Immediately after waking up, Harry accepted that it was a brilliant morning. The weak dawn sunlight filtered through the high, arched windows of the Gryffindor dormitory, casting a soft, golden hue over the empty beds and the worn, familiar red and gold decor. It was strange, waking up to such quiet. The usual clatter of a full dorm was absent—the sound of Ron's thunderous snoring and Dean's constant shuffling in his sleep. Now, it was just him, alone with his thoughts in the stillness of a place that had been home for so long.
He sat up, stretching his arms overhead and running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. His gaze fell to the pile of clothes at the foot of his bed, where his jeans lay crumpled in a haphazard heap. Shaking off the lingering sleep, Harry leaned over and rooted through the pocket of his jeans until his fingers closed around the familiar weight of the notebook bound to him by blood.
Flipping it open, he found the latest conversation waiting for him. Ron and Tracey had been deep in a spirited debate late last night about the merits of broom racing versus Quidditch. Ron, unsurprisingly, was staunchly in favour of Quidditch, whilst Tracey argued that broom racing had its own appeal. Apparently, broom racing season started in the summer and ran through early spring, something Harry hadn't known. Hermione had chimed in as well, her handwriting neat and precise, pointing out the logical, straightforward nature of racing's ruleset made it superior by default.
Harry couldn't help but shake his head. Hermione simply didn't understand that Quidditch simply was. He couldn't disagree with her reasoning, racing probably was more streamlined in terms of rules and regulations, but Quidditch was Quidditch. It had an inherent magic that no other sport could match. There was something primal about it, something thrilling that couldn't be reduced to logic alone.
He conjured a quill for himself.
Harry James Potter: You're wrong, Hermione. Simply wrong. I wouldn't expect you to understand. What was it Professor Trelawney said? You lack aura.
He tucked the notebook back into his pocket, grinning to himself at the thought of Hermione's reaction when she woke up and saw his comment. No doubt, by the time he finished his breakfast, she'd have an entire counter-argument ready with footnotes and citations to discredit both Quidditch and Divination.
His thoughts moved onto Daphne, who had yet to use the notebook since Harry's capture after they'd stormed Umbridge's home, and to Blaise whose last message was a page full of kisses for him before a final message which had truly united Ron, Hermione and Tracey in mutual horror before their conversation ended near midnight.
Blaise Manuel Salvatore Zabini: And my final gift to you all, Quodpot is better than Quidditch and broom racing combined. Goodnight.
Harry missed him, his humour, the feel of his magic, and his touch, but he had to push those feelings to the side. There was much to do in the remaining time with Dumbledore, and he planned on taking full advantage of the opportunity. Besides, August would be theirs.
Harry stretched again, took a deep breath, and headed for the bathroom, ready to face the day.
Arriving in the Great Hall, Harry was pleased to see that Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall were sat at a round table, where the head table would ordinarily be, in deep conversation.
"Good morning," Harry called, waving as he did so.
Flitwick returned the wave with so much enthusiasm that he almost tipped over from the precarious tower of cushions he was perched on. "Good morning, Mr. Potter!" he squeaked, steadying himself with a chuckle.
McGonagall, ever composed, greeted him with a slight smile and a nod. "Good morning, Potter. Please, sit," she said, waving her wand to conjure a comfortable chair beside her.
"Thanks."
They engaged in light conversation, exchanging pleasantries about the lovely weather and plans for the summer. The assault of Nuremgard Castle two days ago wasn't brought up, but its heavy weight could still be felt. Voldemort was still at large, after all. Harry desperately wanted to hear how Remus was doing, but he was enjoying the novelty of being able to engage with his professors in a more casual setting. They spoke to him with a new familiarity that made Harry feel almost like an equal, though he still didn't dare to address them by their first names. That invisible line of respect was something he wasn't quite ready to cross, despite everything they had been through together on that fateful night.
In fact, Flitwick had become so familiar that he was unabashedly staring at Harry.
"Professor?" Harry asked.
Flitwick continued to peer carefully at Harry, slowly nodding to himself.
"Don't mind me, Mr Potter," Flitwick said, still searching his face. "I am merely… contemplating a serious, maybe even critical, matter."
Harry couldn't help but laugh, especially when Flitwick leaned off his tower of cushions to rest against the table, stroke his moustache, and tilt his head at Harry.
Harry tilted his head, mirroring Flitwick. "Should I be worried considering you're staring at me, Professor?"
Flitwick settled back into his seat with a cheeky smile and shrugged. "If you must."
"What are you thinking, Filius?" McGonagall asked after a hearty chuckle.
"Minerva, I look at Mr Potter, and – "
"Harry," Harry corrected softly. He turned to McGonagall and gave her a significant look also. "At least for the summer."
McGonagall dipped her head in acknowledgment. "I will do my best."
"Very well, Harry," Flitwick said with a warm smile. He returned to McGonagall, his face suddenly quite serious. "Do you know what I see?" he asked.
McGonagall, too, peered down at Harry through her spectacles, the sternness of her gaze tempered by a flicker of curiosity. "Go on," she said.
"Mastery by Prowess in Warding," Flitwick said, his tone filled with admiration.
McGonagall's eyes narrowed, considering his words. She folded her arms, her sharp gaze focused now entirely on Harry. "I will need to be convinced," she said, though her voice was less harsh than usual.
"I saw him repeatedly using protego horribilis as a combat spell," Flitwick said. As he spoke, his excitement only grew, threatening to send his cushions teetering to the side once more. He stuck them in place with an impatient jab of his wand. "Not just for defence, he was using protego to dissipate spells, a very rare offensive application!"
McGonagall nodded with every word he said and gave Harry a rare smile. "I noticed you were reinforcing my magical constructs with all manner of defensive enchantments."
It had all been a blur in that frantic rush to meet Dumbledore at the door leading to Voldemort and Grindelwald. Harry remembered throwing wards on any friendly person he could see, whilst Blaise harassed and repelled any who dared approach them.
"Not just constructs, Minerva," Flitwick said. "People. He was shaping wards around people – that is not easy! In fact, I believe he saved us all from a nasty headache near the end!"
McGonagall grew increasingly contemplative. "You're right. It was certainly marvellous spell work. Albus was certainly effusive in private, though he often is about our resident warder."
It was those words that finally caused a brilliant blush to bloom on Harry's cheeks.
"What's a Mastery by Prowess?" Harry asked, feeling a little out of his depth. He had heard of magical Masteries, but they had always seemed like something for older, far more experienced wizards. They'd also sounded like a lot of study, which had not appealed to him at all, but Harry was beginning to realise intense study was inescapable for the path he sought.
McGonagall glanced at Flitwick, who gestured for her to explain. "Education doesn't end after your NEWTs, Harry," she began, her tone instructive but not unkind, "though formalised education in the classroom often does. It's a time for partnerships of the vein of master and apprentice. For those with a more scholarly bent, such as Ms. Granger, they may opt to pursue a Mastery by Novelty, where one is expected to make a novel contribution to the magical canon – something that pushes forward the boundaries of magical knowledge."
"And the Mastery by Prowess?" Harry asked.
"That," Flitwick chimed in, "is for more martial wizards, such as yourself. It is a recognition of a wizard's exceptional ability, demonstrated through significant feats with magic. I think it's most fun to achieve both!"
"So, smart wizard versus strong wizard?" Harry asked, trying to sum it up.
McGonagall's lips thinned into a small, wry smile. "Centuries of intense, and often fraught, debate reduced to a pithy statement, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice carrying a dry tone worthy of Snape, whose drapes still remained in place, glowering down at them all from across the room. "But yes, in short."
"Which ones do you have?" Harry asked.
Flitwick went first. "Warding by Prowess, and Charms by both Novelty and Prowess."
"I hold Mastery in Transfiguration by both Novelty and Prowess," McGonagall said, her tone matter of fact in contrast to Flitwick's bright tone.
"And is it worth it?"
It felt like a pointless question, considering the conviction in both of their eyes.
"For you, I think it would be well worth it," Flitwick said. "I'd be happy to sponsor your application."
"As would I," McGonagall said, not being one to be so easily outdone.
Harry smiled at them both. "I'll have to think about it."
"Think quickly," McGonagall said. "The ICW Mastery Committee convenes every August of prime years. So, this year, and the next would be in 1999."
At Harry's baffled expression, Flitwick nodded encouragingly at him. "This is a matter of Arithmantic numerology. Primes are deemed a good portent for uniqueness, which Mastery is all about. You'll find that this form of mysticism guides many high-level decisions made in the past and, perhaps, even those in the present."
McGonagall didn't look too pleased at the mention of such woolly motivation, but Harry nodded at Flitwick in understanding and thanks. It was no different in nature to the teachings provided in the massive tome Dumbledore had given him on magical auspice, The Immaterial and the Concrete.
That quick explanation aside, they accepted Harry's evasion for what it was, and light conversation resumed once more. He wasn't averse to the idea, but he needed to figure out where it would fit into his plans. It would also be important to determine if he was capable of a serious application without the benefit of having Blaise's magic to add to his own.
Their conversation was interrupted as Babbling and Vector joined them at the table, taking their conjured seats with a quick expression of gratitude to McGonagall and warm greetings to the group. The atmosphere brightened as they settled in, and almost immediately, breakfast finally appeared on the golden plates that had sat unattended, steaming and filled with an array of delicious options.
"Impressive," Flitwick said, but his eyes were only for Vector.
Vector checked an ornate, gilded watch at her wrist with great pride. "How many does that make it, Sheda?"
Babbling laughed softly, a melodic sound that filled the air. "Twenty-three in a row?"
McGonagall stared at her, raising an eyebrow. "Your mathematical precision leaves little to be desired, Septima."
"The Naming Seer did a good job with my family," she said drily.
Everyone began to dig into their breakfast, the delightful aroma of fresh pastries, sizzling bacon, and fluffy scrambled eggs filling the air.
"Where is everybody?" Harry asked.
"Poppy works at St Mungo's during the summer," he said, his tone light and matter of fact. "She often volunteers her time to help with the influx of patients during the warmer months when accidents are more frequent."
"And Pomona goes hunting for exotic reagents and seeds in Brazil," McGonagall added, her voice warm as she reminisced about her colleague. "She always returns with fascinating stories and unique ingredients for both Potions and Herbology. Rolanda's probably in France for the broom racing league. She officiates the qualifiers, you know."
Harry nodded, picturing Professor Hooch, with her wind-swept hair and spirited demeanour, fluttering around the racecourses. "What about the others?"
"Aurora is in Chile visiting her husband," Babbling said. "He's a Muggle and works on that massive telescope they have out there."
"Horace is in Truro to visit his sister's grave," McGonagall said quietly, a shadow passing over her features. "He then has other matters to attend to afterward. Emmeline Vance's funeral is later this month. It took a long time to recover her body from the Muggles, who were the ones to first discover her murder, due to the utter disarray in the Ministry."
There was a moment of silence, a respectful acknowledgment of the professor's sorrow. Harry felt a pang of empathy for Professor Slughorn, knowing how deeply he cared for his family. "What about Hagrid?" he asked, eager to shift the mood.
"Rubeus is likely in the Forbidden Forest with Firenze," McGonagall replied, a hint of amusement returning to her voice. "They'll appear for lunch."
"And Professor Trelawney?" Harry asked, feeling unrestrained glee at the sour twist that immediately overcame McGonagall's lips.
"She does an annual pilgrimage to the Temple of Apollo in Delphi," Vector said, rolling her eyes slightly. "She claims heritage to Cassandra of Delphi, the greatest seer to ever live."
Babbling nodded knowingly. "It supposedly keeps her Inner Eye from growing cloudy," she added with a smirk, as if sharing a delightful secret.
Harry couldn't help but laugh at the image of Trelawney wandering around ancient ruins, draped in flowing robes, possibly trying to commune with spirits. "Sounds like she's having an adventure."
"An adventure, indeed," McGonagall said dryly, although the corner of her mouth quirked up in a reluctant smile. "Let's hope she doesn't come back with any more odd predictions this year."
"More like a cauldron of cooking sherry and unhinged death for me," Harry mumbled under his breath.
He wasn't as quiet as he'd hoped for, though, as Flitwick began to maniacally cackle, his laughter bright and infectious. McGonagall let out a snort, her stern facade cracking momentarily as she tried to suppress her amusement.
"Indeed. That would be far more likely," McGonagall said with a final twitch of her lips.
Once Babbling and Vector were let in on the joke, they too started laughing.
"And finally, the headmaster," Babbling said, her laughter fading to a soft chuckle. "He's right behind you, Mr. Potter."
Dumbledore stood at the entrance of the hall, a warm smile spreading across his face as he surveyed the table filled with laughter and food.
"Ah, good morning, everyone!" Dumbledore called. "I see I've arrived just in time for the revelry."
Dumbledore wasn't alone. Walking beside him was a middle-aged wizard with short salt-and-pepper hair, his sharp features illuminated by the soft glow of the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling. He wore a strange hat that looked like someone had applied a Stretching Jinx to the top of Fudge's bowler hat, the brim sprawling extravagantly and casting a curious shadow over his eyes. Despite its outlandish appearance, the hat seemed to suit him, lending an air of eccentricity that was not out of place among the magical community.
Their every step caused a bell to ring. Harry followed the sound to find, walking in the wizard's wake, a creature that seemed to defy the laws of nature. It was a curious amalgamation of a lion and a reptile, with the source of the sound being a bell of knotted scale at its neck. Its proud, leonine face bore prominent fangs that glinted as menacingly as the sharp horn at its brow, whilst its barrel-shaped body was covered in dull, red scales that shimmered subtly as it moved. The creature's orange eyes were sharp and intelligent, and they met Harry's gaze for a moment, assessing him with a mixture of curiosity and scrutiny. Then, with a flick of its tail, it returned to its survey of the table.
Dumbledore conjured a seat for both him and his companion with a flick of his wand. The chimeric feline settled gracefully onto a cushion that materialized at his side. Its imposing form was surprisingly elegant as it tucked its paws beneath itself, surveying the room with an air of calm vigilance.
"This is Jeong Tae-hyun, our resident Curse-Breaker from the ICW, here to address the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position," Dumbledore said in answer to Harry's silent curiosity.
Tae-hyun inclined his head in a polite, shallow bow. "Harry Potter, a pleasure."
Harry returned it. "It's nice to meet you." His gaze fell back to the docile beast beside Tae-hyun. "And who is this?"
"This," Tae-hyun began, his voice light with pride, "is Taesan, a male haetae, and my familiar. He's native to East Asia. In Korean culture, haetae are revered as protectors of justice and balance. They have an uncanny ability to detect imminent disasters or the presence of injustice. Taesan is no different."
As if on cue, Taesan flicked an ear in their direction whilst lapping calmly at a bowl of milk Tae-hyun had placed on the floor for him. The haetae's orange eyes seemed to glimmer knowingly, as though it understood the conversation.
"Sounds useful," Harry remarked, the idea of having such a magical companion stirring his imagination. If he'd had something like Taesan with him, perhaps things would have been different—maybe Sirius would still be alive. Either way, Bellatrix would be dead. It didn't make him feel any better, but it brought him back to the present.
"Indeed," Tae-hyun affirmed. "Taesan has saved me from several near disasters. His instincts are invaluable in Curse-Breaking, where even the smallest mistake can trigger a catastrophic outcome."
He gave the haetae a gentle rub of his mane, eliciting a soft rumble from the beast.
Harry was taken aback by the creature's calm demeanour, despite the power it clearly held. He ventured, "You mentioned justice; how exactly does Taesan play a role in that?"
"In Korea, for certain severe crimes, we rely on a haetae as an arbiter. Their sense of justice is unerring, free from the biases of human judgment," Tae-hyun explained. "In cases where punishment is necessary, they are capable of carrying out execution as an impartial force."
At that, Taesan bore his massive fangs at Harry, making it clear to Harry exactly what Tae-Hyun meant. Harry swallowed hard, feeling more than a little sick at the prospect of such a fate.
"Some would consider that barbaric," McGonagall said.
Vector was determinedly working her way through her eggs, whilst Babbling listened on with a conflicted wince on her face.
Tae-hyun nodded with the air of someone who'd heard this many times before. "And many consider the British barbaric for choosing to meddle with souls," he said.
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Containing wizards, particularly dangerous ones, often necessitates extreme measures. Some might argue that the very nature of our power makes it nearly impossible to restrain without delving into monstrosity. Accidental magic can occur even in adulthood. Wandless magic, for example, can be learned through sheer will and repetition."
"As the headmaster has explained," Tae-hyun said, "in many parts of the world, different methods are employed to deal with magical criminals. In China, for instance, they have developed a process to still the magic within a person permanently, rendering them into a Squib. It's a permanent solution, though not without its ethical debates."
"That is an understatement. When they codified that in law in the fifties, there was outrage from nearly every Ministry," McGonagall said sharply. "If whatever ritual or potion they'd devised becomes common knowledge, it would be disastrous."
Harry interjected, though it was likely unneeded. Tae-hyun and his familiar remained placid, more engaged than angry. "What about lodestones? Can't they be used to nullify magic?"
"You're thinking of the isolation chamber in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, yes?" At Harry's nod, Dumbledore chuckled. "That was the pet project of Bartemius Crouch Senior. It near bankrupted the Ministry. The grade of lodestone required to achieve such complete magical nullification is incredibly rare. When I fashioned Grindelwald's prison all those years ago, it almost bankrupted me."
Tae-hyun stood suddenly, offering a brisk nod. "This has been a stimulating conversation, which we must continue at a later point, but I must get to work. I'm quickly learning that the curse on your Defence position is no simple matter."
With a final, shallow bow to them all, he left with Taesan trotting obediently behind him.
The casual conversation they had been engrossed in before Tae-hyun's arrival resumed as if it had never been interrupted. Harry, still somewhat distracted by the presence of the haetae and the weighty topics of magical ethics and containment, absently reached for his plate. His attention was quickly drawn elsewhere as a sudden flutter of wings filled the Great Hall. A fleet of owls descended from the rafters, soaring down with their various parcels and letters.
Harry's eyes followed a particularly sleek barn owl as it swooped over the table and dropped a thick envelope right into his lap. The letter was sealed with an officious 'M' emblem—its meaning immediately clear. He stared at it for a moment, feeling a mix of curiosity and unease rise in his chest.
Across from him, McGonagall glanced down at the seal and shook her head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "The Minister certainly works fast nowadays," she commented, her tone holding a trace of disapproval.
Before Harry could respond, an identical envelope was deposited into Dumbledore's waiting hand. The headmaster studied it for a moment before gesturing for Harry to open his.
With a flick of his thumb, Harry broke the wax seal and pulled out the parchment within. He scanned the letter quickly, the formal tone unmistakable:
Dear Mr Harry James Potter,
You have been summoned for the express purpose of meeting Minister Rufus Scrimgeour. Please report to the Ministry of Magic at your earliest convenience. Immediately after passing the Security Desk, you will be escorted to the Minister's office by authorised personnel.
Yours sincerely,
Percy Ignatius Weasley
Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic and Hogwarts Liaison
"It would appear our morning schedule has been decided for us, Harry," Dumbledore said.
"Lovely," Harry said, feeling the promise of the brilliant day suddenly evaporate. "Politics."