windkaze
patreon
HRA# CHAPTER 149
🕑 Added 2025-06-05 00:17:37 +0000 UTCThe mere thought of that name made Fudge grit his teeth in private—Dumbledore’s sanctimonious demeanor was something he could barely stomach. And now, observing the boy standing below, Fudge saw the same infuriating traits mirrored in him. The same confidence, the same arrogance, as if nothing anyone did could thwart their ambitions. Such insolence.
Fudge had tolerated Dumbledore for far too long, and in this moment, that resentment extended to the boy standing below, Harry Potter, who seemed cut from the same cloth as the old man.
Harry, however, was oblivious to the storm brewing in Fudge’s mind. He could sense the hostility radiating from the Minister, though.
“It’s alright, Boot,” Harry said, ignoring the murmurs from the stands and offering reassurance to the trembling boy brought to his side by a Hit Wizard. “Don’t be nervous.”
Terry Boot had only dared to glance at Harry once when he first entered, but now he avoided Harry’s gaze entirely, his eyes brimming with panic and guilt so palpable that Harry didn’t need his shamanic astral vision to notice it.
“I’m sorry, mentor,” Boot stammered, tears streaming down his face at the sound of Harry’s voice. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been careless—”
“Silence!” snapped the Hit Wizard standing nearby, glaring at them. “No talking in the courtroom.”
Boot immediately fell silent, lowering his head to avoid Harry’s eyes, wiping at his tears. For an ordinary boy like him, the events of the past few days felt like a dream—a terrifying nightmare, especially given the oppressive atmosphere of today’s proceedings. Even in a dream, this would be horrifying.
Though Terry Boot had only spoken in fragments, Harry pieced together the situation from Fudge’s earlier questions and the fact that a Muggle-born like Boot was involved. It could only be about one thing: shamanic magic.
But shamanic magic wasn’t wizarding magic. It shouldn’t have triggered the Trace. What had Boot done over the holidays?
Meanwhile, from his elevated seat, Fudge continued explaining why he had brought this boy before the court.
“…As I mentioned earlier, this child, Terry Boot, openly appeared before Muggles with a magical creature made of floating stones. He even declared himself a shamanic priest, causing rumors about this strange creature to spread across several nearby Muggle neighborhoods by the time our Obliviation team arrived.”
“It took considerable effort for those poor Obliviators to work through at least two sleepless nights to contain the situation before it spiraled further,” Fudge said, his tone heavy with feigned concern.
“Excuse me, Minister,” Madam Bones interjected. “Are you saying an unknown magical creature appeared? And this boy called himself a shamanic priest?”
After mentally reviewing her extensive knowledge, Bones was certain she had never heard of a magical creature composed of floating stones.
“Precisely,” Fudge nodded, continuing, “I understand your confusion. I, too, found it hard to believe such an odd—creature—existed until I saw it with my own eyes.”
As he spoke, Fudge turned and called out loudly, “Bring it in!”
The doors to Courtroom Four swung open again. This time, a single Hit Wizard entered, but all eyes were drawn to the glass jar he carried.
Spectators in the stands sat up straighter, some even standing to get a better look at the jar’s contents.
As Fudge had described, the creature’s body was a palm-sized stone, with four smaller stones forming its arms. It had no lower body, just a swirling mass of stone fragments. Most strikingly, the bizarre creature was moving. Upon spotting Terry Boot, it raised an arm and struck the glass, as if trying to break free. When that failed, it waved at Boot, seemingly in greeting.
Its actions elicited gasps from the wizards in the stands.
“Earth elemental,” Fudge’s voice echoed through the courtroom. “That’s the name of this peculiar creature. There’s no doubt it’s a new type of magical creature, and as such, it falls under the Secrecy Law. It should never have appeared before Muggle eyes—Terry Boot!”
Fudge’s sudden shout made the boy flinch.
“Do you admit to being the master of this earth elemental?”
“No,” Boot shook his head instinctively.
“No?” Fudge’s brows furrowed, his voice sharp. “That’s not what you said earlier—”
“Please, Minister,” Dumbledore interrupted, stepping forward and gently placing a hand on Boot’s shoulder. “He’s only a second-year student. You’re frightening him.”
Indeed, Boot was already terrified, clinging to Dumbledore’s robes as if the old wizard were his lifeline. Dumbledore didn’t stop him, merely patting the boy’s head kindly.
“Of course, of course,” Fudge said, forcing a smile. “You know, Dumbledore, I have no intention of harming the boy. I only need him to clarify a few things.”
“I’m glad we agree on that,” Dumbledore nodded, then turned to Boot. “Don’t be afraid, child. No one here will hurt you. Just tell the truth, and you’ll be fine.”
“Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore,” Boot said, wiping his tears haphazardly. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I’m not Dotty’s master—er, Dotty’s its name… Anyway, we’re friends. Equals. There’s no master or servant between us. That’s the creed of us shamanic priests.”
His words started shaky but grew steadier, especially that last declaration, which rang with conviction.
After speaking, Boot glanced at Harry, who smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. The gesture visibly calmed Boot, steadying his nerves.
“So, where did you meet this… friend?” Madam Bones asked.
“Hogwarts, ma’am,” Boot replied. “I summoned him, and he chose to be my friend.”
His words sent a wave of murmurs through the courtroom. Every wizard present was a Hogwarts graduate, each with fond memories of the castle—but none recalled learning anything like this.
Summoned. That implied magic.
The strange creature in the jar sparked intense curiosity among the spectators.
“There’s one more critical detail I must add,” Fudge said suddenly, “and it’s why this matter is relevant to today’s hearing in Courtroom Four.”
“Terry Boot, do you admit to being a shamanic priest?”
“Yes, I do,” Boot replied.
“And do you admit to wielding magic unique to these so-called shamanic priests, such as the spell that summoned this earth elemental?”
“…Yes, I do,” Boot admitted after a pause.
“Excellent,” Fudge said, nodding with satisfaction. He surveyed the room and raised his voice. “After our Obliviation team handled this potential breach of magical secrecy, we located the child responsible. Of course, we wouldn’t blame a young boy so harshly, but some matters must be clarified.”
“I can assure you,” Fudge continued, his face flushed with a strange excitement, “after thorough examination and testing, we were astonished to discover that the magic this boy calls ‘shamanic’ does not trigger the Trace.”
The courtroom erupted. Even the usually composed Wizengamot members couldn’t restrain themselves, arguing loudly among each other. If Fudge’s claims were true, it meant a form of magic existed that allowed underage wizards to cast spells outside school without detection—a potential threat to the Statute of Secrecy, risking exposure to Muggles and causing magical mishaps.
The debates, arguments, and skepticism continued unchecked, and Fudge made no move to silence the wizards. He let their fervor burn until it began to wane.
“And one final question,” Fudge said with a smug grin. “Terry Boot, answer me honestly: how did you learn this magic? Or rather, who taught you this magic that lets you bypass the law?”
Boot didn’t answer immediately, his eyes darting to Harry. The gesture caused several unaware wizards in the stands to gasp, covering their mouths in shock. Harry, however, only smiled and nodded encouragingly.
“It was—it was Harry Potter!” Boot turned, took a deep breath, and declared loudly, “My mentor is Harry Potter! He’s incredible! He invented shamanic magic and generously taught it to us, his apprentices!”
“That’s impossible!” someone from the Ministry employees near the door shouted instinctively.
If Boot’s words were true, it meant Harry Potter—a twelve-year-old boy raised in a Muggle household, who had only entered the magical world a year ago—had invented a new form of magic. Even more unbelievable, this magic bypassed the Trace, something even accomplished adult wizards struggled to achieve.
This revelation made the Ministry’s rigid regulations seem foolish… and perhaps the adult wizards themselves as well.
Surveying the chaotic uproar in Courtroom Four, Fudge leaned back in his seat, satisfied. This was exactly what he wanted.
He had no intention of openly clashing with Dumbledore or signaling to the public that the Minister of Magic and the great wizard were at odds. Fudge knew what he was doing. In this matter, he was merely an impartial Minister, presenting the truth without exaggeration or malice. He even planned to speak in Harry Potter’s favor later, to curry favor with Dumbledore, the power behind the scenes.
His personal dislike and resentment wouldn’t sway his actions. He hadn’t leaked Terry Boot’s shamanic claims to The Daily Prophet. Instead, he kept it quiet until today and ensured Boot was well cared for in the meantime.
With his assistant’s counsel, Fudge aimed to prove that the Ministry wasn’t entirely at fault—or rather, to show that even Dumbledore and his golden boy could err.
Fudge awaited Dumbledore’s explanation. No matter how he justified it, the fact remained: the boy had violated laws governing underage magic outside school. If Dumbledore managed to shield Harry, even better. Rita Skeeter, that Daily Prophet reporter, would relish twisting such a story for the papers, tarnishing Dumbledore’s untouchable reputation.
Many wizards would realize Dumbledore wasn’t infallible. He was human. He could lie, make mistakes. And the Boy Who Lived, recently so celebrated, was just an ordinary child.
Fudge didn’t expect to bring anyone down with this. After years in politics, he knew British wizards better than anyone. Most were foolish, blindly believing whatever the papers printed. Today, they’d cheer for someone or something the papers praised. Tomorrow, if the same paper criticized it, they’d send owls or Howlers, forgetting their previous fervor.
More foolish than Muggles, even.
Squinting at the courtroom’s center, Fudge bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to make his move—and to ingratiate himself with Dumbledore.
The courtroom entered a phase of open discussion, particularly among the Wizengamot members, who exchanged opinions. Some nodded, others shook their heads. Some laughed, while others frowned.
“Mr. Potter,” an elderly witch, her face and hands wrinkled with age, addressed Harry. “May I ask you a few questions?”
Her presence commanded respect, even among the Wizengamot. As she spoke, the discussions quieted until the room fell silent.
“Of course,” Harry nodded, glancing at Dumbledore for an introduction.
“Griselda Marchbanks,” Dumbledore said with a cheerful smile. “She oversees the Wizarding Examinations Authority, responsible for your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. She’s also a senior Wizengamot member.”
“Oh, I remember well, Albus,” Marchbanks said, smiling. “I personally invigilated your Transfiguration and Charms exams. Your wandwork was quite inventive.”
“Thank you,” Dumbledore replied with a touch of humor. “But today isn’t for reminiscing. Ask away, Griselda. Harry will answer carefully.”
Harry caught the hint in Dumbledore’s words, directed more at him than Marchbanks. It was a reminder to answer thoughtfully. Clearly, Griselda Marchbanks was someone trustworthy—though, had she really invigilated Dumbledore’s exams?
If Harry recalled correctly, Dumbledore was exactly 110 years old this year. That meant Marchbanks was at least 110, too, and likely older, considering the time it took for her to rise to her position. She had to be at least 130.
Wizards did live long lives. While someone like Nicolas Flamel, living centuries, was an outlier, powerful wizards could live nearly 200 years if they avoided trouble, even without the Elixir of Life. Aging, however, was inevitable.
“Thank you, Albus,” Marchbanks said, her expression turning serious as she addressed Harry. “Mr. Potter, if Mr. Boot is correct, then this elemental magic he wields—you taught it to him?”
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
