Death is but the Next Great Adventure

It was the next day, Harry was leaning casually against the wall, watching the students shuffle into the Great Hall for breakfast. He barely reacted when Tom emerged from the staircase below, striding towards him with his usual calculated grace.

“You will not be joining breakfast, Professor Evans?” Tom’s voice was polite, but curiosity danced beneath the surface.

Harry glanced at him, one brow arching lazily. “I’m not that hungry.”

Tom waited before all the older students had entered the hall, leaving the younger ones who weren’t going to eavesdrop. He stopped a few feet away, head tilting. “You do not seem like a typical Muggle Studies professor.” It wasn’t a question.

“And you don’t seem like a typical student,” Harry shot back smoothly.

Tom’s smile sharpened. “I wonder… is there a reason I can not feel your magic?”

Harry’s gaze met his, steady and unreadable. “Maybe you’re just not looking hard enough.”

Tom’s eyes flickered, and for a split second something darker flashed across his features. “Or maybe,” he said dangerously quiet. “There’s nothing there to find.”

Harry pushed off the wall, stepping past him as if dismissing the conversation entirely.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Harry’s voice was calm, but his next words hung heavy in the air. “Not everything hidden is empty, Tom.”

Tom watched him disappear into the remaining crowd, lingering by the entrance as though contemplating the weight of those words.

And for the first time in a long while, Tom Riddle found himself eager for answers

After Breakfast Harry walked down to the gardens. Since Muggle Studies was an elective, and not many students participated. It was generally hosted less than other electives.

Mondays: 10:30 AM - 12:00PM (double period)

Wednesdays: 2:00PM - 3:00 PM

Fridays: 9:00 AM - 10:00 AM

He sighed and entered his classroom, and waited for the students to enter.

The classroom was unexpectedly full. Harry’s eyes scanned the room as the students filtered in, the soft rustling of robes and scraping of chairs filled the space.

Muggle Studies was an elective, but it seemed curiosity- or perhaps rumor - had driven more than the usual crowd to his class. They were mostly from 5th to 8th years, the older students, lingered near the back, their sharp gazes alert.

Harry could see him immediately. The boy sat near the middle, his hair slicked back in precise waves, hands clasped neatly on the desk. Antonin Dolohov. One of Riddle’s followers. Young, but already to shrewd for his age. His gaze flicked over Harry in quiet assessment, as if searching for cracks in his calm exterior.

Harry settled in at the front, leaning slightly on the desk. The afternoon sun poured in through the high windows, casted warm, slanted beams across the aged wood floors.

“Welcome to Muggle Studies.” Harry began, his voice even but carrying across the room. “Now, before any of you get too comfortable, let’s get something straight. This class isn’t about plugs or how to use a telephone.”

A few quiet snickers rippled through the students.

“I know. Shocking.” Harry added dryly, one brow raised. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the stereotypes. But if that’s what you’re here for, I suggest leaving now. I’m not interested in teaching you how to survive a Muggle dinner party.”

Silence. No one moved.

“Good.” He continued, straightening. “This is Muggle Studies, but it’s also a class on magical interaction Magic is not just spells or incantations. It’s not light and dark fighting for dominance in some great cosmic duel. That’s a romantic idea - but also wrong.”

He let that hand in the air for a moment.

“Magic exists in layers. Light. Dark. Grey.” He paced slowly. “ Many of you have been told light magic is ‘good’ and dark magic is ‘evil.’ But magic doesn’t care about morality. The Patronus Charm, for example,is often thought to be a purely light spell. it’s not.

Antonio’s head tilted slightly, his quill hovering over his parchment. Harry caught the movement but didn’t acknowledge it.

“The Patronus charm draws from emotion - raw, powerful emotion. Happiness, love, hope. But what if I told you that the Patronus charm is Dark? To use dark magic you need emotion. For example, the killing curse needs hate, to kill its victim. A Patronus Charm is not light magic. It is simply magic. Like fire, it burns with whatever fuel you give it.”

A few students exchanged uneasy glances.

Harry let a faint smile curl at the edges of his lips. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to turn you into Dark Wizards. But I expect you to challenge what you have been taught. This Class will be about understanding those layers - And learning how to navigate them.”

His gaze drifted to Antonin, locking eyes with the boy just long enough to see a flicker of interest.

Got you.

Harry stepped forward, his hands behind his back. “Let’s start with something simple, someone give me the textbook definition of Muggle Studies.”

A hand shot up from the front row. A Ravenclaw girl. “The study of Muggle culture, technology and interaction with the magical world.”

Harry nodded. “Right, now throw it out.”

Confused murmurs spread.

“That’s the surface layer, but we will dig deeper. Magic doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and neither does the world outside these walls. You’ll find that the more you understand Muggles, the more more you’ll understand yourselves.”

Antonin’s quill scratched faintly over parchment.

Harry smiled again, cold and small. He could feel the weight of eyes pressing in from all sides. Let them watch. Let them whisper.

They wouldn’t find anything.

“The Ministry,” Harry began, his tone calm but edged with something colder, “Doesn’t allow formal Magical Theory to be taught in Hogwarts.”

A few students frowned, others looked up from their notes in confusion.

“I imagine most of you know that already.” He leaned against his desk, folding his arms across his chest. “Officially, it’s because Magical theory is considered… advanced. Difficult to standardise. But unofficially-“ Harry’s gaze flicked across the room, lingering just a second longer on Antonin Dolohov, “-it’s because theory leads to questions. And questions lead to answers some would prefer you not to have.”

Antonin’s hand tightened slightly around his quill.

“So,” Harry continued, “This is the closest you’ll get to a Magical Theory class.” His voice was even, indifferent, as if he were reciting facts no more significant than the weather. “I won’t be offering step-by-step instructions. But if you pay attention, you might leave this class understanding magic in ways most people never will.”

A hand rose cautiously from the left side of the room. A Hufflepuff boy. “Sir- doesn’t that make it dangerous?”

Harry tilted his head. “Magic is dangerous, even when you don’t understand it. Especially then.”

The boy paled, but Harry didn’t soften his expression.

“Not knowing how something works doesn’t protect you from it. Pretending Dark magic is evil and light magic is pure won’t stop either from killing you.” Harry’s eyes lingered on the student for a breath longer. “Understanding it might.”

“I’m not asking you to cast anything. I’m asking you to think. If that’s too much, there is still time to switch electives.”

No one moved.

Harry straightened, moving slowly back to the center of the room. “Good. Now let’s talk about magical cores.”

At this, even Antonin’s interest sharpened.

“You’ve been told you have a magical core. A light one, if you’re good. A dark one, if you’re not. And if you sit somewhere in the middle, well - congratulations, you’re grey.” Harry’s voice was flat, unimpressed. “That’s the convenient version of the truth.”

A few Ravenclaws looked up sharply, sensing there was more.

“The reality is far less neat. Magical cores aren't just Light or dark. They shift. They breathe with you. Magic reflects intent- but intent isn’t always pure.” Harry’s gaze flicked briefly toward the door, as if scanning the corridor door eavsdroppers.

“You could have a core burning with light magic and still cast something dangerous. And someone with a darker core could conjure a shield charm that saves a life. The Ministry won’t teach you that. It complicates their narrative.”

Antonin’s hand twitched, but he didn’t raise it.

Harry glanced toward him anyway, gaze cool and unreadable. Tom’s little spy.

“Any questions so far?” Harry asked, though he doubted anyone would challenge him.

Silence stretched over the classroom.

Harry let the silence linger for a moment, watching as the weight of his words pressed down on the room, when no one spoke, he turned and strode to the front desk, where a small wooden box sat waiting.

He opened it without ceremony, pulling out a glass vial filled with fine white powder. Harry held it up between his thumb and forefinger, letting the dim light catch it.

“This,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, “Is cyanide.”

Several students leaned forward slightly, while others exchanged wary glances.

“A Muggle poison. It can kill you in under 10 minutes, depending on the dose.” Harry’s gaze drifted across the room, settling briefly on Antonin Dolohov before flicking back to the vial.

“There’s no flash of green light. No signature spell. No trail of magic left behind for someone to trace.” He turned the vial slowly. “If someone dropped this into your tea, juice or drink, no wizard would check for it. I could go down to the kitchens and pour it in everyone’s meals and no wizard would check for it. They’d look for curses, hexes, potions. But this-“ *Harry held the vial up higher,* “-could be mistaken as sugar”

A faint ripple of discomfort passed through the students.

“You might think Muggles are beneath you. Weak. Powerless.” His voice didn’t rise, but there was a quiet finality to it. “I don’t care what you believe. But if you underestimate them, you'll end up just as dead as if you stepped in front of the killing curse.”

Harry placed the vial carefully back into the box and pulled something else - a thin curved knife, the edge gleamed faintly.

“This is a Karambit. A small Muggle weapon designed for close combat. It doesn’t require magic to cut through your throat.” Harry spun it lazily around his finger by the looped handle, watching as some of the students eyes tracked its motion.

He set the knife down with a soft click.

“I’m not here to make you love Muggles. Or fear them. You might have signed up for this class because you thought it was easy, or because you wanted to hear rumors.” Harry’s eyes swept over the students. “Or maybe you believe in wizard supremacy. I don’t care.”

He stepped around the desk, folding his arms as he leaned back against it.

“But you won’t get easy grades here. And you won’t leave this room believing Muggles are harmless.”

The tension thickened, and a few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“You don’t need to love them,” Harry said softly, his eyes sharp and unyielding. But you will learn to respect them as a threat.”

Harry let the silence stretch again, giving the room a moment to absorb the weight of his previous words. Then, without shifting his tone, he continued.

“I’m sure some of you, particularly the Muggleborns, have heard whispers. Maybe from your families or through the papers—rumors that a war may be on the horizon in the Muggle world.”

A few students shifted. One or two glanced at each other.

Harry nodded, confirming the unspoken thoughts. “Muggle wars aren’t like ours. They don’t duel with wands or send curses flying across battlefields.”

He reached under the desk and pulled out a small metal cylinder, setting it down in front of him with a hollow clink.

“This is a model of a nuclear core. The real thing is larger, but the principle is the same.”

He let it sit there, unassuming and still.

“If a Muggle war begins and one of these is used, it won’t matter how powerful your wards are, or how ancient your family’s bloodline might be. If a nuclear core exploded in wizarding Britain…” Harry’s gaze was cold and sharp as he looked over the students.

“We would all be dead.”

A ripple of disbelief passed through the room.

“No shield charm. No sacrificial magic. Not even the protections around Hogwarts would stop it,” Harry added, cutting through the skepticism he could feel radiating from some of the pureblood students.

“Radiation doesn’t care if you’re a wizard. The blast doesn’t avoid magical blood. You wouldn’t have time to disapparate. And even if you somehow survived the initial explosion…” Harry’s fingers tapped lightly on the desk, “...the fallout would poison the air, the water, the land. It seeps into everything. Magic can’t filter it out.”

A hush fell over the room. Antonin Dolohov sat rigid in his seat, his eyes narrowed in thought. Across from him, A Pureblood’s brow creased ever so slightly.

Harry leaned forward. “You might think this is irrelevant. That the Muggle world is separate from ours. But I assure you, if a war begins, their weapons won’t care about the Statute of Secrecy.”

He picked up the model core and turned it slowly in his hand.

“I’m not telling you this to frighten you. I’m telling you because understanding Muggles isn’t about fascination with their culture or pity for their lack of magic.”

Harry placed the core down carefully.

“It’s about survival.”

The classroom rippled again, and suddenly, the students found themselves standing in a new setting—a bleak, empty square, a few disoriented figures moving in the distance. The air smelled of burnt wood, smoke thick in the air. Harry stood with his back to the group, his hands in his pockets, his posture indifferent as always.

"This," he began, his voice steady, "is Hiroshima. What could happen if the Muggles dropped a bomb that could change everything."

Before the students could fully take in the sight, there was a flash—bright, blinding—so intense it seared their vision. The heat radiated, more tangible than any magical flame, and the earth shook beneath their feet. A cloud of destruction expanded outward, consuming everything in its path. The air crackled with the oppressive weight of the blast. The students could feel it, though not physically; the air felt thick, suffocating with the impossible heat that had once been.

Harry turned, his gaze unreadable as he spoke again, calm and detached "You see this? The Muggles, with their lack of magic, dropped a bomb, and the entire city was obliterated. Thousands died in an instant. And you know what? That could happen again. It's not magic, but it’s something just as dangerous. Something we can’t control with a spell."

The students stood in stunned silence, watching as the hologram shifted and became the city of Nagasaki. Another flash. Another city obliterated.

"This has not happened, but that doesnt make it less real," Harry continued, his voice growing darker. "This is a warning. The world is still full of people who have no magic. And they are learning how to destroy us in ways we can’t even begin to imagine. Imagine a bomb like that dropped on wizarding Britain. Imagine a place where magic couldn't help us, where there was no protection. It could happen. You think Muggle wars are far from us? You're wrong."

The hologram flickered, and a new image appeared—footsteps clicking, rapidly approaching. The students turned, expecting to see someone else, but it was not a woman.

A man, moving with unsettling ease, stood before them. There were no feet. His legs ended in jagged, bloody stumps. Yet, he moved with unnatural confidence, a haunting clicking sound echoing around the room.

"See this man?" Harry’s voice was still calm, but there was a weight behind it now. "Muggles don’t need magic to kill. They’ve created horrors that we don’t even comprehend. You may think it’s all science and technology, but they’ve learned to make death into a weapon. The likes of which no charm can stop. Do you understand? They are not weak. They are not powerless."

Harry’s eyes swept across the students now, locking on those who still seemed unsure. "I’m not saying you need to love Muggles. I’m saying you need to understand that they’re a threat. They can wipe us out just as easily as any curse. And they will, if we’re not careful."

He paused, his gaze hardening. "That’s what you need to learn here, whether you like it or not. Muggle supremacy isn't about wands or magic—it’s about the idea that they don't need magic to destroy us. And that, is what we need to be ready for."

The hologram dissolved, and they were back in the classroom, the weight of his words lingering in the air.

"You think that this class is just a joke? Just an elective to fill your schedules? No. It's real. And you will be tested on what I’m teaching you. Because one day, it might be the only thing that keeps you alive."

Harry’s expression remained unchanged. "Now, I suggest you take your seats. We’re not done yet."

“Let’s talk about something even darker. Cannibalism.”

The word hung in the air, causing several students to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Harry gave no pause, his voice unyielding.

“In extreme circumstances, when food is scarce, some Muggles have resorted to the unthinkable. They turn to one another for survival. It's a primal instinct, but it can happen, especially when society collapses.”

He waited for the room to settle before continuing, pulling out a model made of enchanted clay. It looked like a miniature landscape — mountains, rivers, forests, even tiny figures. He flicked his wrist and the model began to shift and settle into a scene. As it did, small words appeared above certain areas: Tradition, Law, Civilization. He made a few more subtle movements, and the land began to grow darker and more disheveled.

“This is a magical representation of a civilization, a society that’s stable. It’s grounded in its traditions, its laws, its bonds with the land. Every structure, every tree, every stone has a purpose — a relationship with the whole.”

Harry’s fingers hovered over the model, then snapped sharply, making a sharp, dissonant motion with his wand. The mountain collapsed, the river dried, and the structures seemed to crumble into ruins.

“When the traditions of a society break down — when the laws no longer hold or the bonds to their culture dissolve — this happens.” He gestured toward the model, the land now scorched and decayed, the figures twisted and grotesque. “Cannibalism, in its purest form, isn’t always about eating flesh. It’s about devouring what was once sacred. It’s the collapse of everything once revered.”

He ran his hand slowly over the model, and the land began to distort more, the rivers turning into dried, cracked channels, the trees wilting and breaking into dust.

“Society feeds off itself, consumes its own stability until nothing remains but a hollow, chaotic hunger.” His voice darkened, carrying an edge of finality. “This isn’t just a Muggle problem. It’s a universal issue. Magical or Muggle, if you tear away the core of what makes a society stable, it will consume itself.”

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in, the once lush landscape now resembling a wasteland, a symbolic warning in the flickering lights of the classroom.

“This is why understanding Muggles is vital. They might not have magic, but their history and choices speak volumes. If we don’t respect their capacity for destruction, we could find ourselves part of that destruction.” Harry’s eyes sharpened, locking onto each student. “And in a world where the boundaries between Muggle and wizard become blurred, that could be our undoing.”

He let the model settle into its broken state for a few moments before returning it to its original form. Then, with a dismissive flick of his wand, the miniature world faded from existence entirely, leaving only a lingering silence.

Harry’s eyes remained cold as he revived the model, watching as the landscape of wizarding Britain reappeared — now a miniature version of the real thing, with tiny hills, forests, and villages lining the model’s edges. His voice was steady, calm, as though he were simply explaining another mundane fact of the world.

“This is wizarding Britain. A land of magic, history, and tradition.”

He paused, letting the students admire the scene. It was a beautiful replica — the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, the grandeur of Hogwarts, the peacefulness of the Scottish Highlands. But Harry’s fingers twitched, and with a flick of his wand, a small, spherical object appeared in his hand. The students watched in hushed silence as Harry held it up, the small metallic bomb looking almost benign in the midst of the model's serene beauty.

“This,” Harry said softly, voice unwavering, “is a nuclear weapon. A creation of Muggles, and one capable of wiping out everything in its path.”

He placed the small bomb delicately on the model, right over a well-placed representation of London, and tapped his wand once more.

For a moment, nothing happened. The class seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

And then—

Boom.

A violent eruption of light and force shattered the model. The ground beneath the tiny version of Hogwarts cracked, pieces of it disintegrating as the bomb’s explosion sent ripples through the land. Trees were uprooted, buildings disintegrated into ash, and even the sky in the model seemed to burn with a fiery red glow. The magical landscape, once vibrant and whole, was reduced to nothing but a smoking wasteland.

“Now, imagine that happening to the real thing,” Harry said calmly, letting the echoes of destruction hang in the air.

“Imagine a Muggle weapon, far beyond anything we can control, dropping in the middle of our world. Magic doesn’t stop that. A nuclear explosion doesn’t care about your wand, your spells, or your bloodline. It will burn everything to the ground. And if it happens here, in our world — we would all be dead.”

He let the silence stretch for a moment longer, allowing the implications of his demonstration to sink in.

“You may think this is a theoretical problem, something far away from our lives. But don’t fool yourselves. Muggles have their own wars, their own weapons, their own ways of ending things. And one day, we might be in the path of it.”

Harry stared at the smoking, shattered model. It was just a representation, but it felt far too real in that moment.

“We might be the wizards with magic, but even we can’t save ourselves from that.”

The class was still silent, the gravity of the lesson heavy in the air. Harry’s eyes swept across the room, lingering on a few faces as they absorbed the horrifying possibility.

“Think about that,” he finished, his voice colder than ever. “We are all fragile.”

Harry set down the chalk, turning back to face the class. His gaze swept over the room, lingering momentarily on the pale faces of his students. Their discomfort was palpable—wide eyes, tense shoulders, and nervous glances exchanged between desks.

“And with that,” he said, his voice calm yet final, “class is dismissed.”

The students hesitated, as if unsure whether they were actually free to leave or if more revelations were to follow. But when Harry stepped aside and folded his arms, they began to collect their things, the scrape of chairs and rustle of parchment breaking the silence.

As they filed out of the room, their conversations were hushed, subdued. A few glanced back at Harry, their expressions a mix of unease and curiosity. He watched them go, his own face impassive, until the last student had disappeared through the doorway.

Only then did he exhale, the faintest flicker of something—weariness? Amusement?—crossing his features. He moved to the window, gazing out at the distant castle grounds, his thoughts guarded as ever.