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HRA# CHAPTER 178
🕑 Added 2025-07-04 19:53:28 +0000 UTCOr rather, the base of the totem itself was the house, entirely hollowed out, seemingly with three floors. Windows and doorways had been deliberately carved out, their openings visible.
From the castle, the massive totem had appeared grand and magnificent, but up close, it now seemed somewhat rough-hewn.
Harry sat cross-legged atop an earth elemental, hovering outside the totem. As he waved his wand, intricate patterns gradually emerged on the totem’s surface. Wood shavings fell like snow, so thick that no one dared approach too closely.
“Professor Potter! What is this?!” a bold student shouted up at him.
“My office!” Harry yelled back, turning around. “And the future classroom for Shamanic Priest lessons!”
“That’s so cool, Professor Potter!!”
The gathered students erupted into cheers. The idea of having classes inside such an awesome totem was just too exciting. They could hardly wait—though some grew a bit disheartened, realizing they might never see the elements themselves before graduating.
“Hey! Be careful, kids! Don’t get too close!” Hagrid bellowed, emerging from the totem with a thick stack of wooden planks in his arms. “I know you’re eager, but this place ain’t finished yet! —Want me to make you some tables, Harry?”
“Thanks!” Harry shouted down. “I’ll treat you to a drink later!”
“I’ll hold you to that, haha!”
Hagrid’s hearty laughter echoed across the clearing.
Shrugging, Harry got back to work. After carving the patterns on the totem’s exterior, he still had to paint it.
To support the new curriculum and this novel form of magic, Harry had secured a special fund from Dumbledore for purchasing teaching materials and constructing his office. Truth be told, the budget wasn’t much. The school’s governors were notoriously tight-fisted, and the funds barely covered the totem’s surface decoration. Harry had to dip into his own pockets, even felling all the towering trees in Mulgore within his suitcase world for raw materials.
It was hard to describe the look on Ragehorn’s face when the dragon awoke to find its territory stripped bare, a sea of stumps stretching to the horizon. For the first time, Harry saw bewilderment and confusion on that draconic visage.
Compared to others of its kind, Ragehorn was notably smarter, thanks to Harry’s careful nurturing—though its physical limitations prevented it from speaking human tongues.
With the help of the great Potions Master Severus Snape, Harry had spread copious amounts of growth potions, coaxing new saplings to sprout and somewhat soothing Ragehorn’s fiery temper. Otherwise, Harry wasn’t sure his little cabin in the suitcase could’ve survived an enraged dragon’s claws. After all, he couldn’t stay in there forever.
Always beware a dragon’s vengeance—especially a female one.
As Harry’s mastery of charms deepened, his construction prowess grew stronger. He built this landmark totem entirely without Dumbledore’s help—though, truth be told, even if he’d wanted Dumbledore’s assistance, he couldn’t have gotten it.
Upon receiving the special fund, Dumbledore had promptly announced that a friend abroad needed him and that he’d be away from Hogwarts for quite some time.
The old man had scampered off rather quickly.
Everything proceeded smoothly. With the aid of magic’s miraculous power, Harry completed the totem in just two days. Its overall design resembled an enlarged version of a totem he’d carved before—a massive pillar topped with a pair of tauren horns, the corresponding section shaped like a bull’s head.
Unlike the great totem in Thunder Bluff, which featured a spiraling staircase and space for a flight point, this one could be ascended only through its hollowed-out interior.
On the exterior, azure, red, white, and black hues interwoven across the totem’s surface. The middle and lower sections were inscribed with texts in Taur-ahe and the elemental tongues, detailing the tenets of shamanic priesthood, characteristics of the elements, and aspects of the Earthmother’s spirits.
The apprentices would eventually decipher the meanings of these inscriptions, so Harry went all out, carving every relevant detail about shamanism.
On the evening the landmark totem was completed, Harry hosted a bonfire celebration in the clearing before it, inviting all of Hogwarts’ students and professors.
The once-familiar place now felt utterly foreign. Harry hadn’t just built a single totem but a cluster of nine, large and small, centered around the massive one. He’d even erected three-bladed windmills atop some totems. Five azure tents were scattered irregularly around the great totem, each dedicated to one of the four elements or the Earthmother’s spirits.
By tradition, the final tent should have honored the ancestors of his tribe, but since Hogwarts was merely a school and his future apprentices were here to learn, Harry adapted the ritual to venerate the Earthmother’s spirits instead.
Of course, he’d still teach his apprentices how to honor and commune with their ancestors’ spirits, but since they weren’t part of his tribe, he left such matters for them to pursue later.
There was no need to share details of Azeroth or the tauren tribes with the other professors or students. Still, Harry infused the area with tauren flair—tents, colorful banners strung in the air, totems, and carvings adorned every corner.
To the students, Professor Potter’s creation was merely an exotic novelty—intriguing and fun, but nothing more.
Tauren never shy away from sharing joy with others, especially in moments akin to founding a new tribe. Harry prepared a massive bonfire, endless drinks, and heaps of roasted meat—though, of course, no alcohol, as Professor McGonagall would never allow it.
Even so, the students went wild. When Fred and George leapt onto a table, letting out thunderous tauren-like bellows, the party reached its peak. Even McGonagall cracked a faint smile.
The night passed without incident.
The Ministry of Magic took an encouraging stance toward this shamanic priesthood—not exactly a new concept, but certainly distinct from traditional notions of shamanism. At the very least, it offered new career paths and job opportunities, addressing the issue of recent graduates struggling to find work and boosting the Ministry’s approval ratings.
A new slice of the pie, and thus, no one particularly opposed it.
The Ministry kept a close eye on Harry, the pioneer of elemental magic, even requesting regular updates on elemental changes and the names of new shamanic priests.
Harry had anticipated that news of his new structure at Hogwarts would reach the Ministry—or rather, the wider wizarding world.
Some wizards would support the changes Harry brought, while others would surely argue that his series of structures defiled ancient Hogwarts. But what Harry hadn’t expected was that the first wave of attention wouldn’t come from the great totem itself, but from—Filch.
More precisely, Squibs.
“Shock! Squibs’ Magic!!!”
Leave it to Rita Skeeter to craft a headline that no wizard could ignore. Squibs and magic—how could those two things possibly connect?
Many opened the newspaper expecting another of Rita’s biting satires, only to find their smirks fading into solemnity as they read on.
“…It’s hard to put into words the emotions this writer feels at this moment. As I pen this article, my hand trembles. Surely, those of you reading this feel the same—awe at this world-shaking magic…”
“…Decades have passed, centuries, millennia—and yet, despite wizards wielding magic for so long, this is the first time Squibs have been given the chance to wield it…”
“…A pain has lingered with us through these long years, ever-present like a shadow. No one knows if it’s a curse of blood or the price of magic. Especially for those of noble, ancient lineage, this pain haunts every wizard—Squibs.”
“As a journalist who dares to speak the truth, I fear not offending those with power and influence. With a righteous heart, I must declare this truth to the world—the fate of Squibs.”
“…We all know of their existence, yet we consciously ignore it. Squibs. Wizards born of Muggle blood may not grasp the weight of this term, but those of noble lineage know its heavy burden and the cruel fate it brings…”
“…Cast out from wizarding society, disowned even by their own families, as if they never existed…”
“…Imagine your kin—siblings, sons, or daughters—sent away the moment they’re revealed as Squibs, their existence erased from record. Note, this is the modern approach.”
“In older times, mere decades ago, Squibs born to wizarding families were secretly executed, as if they’d never been born… Yes, I’ve said it. Even I’m shocked by my own audacity, revealing this deliberately buried history…”
Rita Skeeter’s words were like a high-pressure water jet blasting a filthy tapestry clean. Her excitement bled through every line, and Harry could almost see her manic grin and furiously scribbling quill.
“But now, everything has changed.”
“With a heart full of awe, I am thrilled and honored to announce a truth—from this day forward, even Squibs have the chance to wield magic.”
“No longer must they endure the pain of separation, the torment of emotions, or the loss of honor. Yes, yes—elemental magic! The unique magic pioneered by Harry Potter, Hogwarts’ youngest professor in history, is a magic Squibs can master!!”
“At great personal risk, I interviewed Hogwarts’ current caretaker, Argus Filch—yes, you’ve likely guessed it. This wizard, who has served Hogwarts for over thirty years, is a Squib!!”
“But what I must tell you is that during this interview, Mr. Filch proudly demonstrated the magic he has mastered—wondrous earth and fire elemental magic—and proclaimed the greatness of Harry Potter with pride!”
“Last year, it was Harry Potter who gave this caretaker a chance, allowing him, after decades of torment, to finally wield magic. No longer must he live with envy or hatred—do not doubt, these are the very words Mr. Filch shared with me.”
“He admitted that, as a Squib, he once harbored jealousy and malice toward the castle’s students. But now, everything has changed, and Mr. Filch is willing to apologize to the students for his past shortcomings.”
In Rita’s prose, Filch was practically a repentant saint. She sang his praises with fervor, but what puzzled Harry was when Filch had ever granted Rita an interview.
His eldest apprentice rarely left the castle, devoted to his duties.
“…Any person with a conscience would surely forgive Mr. Filch’s past mistakes, for now that the veil has been torn away, we know the kind of lives Squibs have endured. I cannot fathom how many Squibs across the world live like Mr. Filch—or worse.”
“…We should feel sorrow. We should feel compassion—those are the finest qualities of humanity. But before that, I believe we must thank Harry Potter, our Professor Potter, for those Squibs who were once ignored.”
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
