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HRA# CHAPTER 154
🕑 Added 2025-06-10 01:22:26 +0000 UTCSometimes, Harry felt like he was getting rusty, as if a once-sharp blade had gone unused for too long, dulled by time, worn by age, and slowed by the corrosion of a peaceful, comfortable life.
Like right now.
Lying flat on his hide-covered bed, Harry stared blankly at the girl standing by his bedside, her lips moving rapidly as she chattered about something. He was certain her mouth was moving, but honestly, not a single word she said was registering in his ears.
“…If I’m not mistaken, Hermione,” Harry said dazedly, “this is supposed to be my room.”
To be precise, it was his room in the suitcase world of Mulgore—a single-story cabin filled with rustic charm, with a fire pit burning steadily in the center.
Harry was starting to wonder if he’d let his guard down too much, considering he hadn’t even noticed Hermione approach his bed until she started talking.
“Of course I’m here to wake you up!” Hermione said, arms crossed, glancing at the fire elemental flickering in the fire pit before continuing with righteous indignation. “The sun’s already up, Harry! You can’t just keep lying there!”
“…This is the first time I’ve ever agreed with Ron about girls not being allowed in the boys’ dorm,” Harry muttered, sitting up in his pajamas with a sigh. “Isn’t it the holidays?”
Hermione and Neville had arrived at the Burrow earlier than Harry expected. The group had planned to head to Diagon Alley together to shop.
To keep his suitcase world a secret, Hermione had slept in Ginny’s room last night, while Neville had squeezed in with Ron and Harry. Admittedly, when Mrs. Weasley heard the three boys would be sharing a room, her expression turned stern, and she gave them a strict warning not to stay up messing around.
“Is it about the holidays?!” Hermione’s voice suddenly spiked with agitation, her eyes glinting darkly as her hand twitched like she might lunge and strangle Harry. “It’s about your disciple! Merlin’s beard, Harry, do you have any idea how I felt last night when I found out you took on a disciple?!”
“Joyful?” Harry ventured.
Hermione’s glare grew even more menacing.
“Oh, yeah, I’m thrilled,” she said, her smile dripping with sarcasm. “This isn’t a small matter, Harry! That’s your first disciple, not some casual apprentice like us. Even if you say we’re only your apprentices in class, as your friends, don’t you think you should’ve at least invited us to witness such a big moment in your life?”
Technically, Hermione wasn’t wrong. Even in the Muggle world, a disciple who inherits their mentor’s full teachings is a big deal. In Harry’s case, teaching Luna a completely new form of magic made it even more significant.
Unwilling to accept it. Unconvinced.
Jealousy… well, just a little.
Fine, no matter how much Hermione tried to deny it, she knew she was jealous. After all, even she wasn’t qualified to become Harry’s disciple and learn those profound shamanic spells, yet some girl had suddenly popped up as his disciple?
Hermione immediately realized why Harry had made this choice. That infuriating word that had given her headaches all last year: talent.
Damn it.
It stung.
“Sorry,” Harry said, scratching his head. “I didn’t think it through. I just happened to meet a kid with talent that day, and I didn’t want to miss the chance.”
Damn it, he actually said it.
“Fine, Harry,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Just get up already. Don’t forget you promised last night to introduce me and Neville to this girl. I want to see just how talented she really is.”
Harry could practically hear the gritted teeth in Hermione’s last few words… and he had a sneaking suspicion Neville was just being dragged along.
“…Alright, give me a minute.”
The Weasley household began the day with its usual cacophony of noise. When Harry and Neville emerged from Mulgore, Ron was already dressed, yelling out the window to ask Mrs. Weasley where his socks had gone.
By the time Harry reached the living room, Mrs. Weasley had been bustling in the kitchen for a while, the savory aroma of frying sausages filling the air and making mouths water.
“Just a moment, dear,” Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen with a smile. “Breakfast is almost ready—Fred! George! I’ve told you not to stomp so hard on the stairs!”
The twins’ deliberate stomping sounded like they were trying to bring the house down. When they heard Mrs. Weasley’s shout, they both started loudly proclaiming their innocence.
Following close behind the twins, Ginny emerged, looking shy and avoiding Harry’s gaze before hurrying out to the garden to call Mr. Weasley, who was watering flowers, in for breakfast.
Yeah, in Ginny’s mind, this was probably the aftermath of her social mortification. Yesterday, she’d been yelling about something in the living room when Harry walked in, and she hadn’t made a peep or lifted her head since, all the way until bedtime.
Classic withdrawal.
The scene was full of life, especially when everyone gathered around the table (which Mr. Weasley had to magically widen because it wasn’t big enough). The atmosphere grew even livelier. Fred and George were arguing about something, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were planning the day’s trip to Diagon Alley, Hermione and Ginny were whispering to each other, and Ron and Neville were discussing what to do after they got back…
It was chaotic, but the kind of chaos that didn’t irritate. Instead, it somehow felt warm and comforting.
Halfway through breakfast, a dark gray owl swooped in, dropping newspapers in front of Harry, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley—the only three who subscribed to the Daily Prophet.
“ Haven’t read it yet, but congratulations on making today’s front page, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said with a teasing grin.
“Thanks, I figured it’d be me,” Harry replied, unfolding the paper amid chuckles.
Sure enough, it was the classic Rita Skeeter style—attention-grabbing and exaggerated.
“Ministry Defeated! We’ve Won a Victory!!”
Harry skimmed the article. Rita had reported yesterday’s events in Courtroom Four at the Wizengamot with absolute fairness and no embellishment—yeah, right.
He had no idea what went through Rita’s head, but she’d described the trial as some perilous ordeal. Harry didn’t recall anything particularly dramatic about the trial against Mafalda Hopkirk, but in Rita’s version, he might as well have vanquished the Lich King himself.
Well, it was understandable. For wizards itching to see the Ministry lose and vent years of pent-up frustration, a bland account wouldn’t cut it. Rita’s version was what they wanted.
“…You’d think this was your personal interview, Harry,” Hermione said with a wry look, setting down her paper. “Three-quarters of the pages are about you. Everyone and everything else is crammed into some unimportant corner.”
“Let me see, Dad!” Ron said eagerly, reaching for Mr. Weasley’s copy. He, the twins, and Percy huddled together to read it.
“…Honestly, Harry, did that much happen yesterday?” Percy asked, looking up. “The paper seems… different from what Dad told us.”
“Not just different—way too different,” Mr. Weasley said with a shrug. “I’ve told you, Percy, this Rita woman isn’t exactly a reputable journalist… though, to be fair, she’s stopped making up nonsense about Dumbledore lately.”
“Yeah, because she’s got too many big stories to write about now,” Harry thought but didn’t say, flipping through the other articles.
“A New Kind of Magic? The Dumbledore of the New Century?”
“Genius or Madman: A Deep Dive into Harry Potter’s Inner World”
As Hermione said, most of the paper was about Harry. What surprised him, though, was that Rita seemed to be planning a full-blown series. Besides the headline about yesterday’s trial, the other articles questioned the existence of elemental magic.
Neither confirming nor denying, but subtly guiding readers to doubt its legitimacy with clever wordplay.
And then, at the end of each article, a note: The author will continue to follow this story.
Honestly, if Harry hadn’t received a letter from Rita Skeeter last night, stating her desire to interview him about elemental magic and hinting that he’d need her help to spread the word, he might’ve thought she was trying to debunk it entirely.
As someone who’d witnessed Harry’s elemental magic display in Courtroom Four, Rita had been practically salivating to corner him for an interview as they left—only to be escorted away by the Hit Wizards.
“Ha! This woman’s at it again!” Hermione said, fuming as she read an article on the back. “This is disgusting. She’s practically calling you delusional, Harry!”
“…But does such a genius truly exist? A twelve-year-old boy, raised in the Muggle world, unaware of magic until last year, now claims to have invented a new kind of magic?”
“Is this possible? Or, dare I say, logical? It’s well-known that Harry Potter’s life with his Muggle relatives was far from pleasant, so I propose a bold theory: Could this poor boy, driven by years of loneliness and a desperate need for attention, be making it all up?”
“Rather than Harry Potter being a prodigy who invented a new magic, I’m more inclined to believe someone fed him this story, instructed him to say it. And that someone’s name… we all know who it is.”
Hermione couldn’t read any further. She was livid, slamming the newspaper onto the table with a loud thwack, startling Neville so badly he nearly bounced out of his chair, his cheeks jiggling.
It wasn’t just Neville—everyone else jumped too. When Hermione realized what she’d done in her anger, her face flushed bright red.
“I-I mean—that’s, it’s, it’s outrageous, isn’t it?” she stammered. “That woman, saying those things about Harry!”
When Rita Skeeter wrote nice things about Harry or Dumbledore, Hermione called her “Rita.” When she spewed nonsense, she was “that woman.”
“Yeah, yeah, totally!” Ron, surprisingly quick to respond, nodded vigorously.
Like dominoes, everyone at the table chimed in with agreement.
Hermione’s face turned even redder.
“Calm down,” Harry said, passing the paper to an eagerly curious Ginny. “She’s just a sensationalist reporter. Don’t let it get to you. Oh, Mrs. Weasley, can Luna come with us to Diagon Alley today? She’s my disciple.”
“The Lovegood girl?” Mrs. Weasley said knowingly. “Poor thing… but when did she become your disciple?”
Her expression was a bit odd. Though Mr. Weasley had told her plenty yesterday, it was still hard for her, as a homemaker, to wrap her head around Harry—someone who’d stayed at their house for so long—suddenly being the founder of a new magical system.
And now he had a disciple? Mrs. Weasley was pretty sure the Lovegood girl was the same age as Ginny, starting at Hogwarts this year.
Just one year younger than Harry, yet his disciple—a proper, formal one at that. It was all a bit baffling.
“Not long ago,” Harry said.
“Oh, of course, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile. “She and Ginny could be friends.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, turning to Hermione. “So, want to come with me to Luna’s place?”
“Obviously,” Hermione replied without a moment’s hesitation. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go, or we’ll be late for Diagon Alley.”
No arguments there. Equally curious about Harry’s disciple, Neville shoved the last of his bread into his mouth, mumbled something unintelligible, and scrambled to follow.
“Honestly, even though we’re neighbors, I’ve never been to the Lovegoods’ place,” Ron said, munching on a sausage as they walked. “That family’s… weird.”
“Talking behind people’s backs isn’t nice, Ron,” Hermione said, glaring at him. “Especially since she’s Harry’s disciple now.”
Harry: “…”
I get the logic, but why the glance at me?
“How’s that talking behind their backs?” Ron said defensively. “Everyone around Ottery St. Catchpole knows they keep to themselves. And The Quibbler? That’s old man Lovegood’s magazine. You’ve never read it, have you?”
Ron gave a little snort, as if recalling something.
“What’s wrong with it?” Hermione asked, genuinely unfamiliar.
“Uh, well, people mostly treat it as a joke,” Neville said cautiously, glancing at Harry. “You know, for laughs.”
Neville was being diplomatic.
“Entertainment rag,” Hermione summed up. “So that’s their house over there? Er… is that really a house?”
She sounded unsure now. Across the hill, a lone, peculiar structure stood atop a small rise—a massive black cylinder with a rickety-looking observatory platform and a thick telescope protruding from it.
The hillside was bare of tall trees, covered only in wild grass… or maybe weeds. As the four approached, they saw a metal sign at the entrance, inscribed with bold letters: Editor-in-Chief of The Quibbler: Xenophilius Lovegood.
“So this is both Luna’s home and The Quibbler’s office?” Hermione said curiously, touching the sign. Then, turning her head, she froze. A pale face with unfocused eyes was staring at her from the doorframe.
“Ahh!!!”
Hermione let out an instinctive scream, stumbling back and nearly falling on her backside.
“You’re here, mentor,” Luna said airily, raising a hand in greeting before turning to Hermione. “Did I scare you?”
“You—you—when did you get there?” Hermione said, straightening up and puffing out her chest to hide her embarrassment. “There was no one there a second ago!”
“They told me someone was coming,” Luna said in her calm, almost ghostly voice. “My mentor, and Ron… they said you were getting close… very soon…”
A flood of horror movies and novels flashed through Hermione’s mind, but a moment later, she realized what Luna meant. The elements had told her they were approaching.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
Comments
Vick
Was it really the elements thought?
