The next morning, a low buzz of excitement echoed through Gryffindor Tower. The first years were finally scheduled to have their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Hermione had practically memorized Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard—though she found his writing dry and unnecessarily repetitive. Still, she was determined to be prepared.
Ron groaned as he pulled on his robe, "Please tell me this professor actually knows how to teach. That ghost in History of Magic is putting me to sleep faster than Fred's fake bedtime stories."
"Professor Quirrell taught last year too," Hermione said, adjusting the strap on her bag. "But he only started teaching Defense recently. He used to teach something else... Muggle Studies, I think."
"Yeah, and then he went on some sort of sabbatical to get 'real world experience'—ended up bringing back a stutter and a weird smell," Seamus added, snickering.
Hermione rolled her eyes, then paused and glanced around.
"Wait—where's Inosuke?"
Ron looked around too. "You're right. I haven't seen him since last night."
"I think he's still asleep in the boys' dorm," Neville said quietly. "I tried waking him, but he shouted something about a 'sky demon' and rolled over."
"Sounds like one of his dream fights again," Hermione muttered. "I'll check on him later."
The group made their way down through the castle, their path twisting through torchlit corridors and past a suspiciously giggling suit of armor. Eventually, they arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor. The door was already open, and inside stood Professor Quirrell, his pale face twitching nervously as he rearranged a stack of garlic necklaces hung above his desk.
"C-c-come in, c-come in," he said, beckoning with a tremulous hand. "Settle d-down now."
The room smelled faintly of garlic and mildew. A large terrarium sat in one corner, empty save for a single dried newt skeleton. On the blackboard was scrawled, Quirrell's Guide to Surviving the Supernatural: Year One.
Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered, "Think he's planning to scare the ghosts away with his breath?"
Harry suppressed a laugh.
"W-w-we will begin today w-with a q-q-quiz on w-what you know about the d-d-dark creatures of our w-world," Quirrell stuttered as he passed around a stack of parchment. "N-nothing too frightening, I assure you…"
Hermione accepted her quiz with eager hands and quickly read through the questions.
1. What is a Grindylow and where is it commonly found?
2. What are the three major weaknesses of a Red Cap?
3. What creature is most effectively repelled by garlic?
She scribbled her answers down almost too quickly, the feather of her quill gliding across the parchment with determined precision.
Across the aisle, Ron was mouthing "Grin-dy-what?" under his breath and peeking sideways at Harry's parchment.
Quirrell ambled between the rows, his nervous twitches worsening whenever someone sneezed or moved too suddenly. When Neville accidentally dropped his quill, the professor yelped and nearly knocked over a bottle of snake skin essence.
After the quiz, Quirrell shuffled to the front and unrolled a dusty scroll. "W-w-we shall now discuss the b-b-boggart," he announced, his voice echoing awkwardly in the quiet room.
"Boggarts are shape-shifting c-c-creatures that t-take the form of a w-wizard's worst f-f-fear. They are c-c-common in d-dark places like c-closets, attics, or unused d-d-drawers…"
As Quirrell continued his lesson, most of the class tried to pay attention. Hermione certainly did, jotting down every word he said, even correcting his pronunciation in her notes.
Ron, however, leaned back in his chair. "Imagine if Inosuke were here," he whispered. "A boggart wouldn't even get a chance to change form—he'd punch it in the face before it could blink."
"That's assuming Inosuke's afraid of anything," Seamus added.
"Yeah, well, maybe he's terrified of not fighting," Dean said with a grin. "Or—maybe a room full of books. That'd spook him."
"Or—oh—oh! A mirror!" Ron snickered. "One that makes him wear a suit and tie."
Harry chuckled softly, but Hermione shot them all a glare. "Will you lot shut up? Professor Quirrell is speaking."
"R-right, r-right," Quirrell stammered as if he'd heard them too, "A-a-any questions so far?"
Hermione raised her hand immediately. "Professor, do Boggarts behave differently based on the age or magical strength of the witch or wizard encountering them?"
"G-g-great q-question, Miss G-g-granger," he said, tugging at the hem of his cloak. "Y-y-yes, indeed. They can s-s-sense confidence. If you're firm w-with your mind and w-wand, their transformation w-w-wavers."
Hermione beamed at the praise and quickly added the answer to her growing list of notes.
The rest of the lesson was spent watching Quirrell demonstrate the "Riddikulus" charm using a magically conjured wardrobe—which thankfully did not house an actual Boggart. The professor mumbled and flailed his wand at a pile of dust pretending to be scary, which only made the students more confused than enlightened.
As they packed up to leave, Hermione glanced toward the empty desk where Inosuke should've been.
"Should we go check on him now?" she asked.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, before he dreams his way into another sky battle."
"I hope he didn't dream-float into the lake," Ron muttered, shouldering his bag.
Neville looked worried. "What if he's fighting the squid?"
Seamus snorted. "At this point, the squid's probably running."
_________
The sun had dipped low into the Scottish hills, casting golden fire across the turrets of Hogwarts. Long shadows crept across the grounds, and the summer breeze swirled gently through the courtyard. But in one particular clearing—where grass was being flattened by dozens of stomping shoes—there was no peace.
Instead, there was a crowd.
A large group of students had gathered in a loose semi-circle, murmuring excitedly, clutching handfuls of Sickles and Galleons. Sheets of parchment were being passed around, inked with a crude sketch of a tree and a boar-headed man.
At the center of it all stood Inosuke Hashibira, shirtless, still, and absolutely radiating tension. He was staring at a massive oak tree as though it had insulted his entire bloodline.
Above, from a high landing, Professor Dumbledore watched with interest, his expression unreadable but his eyes twinkling with a faint kind of admiration.
"Still at it," he murmured, adjusting the cuffs of his indigo robes. "How long now?"
Below, Lee Jordan was bent over a notepad, quill scratching away as he shouted updates like a Quidditch commentator. "Four hours and fifty-three minutes, ladies and gentlemen! Inosuke Hashibira has yet to blink! We're approaching the five-hour mark—if you placed your bet on the dot, now is the time to pray!"
"Twenty Galleons on five hours and two minutes!" yelled a third-year.
"I've got five on him punching the tree and headbutting it after!"
"No way, he's gonna suplex it!" someone else cried. "It's a tree, not a troll!"
The Weasley twins were front and center, arms crossed, grinning ear to ear.
"This is the best day of my life," George said.
"I want to major in whatever this is," Fred added. "Boarology."
Just then, a familiar voice broke through the growing chatter.
"What is going on here?" Hermione asked, approaching with Ron and Neville in tow. "What are you all staring at?"
She was halfway through adjusting her bookbag strap when she caught sight of the spectacle—Inosuke, eerily still, as if in a trance.
"We've been trying to find him since he skipped Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said. "Why didn't anyone think to check outside?"
"We didn't," George answered cheerfully. "We were heading to the pitch for a broom stunt and saw him just… standing there."
"Not moving a muscle," Fred added. "It was—honestly?—weirdly majestic."
Hermione squinted. "He's just... staring at the tree?"
Lee nodded. "Four hours. Maybe five now. We think he's training his soul."
Neville looked nervous. "Shouldn't we stop him? That can't be healthy."
"Don't worry," George said, elbowing Neville playfully. "We've got a Healer on standby. His name is Fred."
Fred raised his hand solemnly. "I am also the undertaker."
Before Hermione could scold them for their nonsense, a sound emerged from the clearing.
Crunch.
It was subtle at first. Inosuke's bare feet shifted slightly in the dirt. Then came the slow raising of both arms as he drew in a deep breath through his boar mask.
And then, with a sudden shout that shook nearby leaves from their branches, Inosuke clenched his fists, his muscles rippling unnaturally. The cords of his arms and chest bulged, gaining even more size and definition. A blue vein popped on his temple.
Then he screamed—not in pain, but in power.
"BOOOAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR POWER!!!"
It echoed across the courtyard, startling birds into the air. The Weasley twins burst into excited whoops.
Gasps spread through the crowd.
"He just got buffer!" someone cried.
"He evolved!" another shouted. "This is his second form!"
"Incredible!" Lee shouted, recording furiously.
Hermione jumped back, eyes wide. "Is that—how is he growing more muscles?!"
Ron blinked. "I didn't know people could power-up like that."
Then, with a sound like splintering bones and thunder cracking simultaneously, Inosuke launched forward and punched the tree—straight in the trunk.
CRAAAAACK!
The thick oak gave a deep groan… and split in half.
"Bloody hell!" Dean yelled from the side.
Neville nearly fell over backwards as he stumbled away
"Pay up! Pay up! Five-hour mark, called it!" cried a third-year girl, holding out her hands expectantly.
"Unreal!" Fred gasped.
"I'm crying," George said, wiping fake tears. "This is the best Hogwarts memory of my life."
"I want him on our Quidditch team," someone muttered. (Oliver Wood)
Inosuke didn't stop to admire his handiwork. No, he grabbed the top half of the tree, hauled it over one shoulder, adjusted the weight—and began to squat.
Down.
And up.
Down.
And up.
Over and over again, with the half-tree balanced like a barbell. He didn't falter. He didn't speak. Only his ragged breath and the faint rustle of his shifting balance filled the clearing.
"How heavy do you reckon that thing is?" Ron asked in a stunned whisper.
"At least five hippogriffs," Fred said.
"I'm going to ask Flitwick if we can start using trees in Charms class," George added. "Might be better than the feather trick."
"Someone start a slow clap," Dean whispered in awe.
But no one dared interrupt the sacred ritual.
Even Hermione, for once, was speechless. Her jaw worked silently before she managed, "That's… not normal. That's not humanly possible."
In the background, Professor Dumbledore continued to observe, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly beneath his beard.
"Albus," came a soft voice behind him—Professor McGonagall had arrived. "Is that the same boy, Who... I found deep in the forest?"
"It is," Dumbledore said, clasping his hands. "Inosuke Hashibira."
McGonagall pressed a hand to her temple. "And what exactly is he doing now?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Training. Or meditating. Or perhaps discovering the meaning of life through arbor-based weightlifting. Who's to say?"
Back below, the students were now chanting.
"Inosuke! Inosuke! Inosuke!"
Each squat was met with growing cheers.
As the sun finally disappeared behind the hills and night crept over Hogwarts, torches lit along the castle wall. But no one moved.
No one wanted to miss what would happen next.
The half-tree finally thudded to the ground with a dull, shaking boom that echoed across the courtyard.
Dust rose, and the clearing went silent again—utterly silent.
Inosuke stood straight, muscles still twitching from exertion, his bare chest gleaming with sweat under the flickering torchlight. He looked like a painting of some wild war god given flesh, carved from stone and adrenaline. His boar mask remained atop his head, cocked slightly back so his sharp eyes could glare freely at nothing in particular.
Hermione was the first to break the silence.
"Inosuke," she began carefully, stepping forward, "Why… why are you here? Why did you skip Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Inosuke tilted his head, cracking his neck to one side. He looked at her with the calm confidence of someone who'd just wrestled nature into submission. His voice was low and gruff, but entirely serious.
"I don't need to learn to defend myself," he said simply. "I am defense."
Ron blinked. "Blimey."
Inosuke pointed one finger to his chest—thud, a tap against the muscle that sounded like it was made of oak. "If something attacks me, I don't dodge. I break it. If it bites me, I bite back harder. If it breathes fire—" he flexed both arms, muscles bulging like they might burst from under his skin, "—I eat the flames. Then punch it in the teeth."
Hermione's mouth opened to argue—her brows furrowed, logical retort at the ready—but then her eyes flicked toward the shattered remnants of the tree lying like a broken staff beside the squat crater Inosuke had left behind. Her protest faltered.
She took a breath. Then sighed.
"…Fine. Just—try not to punch any students, alright?"
Inosuke grunted, which Hermione chose to interpret as agreement.
"Well," she huffed, brushing her hair back into place, "Dinner's still being served. Let's go before we miss it.
As she turned toward the castle, Ron nudged Inosuke on the arm. "Come on, mate. You can fight the potatoes next. They're brutal this time of year."
Inosuke snorted, lips curling into a feral grin.
"Good. I'm starving."
The group turned back toward the castle, the night alive with whispers of what they'd just witnessed—and what might come next from the wild boy who didn't just fight nature.
He trained with it.
A/N
BOAR POWER!!! [Power Stone]