Harry Potter: Returning from Azeroth

"No problem," Harry nodded. "Speaking of which, Headmaster Dumbledore, may I have your permission to introduce the Way of the Shaman at Hogwarts in the future? Similar to the Gobstones Club."

"Oh, Harry, I'm afraid Gobstones is hardly comparable to an entirely new branch of magic," Dumbledore remarked with a touch of humor. "In theory, establishing a new course requires approval from both the Board of Governors and the Headmaster. However, a club would not be an issue."

"I permit you to teach your Way of the Shaman at Hogwarts, but Harry, I must review your lesson content—at least for the initial sessions, either myself or Professor McGonagall will be sitting in to ensure safety."

"That is entirely reasonable, Headmaster Dumbledore. You are always welcome to attend," Harry had no objections.

"Then, come to me when you're ready," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "For the club's announcement to be made public to all four houses, it will require a professor's signature. I believe my signature should be quite convincing."

"Thank you for your support, Headmaster," Harry smiled. "Additionally, I have another request—may I move out of the dormitory?"

"As a shaman, I require personal space to craft and erect totems, a site for rituals and communion with ancestral spirits, and an area to cultivate certain herbs… The Gryffindor dormitory, shared by five people, is simply too small for me."

"And where do you envision as your ideal location?" Dumbledore asked.

"Near the Forbidden Forest, perhaps. I could be neighbors with Hagrid," Harry answered without hesitation. "It wouldn't disturb anyone, nor would it interfere with my classes in the castle."

Dumbledore fell into thought.

For a long while.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I cannot grant this request," Dumbledore finally said sincerely. "Yes, I can choose to see you as more than just a child. But unfortunately, to most people, you are still a child."

"You shouldn't distance yourself too much from your friends, nor isolate yourself from your peers. You would become lonely, Harry."

"This is advice from an old man," Dumbledore mused. "Magic is indeed important, but along the path of magical study, there are many other things we must consider and cherish."

"I know you possess maturity far beyond your years, Harry. Or rather, every genius matures beyond their years. They grow impatient with the ignorance around them, carry ambitions of changing the world… But only after they lose something do they realize what they have missed."

"Forgive my rambling, Harry… You are still young. Enjoy these seven wonderful years at Hogwarts."

Harry met Dumbledore's gaze. In those eyes, he saw reminiscence, regret, and sincerity.

What Dumbledore spoke of seemed more like his own personal experiences—the obstacles he hesitated before twice but never managed to cross.

"I understand," Harry nodded. "Then, I shall take my leave, Headmaster Dumbledore."

He had no intention of arguing over this—especially not over whether he was still a child. That would only make him seem even less mature.

But Harry knew he couldn't live the school life Dumbledore envisioned for him. Asking an adult to blend in and play along with a bunch of eleven-year-olds was an absurdly difficult task.

Even among students, upper years seldom mingled with lower years.

Harry didn't want to pretend to be a child. And in truth, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to pull it off.

So, he needed to find another way.

"Speaking of which, we haven't discussed compensation yet, have we?" Just as Harry was about to leave, Dumbledore suddenly mused aloud. "Though you did say you'd keep an eye on things, I can't, in good conscience, accept a student's efforts without offering something in return—you are not a professor, after all."

"Compensation?" Harry's interest was piqued. He raised an eyebrow. "I like that word, Headmaster Dumbledore. I'll consider this an official commission."

"Oh, truthfully, I'd rather you stop worrying about Professor Quirrell… But I know that even if I say that, you won't listen, will you?" Dumbledore sighed. "Regardless, I will ensure your reward is something truly worthwhile, child."

Of course, Harry wouldn't listen. Ignoring Quirrell's presence felt like ignoring a growing infection—an unbearable notion.

Even if Dumbledore assured him everything was under control, Harry preferred to keep danger firmly within his grasp. What if something unexpected happened and someone he cared about got hurt?

Dumbledore continued speaking.

"Until then, I ask that you stop considering ways to move out of your dormitory and simply enjoy school life. Oh, and if you truly crave adventure, you might find the fourth-floor corridor rather interesting."

Harry's instincts at the Welcoming Feast had been correct—the warning had been an invitation all along. And now, Dumbledore was admitting it outright.

Yet the Headmaster refused to reveal any details about the reward, merely urging Harry to wait and anticipate. He was clearly doing it on purpose—truly infuriating.

Harry was exasperated. He loathed people who spoke in riddles and deliberately strung others along.

He left the Headmaster's office carrying a lingering grudge, one that would undoubtedly last for quite some time.

Meanwhile, behind him, Dumbledore watched his retreating figure disappear down the spiral staircase. His expression had grown heavy, devoid of his earlier playfulness.

"Do you really believe everything he said, Dumbledore?" Phineas Nigellus Black blurted out. "If you ask me, he's completely mad—delusional! If it were up to me, I'd have him locked in the dungeons and strung up until he came to his senses!"

"Does he think he's Merlin?!"

"I must remind you, Phineas, that Hogwarts no longer punishes students in such a manner," said a severe-looking headmaster in another portrait. "But Albus, do you truly find him trustworthy?"

In the solitude of the Headmaster's office, the gathered portraits no longer concealed their opinions.

"You say he summoned the souls of his parents? I find it hard to believe any wizard could achieve such a feat—especially a first-year student," another former headmaster remarked. "Perhaps the ancient sorcerers had such magic, but those arts have long since been lost."

"Ah, yes, it is difficult to believe. But I saw it with my own eyes," Dumbledore murmured. "Dilys, do you believe spirits who have passed into the Veil could still influence our world?"

Dumbledore suspected that Harry might have fallen under the influence of an ancient soul's conspiracy. The corners of his lips turned downward into an expression reminiscent of Batman—deep suspicion.

Unfortunately, most of it was hidden beneath his thick beard.

"You suspect the boy has been taught by spirits from beyond the Veil?" Dilys Derwent questioned. "Ancient sorcerers?"

"After all, Harry truly did venture there. He found his parents' souls and brought them back into the real world," Dumbledore sighed. "Magic… holds far too many unknowns. Who knows how many geniuses have emerged over the past thousand years? And how far they walked their paths…"

"At the very least, this 'Shaman' magic he speaks of—I have never heard of it. Not even in the entire wizarding world," an elderly headmaster added. "It seems to be an entirely different system of magic."

"Indeed… a different system…" Dumbledore murmured, his eyes gleaming with thought. He no longer sought wisdom from the former headmasters. Instead, he fell silent, lost in deep contemplation. The portraits, sensing the gravity of his thoughts, also fell quiet, waiting for his decision.

Too similar. Far too similar.

Especially when discussing the possible consequences of elemental resurgence—those enticing visions, those grand descriptions and plans for a brighter future—they inevitably made Dumbledore think of a question he had pondered in his youth…

The revival of wizards. The path wizards should take in the future… The revival of wizards…

Dumbledore's gaze drifted into the distance as if he had traveled back in time—back to when that golden-haired boy had stood before him, eyes ablaze with passion, speaking of a future for wizards with such enthusiasm and confidence. The two of them had been just like that…

For a long moment, silence.

"I'm not sure how right he is, but at the very least, his intentions are good, aren't they?" Dumbledore suddenly spoke, closing his tired eyes. "He cares about the health and safety of an aunt and uncle who were never particularly kind to him. He gets angry enough to throw a punch when someone insults his friends. He worries about the well-being of his professors… and about the safety of his fellow students."

"I quite liked that thing he said," Dilys interjected suddenly. "That bit about how a person's strength is limited."

"Yes… that too," Dumbledore murmured, as if convincing himself. "No matter what… No, let it be."

He let out a long breath.

"Let it be," he repeated with a weary smile. "Let's hope… this time, I haven't made the wrong choice."

As the towering figure of Britain's magical world, Dumbledore always had more to consider than most. He was exhausted.

The night in the headmaster's office stretched on, his mind ensnared by past regrets and uncertainties. But none of that had anything to do with Harry.

Because Harry was too busy being ensnared by Dumbledore's riddles.

Fortunately, he wasn't just anyone. As a shaman, Harry could cheat.

"Oh, Harry? You're back?" Ron sat up in bed, looking at him expectantly. "Did Professor Dumbledore say anything?"

"No," Harry shrugged. "He said I must've been too tired or distracted. That Professor Quirrell has been teaching Muggle Studies here for years—he's just new to Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, so he might seem a little nervous or inexperienced."

"Basically, past students have given him fairly good reviews—Dumbledore suggested we get some rest, recharge, and enjoy school life."

Dumbledore had indeed said those words. And he had indeed made that suggestion.

Harry didn't like being treated like a child or fobbed off with half-truths when he was with Dumbledore. But when it came to Ron—a real child—Harry found himself doing exactly the same thing… only telling part of the truth.

"That so?" Ron blinked, then nodded. "Well, if that's what Professor Dumbledore suggests, then we should get some rest tonight."

It actually worked.

Harry stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Ron, as if staring at a particularly dim-witted troll.

"What?" Ron shrank back. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, nothing. Just keep it up, Ron—you're going to sleep well tonight."

Leaving the subject behind, Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling out two bowls—one large, one small—from his bag and placing them before him.

"Hey, Harry, are you doing divination again?" Seeing Harry's setup, Ron immediately perked up and scooted closer.

And with him came the other boys in the dormitory.

"Divination?" Seamus eagerly leaned in. "You mean the kind I'm thinking of? Harry, you can actually do divination? Is it the Gypsy kind? Tarot cards? Or playing cards?"

"Oh! You better back up, Seamus!" Seeing him get too close, Ron quickly shoved him aside. "Be careful—you might blow something up! This is our dorm, remember?"

Seamus Finnigan—a student who had already made quite a name for himself just days into the school year.

His reputation? The fact that, despite attending only a handful of lessons, he had managed to cause… well, let's call them "incidents" in nearly every one of them.

Some of those "incidents" were not so small.

Though Seamus himself never intended to cause trouble, for some reason, whenever he cast a spell or touched anything remotely magical, something always seemed to explode.

"Good point, Seamus—watch out for my bowls," Harry joked. "They're fragile."

"Hey! That's unfair! Those were just accidents!" Seamus protested. "Once I get better at it, nothing like that will happen again!"

"Forget that for now," Dean Thomas chimed in, just as excited. "So, Harry—you can really do divination?"

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