."
"But the Malfoys were the most vocal against it," Harry interjected, piecing things together. "So they're the only ones who lost their position?"
"Exactly," Flitwick confirmed with a nod. "No one knows how Dumbledore managed to sway several neutral governors, but in the end, they not only unanimously approved the new course and your appointment but also ousted the Malfoys entirely. And mind you, the Hogwarts Board hasn't seen such a shake-up in ages."
By all accounts, such matters shouldn't be discussed with a student, but in Flitwick's eyes, Harry was already a colleague. This allowed for a far more candid conversation.
The Hogwarts faculty were used to this sort of thing—last year's student becoming this year's colleague wasn't entirely unprecedented.
As a professor, Harry needed to be in the know.
"I see," Harry said, his gaze deepening with thought.
If his suspicions were correct, it might have something to do with Draco. Lucius had gone all-in, even sacrificing his family's ancestral seat on the Board. Perhaps that was the only way to secure the trust of the remaining Death Eater factions?
Truly, only someone as cunning as Lucius—capable of serving a volatile figure like Voldemort, reaping benefits for his family, and still emerging unscathed—could act with such ruthless decisiveness.
"Quite shocking, isn't it?" Flitwick said with a cheerful chuckle. "But you needn't worry about any of that. Dumbledore will handle it."
As he spoke, he gave Harry an appraising look.
"Now, if I were you, I'd get myself a proper set of professor's robes and pick a good spot for your office," Flitwick suggested with a shrug. "You wouldn't want to set up shop in the dungeons like Professor Snape, would you?"
"Definitely not," Harry replied without hesitation. "Professors can choose their office locations?"
"Typically, new professors inherit their predecessor's office, unless they have specific requirements. Dumbledore won't object in those cases," Flitwick explained. "Hogwarts is vast, with plenty of empty classrooms. But, of course, there's never been a Shamanism course before."
"So, as the professor of a new course, I get to decide everything," Harry said, understanding dawning.
"Precisely!" Flitwick burst into hearty laughter. "Look at your face, Harry! You finally look like a kid again."
My face?
Harry touched his cheeks and realized his lips had curled into a grin, mirroring the excitement bubbling inside him.
He could finally move out of the Gryffindor Tower. His own room, a space for shamanic rituals, and the chance to openly teach the ways of the shaman… Honestly, Harry could hardly wait.
"Make sure to plan out your required textbooks and teaching materials in advance. Professor McGonagall will likely ask you to submit a list soon," Flitwick advised. "Once the course is official, she'll probably want to know your teaching plans as well. Just answer clearly and logically."
"Prepare ahead of time. Don't look like you've given it no thought when she asks. And don't go overboard with your materials list—too many or too expensive items, and McGonagall won't approve," Flitwick added.
"Is this the wisdom of a seasoned professor?" Harry asked, his expression tinged with amusement as he watched Flitwick enthusiastically share his insights.
This was his first encounter with such workplace advice.
It was worlds apart from the customs of the Horde.
"You could say that," Flitwick replied, grinning even wider. "Anyway, when you have time, we should have a proper discussion about the essence of magic, Harry. I quite like your distinction between internal and external spellcasting, but I must say, it's not entirely precise."
"Please, go on," Harry said, genuinely intrigued.
"Wizards don't solely rely on their internal magic to cast spells. We also harness external elements—oh, not your kind of elements," Flitwick hastily clarified. "You're on good terms with Professor Snape, aren't you? You'll understand better when you start learning advanced potion-making."
"Certain high-level potions must be brewed at specific times—like during a full moon, at high noon, or other particular moments. Sometimes they require a wand's assistance or a fixed ritual. It's rather complex, but it does involve drawing on environmental magic."
It was clear Flitwick had been itching to discuss these magical intricacies for a while, though he'd lacked the opportunity.
"Specific times?" Harry mused. "Like how Mooncalves gather and dance under a full moon?"
"Exactly. The moon is a magical force," Flitwick affirmed. "There's no doubt about that. Not only do wizards harness lunar magic, but many magical creatures do as well."
"I understand," Harry said, a touch embarrassed. "My mistake—I made a broad statement about magic without fully understanding it."
And he'd said it in front of so many people. His words had even been published in the Daily Prophet for the entire wizarding world to read. Thinking about how he'd inadvertently misled others, Harry felt his face flush.
"Don't take it to heart, Harry. How long have you been studying wizarding magic?" Flitwick said dismissively. "The old wizards at the Wizengamot know these things. Compared to that minor slip, your elemental magic is real and tangible. No one's not interested in that."
"So, aside from rituals that borrow natural magic, are there other forms of wizarding magic that don't rely on personal magical reserves?" Harry asked, curiosity piqued.
"There are, Harry, there are," Flitwick said, his tone suddenly grave as he fixed Harry with a steady gaze. "Ancient magic."
"Ancient magic?"
"Don't look at me like that—I don't know it," Flitwick said with a candid shrug. "Why do you think it's called ancient magic? It's lost, gone, forgotten. No one knows how to use it anymore."
Harry couldn't help but laugh.
"I know what you're thinking, Harry," Flitwick said seriously. "Do you remember the senior student of Professor Dumbledore's you mentioned during your first Shaman Club lesson?"
"I do," Harry said, sensing where this was going. "Are you saying—"
"After witnessing your elemental magic last year, I made some inquiries… with certain relatives," Flitwick said with a sigh. "No need to hide it, Harry. You've probably noticed I have some goblin ancestry."
The diminutive professor was remarkably open about this, especially since non-human heritage often faced prejudice in wizarding society—goblins, in particular. Yet Flitwick admitted it to Harry without hesitation.
"And?" Harry pressed, ignoring the revelation about Flitwick's lineage.
"There's a rumor…" Flitwick lowered his voice. "It's said that Dumbledore's senior used ancient magic. The spells he cast were far more powerful than those of other wizards."
"Just more powerful?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Not just that," Flitwick shook his head. "He could summon storms, command lightning, create objects from nothing, even alter seasons—as if there was nothing ancient magic couldn't do."
"Your relative… saw it firsthand?" Harry asked, feeling like he was hearing a fantastical tale.
"Not just saw," Flitwick said, his lips trembling slightly as he sighed deeply. "He lived through it."
"You might find it hard to imagine, Harry, but over a century ago, troubles like the Ashwinder Syndicate or poachers were minor compared to the Ministry's greatest enemy at the time: goblins. The Goblin Rebellion."
Harry could imagine it all too well. He'd seen far more interspecies conflicts than Flitwick could guess—kobolds, quilboar, harpies, centaurs. Azeroth, unlike this world, wasn't dominated by humans. Many races stood as equals, each united within their own communities.
"I've read about that period, but the Goblin Rebellion is always mentioned in passing," Harry said thoughtfully.
"Of course, the Ministry wouldn't want to advertise their incompetence," Flitwick said with a shake of his head. "In truth, that rebellion a hundred years ago was massive. The goblins seized numerous ancient ruins and even built their own settlements."
"And then that scholar suppressed it all," Harry said, not as a question. He knew the outcome of that history.
"Yes, all of it," Flitwick said, swallowing hard, a flicker of fear crossing his face. "Every rebel goblin was killed. Not just them—even the Ashwinder Syndicate and poachers were wiped out."
"My relative escaped early, so he was fortunate enough to survive… but even so, he was utterly broken. Even now, decades later, he rarely leaves his home unless absolutely necessary and avoids contact with other goblins."
"What did he see?" Harry asked.
"It was as if the entire world turned against the goblins," Flitwick said, his voice distant. "The sky roared with thunder and lightning. The environment itself came alive, pursuing the goblin warriors. Green bolts of death wove a net, reducing anyone they touched to ash…"
"Weather charms? Transfiguration?" Harry ventured.
"It was far beyond any ordinary weather charm or Transfiguration," Flitwick said. "I've asked many people… and, well, ghosts and portraits too. Some of the oldest portraits in the castle know more than we can imagine. Hogwarts has hosted several wielders of ancient magic in its history. According to one portrait, they even had a secret stronghold within the castle."
"So we need to find this stronghold," Harry said, realization dawning.
"I knew your curiosity about magic wouldn't let you pass this up, Harry," Flitwick said, breaking into a smile again. He clapped Harry on the back. "But there's no rush. We have plenty of time, Professor Potter."
Hogwarts professorships were for life, and Harry was indeed fascinated by this so-called ancient magic.
"Harry?" Hermione shook his arm, her voice laced with concern. "Are you okay? What did Professor Flitwick say to you?"
Since returning to the classroom, Harry had been unusually serious, lost in thought.
"Oh, I'm fine," Harry said quickly, flashing a smile to ease his friends' worries. "It's good news—barring any surprises, Hogwarts will soon have a new course."
No further explanation was needed. Ron and the others instantly grasped what he meant.
"Really?!" Ron let out an excited whisper, oblivious to Flitwick's brief glare.
"You're becoming a professor?!" Hermione said rapidly, bombarding him with questions. "When exactly? Why didn't they introduce you like they did with Lockhart yesterday? What are you using for textbooks?"
"Keep it down, Flitwick's still here," Harry said, gesturing for them to quiet. Flitwick, ever considerate, had conveniently moved to the other side of the classroom.
Truth be told, Hermione and Ron looked so thrilled they were practically trembling. Their friend was becoming a professor—not some playful club instructor, but a proper, salaried professor, a highly respected position in the British wizarding world.
The surreal feeling left them unsure how to react.
"So, Harry, if you're a professor, does that mean you won't live in Gryffindor Tower anymore?" Neville asked after a moment, equally delighted for Harry.
"Of course not," Harry said firmly. "You all know I've been dying to move out. I'm planning to build a small cabin near Hagrid's and be his neighbor."
"And then you can drink with Hagrid all day, right?" Hermione's expression soured. She'd always disapproved of Harry and Hagrid's frequent, boozy get-togethers.
Not that she could do much about it.
"Ahem, not all day. Hagrid's got work to do, you know," Harry said, awkwardly averting his gaze from Hermione's piercing stare.
His excuse lacked conviction.
Hermione said nothing, just kept staring at him.
"Uh, I have a question," Ron said, sensing the tension and raising his hand to break it. "If you're a professor, Harry, does that mean you won't take classes with us anymore?"
"Not at all," Harry said, relieved to change the subject. Hermione's intensity was unnerving. "I'm still a beginner when it comes to wizarding magic. I'll keep attending other professors' classes. As you know, my course won't have many students."
"That's true," Ron nodded in agreement. "Even counting Filch, there were only thirteen last year."
"It'll grow over time," Harry said with a slight shake of his head. "Especially for students already at Hogwarts. Because of my activities here, the elements in this area have become more active with my repeated calls. Your interactions with the elements will only speed up that process."
The presence of a shaman naturally invigorated the surrounding elements and spirits, which was actually a bit of a headache for Harry.
The elemental spirits in the Hogwarts area had grown lively due to his frequent rituals and summonings. This meant that the longer a student stayed at Hogwarts, the easier it would be for them to form a bond with the elements after drinking the Spirit Pact potion.
Harry planned to hold an annual selection for all seven years, identifying those who could connect with the elements to become his new apprentices.
He could foresee his future classes being chaotic, with older and younger students mixed together, unlike the neatly age-segregated courses of other professors.
Especially for those who only bonded with the elements in their seventh year—what would they do after graduation? Continue studying, or give it up?
These issues required a sensible and comprehensive plan. Harry suspected he'd need to discuss this with Professor McGonagall… He had a bold idea, but it would require the approval of both headmasters.
McGonagall sought him out sooner than he expected. At lunch, she called him away from the Gryffindor table.
"Flitwick may have already told you, Harry," McGonagall said, looking at the boy who'd grown at least a head taller since last year. A fond smile crossed her face. "I never doubted you'd become my colleague one day, but honestly, this is happening faster than I imagined."
"That doesn't change the fact that I'm still a student, Professor McGonagall. I have plenty of questions about Transfiguration to ask you," Harry said with a grin. "Like Animagus transformations."
"Animagus," McGonagall repeated, her expression turning stern. "You remember my warning about not attempting it on your own, don't you? You haven't, have you?"
"Of course not," Harry said, shaking his head. "Magic is a dangerous art and must be treated with caution."
Jaina had taught him that, and Harry took it to heart.
Even shamanic spells weren't always smooth or entirely safe to learn.
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