windkaze
patreon
HRA# Chapter 89: Loyal Filch and the Apprentices’ Feelings
🕑 Added 2025-04-05 23:11:53 +0000 UTCIt was complete.
For a fleeting moment, Argus Filch felt that even if he were to drop dead right then and there, it would be worth it. He had finally touched the magic he had dreamed of his entire life—he was no longer the powerless Squib Filch, forced to lurk in the shadows, watching others cast spells with envious eyes.
Of course, that thought lingered in Filch’s mind for less than two seconds before he dismissed it entirely.
Die? What nonsense! He hadn’t had his fill of this yet!
Even the task of cleaning the castle, something he’d done countless times and long since found dull and tasteless, had suddenly regained its charm. Standing there, Filch could feel the burning gazes of passing students on his back—those jealous stares he knew all too well. He’d spent decades casting that same look at others, and now, at last, it was their turn to look at him that way.
Filch had always wanted to see this expression on the students’ faces—jealousy directed at him. It unleashed decades of pent-up frustration deep within him. He felt almost… transcendent.
Ascendant.
To put it simply, this man stubbornly cleaned the castle gates—the one place everyone had to pass through daily—for three full days. It wasn’t until Professor McGonagall herself intervened that he finally relented and stopped scrubbing the spot.
Honestly, the Gryffindor students were already plotting to sneak into Hogwarts illegally over the walls from some other route, all to avoid Filch’s smug grin… and, well, maybe also the odd, muffled chuckles he let out now and then, his shoulders trembling in a way that was downright unnerving.
But what the students found hardest to stomach was that when Professor McGonagall convinced Filch to leave the gates, she didn’t scold him. Instead, she approached him with a smile—beaming, even—and congratulated him right in front of a crowd of students.
One of the Gryffindor twins—who refused to give his name—exploded on the spot, spouting heated accusations. These included, but weren’t limited to, claims that McGonagall must have been under some spell Filch had cast—something undeniably sinister.
Then he landed himself in detention with McGonagall. Now he’s feeling very happy about it.
Some students even stormed up to Harry Potter, demanding to know why he’d given Filch the Earth Spirit Elixir. They hadn’t forgotten what Harry had said: only by drinking the corresponding potion could one forge a connection with the elements.
Yes, these were the ones blaming Harry, arguing he shouldn’t have handed a potion to a loathsome creep like Filch, let alone let him become an honorable shaman—Filch didn’t even have horns on his head!
“He’s not loyal!” they cried. “Not loyal to our tauren tribe!”
Harry listened to this tirade with a blank expression.
But he didn’t get angry. Instead, he patiently explained it to them.
“The elements aren’t human,” Harry said. “In fact, most of the time, what we perceive as their good or evil is just a distinction we make based on our own understanding and beliefs. After all, we wouldn’t allow the elements to turn our world into a pure elemental plane.”
He continued, “So, the elements have their own sense of aesthetics. They’ll bond with someone simply because of a single trait that resonates with them. You could think of it as a talent that has nothing to do with human notions of good or evil.”
“Likewise, this talent doesn’t depend on whether a person’s mind is pure or their heart is clear. It’s just about whether the elements take a liking to them.”
Harry’s explanation drew pained sighs from Fred and George in the Gryffindor common room—though they weren’t the only ones. Many students couldn’t accept the fact that they weren’t as appealing to the elements as Filch.
It was a nightmare.
Rumor had it that several students had been having nightmares lately, hearing a raspy voice mocking them in their sleep: “You’re not as good as Filch, heh heh.” Dark circles had become a common sight around their eyes.
But whether the students accepted it or not, Filch became the fourteenth member of the Shaman Club. The thirteenth was Ron, still stuck in his innate slacker state.
And so, it was time for the latest Shaman Club lesson of the week.
“Congratulations, Mr. Filch,” Harry said earnestly, standing before him. “You’ve established a connection with the earth element, and you’re getting along well with it—especially in this era when the elements are dormant. That means you have remarkable talent.”
Filch stood ramrod straight. With every word Harry spoke, his posture grew even stiffer.
“Please, just call me by my name, Mentor!” Filch’s voice trembled with excitement. “Call me Filch!”
Ever since becoming a shaman, Filch had taken to bowing to Harry whenever they crossed paths in the castle, addressing him as “Mentor.” Truth be told, this behavior softened some students’ dislike for him. Even Ron, after his initial irritation and grumbling, let it go.
“Alright, Filch,” Harry said with a hint of helplessness. “Anyway, I’m glad to see you’re already holding yourself to the standards of a shaman… though you should probably get rid of those bone decorations.”
Harry’s gaze flickered slightly as he spoke. At first glance, Filch’s current appearance made him look more like the stereotypical shaman than Harry himself. He was draped head to toe in a wolfskin coat, wearing a wolf-head helmet that mimicked Harry’s own—Merlin knows where he got it. The air around him carried the intoxicating scent of herbs, and his body was adorned with strings of beads and trinkets—massive clusters of animal skulls, to be precise.
“Huh? I don’t need these, Mentor?” Filch blinked, caught off guard.
“Of course not! We’re not some tribal savages from Africa!” Roger Davies said, rolling his eyes.
The older the student, the deeper the grudge they held against Filch.
“Roger!” Harry called out sharply.
“Sorry, Mentor,” Roger Davies sighed. “And sorry to you too, Filch… sir.”
After a few lessons, Harry’s apprentices were starting to shape up. At the very least, they genuinely admired his knowledge and were eager to learn from him. Like Harry, the older apprentices wore wolfskin garments—though theirs lacked the wolf-head shoulder adornments and helmets.
“N-No, it’s fine,” Filch stammered. Truthfully, this was the first time a student had ever apologized to him. Over the years, he’d been the target of countless pranks, none of which came with an apology.
“Anyway, welcome to the group. This is your runed horn,” Harry said, handing it to Filch. “It’ll help you communicate better with the elements. Just wear it on your head.”
“It’s my honor, Mentor!” Filch exclaimed, accepting the runed horn with trembling hands. He bowed twice to Harry, and if Harry hadn’t stopped him, he might’ve even tried to kiss his hand.
His hands still shaking, Filch removed the fake horns he’d bought from the twins and proudly donned the runed horn. Closing his eyes, he seemed to savor the moment, exhaling deeply after a long pause.
He felt at ease.
Satisfied.
“Since the club’s lesson time is limited, I’m afraid I can’t go over all the previous material just for you,” Harry said, handing Filch a thin booklet. “But don’t worry—Hermione’s recorded the key points from every lesson I’ve given so far. You can study it in your spare time, and feel free to ask me if you have any questions.”
That was Hermione for you—reliable, thoughtful, and a friend Harry could always count on. This booklet would grow as Harry taught more, eventually becoming an official textbook for the Shaman Club curriculum.
To be honest, the club’s current format—open to all years and ages—was giving Harry a headache. That was the downside of not dividing lessons by grade level. He couldn’t turn away new blood, but when next year’s or the year after’s first-years joined as shaman apprentices, he’d have to reteach everything—and still cover more advanced material for this year’s batch.
Right now, the Shaman Club was just that—a club. With only one weekly session, it couldn’t get a proper class slot at Hogwarts. To have enough time for different groups of apprentices, it would need to become an elective course at the very least.
Whenever Harry thought about these logistical headaches, he felt like his hair was falling out in clumps. He hadn’t trained apprentices back in Azeroth—this was a whole new experience for him.
For now, he’d just have to take it one step at a time.
“Understood, Mentor,” Filch said, bowing and accepting the booklet with both hands. His expression was deadly serious as he vowed, “Rest assured, I’ll memorize every word in here. I won’t let you down!”
His determination was astounding. Filch seemed to see himself as Harry’s junior, showing impeccable respect without a hint of impropriety.
“Er, you don’t have to go that far,” Harry said, a little exasperated. “It mostly covers the history of shamans, how we view the world, and some principles every shaman must follow.”
Repeating the prerequisites he’d laid out for the original thirteen, Harry never skimped on matters of principle. He also gave Filch the chance to back out.
“I swear to you, great Mentor,” Filch said, standing tall, his wrinkled face etched with solemnity, “if anyone betrays you, I’ll risk my life to see them punished!”
“Thanks, but I can handle that myself,” Harry replied, his face expressionless.
Unlike the other apprentices, who still struggled to adjust to Harry shifting from classmate or junior to mentor, Filch had embraced the role without hesitation—and took pride in it. Honestly, Harry thought Filch’s current demeanor bordered on treating him like some kind of deity.
He’d seen too many people like that before.
With the new member welcomed, the lesson officially began.
Though the elements were divided into four, weeks had passed since the club’s first session, and Harry still hadn’t let his apprentices attempt contact with a second element.
Unlike in Azeroth, the wizards of this world had no prior understanding of the elements or shamans—nor did they face demons bent on destroying everything. Without that tangible threat, rushing them into more could plant seeds of trouble later. So, for these past weeks, Harry had simply led his dozen-plus apprentices across the land, feeling the rhythm of the earth element.
He told them tales of shamans that sounded like they belonged to another world—mistakes they’d made, the lessons within—though the names and places didn’t quite match, the truths held firm.
Understanding the reasoning was enough.
Along the way, Harry explained why he’d set such strict rules at the start and what could happen if a shaman strayed from those principles. Principles couldn’t be allowed to slip—once you took a step back, excuses would pile up, each sounding reasonable but ultimately veering far from the original intent.
With generation after generation of foes trying to destroy Azeroth, Harry had plenty of examples to draw from.
But today, he finally felt this group was ready for the next step.
“I think you’ve begun to sense the nature of the earth element,” Harry said, gazing at his apprentices near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, away from the castle. “Weeks ago, you stood here and first embraced the elements.”
“Now, everyone, close your eyes with me and recall that initial thrill of connecting with them,” Harry said softly, spreading his arms. “Let the elemental power surround us. Let our bodies and spirits be cleansed by this land.”
No one spoke, but without a doubt, they all followed his instructions—recalling, feeling—except for Ron, who still hadn’t bonded with an element.
He stood there with his eyes closed, enjoying the cool breeze.
“Can you feel it?” Harry continued, eyes lightly shut. “The distant mountains, the ground beneath your feet. The hills are our strength, the plains our tolerance, and the world itself our essence.”
Not in unison, but indeed, they all felt it—the flow of the earth’s veins, its breathing. It calmed their minds, broadened their hearts.
“I know some of you are impatient,” Harry’s voice reached each of them. “You crave more extraordinary things, to touch the other three elements, to wield their power freely like I did that day, standing in the spotlight.”
“But during that entire ritual, all you did was stand humbly before the earth element. Did you feel its vastness?”
“I think I saw it,” Hermione said, her voice trembling though her eyes remained closed. “The ground beneath us was one whole, like part of a giant. I couldn’t even imagine what would happen if it moved.”
“Fear,” Terry Boot added. “I thought I was the only one who saw it, so I never mentioned it to anyone. Honestly, I don’t even know why I suddenly connected with the earth element. In that last moment, it felt like a mountain was crushing me—I thought I was going to die.”
“So, is that the sleeping element itself?” Katie Bell asked. “Like you said, Mentor, directly contacting the other elements is dangerous because they’re so immense that even a single shift could destroy us?”
“I don’t know if that’s their true form,” Harry said plainly. “I’m not afraid to admit my ignorance. In fact, when it comes to the elemental power of this world, I’m still exploring it myself.”
“That’s exactly why I started this Shaman Club—because this world is too vast and holds too many secrets,” he said sincerely. “Whether it’s understanding the full scope of its elements or awakening them, it’s a task too big for me alone.”
“But I can answer your second question,” Harry added. “When the elements fully awaken someday—at least when they can freely speak or converse with you—then, when you encounter the other three, you’ll find they’re not as calm as the earth element. They might be chaotic and violent, or serene yet fervent. That’s their nature, and they’re often in opposition to one another.”
“By comparison, the earth element really is the best starting point for your first contact.”
