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HRA# CHAPTER 152
🕑 Added 2025-06-08 01:02:08 +0000 UTC“A whole person, a rational person, a just person, a resolute person, a person who knows themselves, a person with purpose, an adult—at least in soul.”
As if reciting a poem, Dumbledore spoke with a calm, leisurely tone.
“When I was young, I listened to the teachings of my parents and professors, shaping myself to fit this world.”
“But when I became an adult, everything changed. Instead of letting the world change me, I chose to change the world.”
For the first time, without riddles or cryptic words, Dumbledore shared with Harry stories of his youth and the ideals that had driven him.
“And then what?” Harry asked. “You’re no longer young. Adulthood is a distant milestone for you now.”
“Oh, that’s another story altogether,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head, clearly unwilling to delve deeper.
“So?”
“So, I can’t guide you as I would a true child, instilling my ideas and beliefs, telling you what to do or not do.” Looking at Harry, Dumbledore’s expression grew complex. “You’ve matured too quickly, Harry. Far faster than I ever anticipated.”
“I don’t even know if you can bear the praise—or the slander—that will soon come your way. There are things even an adult would struggle to endure.”
Dumbledore was worried, and he was candid about his concerns.
“Then you’d better learn to live with that anxiety, Dumbledore,” Harry replied, unfazed and almost coldly. “You’ve protected the wizarding world for too long—so long you’ve nearly forgotten you’re just a mortal.”
“You can’t shoulder everything alone, nor can you bend the world to your will. Who do you think you are?” Harry’s words came swiftly. “My friend, take a good look at yourself. Your hair and beard are white. Even in the Horde, an elder like you wouldn’t be on the front lines. You’d pass the responsibilities to the younger generation.”
Harsh words, yet they carried sincere advice. Dumbledore could sense the genuine care beneath Harry’s bluntness.
Oddly, it made him want to laugh.
“…Just a mortal?” Dumbledore repeated, his expression a mix of emotions. “Who do I think I am?”
“A respectable old man who should’ve let go long ago. That’s all,” Harry said frankly. “The world will keep turning without you. Nothing depends solely on you.”
“Even Voldemort?” Dumbledore asked.
“I hate to say something that sounds so arrogant, Dumbledore,” Harry snorted, “but Voldemort? Who cares?”
Silence.
Dumbledore stared into Harry’s eyes, and they locked gazes.
Then, suddenly, he laughed.
“That does sound incredibly arrogant, Harry, I’ll give you that,” Dumbledore said lightly. “But when I think of that little desk ornament you gave me last year, I find I have no counterargument.”
“I suppose I was overthinking things, Harry. You know how it is—an old man tends to worry too much,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “I must admit, Rita Skeeter is likely the one who came out on top today. She’ll have endless material for quite some time.”
From start to finish, the flash of Rita Skeeter’s camera never stopped. The frenzied reporter’s excited expression sent a chill through everyone who saw her.
And that was exactly why Dumbledore had warned Harry to be prepared—Rita would never let him go.
They were still some distance from the Burrow, walking slowly along the country path.
“Yes, a lonely old man living alone does tend to overthink out of solitude,” Harry nodded, then added, “You should find a companion, Dumbledore. If you’re too shy to make a move, I’d be happy to play messenger—deliver a love letter or two for you.”
Dumbledore’s face visibly stiffened.
“Ahem, I’m not that lonely just yet,” he said quickly, brushing the topic aside. “Speaking of which, Harry, there’s something else you should prepare for.”
“Here we go again,” Harry sighed. “Voldemort, the Ministry, Skeeter… I’ve told you, Dumbledore, you worry about too much. It’s not your job to—”
“Even if I propose to the Board of Governors that you become a professor at Hogwarts?”
Dumbledore’s words stopped Harry in his tracks. He turned sharply to the old man, only to see the white-haired wizard give him a playful wink.
“Don’t look at me like that, Harry,” Dumbledore said, clearly pleased with Harry’s reaction. “You have the ability, don’t you? The only thing holding you back is your appearance. And isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”
Harry stared at Dumbledore, not bothering with foolish questions like “How do you know?” or “Why would you do this?” Though phrased as a question, Harry could tell Dumbledore wasn’t asking for his opinion—he was informing him.
“You trust me that much?” Harry asked.
Allowing a Shaman Club was one thing; appointing a Shaman Professor was another entirely. A Hogwarts professor enjoyed privileges and benefits far beyond the school’s walls.
After all, most of wizarding Britain’s students graduated from Hogwarts, so its professors were respected and given preferential treatment wherever they went.
And that was just the surface-level perks.
Take the Care of Magical Creatures professor, for example. The wizarding world had a law, the Ban on Experimental Breeding, passed by Newt Scamander in 1965, prohibiting wizards from creating new, untamable creatures in Britain. Only those with special approval could continue such research.
People like Newt himself. Or the Care of Magical Creatures professor. They were exempt from this restriction.
By extension, professors of other subjects enjoyed similar unique privileges.
“Why not?” Dumbledore shrugged. “No wizard would be uninterested in your elemental magic—my mistake, most wizards would be curious. You don’t know this, but I’ve already fended off plenty of inquiries from my old friends in the Wizengamot.”
“Especially after today’s trial, after Rita Skeeter’s endless articles, after Wildsmith publishes the next issue of Mysteries of Magic,” Dumbledore shook his head. “Even I can’t resist this tide, Harry.”
“Wizards have an almost excessive curiosity. We’re magical creatures ourselves—it’s in our nature to be drawn to new magic. Even I can’t escape that,” Dumbledore continued. “Besides, you’ve probably noticed, haven’t you? The club format isn’t ideal for teaching. Every year, new students arrive at Hogwarts.”
“True, it’s quite a headache,” Harry nodded. “With limited class hours, I can’t teach the existing apprentices and new ones at the same time.”
“But as a full-fledged professor, you won’t have to worry about such trivialities,” Dumbledore said lightly. “Don’t worry, Professor McGonagall will arrange the perfect schedule for you.”
“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely. “You’ve helped me so much, Dumbledore. I promise you won’t have to worry about Voldemort anymore.”
“Hey, Harry, why does that sound like you’re trying to push me into retirement?” Dumbledore teased. “I think I’m still young enough to keep going for another twenty years.”
“If you’ve got twenty years left, you’d be better off finding a companion to spend them with.”
Cough, cough, cough! Dumbledore turned away, coughing violently. “Let’s not talk about companions, Harry. Anyway, when you become a Hogwarts professor, given your age and experience, many will question you. I hope you’re prepared for that and won’t take it too personally.”
“Of course not,” Harry said without hesitation. “You know I only care about spreading the ways of the shaman and restoring the elements. The rest doesn’t matter to me.”
“Yes, you don’t care,” Dumbledore muttered under his breath, inaudible to anyone else. “I wish you’d care a bit more.”
“What?” Harry asked.
“I’m saying, let me tell you a secret, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Decades ago, when Voldemort still called himself Tom, he returned to Hogwarts, wanting to become a professor.”
“But you refused him,” Harry said, recalling what he knew. “As Ron put it, that cursed the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, consuming a new professor every year.”
“Yes, consuming—such a terrible word,” Dumbledore sighed.
“So why did you refuse him?” Harry asked, curious.
“I told him he was too young, lacking… experience,” Dumbledore shrugged. “And he left in a huff.”
“And the real reason?” Harry pressed.
“I suspected he wanted the job to search for something—or someone. Perhaps to uncover Hogwarts’ secrets. Whatever it was, I refused him.”
“Horcruxes?” Harry guessed.
“Yes, it took years for me to reach that conclusion. I believe he returned to Hogwarts to find something worthy of holding a piece of his soul,” Dumbledore said seriously. “I knew him well, Harry. I knew Tom. He was a proud man—he’d never allow something ordinary to carry a part of him.”
“And it kept him from building influence among the students, cultivating followers,” Harry nodded, then added abruptly, “So you’re just fine with me? In your eyes, aren’t my shaman apprentices my natural followers?”
“We’re here, Harry,” Dumbledore said, stopping at the Burrow’s entrance. He turned and added, “I hope Molly won’t be upset that I whisked you away.”
No need to knock—standing at the Burrow’s door, Harry and Dumbledore could hear the lively chaos inside.
Fred and George’s raucous, overlapping laughter; Percy’s indignant shouts as he scolded his twin brothers; Ginny’s rapid, excited squeals—she always burst with astonishing energy and enthusiasm when not in Harry’s presence.
Then there was Mrs. Weasley’s voice, frantically trying to manage the chaos, and Mr. Weasley’s hearty laughter. It wasn’t a mistake—Harry even caught Hermione’s voice. Hermione’s at the Burrow?
She’d arrived much earlier than her letter had indicated. At that moment, Hermione was loudly urging Ron to stop the war between the twins and Percy.
Ha!
A faint smile crept onto Harry’s face as he shook his head.
“Promise me, Harry,” Dumbledore said suddenly, listening to the Burrow’s clamor. “Never—never—forget your original purpose. Promise me, will you?”
“In the name of the Great Prophet, Dumbledore,” Harry said softly, “you can trust me, and I’ll never betray that trust.”
Without replying, Dumbledore raised his hand and knocked on the door.
No response.
He knocked harder, and they heard Mrs. Weasley scold Fred before approaching the door, muttering all the while. The door swung open.
“Oh! Professor Dumbledore! And Harry! You’re finally here?” Mrs. Weasley, wearing an apron and holding a ladle, beamed with delight. “Come in! Dinner’s been ready for ages—oh, those mischievous boys of mine, never a moment’s peace. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, Molly,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “But I won’t stay—I’ve got a meeting to attend… my apologies.”
“Alright, Professor,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly. “You’re always so busy. Such a shame.”
“There’ll be other times,” Dumbledore reassured her. “For now, I’ve safely delivered Harry. Enjoy your holiday.”
As if eager to escape the Burrow’s chaos, Harry was certain Dumbledore’s “meeting” was a lie, but he didn’t call him out. He simply watched as the old man bid Mrs. Weasley farewell and Disapparated swiftly. Mr. Weasley, rushing from the living room, didn’t even get a chance to see him.
It’s like he couldn’t stand the lively scene.
Harry stepped into the Burrow amid cheers, treated like a hero returning from battle. To his surprise, it wasn’t just Hermione there—Neville had come too.
Mr. Weasley was animatedly recounting everything that had happened in Courtroom Four. Mrs. Weasley had even allowed him a drink, and, caught up in the excitement, the usually jovial man openly mocked his Minister.
“Fudge made an absolute fool of himself!” Mr. Weasley said bluntly. “The whole room—probably only him and his lackeys cared about that nonsense over underage magic. The Wizengamot didn’t give a damn about his ramblings. They only cared about Harry’s magic!”
Normally, Mrs. Weasley would never let her husband speak like this in front of the children, but today was an exception.
Learning that Harry had won his case—despite some hiccups along the way—filled Mrs. Weasley with genuine joy. As long as Harry was safe, nothing else mattered.
Even the usual rules and restrictions seemed to fade away.
“Merlin’s socks! The founder of a new magical system!” Mr. Weasley shouted from the head of the table, exhilarated. “Haha! You should’ve seen the look on Fudge’s face when he left Courtroom Four—damn it, I can’t mimic it properly!”
Watching Mr. Weasley contort his face in a failed attempt to recreate Fudge’s expression, Harry’s own expression grew a bit peculiar.
“If I recall correctly, Mr. Weasley, you went home right after the trial,” Harry said, locking eyes with him. “How do you know what happened during the hearing? Weren’t you barred from entering?”
Cough, cough, cough! Choking on his drink, Mr. Weasley sputtered for a moment before recovering. “Ahem, well, Harry, you know I’ve got my ways. I’m pretty well-connected.”
“Let’s not dwell on that, lad,” Mr. Weasley quickly changed the subject. “I’d bet my wand the Wizengamot already knew about you. Poor Fudge probably thought he’d uncovered some grand secret, haha!”
Showing no respect for his boss, Mr. Weasley laughed heartily. Percy, meanwhile, looked at his father with a complicated expression, then at Harry, before lowering his head, lost in thought.
It was clear that the recent events had shaken Percy deeply, challenging his long-held belief that the Ministry was invincible and unquestionable.
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T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
Comments
Vick
It's full of typo and misplaced word and ' " '.
