The term Muggle carried a discriminatory undertone from the moment it was coined. Its root, mug, implied a fool, and Muggle referred to ordinary people without magical ability.
In the eyes of many pure-blood families, Muggles were inferior beings, lacking the gift of magic.
While opposition to this pure-blood ideology was the prevailing voice in the modern wizarding world, it was undeniable that most wizards, deep down, viewed Muggles with a condescending perspective—pity, sympathy, or even an unconscious disdain. After all, even among Muggles, people divided themselves based on wealth, power, or appearance. Magic, being the greatest natural distinction, only amplified this divide.
The Muggle Protection Act was itself the best proof of this attitude.
But now, out of nowhere, Harry Potter—their Professor Potter—had just declared that Muggles could become shaman priests?!
Shaman priests capable of wielding elemental magic?!
This revelation was even more shocking than the idea of Squibs becoming shamans. Squibs, at least, had wizarding blood, even if they couldn't channel it. But Muggles—good heavens! Muggles?!
The notion that Muggles could wield magic was unthinkable. Harry had to command his fire elemental giant and water elemental giant to spar with each other, the massive commotion forcing the students to quiet down.
"I know what I've just said is hard for you to accept," Harry said loudly, "and you're free to believe it or not. Regardless, the future will prove me right. A Muggle shaman priest will emerge, and that future only needs time to unfold. There's nothing more to say on that."
"Indeed, there's nothing more to say," Dumbledore thought, stroking his beard impassively.
At this point, matters like soul magic, dark wizards, or Azkaban paled in comparison. The real issue was the International Statute of Secrecy.
Without any pretense or subtlety, the boy Dumbledore had placed his hopes in had laid everything bare. Harry openly declared his intent to violate the Statute of Secrecy by revealing magic's existence to Muggles—and he was already planning to teach them magic.
Exhausting. That was the feeling—utter exhaustion.
Dumbledore was certain that, compared to soul magic, teaching Muggles magic and breaking the Statute of Secrecy would provoke the Ministry of Magic far more. Soul magic wasn't illegal in some countries, but the Statute was a universally enforced international law.
Yet Harry had thrown both issues out together, fearless. Wasn't he afraid?
Dumbledore stared into Harry's eyes, searching for a hint of nervousness or concern about the consequences—even a flicker would do. But he found nothing.
Harry's expression was as calm as ever, as if everything was under his control, as if the Ministry of Magic meant nothing to him. Dumbledore gave a wry smile and shook his head.
A glance around was all it took to understand why. Four towering elemental giants stood on the grassy field serving as their classroom. Dumbledore suddenly realized why Harry could so casually reveal two things that would upend wizarding society, customs, and beliefs.
He had no need to fear the Ministry—or even the International Confederation of Wizards.
His strength, far beyond that of an ordinary wizard, was his confidence.
For a moment, watching Harry's resolute figure, Dumbledore's expression grew distant. He saw himself decades ago—the self he had buried in the corners of his memory.
And the shadow of another.
Back then, they too were fearless, believing their power could change the world. And they had the strength to do it—ordinary wizards struggled to even keep up with them.
"…Grindelwald," Dumbledore murmured, barely audible.
Old men were prone to slipping into memories. Harry noticed Dumbledore's distraction but paid it little mind. He trusted Dumbledore would fulfill his promises. If not, Harry would just have to put in a bit more effort.
After his world-shattering words, the students' excitement was palpable. They shouted for Harry to demonstrate, just like the four elemental giants currently dominating the field.
Even if they lacked the talent to become shamans this year, they could at least enjoy the spectacle.
"I know you're eager, but hold on," Harry said with a smile. "Soul power is one of the core abilities of a shaman priest. It allows us to see departed souls, borrow the strength of ancestors to protect ourselves or defeat enemies, and even achieve what you all hoped for when you first came to my class last year—divination."
"We're so excited, Professor Potter!" a student shouted. "I want to divine! I want to play games with my late grandpa!"
"That's exactly why I can't teach you this power recklessly," Harry said, shaking his head. "You haven't fully grasped the responsibilities of a shaman priest. Without that, you can't wield this power carefully."
"By the way, even if you become a shaman priest, pass the trials I set for you, and reach the level where you can learn soul magic, you won't be able to divine as clearly as I can. Divination is a gift that heavily relies on talent."
Harry took some delight in shattering the students' fantasies.
"In tauren tribes, shamans with exceptional divination talent, who can guide their people toward prosperity and avoid calamity, are revered as Seers," Harry continued, softening the blow as he saw their disappointed faces. "But don't be too upset. Even if you can't see far or clearly into the future, you can still pick up on small omens."
"Can we predict lottery wins, Professor Potter?" a student called out.
"If you have enough talent, you'll feel a unique instinct when buying a ticket, guiding you to certain numbers," Harry said with a shrug. "So, yes, it's possible."
"Isn't there a catch?" another student asked. "Like in stories where peering into the future for profit brings bad luck or costs you elsewhere?"
"Why would you think that?" Harry's gaze swept over the students. "I need to tell you something serious and clear: the purpose of divination is to avoid bad futures and make our lives better. That's the duty of a shaman priest in their tribe—it's what we must do."
"If divinations can't change anything, what's the point? Something useless, something that only brings worry, would naturally fade away over time."
"Yes, I know some things can't be said directly, as that could lead to bad outcomes," Harry sighed. "But that doesn't mean you tell someone seeking a divination that the stars shifted this way or that, or that their shadows grew heavier or brighter."
Ron and Neville grinned widely—they knew exactly what Harry was referring to.
"When a divination reveals something, we should offer guidance to the seeker—warn them not to do certain things, to be cautious of specific events, or to avoid certain places."
"So we really could use divination to predict lotteries?" Several Muggle-born students couldn't contain their excitement, their faces alight with anticipation.
"If you have the ability," Harry said with a laugh and a shrug. "But don't ask me—I don't divine those sorts of things."
"That sounds too incredible!" someone blurted out. "If I had that talent, wouldn't I get rich easily?"
"You could," Harry affirmed. "But you'd also need to figure out how to explain to the Muggle government why you keep winning lotteries… or handle other issues that come with it."
"From experience, here's some advice," Harry said, his tone turning serious. "The future isn't set in stone. If you divine before every decision and rely on it for everything, you'll eventually go mad when the future you foresaw doesn't match reality."
He paused, then added with a grin, "But I probably don't need to worry about that. You're unlikely to have that level of foresight, and those who do will realize divination isn't foolproof. So, no problem there."
"Hey, Professor Potter!" Fred protested loudly. "I love your class, but I don't love your opinion of us. Take it back—I'm still dreaming of sleeping in a sea of Galleons!"
Fred's words sparked a wave of laughter.
"Alright, I'll apologize, even though it's true," Harry said, comforting the disappointed students. "Don't lose heart. You can still predict what's for lunch or whether you'll trip while hopping down the stairs—a vague omen, but better than nothing."
"That doesn't sound cool at all," Fred grumbled.
"Divination was never about being cool. It's heavy," Harry said, shaking his head. "Anyway, if you do have the talent, I won't hesitate to share my experience. But for now, let's get back to soul power."
"Can you tell us more about the Shadowlands?" Luna asked from the front row, raising her hand. "An adventure for the dead sounds fascinating. You've been there, haven't you?"
"Yes," Harry admitted plainly. "I went there and saw my parents' souls, briefly bringing them back to the living world. But, Luna, I can't fully answer your question. My research on the Shadowlands is just beginning."
"It's shrouded in white mist," he continued. "According to Professor Dumbledore, it's called the Mist of the Lost. Everyone sees different scenes or places in that mist—maybe the place most vivid in your memory, or one that shaped your fate?"
Harry speculated thoughtfully.
"What did you see there?" Luna asked curiously.
"A wind-swept highland," Harry replied briefly, offering no further explanation. "Exploring and researching the Shadowlands will take more time. I look forward to your achievements, Luna."
"I'll do my best, Professor," Luna said airily, drawing envious glances from other students.
Harry had no intention of teaching soul power to ordinary shaman apprentices. It was too easily corrupted. Only those who passed multiple trials and proved their character would learn it.
Until then, apprentices had much to learn—responsibility, duty, and a heart to protect the world.
Those were crucial, even more than talent.
Today's lesson was merely to broaden the students' horizons.
Using the power of the earth element, Harry shaped a totem. He wrapped his arms around it and drove it into the grass.
The rugged, ancient-looking totem pulsed with a faint blue glow, an almost translucent, ethereal hue. The azure light enveloped Harry, obscuring him from view.
This was… a special effect.
In truth, planting an ancestral totem did produce a blue glow, but it was faint and fleeting. Harry had deliberately amplified the soul power's radiance to make summoning an ancestral spirit look more dazzling, more eye-catching.
It was, after all, James Potter's request.
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