[...It was he who saved those lost souls, he who ensured we no longer had to endure the anguish of a cursed bloodline, watching families torn apart, bonds of kinship scattered... This is something the Dark Lord could never achieve, something neither Dumbledore nor Grindelwald could accomplish—not even in the farthest reaches of time has any wizard managed such a feat.]
[He changed the wizarding world!]
[Harry Potter!]
[This writer can say without exaggeration that, at this very moment, in my heart, all the wizards of the past millennia, all those so-called paragons of their eras, pale in comparison to our Professor Potter!]
[Because he brought warmth to those we once could only ignore in the shadows, granting them a new future.]
[...]
Harry couldn't bear to read any further. The rest was just page after page of lavish praise. He tossed the newspaper onto the table beside him, feeling he needed a moment to clear his head.
Rita Skeeter had probably lost her mind entirely—she'd even gone so far as to attack the Ministry of Magic in her article for turning a blind eye to the plight of Squibs, lambasting the widespread prejudice against them in the wizarding world. From the government to the average witch or wizard, she'd torn into everyone, and yet her words were so incisive that no one could argue back. Instead of anger, her readers were left feeling ashamed.
"Hey, Harry! Careful! I haven't read it yet!" Ron dove to catch the newspaper before it sailed into the roaring fireplace, then began reading with relish. "Honestly, if I didn't have memories of Rita's old articles, I'd almost think she's your biggest fan."
"I thought so too," Neville nodded. "If you think about it, Rita's never really said anything bad about Harry in the papers, has she? Even when she was constantly attacking Professor Dumbledore."
"Yeah, nothing bad," Hermione said with a mocking edge. "Back then, she just described Harry like he was still a baby sucking on a bottle."
"At least he's weaned now," Ron shrugged, raising the newspaper to block Hermione's murderous glare.
"Look, Rita Skeeter is not a good person," Hermione said, retracting her venomous stare. "She's only holding off on badmouthing Harry because it doesn't suit her yet. The moment no one cares about these issues—or about her—she'll spin lies about Harry without hesitation, just like she did with Dumbledore!"
Wise beyond her years, Hermione saw through it all.
"Don't worry about Rita's articles," Harry said, trying to calm her. "I've got my eye on her."
For now, at least, Harry saw Rita as an ally... well, sort of. The revelation that Squibs could become shamanic priests and wield magic had been unexpected, but it was still under control.
Even through the embellished prose, Harry could sense Rita's wild enthusiasm. For her, these past two years must have been a golden age—big stories kept falling into her lap, letting her fire off righteous attacks against the Ministry, Dumbledore, everyone! It was exhilarating for her.
She didn't even need to dig for half-truths or exploit loopholes like before. Just telling the truth was enough to draw every eye in the wizarding world.
When owls descended like a storm on the Daily Prophet's editorial office, Rita felt, for a fleeting moment, like the god of the wizarding world. Nothing could hold her back.
Too much glory could become poison, though. Harry suspected he wouldn't even need to intervene—the Ministry would rein Rita in, teaching her not to say whatever she pleased in print. But for now, as he stared at the elderly man who'd burst into his office and thrown himself at Harry's feet, sobbing uncontrollably, Harry was utterly stunned.
"Teacher! My great teacher! It's all my fault! My fault!"
No student at Hogwarts could have imagined the despised caretaker, Argus Filch, reduced to such a state.
His weathered face was haggard, his already thinning hair nearly gone. Stumbling into Harry's office, Filch collapsed at his feet, trying to kiss Harry's shoes in apology, startling Harry so much he leapt aside.
"Calm down, Filch!" Harry waved his wand, pulling Filch upright and settling him into a nearby chair. "What's going on?"
"I... I failed you," Filch said, his face contorted in pain. "That day..."
It was when Filch was cleaning the castle corridors that Rita appeared out of nowhere. Introducing herself as a Daily Prophet reporter, she claimed she was at Hogwarts to interview staff about their views on elemental magic and shamanic priests.
What followed was predictable—even Ron could've guessed it. At Hogwarts these days, only one person saw Harry as a god and the pinnacle of faith.
Argus Filch.
Even the students who loathed him most would admit it. The man openly expressed his worship and gratitude toward Harry at every opportunity, in every corner of the castle.
So when Rita posed her question, the result was inevitable. Like a missionary who'd found his ideal convert, Filch poured out Harry's great deeds and personal guidance, hoping Rita would join him in devotion.
But what awaited Filch was a copy of the Daily Prophet, exposing his status as a Squib. No wonder students were pointing at him wherever he went today. For the first time, a teary-eyed young girl had even run up to him, offering a bouquet of flowers, leaving the old man utterly bewildered.
To Filch, the students' sympathy and understanding weren't the issue. What mattered was that he clearly remembered Harry's instructions last year, after becoming a shamanic priest, to keep his Squib status a secret. Now it was out in the open.
At the thought, Filch tried to throw himself to the floor again, seeking atonement through self-punishment. But no matter how he struggled, Harry's magic held him firmly in place.
The frenzied scene unnerved the few students seated nearby, who shuffled their chairs farther from Filch.
"Calm down, Filch," Harry repeated, trying to soothe him. "It's not a big deal. Even if it's out there, it doesn't matter."
Filch's state reminded Harry a little of his house-elf, Alfred—back when he was still called Dobby. The caretaker's behavior wasn't unlike a house-elf seeking to punish itself, a mindset Harry didn't want to encourage.
"Really, my great teacher?" Filch stopped struggling, his eyes dazed. "I really—"
"Don't worry. Go get some rest, Filch. That's an order," Harry said with a sigh. "Don't let outside noise shake your resolve."
"...Thank you, thank you, teacher... thank you..."
Filch staggered out, burdened by the weight he'd put on himself.
"Er, is everything okay, Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned. Until Filch's outburst, they hadn't paid much attention to the Squib issue, too focused on Rita.
"It's fine," Harry said with a small smile. "There are bigger things for the wizarding world to focus on."
"Bigger things?" Ron, Hermione, and Neville exchanged glances, but Harry wouldn't elaborate.
Rita's article had a bigger impact than Harry expected. Within days, Hogsmeade, the wizarding village near Hogwarts, was packed. With inns overflowing, many wizards pitched tents along the river.
This sudden influx caught the attention of Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. Hagrid even set aside helping Harry decorate his office, grabbing his crossbow and dagger to patrol the path between the castle and Hogsmeade, ensuring no dark wizards slipped in to harm students.
The Ministry was alerted quickly, and when Aurors arrived, they were stunned to find most of the newcomers were Squibs. Some came with wizard relatives, but those were rare.
They all craved one thing.
A real chance to become wizards, to wield magic.
Each day, groups of Squibs gathered at Hogwarts' perimeter. They couldn't cross the path guarded by Hagrid's vigilant watch, but they could see the towering, uniquely styled totem structure.
By now, the giant totem's existence was no secret, splashed across the Daily Prophet's front page, informing the entire British wizarding world of Hogwarts' transformation.
Because of this, the Squibs knew what that strange structure meant and understood that the man—the boy—who'd worked miracles lived within it.
"What are you going to do?" Standing with Harry atop the giant totem, Dumbledore could easily see the gathered Squibs below.
They didn't rush Hagrid's one-man barricade, didn't shout, didn't disrupt the older students passing through to Hogsmeade on weekends. They just stayed, from morning to night, day after day.
Some returned to Hogsmeade at night to rest, but others stayed, moving their tents or sleeping on the grass under the open sky.
Even when Ministry Hit Wizards tried to disperse them, they wouldn't leave. The Hit Wizards couldn't resort to force—not with Daily Prophet reporters snapping photos nearby.
"Most of them are too old to become shamanic priests," Harry said, recalling his distant observation. "And their mental state isn't great."
What Squib wasn't a little unhinged?
Those who'd left the wizarding world for Muggle society were one thing, but those lingering in the shadows of wizarding society, ignored and overlooked—who among them wasn't a bit warped?
Compared to them, even Filch seemed almost charming. At least Dumbledore had looked out for him.
"I should warn you, Harry," Dumbledore said with a touch of humor, "the Board of Governors probably won't approve a senior citizen class at Hogwarts."
"Why not?" Harry teased back. "Don't they want to see these youthful elders learn magic?"
"Youthful elders?" Dumbledore burst into laughter. "That's a wicked phrase, Harry. I must say it's rather cruel. By that logic, am I an ancient elder?" He roared with laughter.
Harry joined in.
"All right, all right, enough joking," Dumbledore said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "We can't keep ignoring this."
"The Squibs' place in wizarding society, or the ones camped outside Hogwarts?" Harry asked.
"Both," Dumbledore said meaningfully. "You're still young, Harry. You wouldn't want to end up with a tarnished reputation like me. If we let them linger out there, that reporter friend of yours will be delighted."
Harry Potter Ignores Squibs?
Or perhaps Harry Potter Discriminates Against Squibs?
Rita Skeeter always had a knack for catchy headlines—ones a straightforward Tauren like Harry could never dream up.
"I know," Harry nodded.
"Are you planning to teach them elemental magic?" Dumbledore asked, intrigued.
At some point, watching Harry's actions had become the old man's greatest source of amusement.
Especially recently, with the Tauren-styled buildings and ritual sites—they'd sparked Dumbledore's curiosity.
So the moment Harry finished building, Dumbledore had returned like a bolt of lightning.
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