Magical Journey in HP * DXD

James found himself falling into a rhythm at Hogwarts, a delicate balance between the chaotic charm of the castle and his relentless pursuit of knowledge. He had always been sharp, but this year, he was determined to go beyond mere competence. His days were packed with back-to-back classes, evenings spent poring over dusty tomes, and countless hours practicing spells until his wand hand ached.

Potions had quickly become a personal obsession. The art of brewing was more than just a class to him—it was an intricate dance of precision and intuition. He spent evenings in the library, flipping through ancient recipe books, deciphering half-legible handwritten notes left by long-dead masters of the craft. When his experiments required understanding of magical plants, he reluctantly dipped into Herbology, even if dirt under his nails wasn't exactly his idea of fun.

Then there was Transfiguration, a subject that fascinated him endlessly. The idea of reshaping reality with a flick of his wand felt like pure power. He'd taken to practicing late into the night, his dorm room often lit by the soft glow of his wand as he tried to perfect turning small objects into intricate forms.

Charms, too, had a special place in his heart. It wasn't just the utility of spells the artistry of making magic flow seamlessly feel like he is doing magic. The subtle wrist movements, the incantations that required just the right tone. It was less about power and more about finesse to master the spell.

To dedicate himself fully to his studies, James had made the difficult decision to step away from Quidditch. Watching matches from the stands wasn't the same, but he knew where his priorities lay. He didn't completely isolate himself, though. He still spent time with his friends, sneaking in a laugh or two over dinner or catching up during free periods. Slowly but surely, James was learning what mattered to him and what didn't, which books to spend hours on and which ones to skim—or ignore entirely. History of Magic? A snooze fest. Astronomy? A distraction at best. But the core subjects he loved? They were shaping him into something formidable.

One evening, after dinner in the Great Hall, the students were making their way back to their dormitories. The chatter in the corridors was lively, a mix of gossip and laughter echoing off the stone walls. James walked with his friends, Hermione flipping through yet another book she'd brought to the table, Ron complaining about his homework load.

The lively atmosphere shattered as they turned a corner and stumbled upon a crowd gathered in hushed silence. The source of their collective shock was immediately evident. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging stiffly from a torch bracket, eyes wide open, her entire body frozen as though carved from stone. Harry standing under it .

"What the…?" Ron muttered, his face pale.

Filch, the caretaker, was already on the scene, trembling with rage and grief. His fingers twitched d, his gaze landing on Harry. Without warning, he lunged forward, grabbing Harry by the collar and shaking him violently.

"You did this!" Filch bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. "I swear, I'll kill you for this!"

Harry struggled against the man's grip, his face a mix of shock and fear. The crowd murmured in confusion, some stepping back, others too stunned to react.

James, however, wasn't one to let a scene like this play out without stepping in. He strode forward, his voice calm but cutting.

"Why are you grabbing him?" James asked, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and authority. "If you're so certain someone's to blame, shouldn't you be looking at someone from Slytherin?"

The crowd fell silent. Even Filch froze, his wild eyes narrowing as he turned his head toward James.

"Why Slytherin?" Filch growled, still gripping Harry's collar.

James crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "You know exactly why. Who does the Chamber of Secrets belong to, after all?"

Murmurs rippled through the students as realization dawned. Filch's grip loosened on Harry, and he turned to glare at the group of Slytherins standing near the back of the crowd. The green-and-silver-clad students looked as though they'd rather be anywhere else.

Filch's rage redirected itself like a lightning bolt. "Which of you snarly brats did this? Come out, or I swear I'll—"

"Argus!"

The commanding voice of Professor Dumbledore cut through the tension. The headmaster entered the scene, his usual calm presence immediately diffusing the chaos. His piercing blue eyes took in the petrified cat, the frightened students, and Filch, who now looked on the verge of tears.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Dumbledore said gently, placing a hand on Filch's shoulder. "Mrs. Norris will be cared for. We will get to the bottom of this. But for now, I ask all students to return to their dormitories."

The crowd reluctantly began to disperse, though the whispers didn't stop.

As they climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Ron broke the silence. "I bet it's Malfoy. Who else could be slimy enough to do something like that?"

Hermione, clutching her book tightly, frowned in thought. "What's the Chamber of Secrets, James?" she asked.

James, walking slightly ahead, glanced over his shoulder. "It's an old legend, tied to Salazar Slytherin himself. Rumor has it, the chamber holds some sort of creature—something deadly. It's meant to only obey his true heir."

Ron snorted. "Sounds like Malfoy's family business to me."

"It could be connected," Hermione said, her brow furrowed. "And… do you think it's related to what happened to us? You know, the incident with the Death Eaters."

Harry shook his head, his face set with determination. "No way. It has to be something else. It's too random to tie back to them."

Hermione glanced at James. "Still, it makes sense, doesn't it?"

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just someone trying to cause a stir. Either way, we'll find out soon enough."