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HRA# Chapter 67: The Quidditch Club and Ron's Tears of Ash
🕑 Added 2025-03-14 21:32:03 +0000 UTC"Haha, go ahead, laugh! Laugh all you want!" Letting out two dry chuckles, Ron spoke with resignation. "I knew it would be like this. Merlin's beard! If you were in my shoes, you'd finally understand just how cruel Snape can be!"
Harry looked up at the sky.
Thank you, Professor Snape.
You've taught Ron courage, freed him from his past fears—he can even face Death Eaters now without flinching.
You truly are a saint.
As a professor, your impact on a student’s character development is truly remarkable.
"It's alright, Hermione." Not wanting to add insult to injury, Harry changed the subject. "Here, take these. Keep them with you at all times, no matter what. Don’t lose them."
As he spoke, Harry pulled a few small objects from his dragon-hide pouch—items that, at first glance, resembled miniature totems—and handed them to Hermione and the others.
"What are these, Harry?" Neville eagerly took his share. "Will they protect us from You-Know-Who’s followers?"
"Of course not." Harry rolled his eyes. "If you actually run into Voldemort or Quirrell and they come after you, running for your life should be your first priority. Don't think carrying this will let you win a fight."
Given the current security situation at the castle, Harry had decided to make some trinkets to ensure his friends' safety.
"Do we just wear them, or do we need to enchant them?" Hermione examined the small totem closely, scrutinizing its intricate carvings.
The design seemed to depict flowing water, with unfamiliar symbols etched into its surface. It had a slight weight to it, and when it touched her skin, she could feel a subtle, damp sensation.
"Just wear it as a necklace," Harry explained simply. "No need for spells, but you do need to soak it in water for fifteen minutes every day."
"Its function is straightforward. If someone casts a spell on you, a water shield will appear to block a few hits. It can also defend against physical attacks—say, if someone tries to stab you with a knife." Harry summarized, "In any case, if you see the shield appear, run."
"Find me or find Dumbledore—just get away from danger."
"We're wizards, Harry. Not Muggles," Ron scoffed. "No one's going to attack us with a knife. And besides, you're the only wizard who walks around in chainmail with a war hammer and a shield. Speaking of which, you don’t have a shield anymore—what are you going to do?"
Harry's shield had been corroded into a useless lump by dark magic during the Halloween night battle.
Despite his complaints, Ron still fastened the totem around his neck. Neville, unsurprisingly, followed suit immediately—he had always been superstitious about protective charms and constantly carried them for safety.
"No rush. Once the house in my trunk is finished, I'll pick up my old craft and forge a new shield for myself," Harry shrugged.
"Oh, right!" Ron's eyes lit up. "Our secret base!"
"Which still doesn’t exist," Hermione retorted, exasperated. "So you've really decided to live on that cliff?"
"That’s right," Harry confirmed. "Now, let’s go. Time for dinner—Astronomy class later tonight."
After securing approval from Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore, a formal notice was posted on the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and—yes—even Slytherin common room bulletin boards. The announcement, signed by both Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, stated that the Shaman Club would officially begin classes next week.
Originally, Harry had planned to start the club this week, but with the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match and McGonagall suggesting the notice stay up longer for more students to see, he postponed it by a week.
It also gave time for those still hyped over Gryffindor’s spectacular victory to calm down.
Life at Hogwarts was proceeding in a steady, organized manner—just the way Harry liked it. Everything was peaceful, structured, and filled with new learning experiences. Well, maybe a bit too peaceful and lacking in excitement, but otherwise, there were no complaints.
This week’s Transfiguration Club meeting took place as scheduled. As Professor McGonagall had stated from the beginning, the club focused on applications of Transfiguration rather than dueling tactics.
Since an article in Today’s Transfiguration had recently shared some insights into the uses of Switching Spells, this meeting was dedicated to understanding those advanced concepts.
After the lesson, McGonagall held Harry back.
"You’re not facing any difficulties with Transfiguration anymore, are you, Mr. Potter?" she asked sternly.
"None at all, Professor. You’ve already helped me overcome my biggest challenge," Harry replied with a grin. "And I think you’ll like the gift I prepared for you."
A resounding Gryffindor victory.
McGonagall coughed lightly, choosing not to comment on the recent Quidditch match, though she clearly understood what Harry meant.
"Are you interested in playing for a club team?" she asked directly. "I mean—the professional Quidditch League?"
"Yes."
Harry's response was brief, but McGonagall continued as if she hadn’t heard him.
"Wizards live long lives, Harry. You're young, and there are many things worth experiencing—especially things few others can do at your age. What? You say you’re already interested?" McGonagall looked stunned.
"Actually, the Gryffindor team already brought it up after the match," Harry shrugged. "I do want faster-paced, more intense games."
"Ah, oh, well... Alright then, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said awkwardly. "I'll help you connect with reputable clubs, so don't worry. Of course, if you already have a preferred team, let me know."
This wasn’t unfamiliar territory for McGonagall. Hogwarts students received career counseling in their fifth year, where they discussed future job prospects with their Head of House. The school provided brochures, pamphlets, and guidance on different wizarding careers, while professors had the authority to make recommendations.
Employers in the wizarding world were usually eager to accept students endorsed by Hogwarts professors.
Essentially, McGonagall was giving Harry an early career recommendation.
Though Harry was young, in Quidditch, age wasn’t as important as skill. What mattered was whether a player was strong enough to win for their team, their club, and their fans.
"I’ll follow your arrangements, Professor," Harry said seriously. "But no matter which club it is, I have one condition."
"And what is that?"
"I haven’t graduated from school yet. There’s still so much knowledge waiting for me to learn, and so many books I have to read," Harry explained. "So I can't spend every day at the club like those full-time players. At most, I can spare one day each weekend to train with them—that's my bottom line."
For the vast majority of Hogwarts students, attending school was about securing a respectable job after graduation, something stable enough to support themselves. If they were given the opportunity to join a professional Quidditch team, many wouldn’t hesitate to drop out.
But not Harry. To him, Quidditch was nothing more than a way to stay active, a hobby, a pleasant surprise—but never something that could interfere with what truly mattered.
"A very strict condition, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall responded seriously. "But I must admit, your skills do warrant such demands. After all, there is precedent for this in the wizarding world. Don't worry, child, go ahead."
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall. May the Earthmother bless you," Harry said, bowing slightly before leaving her office.
Once the door shut behind him, Professor McGonagall sat in deep thought.
"The Earthmother… Who?"
"Merlin, perhaps?"
...
The great Ron Weasley had finally returned to his most loyal secret base.
And he was chopping wood.
When Harry climbed down the ladder into the trunk, he found Ron staring blankly ahead, wand in hand, slicing away at a tree. He stripped off its branches, peeled away the bark, then cut the trunk into evenly sized planks.
This was Ron’s current task.
Honestly, in just a day and a half, Ron’s spellwork had improved significantly—especially with the Levitation Charm (Wingardium Leviosa) and the Severing Charm (Diffindo).
Particularly Diffindo. It was supposed to be a second-year spell, but Ron had already mastered it ahead of schedule.
And yet, despite this being his first time excelling in a spell outside the curriculum, Ron felt no joy. On the contrary, his eyes were constantly brimming with tears.
"Hurry up, Ron!" Hermione sternly urged. "Neville and I have already finished our section—why haven’t you?!"
"She’s right, Hermione," Harry added, walking over with a barely concealed grin. "Ron, you were the loudest one shouting about a secret base. You can’t back out now."
"No!! This is not what I imagined a secret base would be like!!" Ron howled in despair. "I’m exhausted! I just want to play wizard’s chess or Exploding Snap!"
"Oh? Harry, you’re back!" Hermione turned to him excitedly. "Do you think we have enough wood to build a house yet?"
"Probably not," Harry glanced around. "If it were just for me, then sure. But I’m guessing you’d both like your own rooms too, right?"
"Of course!!" Hermione exclaimed. "Did you hear that, Ron? Neville? We still need more wood! Get back to work!"
Clearly, Ron wasn’t the only one thrilled about this secret base—Hermione was just as excited.
She might seem serious, but deep down, she had an adventurous spirit and a thirst for discovery. Perhaps McGonagall had been like this in her youth too, Harry mused.
Seeing Ron’s unresponsive expression, Hermione raised her wand—
"Ow!" Ron yelped, leaping off the ground as though pricked by a needle. His face turned bright red. "You wicked witch! What spell did you just hit me with?!"
"The Needle Jinx," Hermione said smugly, twirling her wand like an old western gunslinger before blowing imaginary smoke from its tip. "Quit pretending. I controlled the magic perfectly—you’re not hurt at all. Now get back to work! No slacking!"
To be honest, Hermione was a little scary right now. Ron wanted to argue, but after glancing at the neat stack of perfectly cut planks she had produced—and then at his own pile—he wisely shut his mouth.
"Fine," he gritted out.
As for Neville... well, the moment Hermione started using spells on Ron, he had already leaped up and started working again—one hand gripping his wand, the other protectively covering his backside.
The sight made Harry feel a little sentimental. For a moment, Ron and Neville's skin seemed to turn green in his mind, and they kept muttering, "Work, work"—but good job, Hermione!
If you want to live in your own secret base, you’ve got to earn it!
Compared to just a few weeks ago, when the trunk was nothing but barren land, now it was a sea of green.
Harry had already marveled at it before, but he had to admit—wizarding magic and potions were truly incredible.
First, he turned the trunk’s sky into an overcast gray, then made it drizzle. After that, he scattered potion-infused mist into the artificial clouds—first a few batches of nutrient rain, then growth-accelerating potion rain.
Finally, he camped outside Dumbledore’s office, waiting to catch the Headmaster. Once he did, he dragged him inside to cast a few powerful Herbivicus spells.
Thanks to Harry’s careful planning, the environment inside the trunk was now completely transformed.
The river had widened, its waters deeper and more abundant. The transplanted trees had not only survived but thrived under the influence of potions.
On the eastern cliff, Harry had planted various fruit trees—once they bore fruit, they’d never have to worry about fresh produce.
Not a single patch of barren land remained. Everywhere was lush with grass and blooming flowers. Harry wasn’t sure what season the trunk technically counted as, but he decided to call it spring—utterly different from the winter outside.
The only thing missing was a true sense of wildlife.
There weren’t any large animals. Sure, there were plenty of bugs in the soil, but not even a snake or a rabbit.
Harry had considered raising magical creatures like Newt Scamander, but he had no intention of managing an entire menagerie. He’d only keep a few of his favorites near home and introduce species suited to the environment to let them establish a natural ecosystem.
He also needed some mundane animals—maybe deer, wild boar, or even bison. He was craving Thunder Bluff-style roasted pork ribs.
"So, Harry, are you planning to use these herbs to make potions?" Hermione crouched beside him, eyes shining with curiosity. "I’ve never seen anything like this in any potion textbook. Is this something exclusive to shamanism?"
"Yes," Harry replied while sorting through the herbs. "Only a rare few are born naturally attuned to the elements and spirits. For most, a bottle of Spirit Bonding Potion is essential to walk the shaman’s path."
"You too, Harry?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Me too." Harry nodded.
Honestly, he was grateful that when he returned to this world, the only change was his age. If his body had been altered, he had no idea how long it would’ve taken to recreate the Spirit Bonding Potion and regain his shamanic abilities.
At the very least, not until he had received his Hogwarts letter.
"So, when we join your shaman club, do we have to drink this potion?" Hermione pressed on. "What does it feel like? Will it make us dizzy? Can we see things we normally can’t? What do elements look like? What about spirits? Are they scary?"
"I could answer all of that," Harry said mischievously. "But I won’t. That would ruin the mystery—now get back to cutting wood, Hermione. I need to brew more potions, just in case we run out during class."
"Yeah, Hermione, why do you get to slack off? That’s not fair!" Ron weakly protested, now half-lounging as he lazily waved his wand to cut planks.
"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione snapped, stomping back to her workstation, each step deliberately forceful—as if she were stomping on Harry’s face instead.
Comments
Samuel S.
Ron would make a great warlock. 😂
WarPig Legion
Hahahaha. That "Work, work" bit got me laughing. As a warcraft player myself I am loving this story.
