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HRA# Chapter 70: Little Harry’s Shaman Class Begins!
🕑 Added 2025-03-17 19:48:22 +0000 UTCIt was a wonderful evening—even Ron had to admit that much. By the end of the night, not even Snape, sitting right across from him, could dampen the Gryffindor warrior Ronald’s good mood.
He was at the table—devouring his meal with great enthusiasm.
That dish, irresistible to any beef lover, was met with universal praise. Even Snape, after taking a bite, showed a rather peculiar expression. He cast a glance at Harry, gave a slight nod, and then turned to Lily, remarking, “He’s inherited your talent well.”
Well, what happened next with James Potter goes without saying. The back-and-forth between him and Snape had become a source of amusement for everyone else.
All in all, it was an enjoyable dinner—for most, at least.
Harry rather liked such lively gatherings, especially when everyone present was either a friend or someone who had helped him. Watching them dig into the food he had prepared made his own appetite even better.
Dumbledore’s earlier joke about “a murderer destroying evidence” was, of course, just that—a joke. After his first bite, the old man’s eyes lit up, and he helped himself to several more servings.
By the time the gathering finally came to an end, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were struggling to get up—yes, they had eaten that much.
Sealing this wonderful evening into his memory, Harry lifted his gaze to the sky above—a false starry night, a fabricated world, fragments of scenery from his past.
But even if it was all an illusion, that didn’t mean the joy he felt at this moment was any less real.
"Even in this unfamiliar world, I’ve found friends I can trust."
Harry closed his eyes, speaking silently to Old Dad Cairne in the distance.
"So don’t worry about me, Dad..."
That night, nestled on a wooden bed covered in animal hides, Harry slept more soundly than ever.
--
The Shaman Club—A Lesson in Confusion?
To most wizards, the term "shaman" had an undeniably African feel to it.
At the mere mention of the word, their minds instantly conjured images of Africa—some young wizards, having traveled there with their parents, even began embellishing tales of the landscape and the way African wizards cast their spells.
For example, dancing around bonfires, chanting mysterious incantations, speaking in riddles, or concocting bizarre potions for people to drink.
In the eyes of most European wizards, shamans were inextricably linked to primitivism and mystery.
And now, Harry Potter—celebrity of the British wizarding world, acknowledged genius of Hogwarts, a boy who had never once stepped foot outside the UK—was actually setting up a Shaman Club at Hogwarts? It was, to say the least, baffling.
But what truly caught everyone’s attention was the notice pinned to the four House bulletin boards. The details leading up to it weren’t particularly important—just that Harry Potter would be holding the first official shaman lesson this weekend and would be selecting talented individuals to formally join the club.
For students unaware of the situation, this announcement boiled down to one simple fact:
Harry Potter—a mere first-year, whether a junior student or a peer—was about to launch an entirely new subject at Hogwarts. And he would be the professor.
Naturally, this led to mixed reactions.
Some students were skeptical. Harry Potter? Teaching a course? Really?
Others—like Ron and his ilk—believed in him wholeheartedly. No questions asked. Just pure enthusiasm.
But the real game-changer was the pair of signatures at the bottom of the notice:
Albus Dumbledore & Minerva McGonagall.
This was practically a public endorsement from Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, vouching for the validity of Harry’s Shaman Club. It wasn’t a scam, nor was it some elaborate prank.
Coupled with Harry’s long-standing fame in the wizarding world, his growing reputation as a genius since stepping into the magical community, and the buzz generated by last weekend’s Quidditch match—especially the respect he had gained from his recent streak of divinations—
The Shaman Club was making waves across Hogwarts.
Students were constantly approaching Harry with questions, and he answered each one with patience and enthusiasm.
By the time the weekend rolled around, Hogwarts students might not have fully grasped concepts like elemental forces or the power of spirits, but one thing was crystal clear—
Harry Potter’s ability to predict the future was because he was a shaman.
And if they wanted to learn the art of divination, they had better hurry and join the Shaman Club.
It wasn’t hard to see—Harry’s gift for divination had earned him respect and admiration.
This kind of prestige and influence wouldn’t just disappear upon his graduation—it would follow him into adulthood and beyond.
At this point, getting a reading from Harry required special conditions. Even then, it depended on whether he felt like it.
The infamous "50 Galleons per reading" rumor was still fresh in everyone’s minds.
Fame? Check.
Practical benefits? Check.
For kids their age, what could possibly be more enviable than that?
--
"So… all of these are club applications?"
Hermione glanced at the towering stack of parchment in front of her, feeling a little dizzy.
Honestly, this was the first time she had ever looked overwhelmed by something involving reading and writing.
In the corner of the Gryffindor common room, a round table was now completely buried under a mountain of parchment—application forms from students eager to join the Shaman Club… along with an assortment of flattering words.
It seemed that quite a few students believed heartfelt essays might help them secure a spot. Decades from now, this practice would probably be referred to as writing long-winded personal statements to join a group.
"Seriously, Harry, do we really have to read through every single one?"
Ron turned to Harry, eyes vacant.
"I think just going through them once will already be exhausting, let alone actually picking the right people."
"Don’t worry, Ron. It only looks overwhelming because they’re stacked together," Harry reassured him. "Remember, Hogwarts only has around three hundred students in total—it’s not like every single one of them is applying to my club."
"Especially Slytherin," he added with a smirk. "After last week’s Quidditch match, I doubt a single one of them will be signing up."
"Ah, the pride of the nobility, huh?" Hermione sneered coldly. "And all that talk about Slytherin unity. If they were really so united, Malfoy wouldn’t have gotten cornered in the courtyard and needed you to save him."
Harry had told Ron and the others about what happened that night, and after the initial shock, they had a good laugh about it. After all, Slytherins always boasted about their solidarity, especially when facing the other three houses.
"Wait!" Neville, who had been flipping through some parchment, suddenly widened his eyes. He held up an application form, his voice trembling with excitement. "Look at this! What is this?!"
Neville was practically shaking all over.
And when Ron saw what was written on the parchment Neville was holding, he started shaking too.
It was indeed a proper application to join the Shaman Priest Club, but the real shocker wasn’t the content—it was the name at the top: Draco Malfoy.
"We’ve summoned Malfoy!" Ron said, his face full of disbelief. "Why would he—I mean, I thought he’d say something nasty. Why would he do this?"
Draco Malfoy’s application was surprisingly formal. Not only was the wording elegant, but the handwriting was also in a beautiful cursive script. As Hermione put it, it reeked of aristocratic refinement from top to bottom.
"Cross it out! Cross it out right now!" Ron shouted excitedly. "Let me be the one to cross out his application! I’ve been waiting for a chance like this!"
"Don’t be ridiculous," Hermione snapped, snatching the application from Ron’s hands. "Do you think Harry is playing around? This isn’t the place for your antics."
"Wait, why not?!" Ron protested, unable to accept it.
"Harry’s goal is to introduce a new course at Hogwarts. He wants to become a professor here!" Hermione rolled her eyes. "If he’s going to be a professor, his class will need students from all four houses. He can’t show favoritism based on house affiliation."
At the last sentence, Hermione’s voice suddenly dropped, and she glanced at Harry guiltily.
After all, there was already a glaring example at Hogwarts of a professor who blatantly favored certain students and discriminated against others—Severus Snape.
"Ahem, I actually strongly disagree with Professor Snape’s methods," Harry said, clearing his throat. "As a professor, it’s better to be fair."
"Alright, alright," Ron grumbled, sitting back down with a look of reluctance. "So, Harry, how many people are we going to accept?"
"How many?" Harry thought for a moment. "Let’s accept everyone. I’ll go ask Professor Snape for help in brewing another batch of Spirit Bond Potion so that everyone can have some."
"Everyone?! Are you sure?!" Even Hermione was shocked this time. "Do you realize how many students in Hogwarts have submitted applications? Harry, no one wants to miss out on the power of divination—even the Gobstones Club doesn’t have this many members."
"Yeah," Neville chimed in, "and are you sure the area next to Hagrid’s hut is big enough? Honestly, with this many people… you might not even be able to see the faces of those sitting at the back."
Harry had originally planned to hold the class next to Hagrid’s hut. He had expected his course to be popular, but he hadn’t anticipated such overwhelming interest even after delaying it for a week to let the hype die down.
"It’s fine. If all goes well, there won’t be many people left by the second class," Harry said thoughtfully. "The numbers will dwindle as we go, and next year we’ll only need to test the new students. After all, the path of the shaman is quite demanding—"
"Yes, yes, it’s very demanding in terms of talent. You don’t need to repeat it, Harry," Hermione sighed deeply.
Honestly, she was starting to feel a bit of a headache every time she heard the word "talent."
"Don’t worry, Hermione," Harry joked. "Unlike the others, you three can have as much Spirit Bond Potion as you want. You can even drink until you’re full."
"Please, no potion tastes good. Who would want to drink until they’re full?" Ron complained. "By the way, when are you going to make that dish again? It was absolutely delicious!"
At the mention of the irresistible dish, Ron’s eyes lit up.
Harry thought about it but decided not to tell Ron that the current version of the dish was packed with magical enhancements and experimental ingredients.
"Next time, definitely," Harry laughed, thinking of the time the Pandaren had offered him drinks. "For now, let’s focus on replying to these applications."
To be fair, Hogwarts students were quite lively, and pranksters weren’t limited to Gryffindor. The other houses had their fair share of mischief-makers too.
Filch caught students from all houses sneaking around at night, not just Gryffindors.
As they went through the applications, Harry noticed that the reasons students gave could be roughly divided into three categories:
The first type was the most straightforward, simply stating that they were interested in learning divination and were curious about the Shaman Priest Club.
The second type included some fawning over Harry, with the applicants writing like they were his biggest fans.
As for the third type… well, they were clearly just messing around.
For example, this one:
"Just because they’re talented, smart, enthusiastic, lively, bold, and hardworking, while I’m just dumb, right? Yes, I’m dumb. My tears roll down my quill. You believe I’ve only ever eaten, but you don’t understand Gryffindor. You don’t understand my bravery. You’d rather stand next to Ravenclaw and trust those cunning smartheads instead of raising my hand. I hate you. I hate how decisively you reject me. Why? Why do you let them join your club? Why? What do they have that I don’t? Stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you, stab you."
Without even needing to check, Harry flipped the parchment over and saw the applicant’s name and house—yep, Gryffindor.
Straight to the accepted pile!
Send it out!
Some of the applications indeed filled the Gryffindor common room with laughter. In no time, Harry and the others had replied to all the applications and sent them off via owl post.
It felt like a holiday. The Shaman Priest Club had sparked widespread interest across the castle. The last time Harry had seen such excitement was during the lead-up to the Quidditch match the previous week.
Back then, every child from a wizarding family could tell a story about Quidditch, and everyone was buzzing with excitement. This week, however, everyone seemed convinced they had a talent for divination.
Honestly, Harry found it a bit frustrating. He had made it clear during consultations that divination wasn’t the entirety of being a shaman, but for Hogwarts students, divination was the coolest thing they could wrap their heads around.
Before they knew it, Saturday had arrived. After lunch, students began gathering near Hagrid’s hut in small groups. Hagrid had to keep a close watch on the edge of the Forbidden Forest to prevent any overly curious students from sneaking in.
The situation only calmed down when Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall arrived together, allowing Hagrid to finally relax.
Harry’s class was scheduled to start at 2 PM, but by the time he stepped out of Hagrid’s hut, the area was already packed with students. Just as Neville had predicted, it was impossible to see the faces of those sitting at the back.
Usually, when a large group of young people gathered in one place, the noise level would become unbearable. Even if everyone was whispering or chatting quietly, the combined voices of hundreds of people would create a deafening roar—even a class of a few dozen students could be overwhelming when they got rowdy.
But despite the large crowd near Hagrid’s hut, the area wasn’t in chaos. The reason? The presence of the professors.
Not only were Dumbledore and McGonagall there, but Professors Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, and even Quirrell had shown up. There was also a professor the younger students hadn’t seen before. From the whispers of the older students, they learned her identity—Professor Sybill Trelawney, who taught Divination at Hogwarts.
Wow. Just knowing what she taught was enough to get the students buzzing with excitement.
According to the older students, Professor Trelawney was basically a fraud. Every year, she predicted the death of a student, but so far, no one had died. Even Professor McGonagall had openly criticized her.
McGonagall’s personal endorsement! That was all the proof they needed.
As for Harry, his track record spoke for itself. Every divination he had performed so far had come true. What made him even more impressive was that if you could convince him to divine for you, you could learn anything you wanted. His skills had been thoroughly tested and proven.
The best part was that every detail of the future was crystal clear. No more struggling to decipher cryptic prophecies. You’d know exactly what to do and what to avoid.
