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HRA# CHAPTER 173
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 21:33:23 +0000 UTC“They can’t stay students forever. These wonderful times only last seven years,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Those seventh-years will become part of wizarding society the moment they graduate, but are they truly ready to face its rules? Do they have what it takes?”
“From the day they become shaman apprentices, as long as they don’t give up, they’ll walk a path entirely different from others,” Harry said evenly. “No one wants to be ordinary. Having the power to protect themselves and their families is something many dream of.”
“Compared to those who died at Voldemort’s hands—well, not just Voldemort, life is full of accidents—compared to those who can only passively accept their fate, these students have a rare chance to become strong. You wouldn’t deny that, would you?”
“…I don’t deny it,” Dumbledore nodded. “It is indeed their opportunity.”
For this century-old wizard, the era he grew up in was far harsher than today’s. With his experiences and the myriad human struggles he’d witnessed, no one understood Harry’s words better than he did.
“Keep them safe, Harry,” Dumbledore said, no longer pressing the point. “But if they want to give up—”
“If someone needs to be forced to become strong, they’re better off not wasting my time,” Harry interrupted with a cold smirk.
“That’s fine then,” Dumbledore nodded.
The night had grown late, and Dumbledore let out a large yawn. Such late-night activities were taxing for an elderly man like him. The massive bonfire still burned, but after the ceremony ended, the centaurs gradually dispersed, returning to their tribal grounds below.
Unlike when they’d sent the apprentices off, Harry and Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts using the power of the phoenix.
They arrived first and had to wait at the entrance for the apprentices to fly back.
Watching Fawkes expertly poke his head into Harry’s pocket to rummage for herbs, Dumbledore couldn’t help but feel exasperated. This wizard and bird were clearly far too familiar with each other.
Fawkes, after all, was a very reserved phoenix. Even with people he knew, he rarely showed enthusiasm, often acting aloof. But now… seeing Fawkes occasionally roll his eyes at him, then watching Harry stroke the phoenix’s vibrant feathers while pulling fresh herb leaves from his pocket to feed him—it almost seemed like Harry was Fawkes’ true master.
“Ahem,” Dumbledore coughed deliberately. When neither wizard nor bird reacted, he cleared his throat louder. “Ahem! Harry, about the Acromantula matter… I suggest you talk to Hagrid.”
“Hagrid?” Harry paused, puzzled. “Why?”
What did Hagrid have to do with this?
Then, in the next moment, Harry recalled Hagrid’s unique taste in aesthetics and his fondness for furry creatures.
“Wait—the Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest… Hagrid didn’t raise them there, did he?!” Harry said, dumbfounded. “Are they his pets?!”
In an instant, fragmented information flashed through Harry’s mind: the centaurs’ words, stories Hagrid had shared while drunk. He knew Hagrid had attended Hogwarts decades ago but was expelled for some incident, his wand snapped. It was only thanks to Dumbledore’s kindness that he’d been given the gamekeeper position.
But when Harry had pressed Hagrid about what exactly he’d done, the big man had mumbled and dodged the topic. For someone like Hagrid, who wasn’t exactly skilled at keeping secrets, this evasiveness was rare. Even when drunk, he instinctively avoided the subject.
Being the understanding Tauren he was, Harry hadn’t pushed further, respecting Hagrid’s reluctance.
But now—
“…The centaur tribes in the Forbidden Forest despise the Acromantulas,” Harry said, his expression complicated. “According to Trelawney, every year, a few centaurs die by their fangs. Does Hagrid know about this?”
“Well… we all know Hagrid has many friends,” Dumbledore said after a brief silence. “And among his friends…”
“Hagrid doesn’t have any centaur friends,” Harry, as Hagrid’s close friend and drinking buddy, said with certainty, shaking his head. “Never mind, just tell me about what happened back then.”
“I think that’s best,” Dumbledore agreed smoothly, continuing. “Remember our conversation last year? About the Sorting Ceremony?”
“I do,” Harry nodded. “Retracing the path the four Founders took to establish Hogwarts, using ritual magic to protect the students during their time here.”
“Exactly,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I distinctly recall you asking me about Myrtle.”
“A student’s ghost,” Harry said, sensing something. “I asked why, despite the protective ritual magic, a student still died. Are you saying Hagrid was involved?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “But as you likely suspect, Hagrid is innocent in Myrtle’s death.”
“I believe him,” Harry said without hesitation.
“I’m glad you have a friend you trust so deeply, Harry. You’re not wrong to trust him,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Now, back to Myrtle. If you’ve read Hogwarts: A History carefully, you’d know about the Chamber of Secrets.”
“I remember,” Harry said, recalling. “According to the book, Salazar Slytherin wanted Hogwarts to admit only pure-blood wizards, but the other three Founders disagreed. He left the school, but legend says he built a secret chamber in the castle, hiding a monster only his heir could control. Are you saying that monster killed Myrtle?”
“I don’t know,” Dumbledore said bluntly. “It’s just a legend. Thousands of years have passed, and no one has found the Chamber.”
“What’s your guess, then?”
“The ritual’s magic ensures no student dies within the castle before graduation. But what if the harm comes from the castle itself?” Dumbledore said softly. “If Slytherin’s monster killed Myrtle, could it mean part of the castle itself caused her death, rendering the ritual’s magic ineffective? Of course, this is just my speculation.”
These were things the old Dumbledore would never have shared with Harry, no matter how powerful or mature he was, because Harry was still a Hogwarts student.
But now, things were different.
Professor Potter had a role to play.
“That sounds plausible,” Harry said, leaning toward the explanation. “So how does Hagrid fit into this?”
The library’s records on the incident were frustratingly vague. Harry only knew a student had died many years ago.
“You must understand, Harry, in the wizarding world, where population is scarce, a student’s death causes a massive uproar,” Dumbledore sighed. “Back then, it was such a scandal that Hogwarts nearly shut down.”
“Wait,” Harry couldn’t help interrupting. “Just because one student died, Hogwarts was almost closed?”
What about Dalaran, where apprentices died all the time? Wasn’t risk part of learning magic?
“It was a different time,” Dumbledore continued calmly. “As Hogwarts faced closure, a student stepped forward. He bravely found and exposed the creature that killed Myrtle, preventing the school’s closure and earning a Special Award for Services to the School.”
“That creature was an Acromantula, and that student’s name, I believe, is familiar to you—Tom Riddle.
Voldemort.”
“…Alright,” Harry said, rubbing his face hard before looking up. “That name explains a lot. So Hagrid was expelled because of this?”
No hesitation was needed. With Dumbledore bringing up such a name, the truth was clear.
“I’m not excusing Hagrid. Keeping an Acromantula is a serious crime under wizarding law,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly. “Releasing it into the Forbidden Forest, causing the deaths of numerous magical creatures, is also a grave offense. These are facts. But I’m absolutely certain Myrtle didn’t die from Acromantula venom. Her body is proof.”
“And Hagrid was still expelled?”
“The Ministry needed to resolve the matter quickly. No one wanted Hogwarts to close. Under that pressure, they… overlooked certain evidence,” Dumbledore said, his gaze deep. “In the end, Hagrid took the blame, and Hogwarts was saved.”
“I understand,” Harry said quietly. “So that’s the connection between Hagrid and the Acromantulas.”
“Oh, they’re good friends,” Dumbledore said lightly. “Aragog—that’s the Acromantula’s name—thrived under Hagrid’s care. After becoming gamekeeper, Hagrid even found Aragog a mate, another Acromantula named Mosag, if I recall correctly.”
“…A deadly friend, huh?” Harry sighed, exasperated.
Clearly, fifty years later, even Hagrid couldn’t control those Acromantulas anymore.
That night, Harry had seen it clearly with his Far Sight spell. Aragog’s descendants, after failing to attack the centaurs and fleeing, had turned their sights on the apprentices.
They cared nothing for friendship—only fresh meat.
“Anyway, before you start your dangerous extracurricular assignments, you’d better talk to Hagrid,” Dumbledore said casually. “He’s a good man, isn’t he? Loyal to his friends, at least.”
“Yeah, I will,” Harry nodded, understanding Dumbledore’s hint to handle Hagrid’s feelings carefully—unless he wanted to lose a friend.
After all, to Hagrid, no matter what Aragog had done, it was still his friend.
“By the way, Harry,” Dumbledore added suddenly, “since we now have new ways to investigate compared to fifty years ago, would you mind helping me look for Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets?”
“As Hogwarts’ headmaster, knowing there’s a deadly force hidden in the castle worries me for the students’ safety. Per your usual, consider this a commissioned task. Complete it, and I’ll reward you accordingly.”
“Of course,” Harry said seriously. “As a Hogwarts professor, it’s my duty to protect the students.”
“Couldn’t ask for more.”
Without lingering, Dumbledore, exhausted from staying up all night—a feat as taxing for an old man as clearing ash from Harry’s trunk—hurried off to catch up on sleep after passing the Hagrid matter to Harry.
It wasn’t long before the wind elementals carrying the apprentices landed on the grounds before the castle. For the young students, riding massive wind elementals back was a memorable, boast-worthy experience.
Unfortunately, the night was too dark. Beyond the wind brushing their faces, they couldn’t see much from the elementals’ backs.
Harry smoothly led the excited yet exhausted apprentices into the castle, instructing them to head to their dorms and rest. Then, on a cliffside clearing near the castle, he began summoning elementals.
Though it was a task freshly assigned by Dumbledore, student safety was at stake, and Professor Potter wasn’t one to take it lightly. Fifty years ago, a student had died.
The sooner he completed the task, the better.
Harry called upon the castle’s elementals, asking about the Chamber of Secrets—nothing.
From the elementals’ perspective, the castle’s spaces only varied in size. They didn’t know what a “Chamber” was, nor who Slytherin was.
When Harry expanded his search to little-known or long-abandoned rooms, or those difficult to access, the elementals informed him such places were everywhere in Hogwarts. Some rooms even changed size on their own.
As for hard-to-reach rooms? Those were plentiful too.
Elementals, so different from humans, saw things one way while humans saw them another.
And when Harry narrowed his focus to fifty years ago, the elementals were even less helpful—they’d been “sleeping soundly” back then.
With no other options, Harry asked the elementals to keep an eye out for any creatures in the castle unlike humans, then dismissed them. This was going to be trickier than he’d thought. He’d figure out the next steps later.
For now, sleep.
By Friday, all of Hogwarts knew the second-stage shaman apprentice class had a trial that evening. It was called “second-stage” because, unlike other courses, this one divided students into three stages, each mixing different year levels.
Curious about the new curriculum, other students were eager to learn what the trial entailed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until the next afternoon that the trial participants, having caught up on sleep, began appearing and sharing their experiences.
This time, it wasn’t just Ron. Harry hadn’t forbidden them from talking about the class.
Everyone—even the usually composed Ravenclaw prefect Penelope—was swarmed, recounting the previous night’s events. They had to repeat the story endlessly as new listeners kept joining.
Crafting torches and crossing half the Forbidden Forest at night, the Acromantula attack, the centaurs’ rescue, the centaur ritual, the blazing bonfire…
It didn’t take long for nearly everyone to know what the shaman apprentices had been up to.
Some wanted to hear it again, and Ron was all too happy to oblige. By the time Harry returned from Hagrid’s hut, the apprentices’ adventure had evolved through at least ten retellings.
What started as narrowly surviving an Acromantula attack had morphed into the apprentices wielding elemental powers, battling hordes of spiders, leaving scorched trees and spider corpses strewn across the forest, practically leveling the Forbidden Forest.
Led by a few boys, each had their own version, with themselves as the hero who turned the tide against the Acromantulas until the centaurs arrived.
In truth, Bane and Ronan had only stumbled upon the apprentices during a routine retaliation against the Acromantulas. They hadn’t even planned to attend the ceremony.
Boys will be boys.
Comments
ZaChan
Part-way through the chapter, it repeats a large portion of the chapter, halfway through a paragraph. "Without lingering, Dumbledore, too old for staying up until dawn, hurried off to catchthoritative tone. “But if they want to give up—” “If someone needs to be forced to become strong, they’re better off not wasting my time,” Harry interrupted with a cold smirk. “That’s the spirit,” Dumbledore nodded."
