Even though it was known that Squibs could become shamans—Filch being the living proof—students who still couldn't connect with the elements
Even though it was known that Squibs could become shamans—Filch being the living proof—students who still couldn't connect with the elements felt utterly miserable seeing a non-magical Squib succeed where they failed.
The notion that Muggle-borns might wield magic was a distant possibility, uncertain at best. But the transformation of Squibs was immediate and undeniable…
Fred and George were trying to comfort their sister, but their efforts fell flat. After all, they had both become new shaman apprentices, while Ginny felt nothing at all. Luna, her good friend, was by her side, offering solace.
This only made Ginny cry harder.
There were many students like Ginny. The shaman class had turned into a scene of sudden distress, filled with the sound of sobbing. Students walked in groups toward the castle, while professors who had come out of curiosity to observe the lesson offered what comfort they could.
Harry, however, couldn't address their woes. He was busy lecturing his new apprentices.
Though apprentices in this world differed from those in Azeroth, and Harry wasn't overly responsible for them, he still believed some mistakes were best avoided.
His warnings to the new apprentices were much the same as last year's, but unlike last year, after dismissing them, Harry didn't need to return to the castle.
He moved the desks, chairs, and assorted items used during the lesson back to his office—inside the massive totem pole. Since shaman classes rarely took place indoors, Harry had made the space cozy.
So cozy, in fact, it barely resembled an office. It felt more like a second home… which wasn't surprising. Hogwarts professors held lifelong posts, so aside from the occasional temporary staff, their offices often became second homes.
Adding a few logs to the fireplace, Harry settled into an armchair to wait. To celebrate the successful start of his friend and drinking buddy's teaching career, Hagrid insisted they share a proper drink tonight. He'd even hunted a stag in the Forbidden Forest to showcase his culinary skills and refused Harry's offer to help.
Since Hagrid was so resolute, Harry let go of the idea of lending a hand. All he needed to do was bring out the fine wine from the Potter family cellar.
The fire blazed brightly after the logs were added, and Harry could see fire elementals dancing joyfully within the flames. The crackling sound was soothing, almost lulling him to sleep.
"…You know," Harry suddenly said, breaking the silence in the empty office, "every time I explore this world, my questions only multiply…"
"It's not just the Twisting Nether, a unique space that seems to serve as a resting place for departed souls. There are magics that touch the very core of the world—like Transfiguration, the Extension Charm, or even the Reparo Charm, which can practically reverse time."
"Even though most of this planet is controlled by Muggles who know nothing of magic, and wizards seem to live in hiding, looking rather pitiful, there's another perspective. Wizards have delved into a realm of study far beyond what Muggles can imagine."
"The mind, the soul, the cosmos, time… these are fascinating topics, aren't they? If a true mage from Azeroth came to this world, they'd probably leap with excitement. Unfortunately, I'm no such mage—just a shaman."
"But I do love this world's magic. Looking at it from different angles reveals new wonders. After reading so many books, I've come to one conclusion: perhaps because it's so commonplace, wizards have overlooked a world right in front of them…"
It was almost as if Harry was enchanted, sitting by the fire in an empty office, talking as though explaining something to an unseen listener.
And something was listening—someone, to be precise.
Not far from Harry's chair, at a deliberately carved-out hole serving as the building's window, a thumb-sized beetle perched. It was emerald green with intricate patterns on its wings, barely distinguishable from common beetles except for its striking beauty.
It could clearly hear Harry's words and sensed something unusual, causing it to quiver its wings slightly and shift backward, as if debating whether to flee.
"…That's the Astral Plane," Harry continued. "Like the Twisting Nether, which spans the world and draws the souls of deceased wizards, the Astral Plane blankets the entire world as well."
The beetle froze, seemingly captivated by Harry's revelation.
"But the Astral Plane is so faint, like a thin layer of skin over muscle, so ethereal it's nearly undetectable—unless you know it exists and deliberately seek it out."
"Wizards haven't noticed the Astral Plane, but by some stroke of luck, they stumbled upon a way to use it: Apparition. That spell opens a passage through the Astral Plane to transport wizards, but because the plane is so thin, they feel squeezed and spun during the process."
"In Apparition, a wizard essentially transforms their body into an astral form—a kind of ethereal energy—before reverting to flesh at their destination."
"Highly skilled mages can do this too. They use such magic to traverse the Astral Plane, visiting other worlds… Oh, sorry, I've probably said too much. You know how it feels when inspiration strikes, and your thoughts run wild."
"I hate to admit it, but as I've grown to enjoy magic, I'm starting to sound more and more like Jaina," Harry said with a chuckle.
"Back to the Astral Plane. Once you recognize its existence and master a reliable way to enter it, you can observe our world from an astral perspective—a strange realm that reveals the true essence of everything."
"So here's the question: why would I see the unique astral signature of a certain lady I know… on a beetle?"
Suddenly, the beetle sprang into action, whirling around and buzzing its wings to escape through the window. But it was too late.
"Stupefy."
Harry's casual spell caused the beetle's tiny black eyes to widen in terror. Every Hogwarts graduate knew this spell—it could command objects or people to attack a target, either by transfiguring objects or using nearby movable ones. And this was just a beetle!
A fragile beetle! A single stone or hard object could squash it into paste!
Clang!
Before the beetle could think further, Harry's spell took effect—not in its usual form, but as a single glass jar, as thick as an arm, hurtling after the fleeing insect. As if guided by an invisible hand, the jar scooped the beetle inside with a swift upward motion, and a flying cork sealed it shut.
It was over.
Trapped at the bottom of the jar, the beetle's eyes gleamed with despair. In that moment, it thought of many things—regret for its actions, hatred for the seemingly innocent Potter, and even Azkaban. It braced for the worst.
No matter how pitifully the beetle buzzed and battered the jar, it floated back into the room under magical control, landing gently before Harry.
"Long time no see, Miss Rita," Harry said, leaning back in his chair with a kind smile, warmed by the fire's glow. "My apprentice, Mr. Filch, would probably love to see you again."
Remarkably, upon hearing Harry's words, the frenzied beetle suddenly stilled, falling to the jar's bottom as if dead. Such a human-like reaction only confirmed its extraordinary nature.
Yes, in Harry's eyes, this beetle was none other than Rita Skeeter, the ever-news-hungry reporter.
The Astral Plane had revealed everything.
Indeed, all things have a spirit. Harry was accustomed to the fact that, through the astral perspective, even some of Hogwarts' toilet seats had a spark of life. A beetle's spirit was no surprise, as the souls of deceased creatures could linger in such small forms. Normally, Harry wouldn't care about a common beetle.
But this beetle's spiritual aura was identical to Rita Skeeter's.
"That explains why you always manage to publish such secretive scoops," Harry said, studying the canned beetle with interest. "You're an unregistered Animagus."
This was the first time he'd seen an Animagus other than Professor McGonagall—and not a large animal like a cat or dog, but a beetle no bigger than a fingertip. Truly remarkable magic.
Harry couldn't help but marvel again.
How did Rita Skeeter always uncover secrets, as if she'd overheard them firsthand? Like the shaman-related leaks from Filch, who had practically clung to Harry's leg, swearing he hadn't said anything during interviews.
It was all because Rita had been eavesdropping as a beetle. After all, who would notice a tiny insect nearby?
"Hmm, can't speak human language in beetle form?" Harry noted, hearing only the buzzing of wings. "I suppose I'll have to give you a chance to talk."
With a casual wave, he moved the table with the jar aside. The jar floated into the air, tilted, and landed on the floor as the cork vanished.
A wandless, silent spell. To Rita, such magical prowess was terrifying. This boy hadn't even used the shaman magic he taught in class or summoned his wind elemental, to do this. He was using wizarding magic—and that made the skill even more daunting.
In this moment of being controlled, Rita's awe and fear of power peaked. Emerging from the jar, she didn't even try to escape. Instead, she reverted to her human form.
Unlike McGonagall's elegant shift from cat to human, the transformation from beetle to person was, to Harry, somewhat unsettling—too vast a leap.
"So, you caught me, Potter," Rita said, sitting awkwardly on the floor, her face grim.
She tried to muster a smile, hoping to regain some control with words, but under Harry's calm gaze, she couldn't. No words came.
Because Rita knew—the timid, kind, shy boy she'd once thought Harry to be was a facade. In her days sneaking around Hogwarts, she had seen through his disguise.
The helpless demeanor, the clueless act—it was all fake!
Now, this moment, this was the real Harry Potter!
Completely different. Utterly opposite.
From eavesdropping near students who idolized Harry, learning what he'd done last year, his consistent behavior, and even witnessing him as a professor, Rita realized the Harry Potter she'd known was a lie.
Rita Skeeter was no fool. A truly foolish person couldn't write such articles, offend so many, and still live unscathed.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my pa-treon:
pat reon .c-om/windkaze