This year's Head Boy, Head Girl and Prefects were undoubtedly far busier than their predecessors.
Even holding a meeting meant sacrificing their rare free time.
And all of it was thanks to their dear High Inquisitor.
The moment Draco and the others stepped into the Hog's Head, they spotted plenty of familiar faces.
Penelope, as Head Girl, was naturally present.
Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang, Angelina Johnson, Ron Weasley—Prefects from every House had gathered here.
It was also worth noting that when Draco's group appeared, the Head Boy—whose name they had long since forgotten—shot them an unfriendly look.
Clearly, Draco and the others were the last to arrive.
"Is that everyone?"
After giving the room a cursory glance, Draco realized that not all the Prefects had received the student council's invitation.
His quiet remark made Hermione notice the same thing.
"Everyone here is some kind of representative figure from each House? Hmm… No, that's not quite right. If that were the case, that person shouldn't be sitting here."
"Maybe it's because of the one next to him?"
"When you put it that way… that does seem possible."
Draco didn't join their whispering. Instead, he followed their gaze.
There sat Ron Weasley, his bright red hair impossible to miss in a crowd.
And beside him, Harry Potter—who wasn't even a Prefect—was seated at the same long table.
...
The Hog's Head.
Located along the main road of Hogsmeade, the pub had stood in the wizarding world for centuries.
The thick grime coating its few narrow windows, and the fact that not a single ray of sunlight managed to slip inside despite the clear skies outside, said more than enough about its age.
Put nicely, it had character.
Put less kindly, it was filthy.
Dust coated everything from the floor to the ceiling. Even the bottles of Butterbeer were layered with grime.
Each rough wooden table held only a single candle, burned down so far that it looked as though it might sputter out at any moment.
In short, the instant Pansy stepped into the Hog's Head, every hair on her body stood on end.
"No way!"
"What do you mean no way? Don't make a scene, Parkinson. The senior already saw us."
"No, no, no… I'm going to die. Ugh! What is that smell?! I am not going in, Draco!"
She clutched at him, her face pale with horror, as if she had just set foot in hell itself.
Draco, who knew her well, immediately remembered—Pansy had a serious cleanliness obsession. An environment like this was completely intolerable to her.
The fact that she hadn't drawn her wand and blasted the place clean with an Exploding Charm was proof she was still managing to stay somewhat rational.
Watching her look ready to bolt for the door at any second, Draco couldn't help feeling both amused and exasperated.
Hermione, though equally disgusted by the surroundings, brightened at the sight of Pansy's frazzled state. The sparkle in her eyes made it clear she was already plotting something mischievous.
...
Bang!
The door swung shut behind them, and the already foul air in the pub seemed to grow even thicker.
Draco wasn't a neat freak—but he certainly wasn't about to suffer for no reason. Without hesitation, he cast a filtering charm over himself and Hermione to block out the stench and dust.
Under Penelope's welcoming gesture, he took a seat at the long table.
The moment he sat down, Penelope seemed to realize something. A trace of apology crossed her face.
"I'm sorry. I should have asked for your opinion first. But this really is a good place to talk."
Draco simply nodded.
As for the person Penelope truly meant to apologize to—she was currently outside the Hog's Head, standing in the sunlight and absolutely refusing to come in.
In truth, this was indeed a very secluded spot.
The grimy windows let in almost no light. The dim candles flickered weakly. The spacing between tables had clearly been arranged with care. In this murky space, it was nearly impossible to see who was sitting at another table, let alone hear what they were saying.
The dirt on the floor—and the sharp creaking noise it made underfoot—served another purpose as well. It made it extremely difficult for anyone using a Disillusionment Charm or wearing an invisibility cloak to sneak close without being detected.
By every measure, it was an ideal place for conversations not meant for others' ears.
Provided you could tolerate the environment.
And preferably brought your own cup.
"Ahem. Before we begin… I assume none of you are interested in trying the… Butterbeer here? Or anything else that looks remotely drinkable?"
After receiving Draco's silent understanding, Penelope cleared her throat and made a small joke.
Aside from Harry Potter, who looked confused and didn't quite catch the implication, the others let out quiet chuckles.
Hermione, who was also visiting for the first time, glanced thoughtfully around the dust-choked room, as if finally understanding.
When the brief laughter faded, Penelope's expression turned serious. She lowered her voice and moved straight to the point.
"Given the current situation, it's unlikely that Umbridge… Professor Umbridge's actions will change anytime soon. Worse still, the other professors are beginning to run into trouble as well."
She paused, then deliberately looked toward Ron Weasley.
The subtle gesture didn't go unnoticed. The Prefects exchanged puzzled looks.
"However, our Mr. Weasley's good friend seems to have come up with a promising idea. That's the real reason I asked everyone to gather here."
That explanation clarified not only why they had been called, but also why Harry Potter—who wasn't a Prefect—was sitting at the table.
As Penelope's gaze shifted, so did everyone else's.
All eyes settled on Harry Potter.
Under the collective scrutiny, he looked slightly flustered.
The Boy Who Lived… nervous?
Yet the moment Draco's gaze joined the others, something shifted inside Harry.
The unease and tension that had gripped him were swept away, replaced by a strange, surging feeling.
Excitement.
Or perhaps—
The thrill of proving himself superior.