As expected of a group chosen to be Prefects.
Once the rough outline of the plan had been proposed, they wasted no time refining it. In a remarkably short span, they filled in the gaps and worked out the practical details—schedule, number of participants, lesson content, and various logistical arrangements. Bit by bit, the idea took on a clear structure.
The only thing still missing was a suitable location.
Amid all the enthusiasm, however, one person felt oddly out of place, like a bystander who had wandered into the wrong scene.
Strangely enough, no one pointed it out.
It wasn't Harry Potter, who wasn't even a Prefect. Nor was it Ron Weasley, who had willingly handed the floor to his friend.
It was Draco.
From beginning to end, he hadn't spoken a single word to anyone except Hermione.
Hermione gave him a slightly strange look at that thought, but soon shifted her focus back to the issue of a venue.
"If we're talking about somewhere secluded… don't we already have a place?"
She murmured it softly enough that only Draco, seated beside her, could hear.
The fact that she kept her voice so low made her intentions clear. Even though she admired Penelope, she had no desire to offer that place up so casually.
To their group, that place was irreplaceable.
More importantly, she didn't want to make that decision on her own.
Just when Hermione thought Draco would stay silent until the very end, he suddenly spoke.
Perhaps it was because the wizard he had been watching had already disappeared upstairs.
"You're talking about the Room of Requirement, aren't you?"
"Mm…"
"It won't interfere with our training. Don't forget—the Room of Requirement isn't a room in the conventional sense."
"Huh… when you put it that way… you're right."
Draco's reminder jogged her memory about the Room of Requirement's true nature.
It didn't simply transform into whatever room you imagined. Rather, it allowed you to access a space within Hogwarts that matched the conditions in your mind.
That distinction mattered.
In a way, it was less a room and more a form of magic—a means of locating exactly the kind of space you needed.
And more importantly, even if they revealed the secret of the Room of Requirement, it likely wouldn't disrupt their own organization's training.
Because the condition for accessing their particular room was…
A place that fulfilled Draco's vision.
The wizarding world had no concept of coordinated group combat tactics. And there certainly wasn't another wizard who possessed ideas as bold and unconventional as Draco's.
That was why Hermione was confident no one could stumble upon their training space through the Room of Requirement.
...
Penelope, who had been paying attention to Draco's side of the table for quite some time, clearly had no intention of letting this pass.
The moment she saw the look of realization on Hermione's face, her curiosity sharpened.
"I'd like to hear your thoughts, Hermione."
"Eh?"
Caught off guard, Hermione blinked, momentarily blank.
The brief dazed expression made her look unexpectedly adorable.
But she recovered quickly. Composing herself, she instinctively cast a pleading glance at Draco.
Although Penelope had addressed her by name, Hermione was sharp enough to notice the subtle direction of the older girl's gaze.
The real person Penelope wanted to hear from wasn't her.
And strangely, that realization didn't make Hermione feel slighted or discouraged.
If anything, she felt proud.
Faced with Hermione's trusting look, Draco had no intention of letting her become the subject of awkward scrutiny.
Under the table's strange collective stares, he first reached out and lightly tapped Hermione's pale forehead with his index finger.
When she shot him an embarrassed, annoyed glare in return, he finally seemed satisfied.
Only then did he lift his gaze and sweep it across the Prefects at the table.
In the end, his eyes settled on Penelope, who was watching him with clear expectation.
It was worth noting that his casual, intimate gesture with Hermione had already caused more than one wizard at the table to darken visibly.
There was shock at how close a Slytherin and Gryffindor seemed to be. There was displeasure at such behavior happening in the middle of an official meeting. And more than anything, there was irritation at Draco's apparent indifference to the discussion.
Completely unaware that his earlier gesture had left Hermione both flustered and furious, Draco calmly caught the small fist that was thumping against his waist and spoke in an even tone.
"If all we need is a place that—"
"Wait! I don't think anyone from Slytherin is capable of offering a worthwhile suggestion!"
"…"
"…"
A strange silence settled over the table.
The one who had jumped out to interrupt Draco wasn't Harry Potter, nor Ron Weasley, despite their recent conflicts with him.
It was the male Head Boy, who had clearly never liked Draco to begin with.
The sudden outburst caught Penelope completely off guard. Her expression darkened as she shot her partner a look of obvious displeasure.
She was just about to step in—
But Draco didn't give her the chance.
"Let's not forget how Umbridge dealt with this Malfoy when he defied the Educational Decree."
"Ugh—!"
Crash!
Wood splintered. Chips flew through the air.
Silence.
Aside from Hermione, who was biting back laughter, everyone at the table went rigid.
Ron Weasley's face twitched violently, unpleasant memories clearly resurfacing. He wisely chose not to say a word.
Because the male Head Boy who had just been speaking so confidently had been sent flying backward.
He crashed straight into the wooden wall behind him, half embedded in it.
For a brief moment, every patron in the Hog's Head turned to look.
Then, as if nothing unusual had happened, they calmly returned to their drinks and card games.
When the pub's owner saw Draco casually place a gold Galleon on the table, he simply leaned back behind the counter again.
As long as the damages were paid for, he had no intention of interfering.
After all—
This was the Hog's Head.