Only after Professor McGonagall finally managed to calm the overexcited students down did they truly come to understand what she meant by "difficult."
By the end of the lesson, the majority of the class wore expressions that clearly said Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing? Even the few top students were frowning deeply, practically wishing they could bury their faces straight into their textbooks. And yet, the moment they thought about the chance to participate in Professor McGonagall's experiment, they immediately rekindled their fighting spirit and began grinding through the dense, obscure material with grim determination…
It had to be said—Professor McGonagall's motivational tactics were frighteningly effective.
"Next class is… uh… Care of Magical Creatures."
Avada glanced at his timetable, the corner of his eye twitching. "No idea what Hagrid's going to pull out this time. He was already using XXXX-class creatures for third years—what's he going to do with fourth years? And fifth, sixth, seventh…?"
After taking a couple of sips of water, he detoured to the restroom, planning to head over to Hagrid's hut early to scout things out. If something went wrong, it was better to be prepared.
"Oh."
Just as he was stepping out of the washroom, a few students hurried past with their heads down, nearly colliding with him head-on. "Sorry—oh, Harry?"
Seeing those three familiar faces again, Avada paused for a moment, then deliberately glanced at Ron once more. The tracking charm on Peter Pettigrew had less than a month left—he would need to find a chance to renew it.
"Ken? Perfect timing—we were just looking for you!"
"Looking for me?" He raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "What's up?"
He couldn't help wondering—without Dementors, what trouble could Harry possibly be having now? Surely they weren't asking him to help make up lessons for a professor's research project.
And with no Dementors around… what would Harry's Boggart even turn into?
"Let's talk somewhere quieter…"
The three of them pulled Avada into a deserted corner before Harry finally spoke with a troubled expression. "It's about Divination."
"It's pretty ridiculous," Hermione cut in, "both the prophecy itself and Professor Trelawney."
"It's not ridiculous!" Ron protested. "Ken, you used to be a Seer, right? Then you must know about this kind of thing…"
Harry's face looked a little pale. "This is what happened. Over the summer, I saw a huge black dog once. It startled me, but I didn't think much of it. Then today, in Divination class…"
"Professor Trelawney told me she saw the 'Grim' on me—a huge black dog, the most powerful omen of death."
"Ken… is that really true?" Harry asked anxiously. "Seeing a black dog really means death?"
"..."
Avada forcibly suppressed the twitch in his face. If he weren't maintaining his persona, he might have laughed outright.
Why were they handing him such a perfect opportunity to hint at the truth about Sirius Black?
And Peter Pettigrew wasn't even on Ron at the moment—he could speak freely now.
"A big black dog…"
He deliberately paused, pretending to think, which only made Harry and the others even more tense—like patients waiting for a terminal diagnosis. Then he slowly lifted his head.
"What a coincidence. Before I lost my prophetic abilities, I once saw a scene involving a big black dog in one of my visions—and that scene was directly related to Harry."
"What?!"
Even Hermione—who trusted Professor Trelawney not at all—was startled. Avada's prophecies had been proven through real achievements; his words were far more reliable than those of a self-proclaimed mystic.
"In my prophecy," Avada said with a relaxed smile, "that black dog wasn't an ill omen for Harry at all. On the contrary, it carried several very positive signs—kinship, fondness, atonement…"
"There was just a tiny hint of danger," he added. "Really tiny. About on the level of choking on water."
"Kinship? Fondness? Atonement?"
Ron blinked. "That sounds like how someone treats the child of a friend they owe something to… But why kinship? Don't tell me that dog is Harry's relative?"
Hermione burst out laughing.
"Who knows?" Avada shrugged lightly. "I'm a Seer, not omniscient."
He gave Ron an appreciative look and nodded. "Maybe the Potters once kept a black dog. Or maybe one of Harry's parents' friends had a black-dog Patronus—or was an Animagus in that form."
"In any case, that black dog is absolutely not an ill omen for Harry. If anything, it's the complete opposite."
He smiled at Harry, whose expression had already relaxed considerably. "If you see that big black dog again sometime, you might even try feeding it something tasty. Who knows—maybe it'll boost your luck."
"I… I understand. Thanks!"
Harry finally smiled again.
"I knew it!"
With the terrifying prophecy so easily resolved, Hermione couldn't help feeling triumphant. She straightened proudly, as if she'd just won a major battle. "I knew Professor Trelawney couldn't be trusted! Her Divination class is a total mess—Arithmancy is far more practical…"
"Don't underestimate Professor Trelawney," Avada interrupted, shaking his head with lingering unease at what he'd once seen in her. "She does have genuine ability. That much is certain."
"She does?" Hermione frowned. "Then why is her interpretation of the black dog so different from yours?"
"From my observation," Avada explained, "she's the type whose talent can't be controlled."
"Seers like that often possess the strongest prophetic gifts—so strong that human will simply can't rein them in. Take my former ability as an example: I could exert some control, intentionally seeking information I needed, but the results weren't precise, and the time span was short. At best, I'd get reference-level intelligence."
"But Professor Trelawney's kind—when her talent activates on its own—the prophecy is guaranteed to be big. Big enough to change the fate of an entire country."
"Isn't that a bit exaggerated?" Hermione still looked doubtful.
"There's no such thing as 'exaggerated' in magic," Avada replied calmly, "especially when you're dealing with time and destiny—the most mysterious domains of all."
"Besides, Dumbledore has employed her for so many years. That alone says a lot. Though to maintain her authority during periods when her gift is dormant, she's taken to predicting a student's death every year since she arrived."
"So far, no one has actually died," he added dryly. "Using death omens to welcome a new class is practically her signature move—every student who's taken her class agrees on that."
"Alright, it's about time—I still need to get ready for Care of Magical Creatures…"
"Oh, right—speaking of that class…"
The three of them looked at him with hopeful eyes again. "We heard someone in Hufflepuff figured out how to deal with The Monster Book of Monsters. Could you tell us? We're about to have that class too…"
"Oh, that's easy."
Avada nodded and gestured for them to take out their books. "You just need to cast a small spell—slightly more complex than Finite Incantatem. Like this—"
He deliberately slowed his speech, murmuring the incantation softly, then tapped the cover of one of the monster books with his wand.
The book instantly froze, as still as a frog whose nervous system had been poked. "That's all there is to it."
"..."
(End of Chapter)