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HRA# Chapter 77: The Passionate Professors and Professor Trelawney’s Prophecy
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 19:13:49 +0000 UTC“Then you’ll just have to keep working hard.” Unaware of what was going through Harry’s mind, Professor McGonagall’s lips curved slightly, as if she were smiling. “I suggest you start submitting articles to various magazines right now. For a newly emerged magical field like elemental magic, it’s bound to spark widespread discussion among wizards. They could become your allies.”
“I’ll submit some, thank you, Professor McGonagall,” Harry said earnestly.
“How about sparing some time?” Professor Flitwick chimed in, bustling over with an excited gleam in his eyes. “Could I discuss this elemental magic with you? Merlin’s beard, I drank two bottles of Earthspirit Potion and still couldn’t catch a glimpse of this ‘Soul of the Earth’ you all keep talking about. It’s downright frustrating—Harry, by the way, does drinking two more bottles really give you the runs at night?”
Rubbing his small belly, the lively old professor with goblin ancestry didn’t look particularly thrilled at the prospect.
“Er, probably, yeah,” Harry said, stifling a laugh. “But discussing elemental magic together? Of course, no problem at all. Honestly, I’ve been researching how to manipulate elemental forces with charms myself. With your help, Professor, I could probably avoid a lot of dead ends.”
“Then it’s settled!” Professor Flitwick clapped Harry’s forearm happily before growing serious. “As for right now, I think I’d better hurry back—honestly, I swear I just heard my stomach gurgling.”
He wasn’t kidding. Professor Flitwick bid farewell on the spot and dashed back toward the castle, his quick steps betraying a sense of urgency. The sight made the other professors chuckle despite themselves.
Harry’s demonstration of this entirely new category of magic today had nearly every professor pondering how elemental magic might intersect with their own fields.
Take Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff House, for instance. She pulled Harry aside with a barrage of questions, though her real interest seemed to lie in whether the earth element could have some unique effect on herb growth.
Harry’s answer was—yes, it could, but not by much.
Many people mistook shamans for something akin to druids, and for some shamans, that wasn’t entirely wrong. But the two were fundamentally different.
Shamans didn’t always maintain a state of peace, and unlike druids, they didn’t harbor an almost obsessive devotion to the harmony of nature. Shamans cared only about the order of the elements, and to that end, they’d even preemptively eliminate elements that threatened to disrupt the world. Whether nature remained harmonious was beside the point.
Druids could make a seed sprout, grow, bloom, and bear fruit in an instant, wielding the power of life and death’s cycle. Shamans, however, couldn’t pull that off.
It was hard to say which of the two professions held greater status or meaning. After all, when it came to restoring land corrupted by demons or healing wounds inflicted on Azeroth by its enemies, the Earthen Ring—representing shamans—and the Cenarion Circle—representing druids—typically worked in tandem.
Shamans restored elemental order to an area, revitalizing tainted soil, stirring lifeless air back into motion, and purging unnatural corruption. Meanwhile, druids gradually cleansed the land of its pollutants, coaxing grass and trees to reclaim the ravaged earth.
In short, the two complemented each other.
But there were no druids around Harry right now, so he could only regretfully tell Professor Sprout that the earth element could merely enrich the soil in the school’s greenhouses and make the climate more favorable.
—Truth be told, charms and potions could already achieve those things. Using the earth element just made it simpler.
“That’s already quite impressive, dear,” Professor Sprout said with a cheerful laugh. “You’ve no idea how much the school spends on those seven greenhouses every year.”
“Like importing dragon dung from Romania for fertilizer?” Harry quipped, recalling the kids who’d nearly lost their minds shoveling dragon dung during detention.
“Oh, it’s not just dragons,” Professor Sprout replied, laughing even harder as she likely recalled the same memory. “Seeds for all sorts of herbs, the special conditions needed to grow them—some plants even require a complete soil replacement after harvesting because the dirt becomes toxic. Re-fertilizing is another big expense, and then there’s the potions to go with it. That’s a hefty sum too.”
When it came to herbology, Professor Sprout could talk endlessly.
“So, could Headmaster Dumbledore hold onto the money we save? If Hogwarts ever starts a shaman class, he could give it to me for teaching supplies,” Harry joked.
“Oh, no, that won’t do,” Professor Sprout said, shaking her head with mock stinginess before suddenly turning to Dumbledore. “I think the savings could go toward building an eighth greenhouse. What do you say, Albus?”
Harry glanced over just in time to see Dumbledore pop a sweet into his mouth, engrossed in conversation with Professor McGonagall, acting as if he hadn’t heard a word.
“Well, I suppose that means he’s not keen on it,” Professor Sprout said to Harry with a humorous shrug.
Harry offered a polite, unawkward smile.
With that, the first session of the Shaman Club came to a successful close. Harry mingled with the professors, listening as they chatted and debated what they’d witnessed today, all while heading back to the castle.
Honestly, Harry was a bit disappointed that Quirrell had already returned to the castle with the main group of students. He’d really wanted to hear Quirrell—or rather, Voldemort—share his thoughts on today’s lesson.
Sure, Voldemort’s character was questionable, but his magical prowess was undeniable.
“Harry?”
Dumbledore’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Turning around, Harry saw the headmaster lagging behind with an unfamiliar professor, waving him over.
It was clear the two had deliberately fallen back. In no time, the other professors were far ahead, leaving Harry with Dumbledore and the stranger.
“I think I should introduce you first, Harry. This is Professor Trelawney, who teaches Divination at Hogwarts. It’s an elective for third-years,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to the woman beside him. “She has something she’d like to say to you.”
“Pleased to meet you, Professor Trelawney,” Harry said with a nod. “I’ve heard of you.”
Though not exactly in a flattering light. Especially from the older students—they’d grumble about her when asking Harry for divination help, often calling her a fraud outright.
She was rather infamous, in a way.
Of all the people Harry knew, only Dumbledore ever spoke well of Professor Trelawney. According to the upperclassmen, even Professor McGonagall didn’t much care for her colleague.
With a mane of fluffy golden hair curling slightly at the ends, a pair of oversized black-framed glasses taking up a quarter of her face, and a neck draped in layers of chains and beads, she wore a red headscarf striped with yellow and green. She looked every bit the Gypsy witch.
Eccentric—to someone clueless about divination, Professor Trelawney couldn’t have fit the image of a seer more perfectly.
“Sorry, Professor Dumbledore… could I speak with the boy alone?” Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—after several failed attempts to speak, Professor Trelawney abruptly turned her head and asked.
“Of course,” Dumbledore said with a wink. “I’ll just be over there admiring the night view. I must say, the skies have been wonderfully clear these past few nights. The stars are lovely.”
Unperturbed at being dismissed, Dumbledore strolled off cheerfully.
“So, what did you want to say to me, Professor?” Harry asked, turning his attention back to her. “If you need any help, I’d be happy to assist within my abilities.”
“Help?” Trelawney’s gaze locked onto Harry, her voice murmuring, “Yes, help. You could indeed help me…”
“Professor?”
“Ah!” Trelawney jolted as if waking from a trance, rubbing her temples. “Sorry, I just wanted to see for myself. They all say you’re gifted at divination—crystal clear, able to divine whatever you wish, and it always comes true.”
“As far as I know, there’s still one left to go,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Did you want me to divine something for you, Professor?”
“For me? No, no!” Trelawney shook her head frantically. “Having someone else divine for you is a seer’s disgrace. Even I would never—do you know of the Trelawney family? Or rather, Cassandra Trelawney?”
“I’ve read Greek myths with that name,” Harry said simply. “A Trojan princess and priestess of Apollo, gifted with prophecy by him but cursed to never be believed after rejecting him.”
“Muggle embellishments,” Trelawney said quickly, dismissing his summary. “Some wizarding legends do circulate among Muggles, but Cassandra Trelawney was indeed my grandmother—a highly talented seer. I’m her great-great-granddaughter.”
Talking about this wasn’t hard for her. Years ago, she’d tried leveraging her ancestor’s name to find work, though only Dumbledore had ultimately taken her in.
“So?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“I think—I mean—” Trelawney gasped a few times, struggling as if in conflict, before finally slumping in defeat. “I’ve seen how you divine for others—that water curtain. It’s such a remarkable method, almost enviable.”
“I’m guessing you’ve heard what most students think of me. Fraud, liar…” Trelawney said softly. “I tried using my Inner Eye to observe you. You truly have the gift—there’s no mist around you, while I…”
She looked utterly dejected, and Harry wondered if she was verging on self-pity. Some of her words felt more like venting.
“From what I know, Headmaster Dumbledore believes in you strongly,” Harry offered. “He thinks you’ve got real talent.”
“Oh, Dumbledore’s like that,” Trelawney said with a puzzled expression. “I don’t know why he trusts me so much, especially when no one else would hire me, and he even opened a new course at Hogwarts for me.”
“Because you once made a prophecy that came true, witnessed by Dumbledore himself—that’s why he believes in you,” Harry said calmly. “Simple logic.”
“Did I?” Trelawney seemed more confused than Harry. “But I don’t remember. I have no recollection—I—anyway, I heard the students saying anyone can divine if they become a shaman, so I came today…”
Her voice trailed off into a mumble Harry couldn’t catch.
Unlike most students, who’d shifted their views after witnessing Harry’s elemental shaman powers today, Trelawney had come solely for divination.
Maybe to learn, maybe to borrow from it—either way, she wanted to shed the “fraud” label. No one liked being called that by students, or she wouldn’t have spent years isolating herself in her tower, drowning in drink.
Sadly, Harry hadn’t touched on divination today, instead showcasing an entirely different kind of magic.
Very, very powerful magic.
And that only deepened Trelawney’s conviction that Harry could divine at will—though she’d chugged two bottles of Earthspirit Potion herself today and seen nothing.
The thing she craved was right in front of her, yet her lack of talent kept it out of reach. Talent, talent! Trelawney practically loathed the word.
If Hermione were here, she’d probably feel a pang of kinship with Trelawney over that.
“So, you want to become a shaman, gain the ability to divine freely, and become a legitimate Divination professor, right?” Harry asked seriously.
“…Yes,” Trelawney admitted after a few seconds of struggle.
“No problem,” Harry said readily. “I’d be happy to help you, Professor. But until the elements recover to a certain level, I’m afraid you can’t become a shaman yet, and I can’t pass my prophetic magic to you either.”
“Really?” Trelawney exhaled as if relieved, her excitement bubbling up. “Then when—I mean—thank you! What’s the cost? Gold? Jewels?”
“Nothing,” Harry said, shaking his head. “If you master my prophetic magic, I’d be the one delighted. And if you could take it further, I’d welcome you to discuss it with me.”
“Oh, and take these horns, Professor,” he added suddenly, pulling a pair from his dragonhide pouch. “They’ll help you connect better with the elements. I’ll have someone deliver more Earthspirit Potion later. Just stay calm and don’t rush it.”
“Of course! I will!” Trelawney trembled with excitement. “You’ve got a heart as big as Dumbledore’s, Harry! Thank you!”
She reached out to shake his hand, then hesitated as she noticed her sweaty palm, quickly wiping it on her skirt before extending it again.
“You’re welcome, Professor—Professor?” Harry’s tone turned grave. The moment he grasped her hand, Trelawney froze.
Her eyes went vacant, her expression blank. She gripped Harry’s hand tightly, her nails digging into his flesh.
“A child born in July will herald a new war.”
Suddenly, Trelawney spoke, her voice hoarse and low, as if something else were speaking through her.
A prophecy—a true prophecy of the wizarding world. Harry recognized her state instantly.
Ignoring the pain in his hand, he held his breath, listening intently, afraid to snap her out of it.
The prophecy continued, rapid and increasingly guttural.
“The Dark Lord, consumed by the past, blooms twisted flowers from corpses.”
“History, deliberately forgotten, rises anew…”
“The familiar turns strange… all becomes unrecognizable.”
“The wizarding world will birth its own king… conqueror of the dark blossoms…”
“Wars of the past… wars of the present… wars of the future.”
“There will be only one victor.”
For a moment, the November wind was the only sound on the grass. Then, under Harry’s gaze, Trelawney jolted awake as if from a deep sleep, her eyes regaining their spark.
“Sorry!!” She recoiled as if shocked, letting go of Harry’s hand with a panicked yelp. “I didn’t mean to—sorry!”
She’d noticed the bloody marks her nails left on his hand, and panic seized her.
“It’s not important,” Harry said, brushing off the minor injury and stepping forward. “Don’t you remember what just happened?”
“You made a prophecy, Professor Trelawney.”
