Never mind how much Snape loathed Sirius—just looking at the students' faces was enough to tell how stunned they were.
Harry clapped so hard his hands hurt and still refused to stop. Even Hermione and Ron hadn't expected Sirius to become their new professor.
"Harry, did you know about this?" Hermione asked in disbelief.
"I swear, I didn't have a clue until we got here," Harry said with a goofy grin, clearly thrilled. "He said he wanted to surprise me."
"That's brilliant!" Ron punched the air in excitement. "Now we won't have to worry about Snape giving us a hard time anymore!"
Gryffindor had suffered under Snape long enough, and there was only one man who could stand up to him—Sirius Black.
With his personality, there was no way he'd sit quietly if he knew Harry was being targeted.
People tended to forget that the former Hogwarts troublemaker feared neither heaven nor hell.
Harry was so happy he almost forgot Draco had kicked him earlier.
At the staff table, Slughorn continued his usual rambling—this time about the importance of tightening Hogwarts' security to guard against the Dark Lord's return.
He reminded everyone to be cautious, for in the wizarding world, killing was far easier than saving a life.
"The castle's defenses have been reinforced," Slughorn said gravely, "but even so, we mustn't let our guard down. Both staff and students must remain vigilant."
He went on to stress adherence to school rules, especially the prohibition on wandering the halls after curfew, and urged everyone to report anything suspicious immediately to a professor.
Long-winded as he was, there was truth in his words.
How much the students actually absorbed from Slughorn's lecture was another matter entirely.
When the feast finally ended, Harry reluctantly tore his gaze away from his godfather.
"What happened to your nose?" Ron asked curiously.
That was when Harry remembered it. Hermione quickly cleaned the dried blood from his face with a flick of her wand, leaving him looking far less battered.
After explaining what had happened, Ron scowled. "Sounds exactly like something Malfoy would do."
"And what were you doing over there in the first place?" Hermione's tone carried unmistakable suspicion.
"I…"
Harry hesitated. Was he supposed to admit that he'd gone to eavesdrop on whatever John and Slughorn had been discussing?
If he did, Hermione would definitely blow up at him.
So he faked a wince, clutching his nose. "Still hurts," he mumbled.
Ron decided to escort him to the hospital wing, while Hermione took the first-years back to their dormitories.
When Hagrid spotted them sneaking through the corridors, he called out cheerfully, "Harry! Why're yeh late this time?"
"Got held up on the train," Harry said quickly. "What about you?"
"I was with Grawp—lost track o' the time," Hagrid said proudly. "He's got himself a new home now, a proper cave! Much better than livin' in the Forest—he's happier than ever!"
"Really?" Harry asked, forcing a polite smile in response to Hagrid's enthusiasm.
"Yeah, he's made real progress," Hagrid said proudly. "You'll be surprised, Harry—I'm thinkin' of trainin' him up as me assistant!"
That idea made Ron snort aloud. He'd seen Grawp before, and the giant could barely manage five words in total.
Hagrid didn't notice the reaction at all. Beaming, he waved them off cheerfully before lumbering away down the corridor.
Harry and Ron exchanged a long look; they both knew exactly what the other was thinking.
"You're… not planning to take Care of Magical Creatures this year, are you?" Harry asked cautiously.
Ron shook his head. "You're not either, right?"
Both gave the same answer without hesitation.
Even Hermione wouldn't be signing up for that class.
Harry didn't dare imagine what Hagrid's reaction would be when he found out the three of them weren't attending.
He quickly decided not to think about it any further.
...
The next morning—
Now that they were in sixth year, students were granted a bit more freedom.
At least, that's what Draco Malfoy liked to believe.
"I must've been hit with the Cruciatus Curse five times over the holidays," Draco muttered, rubbing his chest as he held a sandwich in one hand.
He took a bite of his sandwich, and Astoria asked worriedly, "Did you have your body checked? The Cruciatus Curse causes unbearable pain—it's not something you can just shrug off."
"Of course I did," Draco said proudly. "My body's perfectly fine. Even Barty Crouch Jr.'s hellish training couldn't break me."
Astoria looked at him with well-practiced admiration. "You're amazing."
Draco's grin grew so wide his nose might as well have lengthened from sheer smugness.
John, meanwhile, quietly ate his rice ball—he wasn't even sure what was inside—and glanced at Draco, who was completely wrapped around Astoria's finger.
Daphne sighed. "Is she babying him?"
So immature.
Hmph.
Then she turned toward John with a polite smile. "Would you like some milk?"
"Water's fine," John said, accepting the cup from her.
During breakfast, the topic shifted to electives.
"Charms and Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts—honestly, those classes are too easy for me," Draco said with his usual inflated confidence. John seriously considered knocking some sense into him.
Daphne, on the other hand, was thinking of dropping a few subjects.
After breakfast, all sixth-year students were asked to remain behind.
Astoria left first for her class, while the others stayed behind to finalize their selections for the advanced courses.
They needed to confirm their timetables, and the professors were offering recommendations on which subjects suited each student best.
Since Snape was absent that morning for undisclosed reasons, Professor McGonagall had taken over the scheduling process.
When she got to Goyle and Crabbe, she looked genuinely at a loss.
Both of them were barely scraping by with passing marks.
The only redeeming factor was Goyle's surprisingly decent grade in Herbology.
In the end, both were advised to join the Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Draco stood tall, chin lifted, waiting smugly for McGonagall to ask him next.
She already had his records in hand, and seeing the way he was puffing himself up left her momentarily speechless.
For a student who had failed History of Magic, Draco wasted no time dropping the subject entirely.
He also gave up Muggle Studies—it was, in his opinion, utterly useless.
Care of Magical Creatures was crossed off his list as well.
When it was Daphne's turn, her choices couldn't have been more different from Draco's.
She continued with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Potions—an academic lineup that made Professor McGonagall nod in approval. Her diligence and balance were exactly what the school encouraged.
Then came John's turn. McGonagall glanced down at his record, where all twelve subjects gleamed with perfect O's. For a brief moment, she wished he were in her House.
"Mr. Wick, which subjects will you be choosing?"
Though she hoped he'd maintain his usual dedication, she also knew the sixth-year workload could be overwhelming. There were inevitable schedule conflicts to consider.
"All of them," John replied evenly. "But I won't be able to attend every class, so I'll be skipping a few when necessary."
McGonagall was momentarily stunned. Did he just admit that so casually?
She said sternly, "Mr. Wick, I hope you'll know your limits."
"Don't worry," John said, his tone shifting from polite to almost arrogant. "As long as I pass the exams, that's enough."
Even so, McGonagall still wanted to advise restraint. But before she could speak, John added calmly, "When I said 'all of them,' I meant including Alchemy."
Alchemy—an optional subject only open to sixth years.
Thirteen courses in total.
Even McGonagall had to admit… that kind of schedule could kill a person.
But John had the qualifications to pull it off.
After all, as the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin in history, no one in their right mind would doubt his talent.
If nothing else, McGonagall could safely bet that none of the elective professors would ever complain about John skipping class.
In fact, during the previous school year, he'd barely attended Muggle Studies, Arithmancy, or Ancient Runes—and still ended up with top marks in every one of them.
"…Very well," McGonagall said at last. "We'll do as you wish."
She filled out his schedule, though whether he actually attended any of those classes would depend entirely on his mood.
Such was the privilege of an exceptional student.
After his timetable was set, John returned to the Slytherin common room.
Only six or seven students were there—all sixth years.
Pansy was with Theodore, and for some reason, ever since she started dating him, she'd developed an obsession with acting cute.
Draco, who had been punched by her once, kept swearing she was faking it—and that her punches hurt.
Incidentally, Draco wasn't the same as before either.
He was now the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.
And as a man with newfound authority, he carried himself like he ruled the place.
"A lot of players left the team. We'll need to hold new tryouts," Draco said.
Most of last year's members had been seventh-years, and with them gone, Draco had to rebuild the lineup from scratch.
On this point, he needed to be extremely cautious—because from the moment he became captain, a single loss would nail his name to Slytherin's pillar of shame.
The team's hard-won eleven-game winning streak had already made Hogwarts history, and every additional victory would only extend that record.
Just like Montague before him, Draco was now completely obsessed with winning—and soon, the Slytherin team would once again face the torment of his "devil training."
As Draco began muttering through a string of training plans, his grin grew disturbingly sinister.
John glanced at him and couldn't help thinking that the Quidditch team was in for a very rough year.
________
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