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HRA# CHAPTER 163
🕑 Added 2025-06-19 12:15:28 +0000 UTCClasses were finally over for the day, but the students could hardly focus. They were too busy whispering about Harry, their excitement bubbling over. Professor McGonagall even had to snap at them to get their attention back on the lesson.
Professor Binns’ History of Magic class, usually a snooze-fest, was anything but dull today. The room buzzed like a Diagon Alley marketplace. The ghostly professor droned on from the textbook, but the students were engrossed in heated discussions below.
Some thought it was absurd that Harry, a second-year so much younger than them, had become a professor. Others argued that with Harry’s skills, it wasn’t surprising at all. Most students, having spent a year alongside him, knew him well enough to accept his new role without complaint.
Many even daydreamed about Harry giving them another chance to summon those impressive elemental giants. Typical teenage enthusiasm.
Harry, meanwhile, wasn’t having the easiest day. He could barely recall how he’d navigated the breakfast crowd without trampling anyone. For the rest of the day, he made quick exits after classes, vanishing from the castle like a ghost. No one could find him until dinner.
When he reappeared, he wasn’t at the Gryffindor table but at the staff table, reserved for professors, sitting just a head taller than Professor Flitwick.
He still wore his student robes, though the Gryffindor badge was gone from his chest. To set himself apart, he’d draped a beast-hide cloak over his shoulders, giving him a distinctly heroic air.
Fred and George were already whistling wildly, and Dumbledore just chuckled, watching the chaos unfold.
The staff table was unusually full tonight. Even Professor Trelawney, who rarely left her office, had shown up. She kept trying to chat with Harry, seated beside her, but her awkward attempts at conversation left Professor McGonagall, sitting nearby, visibly uncomfortable. Trelawney was clearly itching to learn more about divination—she was very eager.
As at the Welcoming Feast, the students were bursting with curiosity about the new professor, but Dumbledore, true to form, didn’t introduce him right away. They ate first, and only when everyone was full did he stand and say, “I trust you’re all satisfied?”
“Yes, Professor! We’re stuffed! Let’s get on with it!” Fred shouted, earning a glare from McGonagall.
“Very well,” Dumbledore said, unfazed and cheerful. “You may have noticed someone different at my side tonight.”
“It’s a bit late to mention, perhaps, but I’m delighted to announce we have a new professor—someone you likely already know.”
As Dumbledore’s words sank in, the four House tables erupted. Whistles, shouts, and cheers filled the hall. Gryffindors, especially, went wild—some even climbed onto the tables, dancing, while McGonagall’s blood pressure visibly spiked.
Gryffindors couldn’t help their excitement. One of their own, a second-year no less, had become a professor! A Ministry-recognized, fully legitimate professor! A twelve-year-old professor!
A massive party awaited Harry in the Gryffindor common room tonight. No Gryffindor would miss an event destined to go down in Hogwarts history.
“Yes! We’ve known him forever!” George stood and bellowed, and the Gryffindors behind him joined in.
“Harry Potter is our king!”
“Long live Harry Potter!”
“Long live the Tauren!”
“Long live the Shaman!”
“…”
Harry: “…”
The roars blended into a chaotic din, but the stray phrases that reached Harry’s ears left him torn between laughter and embarrassment.
It wasn’t just Gryffindors joining the frenzy. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who generally liked Harry, got caught up in the excitement too. Many had sought him out—or wanted to—for advice on connecting with the elements. Only the Slytherin table was quieter, though a few clapped politely after Dumbledore’s announcement. Despite their disdain for Draco Malfoy, who wouldn’t want to master new magic by bonding with the elements?
Draco, the only Slytherin among Harry’s twelve apprentices, had faced a rough year for it.
The hall was a mess of noise. Dumbledore tried to say something, but his voice was drowned out until he fired off several deafening fireworks with his wand, finally quieting the students.
“It seems Professor Potter is far more popular than I anticipated,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “I’m honored to announce that Professor Potter will teach a new course at Hogwarts: Shamanism.”
Amid renewed cheers, Harry stood, nodded to each House table, and sat back down. Unlike Lockhart’s self-aggrandizing speech days earlier, Harry didn’t need an introduction. He was no stranger to Hogwarts.
Something caught his attention, and he glanced at Lockhart, seated further down the table. That’s why it felt odd—Lockhart’s usual self-praising chatter was absent tonight. The flamboyantly dressed wizard was busy talking to Professor Sprout, who looked thoroughly annoyed but tolerated him for collegiality’s sake.
“…Shamanism is an elective course, but unlike other electives chosen in third year, it will be open to all seven years for selection in the first term…”
“…The examination process will differ from other courses. Details will follow…”
“…It will be divided into three classes, each…”
Dumbledore continued explaining the new course as concisely as possible. First-years, still clueless about why a boy barely older than them was a professor, sat wide-eyed, listening to older students recount Harry’s legendary deeds.
Many who’d failed to bond with the earth element last year were determined to prove themselves this time. Though Dumbledore’s explanations were dry, they listened intently.
“In short, new timetables will be distributed soon. For any questions, you’ll have to ask Professor Potter,” Dumbledore said with a humorous glint. “Like you, I drank that potion and felt nothing… Candy is still candy.”
A ripple of good-natured laughter followed.
After Dumbledore declared dinner over, Gryffindors began loudly planning their celebration. Some boldly assigned tasks—fetching food from the kitchens or sneaking to Hogsmeade for drinks via secret passages.
The professors pretended not to hear these conspiracies, offering Harry their congratulations as they left.
“Well done, Harry,” Dumbledore said, smiling as Gryffindors shouted for Harry to hurry back. “You might just be Hogwarts’ most popular professor. Honestly, I was worried the students might object to your appointment.”
“Really? Worried?” Harry asked.
“Hardly. You’re Harry Potter,” Dumbledore teased, mimicking Ron’s usual tone.
Harry burst out laughing. “Thanks, Dumbledore,” he said sincerely. “You’ve done so much for me.”
Dumbledore had only appeared at the Welcoming Feast, absent the next few days. Harry knew he’d been busy convincing the Board of Governors, the Ministry, and Wizengamot wizards to accept Shamanism and Harry as its professor.
It wasn’t easy. Despite the wizarding world’s tolerance for genius, Dumbledore’s influence had silenced the opposition.
“…Compared to your generosity, my words that day sound almost confrontational,” Harry said, chuckling self-deprecatingly. He meant their talk after the trial, about Fudge and the Ministry.
“Not at all,” Dumbledore said, surprised, looking into Harry’s eyes. “This is… unexpected.”
Even Dumbledore was momentarily at a loss, caught off guard as if a young Tom Riddle had sincerely admitted fault.
“I’m delighted, Harry. Truly,” Dumbledore said, not elaborating.
“Glad to hear it,” Harry grinned. “What did Madam Marchbanks say?”
“Oh, she approved your request for a separate Shamanism exam, independent of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s,” Dumbledore explained. “It’ll be held annually, alongside N.E.W.T.s, whenever you deem an apprentice ready to work.”
“Oh, and Harry,” he added, “Madam Marchbanks wants to meet you to discuss specifics. The Ministry has no one knowledgeable about Shamanism to oversee the exams. She even asked if you’d consider working at the Wizarding Examinations Authority to manage them.”
“No chance,” Harry sighed. “I’m busy with my apprentices. As for exam content and grading standards… I’ll need to think it over. No rush—my apprentices are far from ready to stand on their own.”
“Your call,” Dumbledore said, unbothered. “I look forward to the day your apprentices graduate, Professor Potter.”
Harry felt a stir in his chest.
“…Rest assured, they’ll make the wizarding world better,” he said earnestly.
“Of course. We all hope so.”
Declining an invitation to join the Gryffindor party, Dumbledore, ever the solitary lion, avoided the festivities. Harry, on the other hand, was practically carried into the common room.
As soon as he gave the password and the Fat Lady’s portrait swung open, arms reached out, pulling him inside and hoisting him up. Harry had a vague sense of déjà vu from last year.
From the entrance to the highest spot in the common room, Gryffindors passed him hand-to-hand. Older students had conjured a running… tauren-lion hybrid, complete with a crown perched awkwardly between its horns.
Before Harry could steady himself, a flash blinded him. For a moment, he thought Rita Skeeter had infiltrated the common room with her camera. But turning, he saw a scrawny, gray-haired boy, face flushed, clutching a Muggle plastic camera—a first-year, no doubt.
“H-Hello! Professor Potter!” the boy stammered, fingers gripping the camera. “I’m Colin Creevey! I-I’m your biggest fan. C-Can I—would it be okay to take your picture?”
The noisy crowd quieted slightly. Unlike the first-years, those who’d known Harry for a year knew he disliked being called the Boy Who Lived or being gawked at. He kept a low profile.
“I-I know everything about you, Professor Potter,” Colin continued, stumbling over his words. “Everyone says how you escaped You-Know-Who, how he vanished, your scar… One boy in my dorm said photos move with Developing Solution, and your Quidditch matches, and the Ministry—”
“Alright, Colin, may I call you that?” Harry raised a hand to pause him. “Before taking photos, you should ask my permission. Personally, I’m not fond of appearing in newspapers, being interviewed, or having my picture taken.”
Colin’s face reddened, his mouth agape.
“But today’s special,” Harry said with a smile. “Keep that photo as a memento, but don’t share it. And I have a request.”
“Anything! Please, tell me!” Colin said, relieved.
“No need to be so formal,” Harry waved him off. “I’d like to borrow your camera to take a group photo of everyone here. This is a Gryffindor celebration, isn’t it?”
He addressed the last part to the room.
“Exactly, Professor Potter!” someone shouted. “Hey, Colin, can I get a copy of that group photo?”
“Me too!”
“Same here!”
No one would miss a keepsake like this, and Colin eagerly agreed.
The students who’d gone to fetch food and drinks returned, arms full of butterbeer—perfect, since everyone had just eaten.
The Gryffindor celebration kicked off. Fred and George emerged from their dorm with a sack of fireworks, lighting them one by one. The sparkling bursts zipped across the common room’s ceiling, nearly knocking down a chandelier.
Shouts and laughter filled the air. Harry heard Ron bellowing to be heard over the noise, asking Fred and George about the fireworks—ones they’d planned to use to prank Lockhart, now all set off for the party.
“We’ll buy more! It’s Harry’s big day!” Fred and George shrugged, focused on making the night unforgettable.
Harry, now holding Colin’s camera, figured out its controls quickly. With a flick, he sent it floating into the air.
“Everyone, look this way!”
His magically amplified voice reached every corner. The crowd turned, surrounding Harry, striking poses for the hovering camera.
Click!
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
