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HRA# Chapter 88: Voldemort’s Temptation and the Shaman Filch
🕑 Added 2025-04-04 23:29:39 +0000 UTCFor a moment, the loudest sound in the classroom was the piercing scream of the Erkling. It writhed in agony on the open floor at the front, its body wracked with pain. Instinctively, it reached to touch the source of its torment, but the more it did, the worse the pain became—even contact with the floor brought unbearable suffering.
“There’s something off about this spell’s power,” Harry said quietly. “At least when Quirrell casts it. It’s far too strong.”
“The Stinging Hex,” Quirrell continued, though he barely started speaking before frowning. The Erkling’s screams were deafening. With a flick of his wand, he cast another spell.
A Silencing Charm—or perhaps more precisely, a Silent Silence Charm—robbed the cursed creature or object of any sound.
And so, the scene turned bizarre. Everyone could see the Erkling thrashing in pain on the ground, yet not a single sound escaped it. It was like watching a mute stage play, steeped in an eerie falseness.
To the young witches and wizards, it felt absurd, yet beneath that absurdity lurked a silent… fear.
“There, finally quiet,” Quirrell said with evident satisfaction. “Let’s continue—the Stinging Hex. That’s the spell I just used. It’s classified as a harmless minor jinx. Of course, that doesn’t mean you won’t end up in detention with Professor McGonagall if you use it on your classmates.”
Quirrell cracked a joke, but this time, even among the Slytherins, only a few scattered laughs responded. He didn’t seem to care, though, and pressed on.
“It’s not Dark Magic,” Quirrell affirmed. “Even the Ministry’s Aurors wouldn’t draw their wands in a panic over this spell. And it’s genuinely useful for dealing with minor nuisances—like Erklings, Cornish Pixies, goblins, and other irritating little pests.”
“Remember what we said about the difference between common jinxes, hexes, and Dark Magic?” Quirrell asked again, though this time he didn’t direct the question at Harry. “You—Zabini?”
“Yes, Professor!” Blaise Zabini stood up to answer. “Jinxes and hexes have counter-spells. If you cast the right counter-spell, the damage they cause can be undone. But Dark Magic is far more powerful, and the harm it inflicts is nearly impossible to heal—it requires other methods to treat.”
“A textbook answer, Zabini. Two points to Slytherin,” Quirrell said with a nod. “And now, I’ll demonstrate the counter-spell to the Stinging Hex—Episkey!”
Something miraculous happened. As Quirrell pointed his wand at the Erkling—now swollen and covered in red, charred wounds, its body nearly unrecognizable and twice its original size—the swelling and burns began to vanish rapidly.
Its eyes, swollen shut to mere slits, quickly returned to normal. Its bloated frame shrank back to its scrawny self. Wherever Quirrell’s wand directed, everything reverted to how it had been, as if nothing had happened to the Erkling at all.
But everyone knew what they’d just witnessed wasn’t an illusion. The Erkling no longer cackled wickedly at the students. Instead, its eyes held a blank, vacant stare, as though its soul had fled.
“I imagine some of you have heard of this spell before,” Quirrell continued. “The Healing Charm. It’s a general counter-spell for minor jinxes and can also treat small injuries—like a broken nose or a split lip.”
“Doesn’t sound very ‘small’ to me,” Ron muttered under his breath.
“And as you can see, the effect is obvious,” Quirrell said cheerfully. “This Erkling shows no trace of injury now. But as a responsible professor, I must warn you: do not use this spell to attack your classmates. Understood?”
“Understood, Professor!” came the scattered replies from the students.
“Good. Now, I’ll invite one of you to demonstrate what you’ve learned,” Quirrell said, turning to Harry with a soft tone. “And who better than the savior of the wizarding world, the Boy Who Lived, the one who even invented his own magic—Harry Potter.”
Honestly, an outsider might’ve thought Quirrell was Harry’s biggest fan.
There was no reason to panic. Harry calmly walked to the front of the classroom, standing opposite Quirrell with the Erkling between them.
“Go ahead, Harry,” Quirrell said with an encouraging smile. “With your talent, I’m sure you’ve already mastered this spell… It’s not difficult, is it?”
“Stinging Hex.”
Harry’s voice answered with the incantation.
A flash of yellow light streaked forth, and the Erkling began to writhe and scream once more, just as it had under Quirrell’s spell. At some point, Quirrell had lifted the Silencing Charm, allowing its wretched cries to fill the room again.
“Keep going, Harry! Keep going!”
Striding down the classroom aisle, Quirrell’s voice boomed even louder than the Erkling’s wails, reaching every ear. His black robes billowed, stirring gusts of air. When he reached the back row, he paused, staring at Hermione, Ron, and Neville for a few seconds.
The three didn’t dare lift their heads, their hearts pounding… until Quirrell finally turned and strode back to the front.
“Tch, tch, tch,” Quirrell sighed, shaking his head. “This won’t do, Harry—your spell’s power is far too weak.”
Even the other students noticed it. The Stinging Hex Harry cast produced a far milder effect on the Erkling compared to Quirrell’s. When Quirrell had used it, the creature swelled grotesquely within seconds. But with Harry, even after several seconds, only a small patch on its chest had turned red and swollen.
“Let me share a secret with you all,” Quirrell said, turning to face the class and raising his voice. “When casting a jinx or hex, if you harbor a strong sense of malice or hostility toward your target, you’ll be amazed to find the spell’s power far exceeds what you’d normally achieve.”
“Magic is a miracle of the heart,” Quirrell continued with a smile. “A wizard’s will directly shapes the outcome of their magic. A wizard’s emotions directly influence its strength—remember that. It’s the very essence of magic.”
The students instinctively scribbled notes, the classroom filled with the rustling of quills.
“Oh, Harry, stop it,” Romilda Vane, a fellow Gryffindor first-year, whispered pleadingly. “That sound—it’s just too awful.”
“Awful?”
Quirrell suddenly marched toward Romilda, slamming his hands on her desk and looming over her. She shrank back in fear, curling into herself.
“What’s so awful, miss?” Quirrell’s voice deepened ominously. “Because it’s screaming? Because it looks pitiful, and we seem like the villains?”
“Yes, Professor,” Parvati Patil interjected, gritting her teeth. “I think this is wrong—this… I don’t know how to put it, but it’s just wrong.”
“Ah, another kind-hearted miss?” Quirrell straightened up. “Naive, compassionate, ignorant, foolish. Even after Harry explained its nature, your eyes still deceive you. Perhaps I should show you what this thing was doing when I found it.”
With a wave of his wand, an illusion flickered into existence in midair. When the students saw what it depicted, the classroom erupted in chaos—gasps, exclamations, and several retching sounds.
“When I found it, it was happily gnawing on a Muggle child’s head! Blood pooled everywhere, its guts torn out and dangling around its neck!”
The retching grew louder. First-years had never seen anything like this. They averted their eyes from Quirrell and the illusion overhead.
And when their gazes fell back on the Erkling, there was no pity left—only pure loathing. Even its intensifying wails couldn’t sway them anymore.
“So what are you waiting for, Harry?!” Quirrell whirled around, his face stern as he faced Harry. “Do you feel sympathy for a man-eating monster like this?! Pity for its suffering, its cries?!”
“Keep going, Harry!” Quirrell shouted again. “Why show mercy to it—to a monster?! Its very existence is a threat! A threat to wizards! A threat to people!”
“Or do you think it won’t harm you, so you can afford to be merciful? What about the weak? What about those it’s devoured?! That’s hypocrisy! Sickening hypocrisy! Just because you can control it, you think you can flaunt your kindness?!”
“What about the defenseless Muggles who cross its path in the wild?! It didn’t grow this big eating spinach! Unleash your malice, Harry! For the sake of those it killed!!”
“Hate it! Despise it! Scorn it! Torment it! Make it feel pain! Make it feel the agony of its victims!!”
And—kill it!
The final, unspoken command.
Quirrell roared with fervor, his voice drowning out the Erkling’s screams. But Harry didn’t react further.
Or rather, he did.
“Reducto,” Harry said calmly, a red light flashing like lightning toward the Erkling’s heart.
In an instant, the writhing creature stilled. A gaping hole appeared in its chest, bones caving in, and soon it fell silent.
Quirrell’s tirade stopped abruptly.
It was dead—but not the kind of death Quirrell had envisioned.
Such a waste.
“Why didn’t you do as I asked, Harry?” Quirrell sighed softly. “This lesson wasn’t about the Reductor Curse… Because of your actions, Gryffindor loses twenty points.”
“I don’t usually torture my enemies. I just give them a quick end,” Harry said evenly. “Whatever this Erkling did, that’s not a reason for me to torment it or take satisfaction in its pain. It’s a beast. I’m not.”
“A fine argument, Harry,” Quirrell said, suddenly laughing. “But since you killed our valuable teaching aid, I’m afraid I’ll have to give you detention—Sunday night.”
“I’ll be there on time, Professor,” Harry nodded.
The lesson didn’t continue much longer. Shortly after Harry killed the Erkling, Quirrell dismissed the class early. With a wave of his wand, the creature’s corpse and the blood on the floor vanished, as if nothing had happened.
But judging by the looks the students gave Harry as they left, something had clearly changed.
“Don’t worry about it. He just set a moral trap,” Harry reassured his concerned friends. “Punishing evil doesn’t mean we become evil ourselves, nor does it mean we should use their methods. He can only fool the younger students or the naive.”
“We’re not upset you killed the Erkling,” Hermione said, worried. “We were afraid you’d feel bad about it… Seems we overthought it.”
“I told you Harry’d be fine,” Ron said casually. “He’s Harry Potter. No way that guy could get to him.”
As they spoke, Parvati suddenly ran back from the classroom door and grabbed Harry’s arm.
“I think you’re right, Harry!” the Indian girl said earnestly. “You killed the Erkling, but not the way Professor Quirrell wanted—and I just think you’re not wrong!”
Before Harry could respond, she darted back to her friends, as if she’d come just to encourage him.
Harry turned to see Neville shrug. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who think so.”
Word of what happened in the first-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class spread quickly through the castle. Some thought Harry’s reasoning and actions were right. Others believed the Erkling deserved pain equal to its victims’ suffering, and a quick death was too lenient. And some… just wondered what was for lunch.
Or dinner.
Either way, the students had their own opinions, and the debates between the two sides were lively—though not nearly as lively as the other big event at Hogwarts over the past two days.
Filch had become a shaman.
Filch had become Filch!!
Filch!
Honestly, the students of Hogwarts could hardly believe it—was this the Filch they knew??
The same Filch who always glared at passing students with a sour face, who popped out of unexpected corners with that wretched cat to catch rule-breakers or mess-makers—was it really him???
The Filch who’d begged Dumbledore countless times to reinstate corporal punishment, wanting to string up misbehaving students in the dungeons and whip them?!
The Filch who didn’t even try to hide his malice toward students?!
Was there no justice in this world? No fairness?!
When a crowd of students rushed to the castle’s main entrance, they saw Filch, clad in a fur coat, wiping down the walls and floor. But that wasn’t the point. The real shock was the figure calmly standing beside him!
No, not a figure—a Earth Elemental!!
Thanks to the constant bragging of students who’d bonded with Earth Elementals, everyone at Hogwarts now knew exactly what these adorable little creatures looked like—especially since a few obnoxious ones paraded theirs atop their heads or shoulders.
Disgusting!
Weren’t they heavy?!
Watch out, or they’ll crush you, fatties!!
Er, anyway, it was the kind of envy that made you want one for yourself.
But now, one of those cute little creatures that nearly every student coveted was by Filch’s side—and it was obediently holding a basin of water with both hands to help him work.
When the bucket turned murky, the Earth Elemental didn’t even need prompting. It dumped the dirty water and fetched a fresh bucket on its own.
Honestly, seeing this, many students’ eyes turned red with envy. Some even huddled together, plotting how to steal the Earth Elemental from Filch—thankfully, a few sane voices stopped that foolishness.
How do you steal a bond forged on a spiritual level?
Azkaban’s still watching, you know!
As for Filch himself—he was loving it.
The students’ whispers, their jealousy, the hatred this sparked—it was all too delicious!
So delicious he couldn’t get enough!!
For years, he’d waited for this moment—wielding magic, basking in attention, everyone looking at him with envy and resentment—it was just thrilling!!!
Comments
Samuel S.
Filch being a Shaman, Hope IT heals His Heart.
Vick
The feeling of looking at a team full of UR when you never get even a SSR other than in scripted event. Yeah, I hate gacha game
