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HRA# CHAPTER 165
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 17:57:49 +0000 UTCHarry gestured for his apprentices to clear a space, then conjured a stone dummy five paces away using his earth elemental, Ragehorn, as a target.
“Before I begin,” Harry said gravely to his small group, “I must warn you: everything I’m about to do, if you don’t want to sever your connection to the shamanic path and lose the favor of the elements, you must never attempt on your own.”
His tone was so serious that even the apprentices who had been buzzing with excitement at the prospect of seeing Harry demonstrate shamanic magic again subdued their grins.
It sounded rather terrifying.
“Next, I’ll use the same fire elemental spell to attack that dummy,” Harry continued. “The first time, I’ll cast it in English. The second, in Taur-ahe. The third, in the elemental tongue. Observe the differences.”
“Yes, Mentor,” the apprentices responded in unison.
Turning to face the dummy, Harry raised his hand and called out loudly, “Fire element, please destroy that target!” (English)
It was a language all the apprentices could understand, and as Harry’s words fell, they saw a thin line of fire shoot from the air beside him, striking the dummy in an instant.
The stone dummy, naturally, didn’t budge, though a patch of charred black marked its surface.
“That was the spell in English. Remember, the incantations I’m about to use are essentially the same phrase,” Harry reminded them, raising his hand toward the dummy again. “Fire element, please destroy that target!” (Taur-ahe)
In the next moment, a fireball roughly the size of a Quaffle ignited in the air beside Harry, arcing through the air and slamming into the dummy.
The heat was intense. Beyond leaving a large scorched mark, the impact shattered one of the dummy’s shoulders and an arm, sending them crashing to the grass.
Without pausing, Harry continued, “Fire element, please destroy that target!” (Elemental tongue)
The sound was unlike anything a human throat should produce—more like a guttural hum or a crackling burst, as if his voice had transformed into something entirely alien, chaotic and indistinct.
As the incantation rang out, a blaze erupted around the dummy, engulfing it entirely. The staggering heat, even from five paces away, made the apprentices’ faces flush, and when the flames dissipated, all that remained was a molten puddle.
Lava.
The apprentices rushed forward, staring in awe as the liquefied stone oozed, consuming the surrounding grass.
“…This… this is really the same spell?” Katie Bell stammered, wide-eyed. “It’s unbelievable!”
To the apprentices, Harry’s final incantation had sounded impossibly otherworldly, perfectly matching their image of a mystical spell. Yet the realization that such a mysterious utterance was, at its core, the same simple phrase as before left them disoriented.
“This is just a basic demonstration,” Harry said with a smile. “In truth, the English version could achieve the same effect as the Taur-ahe one, but Taur-ahe… well, let’s just say it’s more suitable.”
What Harry didn’t mention was that Taur-ahe, refined over millennia, had evolved into a language uniquely suited for communing with the elements—its phonetics, intonation, and vocabulary all honed for that purpose. The phrase he’d used was also a polished version of shamanic Taur-ahe.
Through generations of life and battle, Tauren shaman had discovered that certain word combinations could reliably coax specific effects or intensities from the elements. These could, in a sense, be considered spells.
Much like how mages manipulate arcane energy through carefully crafted formulas.
By contrast, English, which had never been shaped for such purposes, was less effective. It could achieve similar results, but only with meticulous refinement to align with the elements.
There was no need to burden his apprentices with such details, though.
“Come back, the demonstration isn’t over,” Harry called, summoning them back. With a wave of his hand, he conjured another stone dummy beside the melted remains of the first.
“What I just showed you was the basic impact of different languages on shamanic spells,” Harry said earnestly. “No matter what magic you study, language is the first thing to master. Sometimes, you’ll even need to mimic sounds your body isn’t naturally equipped to make.”
“A question, Mentor,” Penelope Clearwater raised her hand. “If we mimic pronunciations, will it weaken or nullify the spell’s effect?”
“That’s inevitable, Penelope,” Harry replied. “That’s why mages—wizards—study multiple languages. To minimize the loss of magical potency.”
“As I said, this was a simple demonstration. The nature of shamanic spells doesn’t mean casting them is easy, nor does it mean you can just voice your thoughts and expect results.”
“You need to guide the elements with your spirit to fulfill your intent. The elements don’t inherently know how far you want to take things. You can direct the fire element to attack a target, just as you can shape it into a shield.”
As he spoke, three fiery shields, like the stone ones from earlier, materialized around him—blazing, crimson, and shifting in size as Harry flicked his fingers.
“With mastery of the elements, you’ll delve into complex techniques, like combining the four elements,” Harry said, shaking his head slightly. “So don’t think you can master shamanic magic just by shouting your intentions.”
“I understand, Mentor,” Draco Malfoy said quietly. “Based on what you said, setting aside the elements’ personalities, it makes sense that those more favored by the elements cast spells more easily and with greater power. But what about the sincerity of our words?”
“Well done, Draco. You’re clearly paying attention,” Harry said, praising the noticeably more composed boy before continuing. “I just showed you how different languages affect shamanic spells. Now, I’ll demonstrate what’s most important: the sincerity of your words.”
Harry’s gaze swept over his apprentices’ faces.
“What is a shaman?” he asked suddenly, after a pause.
Hermione’s hand shot up, and at Harry’s nod, she answered swiftly, “A shaman is a guide for spirits and a mediator for the elements, tasked with protecting the world and making it a better place.”
“Good and evil alone can’t define a shaman. We aren’t servants of the elements or the spirits, but equals, working toward the world’s balance.”
Her answer was straight from the yet-to-be-published A Beginner’s Guide to Shamanism, and while the apprentices were familiar with the concept of elements in the wizarding world, spirits and souls were less clear to them.
Harry had no intention of elaborating on that just yet.
“Exactly,” Harry nodded. “Gryffindor, five points.”
It was his first time using his professorial authority to award points, and it felt oddly satisfying.
“As Hermione said, shamans aren’t servants of the elements or spirits. Our relationship is one of equality—friends, even family, if you like,” Harry said seriously. “And that’s what I mean by the sincerity of your words.”
“For example, Diggory, if you wanted Davies to fetch you a glass of water, how would you ask him?” Harry asked abruptly.
“Me?” Caught off guard, Cedric Diggory glanced at Roger Davies beside him, then ventured, “Er, Davies, could you please grab me a glass of water?”
“Of course, Diggory,” Roger replied with an exaggerated bow, stifling a laugh. “It would be my pleasure to serve you.”
“Thank you, you’re a good man.”
“Don’t mention it, you’re not so bad yourself.”
The two stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter, joined by the other apprentices. Their increasingly theatrical exchange—friends addressing each other with mock formality—was just too much.
“So, Mentor, are you saying we should speak to the elements the way Davies and Diggory just did?” Filch asked eagerly.
His question sobered the group.
“Yes, you could think of it that way,” Harry nodded, his tone grave. “For shamans, this is critical: always say ‘please.’”
“Shamans aren’t servants of the elements, and the elements aren’t our servants either. It’s like friends helping each other. As I said in our first lesson last year, a harmonious world requires all four elements in balance.”
“And the elements are vital to shamans,” Harry continued. “They aren’t without desires. They have their own thoughts, plans, even ambitions. The elements are chaotic and disordered, which is why shamans exist.”
“Because even wizards can’t survive in a world dominated by a single element,” Cho Chang murmured, beginning to grasp Harry’s meaning.
“Exactly. So shamans mustn’t blindly obey the elements’ will, nor treat them as slaves. This isn’t just a verbal oath—it’s something you must truly believe and act upon. Don’t try to deceive the elements; they can sense your intentions.”
“So, always say ‘please,’” Padma Patil said with a smile. “Got it, Mentor. But what if we flatter the elements with kind words?”
“If your words please them, they may lend you greater power,” Harry said, shaking his head slightly. “But don’t lose sight of the point, Padma. Shamans aren’t slaves to the elements or to power.”
“If you grovel for more elemental strength, bending to their every whim and submitting to their will… you’ve already become their slave.”
A heavy silence fell over the apprentices, their expressions varied as they processed his words. For these young wizards, who hadn’t faced much hardship, the word “slave” carried a chilling weight.
“I have another question, Mentor,” Hannah Abbott said hesitantly. “What happens if we don’t say ‘please’ to the elements?”
“That’s exactly what I’m warning you about,” Harry said, his voice deadly serious. “I must repeat: do not attempt or imitate what I’m about to demonstrate on your own.”
“Otherwise, your path as a shaman will likely end.”
His warning carried undeniable weight, and the apprentices grew solemn, each vowing they wouldn’t dare try.
Harry didn’t care much for their promises—the consequences would be theirs to bear. He simply raised his hand, facing the stone dummy.
“I’ll demonstrate three times again, but all in English, so you can clearly see the difference,” Harry said firmly. “Pay attention—Great fire elements, you are light and heat, chaos and destruction, yet also life and creation. Please bring destruction to my enemies!”
The incantation felt faintly embarrassing. Honestly, Harry only used such elaborate “spells” when he was first learning shamanism or during specific rituals. In actual combat, he cast far more simply.
Pure English, unlike the vague recitations from last year’s lessons, was fully intelligible to the apprentices, who stared in shock.
A fireball as large as a washbasin materialized beside Harry, hurtling toward the dummy—BOOM!
Scorching sparks flew even at their distance, the blistering heatwave forcing Padma to turn away from the kicked-up dust.
Not only was the heat enough to reduce grass to ash, but the impact and explosion obliterated the dummy entirely, along with the remnants of the previous one. Red-hot stone fragments scattered across the grass, though there was no risk of fire.
Gasps filled the air, as if Hogwarts’ September chill had dropped another degree.
“That… was so cool, Harry,” Ron muttered, eyes gleaming, forgetting to address him as “Mentor.”
No one minded, though. Ron had merely voiced what they all felt.
They hadn’t forgotten Harry’s earlier lesson: spells cast in English were less potent. Yet this incantation, spoken in English, had unleashed such power.
“Focus, don’t get distracted!” Harry snapped, his tone stern, pulling his apprentices’ attention back.
He summoned a third dummy where the others had vanished.
“Second demonstration—Fire, please destroy my enemies.”
Compared to the last, this was far less dramatic—just a thin line of fire, like his first demonstration. The dummy was unscathed, save for a faint charred mark.
“The difference is huge,” Penelope frowned.
Harry’s demonstration was straightforward, and anyone with a shred of sense could see that all three casts were the same request. The only difference lay in how the request was phrased.
The first, laden with praise, had yielded a massive fireball. The second, a plain request, produced only a weak flame. The gap was stark.
“Don’t rush, there’s more,” Harry said, ignoring Penelope’s comment. “Third demonstration—Fire element! Come to me now! Obey my command and destroy that target!”
Whoosh!
A flame surged over Harry’s head, singeing a lock of his hair and filling the air with the acrid smell of burnt protein.
The sudden flare startled several apprentices. Following Harry’s instructions, they’d kept their eyes fixed on the dummy, which remained untouched. Instead, it was Harry who’d been burned.
“That’s the point,” Harry said wryly, plucking the scorched hair from his forehead and sighing as he turned to his apprentices. “Never, ever, use the third method to commune with the elements.”
No one spoke. The apprentices wanted to laugh but held back.
“Find it funny?” Harry asked, not angry. “What if I told you that addressing the elements this way offends them?”
“What if I said they’d grow angry, resent you, and refuse to answer your calls ever again?”
“What if you could no longer be a shaman?”
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
