Magical Journey in HP * DXD

The days following the dueling club had been a strange mixture of normalcy and quiet tension for James. Hogwarts carried on as it always did, with its towering halls bustling with students, the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall shifting with the weather, and classes continuing as usual. But for James, there was an undercurrent of awareness that he couldn't ignore.

He had made himself a target, intentionally or not. The Slytherins' glares had only intensified whenever they crossed paths in the corridors. Whispers followed him—not just from the Slytherins, but from students of other houses as well. Some were impressed, calling him "brilliant" or a "dueling prodigy." Others, particularly the Slytherins, muttered about how he'd "humiliated their house" or that he was "getting too big for his boots."

James, however, kept his head down. He wasn't looking for more trouble—he knew he had already invited enough. Retaliation from the Slytherins was inevitable. The only question was when and how.

To keep himself occupied, James threw himself into his studies with renewed focus.

In the mornings, James could often be found in the empty classroom on the fourth floor, practicing defensive and offensive spells. He'd started with the basics—shield charms, disarming spells, and jinxes—but he was quickly moving on to more. .

In the evenings, he spent hours in the library, pouring over books on potions, transfiguration, and even magical theory. He had developed a newfound respect for potions .

Professor McGonagall had noticed his growing interest in transfiguration and had taken it upon herself to challenge him with more advanced exercises—turning inanimate objects into animate ones, or maintaining transfigurations for longer durations. Her approval was subtle, expressed in the faintest hint of a smile when he succeeded.

But what intrigued James the most was the potential intersection of science and magic.

On his bedside table sat a well-worn science book, its pages filled with annotations and scribbles in the margins. He'd borrowed it from Erwin, and though it wasn't explicitly magical, James saw connections everywhere.

"Magic," he muttered one evening, flipping through a chapter on electromagnetism, "is just another kind of force, isn't it? It must follow some rules."

His quill hovered over his notebook as he sketched out ideas. Could magical shields, for example, be strengthened by understanding how electromagnetic fields work? Could the concept of leverage in physics apply to transfiguration, making transformations more efficient?

Arthur Pennyworth's voice echoed in his mind: "A brilliant mind doesn't just accept what's handed to it—it asks why."

James smiled faintly at the memory. He was determined to find answers.

Despite his growing knowledge and power, James was careful not to provoke the Slytherins further. He avoided direct confrontations, stepping out of their way in corridors and refusing to rise to their taunts. It wasn't cowardice—it was strategy.

No need to poke the dragon when it's already breathing down your neck, he thought.

But he could feel the tension building, like a storm waiting to break. The Slytherins were watching him closely, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they acted.

One afternoon, as he left Potions class, he overheard a group of older Slytherins muttering among themselves. Their words were low and indistinct, but James caught the unmistakable sneer of the word "Dawson."

James found himself in the Gryffindor common room, sitting by the fire with Hermione. She was absorbed in a book, as usual, but she noticed his quiet demeanor.

"You've been quieter than usual," she said, glancing up from her parchment. "Something on your mind?"

James hesitated for a moment before answering. "I think the Slytherins are planning something."

Hermione frowned, her quill pausing mid-sentence. "Why do you say that?"

"Just a feeling," James said, leaning back in his chair. "The way they've been looking at me… It's like they're waiting for the right moment."

Hermione pursed her lips. "You should tell someone. Professor McGonagall, maybe."

James shook his head. "What would I say? 'I think they're planning something' isn't exactly solid evidence. Besides…" He gave a faint smile. "I can handle it."

Hermione didn't look convinced, but she didn't press further.

As December rolled on, the castle was transformed with festive decorations. Enchanted snowflakes floated in the Great Hall, garlands of holly and ivy adorned the banisters, and the air was filled with the faint scent of cinnamon and pine.

But the tension between the houses, particularly Gryffindor and Slytherin, remained palpable.

James noticed that even the teachers seemed more alert. Snape, in particular, kept a close eye on his Slytherin students, ensuring they didn't step out of line. The Slytherins, however, grew more restless with each passing day. Their pride had been wounded, and it was clear they were itching for revenge.

James knew the storm was coming. He didn't know when or how, but he could feel it in the air. Until then, he would prepare.

He spent his free time practicing spells in secret, learning potions that could provide an edge in a fight, and studying magical theory late into the night.

The atmosphere at Hogwarts had grown darker with each passing day. Whispers spread like wildfire, students eyeing each other with suspicion and fear.

Then came the news that Hagrid had been taken to Azkaban. James overheard it from a group of Gryffindors in the common room late one evening. The half-giant's absence was a blow to morale, especially for Harry and Ron, who now become anxious.

The recent petrifications—including Hermione's—had thrown Gryffindor House into turmoil. Without Hermione's level-headedness, Harry and Ron seemed lost, their distress written plainly on their faces.

James, ever the observer, had been keeping tabs on everything. He'd noticed the looks exchanged between professors during meals, the increased patrols in the corridors, and the way students huddled together in hushed conversations. It didn't take a genius to see that the situation was escalating.

James sat near the fire, a book on magical creatures open in his lap, when Harry and Ron plopped down beside him. They looked pale and frantic.

"James," Harry said, his voice low, "we need your help."

James closed his book, raising an eyebrow. "Go on."

"It's about the Chamber of Secrets," Ron whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Hagrid mentioned something about following the spiders before he was taken away."

"Spiders?" James repeated, frowning.

Harry leaned forward, his tone urgent. "We don't know what it means exactly, but it's the only lead we've got. And now—" His voice faltered. "Hermione's been petrified, too. She was working on something before it happened. We think she might have found something important."

James felt a pang of sympathy. 

"And you've got no idea what she found?" James asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, but… maybe if we retrace her steps…"

"Or," Ron interjected, "we could just go straight to the spiders."

James rubbed his temples. "Right. Because blindly following a bunch of arachnids into god-knows-where is a brilliant plan."

"We don't have a choice!" Harry said, his frustration evident. "Ginny's gone, James. She's been taken into the Chamber."

James stiffened. "What?"

"She's missing," Ron said, his voice trembling. "The teachers are saying she's been kidnapped."

James exhaled slowly, his mind racing. The time has came to move .

"All right," he said, standing up. "We're going to figure this out. Let's start with Hermione's notes. If she found something, it'll be there."

====

The three of them made their way to the hospital wing under the cover of night. Madame Pomfrey had long since gone to bed, leaving the room eerily silent save for the occasional rustle of bed linens. Hermione lay motionless, her expression frozen in an expression of surprise.

Ron's voice was barely a whisper. "Do you think she knew she was going to be attacked?"

Harry didn't answer. He just looked down at her with a pained expression.

James, however, focused on the small stack of books and parchment on the bedside table. Hermione's meticulous handwriting filled the pages, her notes as precise and detailed as ever.

"Here," James said, holding up a piece of parchment. "It's a page torn from a library book. It's about the Basilisk."

"A Basilisk?" Ron echoed, his face going pale. "You mean the giant snake thing that kills people with its stare?"

"Or petrifies them if they see it indirectly," James said, scanning the text. "It moves through pipes. That's why no one's seen it."

Harry's eyes widened. "The voice I've been hearing… It's a snake."

Ron glanced at him. "You've been hearing a voice?"

"I thought I was going mad," Harry admitted. "But it makes sense now. Parseltongue—"

"The Chamber must be in the plumbing," James interrupted, piecing it together. "That's how it's been getting around the castle."

Ron pointed "But where is it"

"It might be in moaning myrtle bathroom , as she was the first one to be killed when chamber open ,previously ." James said. Harry straightened up. "That's where I heard the voice last."

"Then that's where we're going," James said firmly, handing the parchment to Harry. "Let's grab our wands and move."

The three boys made their way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. The castle felt colder than usual, the shadows deeper, as if the very walls were holding their breath.

Myrtle was floating near the ceiling when they entered, her usual mournful expression brightening slightly when she saw Harry.

"Oh, it's you," she said, drifting down. "Come to die a horrible death in my bathroom, have you?"

"Not today," James muttered.

Harry stepped forward. "Myrtle, do you know how to open the Chamber of Secrets?"

Myrtle's translucent face twisted into a pout. "Why should I tell you?"

"Because Ginny's life depends on it," Ron said bluntly.

Myrtle blinked, her ghostly form flickering. "Well… I suppose I could help. The last time the Chamber was opened, I died, you know. It's over there." She pointed to a sink with a serpent etched into the tap.

Harry approached the sink, his hand trembling slightly. He took a deep breath, then hissed in Parseltongue. The serpent on the tap shifted, the sink sinking into the floor to reveal a dark, gaping hole.

Ron peered into the abyss. "Of course it's a bloody slide."

"Let's go," Harry said, determination etched on his face.

James nodded, gripping his wand tightly. "Stay sharp. We don't know what's waiting for us down there."

The slide deposited them in a dark, damp tunnel that reeked of decay. The sound of dripping water echoed off the stone walls, and the boys lit their wands to illuminate the path ahead.

"This place gives me the creeps," Ron muttered.

"It's supposed to," James said, stepping cautiously. "Keep your eyes open. If that Basilisk is loose, we're in its territory now."

As they moved deeper into the tunnel, the walls began to widen, revealing a massive chamber lined with towering serpent statues. At the far end stood a colossal sculpture of Salazar Slytherin, his stone face twisted into a sneer.

And there, lying motionless on the cold stone floor, was Ginny.

"Ginny!" Ron cried, rushing to her side.

"Wait!" James hissed, pulling him back. "It could be a trap."

But Harry was already moving forward, his wand drawn. As he approached Ginny, a shadowy figure stepped out from behind one of the statues.

"Tom Riddle," Harry said, his voice shaking.

James' eyes narrowed.

"Harry Potter," Riddle said, his voice smooth and mocking. "And his little friends. How delightful."

"Be ready," he muttered to Ron. "This isn't going to be easy."