Harry was currently sparring with Neville in the Come and Go Room under supervision of Filch's replacement caretaker, a much kinder man by the name of Patrick, who had a big friendly dog named Clover.
Unlike Filch - a bitter squib who for some inexplicable reason was assigned with policing an entire castle of magical children - Patrick only had one real job; keep unauthorized students out of the Come and Go Room. He was allowed to have Clover in case a student tried to sneak past him with invisibility.
Harry had already tried once just to see if he could. The invisibility cloak was being washed to get the dog drool out.
Harry was focused on learning his wand-work since the wording of the prophecy meant that his fire breath would probably not finish off Voldemort. True, the elemental curses were nowhere near as obscure as the dark arts that the Dark Lord studied, but he might not expect a twelve year old to know them if they met.
Harry sent a gout of flame at Neville's feet, only for a wave of ice magic to nullify it and force Harry to move.
The two of them had been training together ever since they'd learned that the prophecy could have applied to both of them, and that they'd both lost their family because of it. In some ways Harry felt that Neville had it worse; at least Harry had the closure of his parents' deaths. Neville's parents were essentially the living dead after what the Lestranges had done to them.
Neville fired off another gust of wind and Harry leaned low to the ground and sent a bolt of lightning at him, finally making him step to one side as his icy barrier blew apart.
This was a major difference between their styles. Harry was always moving, always trying to get a better angle of attack. Neville practically needed an act of God to make him move from his chosen spot.
The bell rang and Clover barked at it, signaling that it was time to stop.
"Sorry boys," Patrick yelled in his Irish lilt, "you'll have to settle this next time. Off to class you go!"
Harry and Neville descended to the third floor where they were going to have their first nonmagical studies class. When it had been muggle studies, it was merely an elective and they wouldn't have been able to take it until next year if they chose to at all, but things had changed quite a bit.
"We have this class with the Slytherins. Do you think they did that on purpose?" Neville asked.
"If they did it wasn't very smart. The house rivalry is too intense for something not to happen in a class most of them won't think belongs."
Neville did not get a chance to reply as they met Hermione who seemed positively thrilled to get into the muggle-adjusted wizarding course and led them to the desks in the front of the room.
Harry did not like this, as it put his back to a majority of the class, but he took the strategic blow for Hermione's sake.
The Slytherins trudged in mere moments before class could begin, all of them wearing dour expressions. It looked like Professor Carrilo was going to be late, only for him to emerge from a hidden passage at the front of the room.
"Good morning class! Now, I know that some of you are eager to begin, I have to start all of today's classes addressing the elephant in the room: how many of you young witches and wizards believe that a muggle like me does not belong here at Hogwarts?"
All of Slytherin seemed to move as one, eager to put this muggle in his place, but if Professor Carrilo was intimidated by the show of house solidarity, it didn't show.
"I see, and how many of you believe that you are superior to me by simple virtue of having been born with magic?"
Harry had a feeling Carrilo knew what he was doing and started to ready himself, although to do what he wasn't sure. Regardless, the Slytherins took the bait, with a smug show of hands.
"I was warned about this, but I prefer to address problems like this head on, so I'll make you all a deal. If any of you can cast a spell on me, I'll call this whole class off and leave. And if you can't, well, superior people like you don't need to worry about such a possibility, do you?"
Harry's bones were chilled. Did this man know what he'd just called down on himself?
Apparently yes, yes he did, because scarcely a second later wands were drawn and the professor was moving. The spot he'd been standing in disappeared in a hail of spellfire, only for a bright blue light to wash over the attacking half of the class a moment later.
Harry was stunned. He'd never seen an ordinary human move like that. Professor Carrilo was aiming what looked like a sleek, stylized pistol at the Slytherin students, all of whom where immobilized by ice that had formed around them.
Vapors still trailing from the weapon, the professor put it away and pulled something else from his pocket, then spoke in a calm, confident voice with a hint of menace that Harry could scarcely hear, "Now, show of hands: how many of you superior witches and wizards can defend yourselves from this hammer?"
They looked utterly indignant at having been frozen, but at Carrilo's advancing form indignation quickly transfigured itself into fear.
"I thought as much. This is why the idea of anyone's inherent superiority is moronic. There are individuals who are better than you and worse than you. The same applies to me. And there is simply no way to tell who's what with a glance. If you could tell that I was a former member of the military trained with reverse-engineered technology from beyond the stars, would any of you have attacked me?"
The Slytherins still capable of doing so shook their heads.
"Excellent. Now, I'll call someone to thaw you out and in return, there will be no more of this pureblood or wizarding superiority nonsense in my classroom, is that understood?"
There were nods. Begrudging and slow nods, but nods nonetheless.
"Very good. Now, the course that nonmagical studies is replacing only covered nonmagical history until the invention of the automobile, and since the nonmagical world has made great strides since then, we have a lot to cover and not a lot of time to do it in."
Two hours later class ended and the Gryffindors could not contain their praise.
"Did you see the way he shut down those Slytherins?!"
"I know! It was amazing! And all that technology he brought to demonstrate too? I wonder how he got it to work in Hogwarts."
"Those were cool, but not as cool as that freeze gun!"
Next up was potions with Professor Arathorn. They were once again in the dungeons but while this was Slytherin home terrain they were cautious after Carrilo's class. The Gryffindors were also cautious, but that was more due to lingering memories of Snape than anything else.
She entered the room and it was almost like someone cast a spell. Yes, Harry could acknowledge that Professor Arathorn was very pretty from as objective a standpoint as such a thing could be judged, but there was some underlying intensity to her that he picked up on without understanding why.
"Hello children," she greeted, and her voice was soft too, "I am Professor Arathorn, although I'd prefer it you call me Professor Circe - Professor Arathorn reminds me of my late father. Today we'll be going over some basics. Which of you can tell me the safety procedures for a shared brewing area?"
There was a pregnant silence as that statement sank in. There were safety procedures?
She placed her head in her hands and swore in another language. Perhaps Greek? "I knew that the previous potions professor was negligent, but I didn't think it was this bad. Alright, new plan: today we're going over basic safety procedures and you will learn them by the end of the lesson."
There was steel in her tone at the end, and it made all of them sit up a little straighter.
An hour later, and everyone was walking out in a daze regardless of their house. Snape's reluctance to actually teach had nearly killed them all so many times that it was terrifying.
Neville was particularly happy though. Where Snape had taken every opportunity to put him down, Professor Circe had spent the lesson slowly building his confidence, going as far as to inform him that with proper instruction his understanding of herbology would help his brewing immensely.
So far, it seemed that everything was changing for the better.
The reveal of Dumbledore's crimes was not a quiet one. The wizarding world shuddered as one of their beloved legends was torn down and laid bare as mad at best and a sociopath at worst. Some diehard supporters believed he was right to sacrifice the Potters and Longbottoms for the greater good, but even they could not defend the fact that he never came forward with the fact that he knew specific ways in which Voldemort could come back.
Many found his crimes horrifying, but they were soon to be overshadowed in the public mind.
Listening to the radio aboard his commandeered yacht, Voldemort would have laughed were he not contained within Nagini. The world was already fearing his return - who was he to disappoint them?
"Master," came the monotone voice of the mind-controlled captain, "we have arrived at your destination."
Emerging slightly, the Dark Lord spoke. "Good. Inform Bellatrix that the time has come to prepare the bait."
As Nagini slithered onto land, the Death Eaters followed, some disturbed by the sight of a few of their own bound at Lestrange's wand-point.
Appearing as a wraith, the Dark Lord momentarily exited Nagini's body to address his followers.
"Welcome, my old friends, to the Island of Drear!" he allowed the shudder of fear to pass through them before continuing, "Avery, MacNair, and Gibbon have come to doubt me - to believe that my isolation has changed me for the worse." The other Death Eaters booed and hissed as was expected of them. "As such, they shall be the first sacrifices of this new campaign, bait for the Quintapeds we must acquire."
There was cheering and the trio of shackled Death Eaters trembled as they realized why their doubts had been unpunished for so long.
The Dark Lord returned to Nagini, who reared up like a cobra and spat flames overhead to signal their location.
The reaction was immediate.
Roars came from beyond their lines of sight and a veritable stampede of man-sized monstrosities rushed into view. Moving on five, clawed feet connected to muscular limbs all attached to a central body with a gaping maw of fangs, each Quintaped was like a perverse mockery of a starfish. The Death Eaters cast powerful shield charms to prevent themselves from being swarmed, and the Quintapeds followed the paths of least resistance, converging on the sacrifices in front of Nagini.
One by one, Avery, MacNair, and Gibbon's screams fell silent as they were torn asunder by the hungering horde… but they suddenly stilled.
The more observant Death eaters noticed Nagini exhaling a shimmering blue substance. Some of it got onto all the Quintapeds present and seemed to calm them, and then they began to grow, and grow, and grow…
Author's Note: We're approaching the home stretch people! There are somewhere around three to six chapters left as I've planned it out. I know that I haven't done everything I've promised in previous chapters, and that this story could have been better in so many ways, but you've all shown it so much love, and I hope the ending lives up to expectations.