Setting up the seats took five, maybe ten minutes max. It ended up with Ron, Harry, and Hermione sitting at their table, while the rest—and there really were a lot of them, about thirty people from different houses and years, including the restless Weasley twins—were on the other side, sitting or standing, preparing to listen and drinking butterbeer straight from the bottles they'd bought at the bar.
It so happened that all my housemates ended up sitting near me—though it was only my year—and Malfoy, who had tried to position his chair to look like the one in charge but eventually gave up on the futile attempts; without any visible hierarchy, it was nearly impossible.
"So," Hermione spoke first. Her voice trembled slightly, both from nerves and from the sheer enthusiasm bubbling inside her—it was written all over her face. And why not? Social organizing, and such a successful turnout too! "Well, um..."
Taking a deep breath to calm herself under the gazes of a bunch of students from different houses, she continued:
"So... um... You know why we're gathered here. I had an idea that it might be useful for those who want to study Defense Against the Dark Arts... I mean, to really study it, not that rubbish Umbridge is feeding us..."
At this point, many couldn't suppress various knowing smirks, some just snorted, and Malfoy rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
"Well, I thought it would be worth taking matters into our own hands," my sister glanced sideways at her friends. "I mean, learning defense properly, not just theoretically, but with real spells."
"But you're still planning to pass your exams, right?" asked Michael Corner, the dark-haired Ravenclaw.
"Of course. But not just that. I want to truly master defense because... because..." Hermione took a deep breath. "Voldemort is back."
The reaction to that statement was immediate, if not explosive. Everyone either shivered, choked on their butterbeer, or started making some sort of inarticulate sounds, like Neville Longbottom, for instance. I think only Daphne, Draco, and I remained completely calm, and even more than that—Malfoy was insolently smirking as he watched the scene, having specifically sat where everyone, or almost everyone, was in his line of sight.
"That's the plan, anyway," Hermione nodded to herself and was about to continue.
"Hold on," I spoke up, drawing attention. "Just for clarity... Sis, you've decided to do this because of the Dark Lord's resurrection so that... what?"
"So we can defend ourselves, obviously."
"Phew," I wiped nonexistent sweat from my forehead. "For a second there, I thought you decided to fight a wizard who is about four times your age, has extraordinary experience fighting other wizards, and is one of the most powerful wizards alive, a Dark one at that."
My remark made a few people pause and think, especially Hermione, but Ron was more resolute.
"Harry's faced him a few times already, and he's fine..."
"More importantly," Zacharias interjected, "where's the proof?"
"Of what exactly?" Hermione shifted her gaze to my housemate.
"Where is the proof that You-Know-Who is back?"
"Well, Dumbledore believes it."
"Believes what? Be specific, please. You're saying very serious things, while everyone else—the Ministry, the DMLE, the Auror Office—claims the opposite. I think we'd all like to hear what compels you to think otherwise."
"There are reasons..." Hermione started to say, but Potter took over.
"I am stating that he's back," Potter even stood up from his seat. "I've encountered him a few times before this. But there is a much more important piece of evidence. Death Eaters have marks on their arms. They connect them to Voldemort."
Many flinched at the Dark Lord's name. Good propaganda, oh, very good...
"While he was disembodied, the marks were pale," Potter continued. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Malfoy hiding his surprise, which meant Potter's words held truth, and the vague magical sensations I'd felt from Snape's left arm had a perfectly understandable nature. "At the end of last year, I personally saw Karkaroff show... another Death Eater a mark that was filling with color..."
"Karkaroff was a Death Eater?" Alicia Spinnet, sitting next to Angelina, Katie Bell, and the twins—the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was here, by the way—asked in surprise.
"That's true," I replied, drawing attention. "I read the transcript of a Wizengamot session from fourteen years ago, where Karkaroff was tried as a Death Eater. During that very session, he sold out many of his comrades for his freedom. I imagine that's why they strung him up on a mast last year with 'Traitor' written in blood."
The mention of that incident drained the color from many faces—it wasn't something you heard about every day.
"Most likely," Potter nodded. "Ron and I had been actively keeping an eye on him and his activities. The day before that happened, Karkaroff kept muttering like a madman, staring at his arm: 'He's back, he's back, I have to run.' Draw your own conclusions."
"And Dumbledore believes..." Zacharias tried to continue the topic.
"He has reliable sources. He believes it, and I believe him," Potter nodded importantly.
The kids stayed silent, glancing at each other, and Potter sat back down. The evidence, of course, was flimsy, and if there had been older students here, they would have asked a bunch of different questions about it. I could have asked a couple more myself, but I didn't feel like it—whether the Dark Lord had returned or not didn't change the situation right now, specifically regarding our education. But as a broader issue... that was a different conversation.
"Anyway," Hermione used the resulting pause to resume her speech, "what I'm saying is: if you want to learn defense, then we need to decide how we're going to organize it, how often we'll meet, and where."
"I heard," a rather strange blonde girl with untidy platinum hair and radish earrings spoke up, "that Harry can cast a Patronus."
She spoke in an amusingly airy tone. Fourth-year Ravenclaw, if I'm not mistaken.
"Yes, that's true," Potter answered.
"A corporeal one?"
"Yes."
"Wow!" echoed from various sides of the room.
My Hufflepuff friends and I just exchanged glances and smirked, and Zacharias even snorted.
"You got a problem?" Ron bristled, glaring at Zacharias. "Who even are you?"
"Zacharias Smith, Hufflepuff," my housemate waved the redhead off. "And no problem at all. We all know how to cast a Patronus—it's not exactly a grand achievement."
"Oh really?" Ron looked at him with obvious doubt, as did Hermione.
"We learned it back in third year," Hannah nodded with a smile. "Dementors make for a great incentive."
I saw that the few older students, the Gryffindors for example, looked at our group with massive astonishment. Hermione looked at me reproachfully.
"Is this true?"
"Well, yeah, why? Is that supposed to be an achievement?" I smiled.
"Hector, you..." my sister puffed up like an angry mouse. "You are insufferable."
"And also," Ron smirked, drawing attention back, "Harry killed a basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor..."
And thus began the praises of our National Hero, lasting a solid five minutes. Malfoy, it seemed, had stopped looking at things from the perspective of "I want to do that too" and adopted a much more practical and comfortable stance that could be summarized as: "Merlin, what a circus!"
Potter constantly deflected, saying it was luck, that he had help, and so on. It was nice to see that he understood that nuance, and it was commendable.
"We came here to learn," Zacharias spoke up. I had noticed some caustic traits in his character before, but now he was displaying them in full force, "and the potential teacher was supposed to be Potter. But he's explaining to us that he actually doesn't know anything."
"He didn't say that!" Fred barked.
"Do you need your ears cleaned out?" George inquired, pulling a long, menacing-looking tool out of the bag they'd brought.
"Take the risk," I smirked, not moving an inch.
"And what are you going to do?" the twins redirected their aggression at me. "Take away points?"
"Pfft... Hahaha," Malfoy threw his head back in laughter.
In the heated atmosphere, it was like a bolt from the blue, and naturally, everyone turned their attention to Draco.
"He will flatten all of you combined like Merlin did the turtle," Malfoy crossed his arms and looked at everyone with a sly smirk.
"Are you praising me?" I turned to him with a matching smirk.
"Oh, no," Draco's smirk widened. "But I would very much enjoy watching it happen."
"Enough, guys," Hermione shut down the bickering. "Yes, we have a problem with our teacher. But we'll overcome it if we try. What's much more important is deciding how often we're going to meet, and where?"
Another debate broke out regarding meetings, times, and choosing locations.
"I can try to organize a spacious, warded room," I chipped in my two knuts. "But I need to think it over, and I can't promise anything specific just yet."
"Alright, we'll keep that in mind," Hermione nodded importantly, getting absorbed in the organizational work.
Malfoy leaned slightly toward me.
"I'm surprised you consider this circus an acceptable training option, Granger."
"I'm just helping my sister, Malfoy. But we can't rule out the possibility that collectively we might uncover something interesting."
"Oh, I highly doubt that," he shook his head.
During the meeting, ideas were floated that the location absolutely had to be secret, because Umbridge—according to available information—believed Dumbledore was raising his own army. Where this information came from, I obviously had no idea, but Harry and Ron asserted it with great confidence. Even though I don't consider them great intellectuals, they do have one trait—they don't lie. They might mistake a lie for the truth, but on important matters, they don't lie outright. Otherwise, Potter wouldn't be racking up detentions with Umbridge left and right trying to defend his truth. Plus, Ron was in touch with Percy, who worked at the Ministry, and that ambitious weasel was definitely keeping track of every minor shift to stay on top of the wave.
At some point during our negotiations, I felt someone almost break through, albeit stealthily, our privacy charms. Concentrating, without any unnecessary wand waving, I sent a simple sleeping pulse, akin to a Somnus charm, at the busybody sticking their nose where it didn't belong. A hollow thud echoed from the far corner as a head hit a table—the "witch," who turned out to be a man in drag, collapsed to the floor. The bartender was shocked by this, but a moment later, clearly recognized the wizard, got angry, and grabbing the sleeping man by the scruff of his neck, effortlessly dragged him to the fireplace, activated the connection, and tossed the poor sod into the green flames. To say everyone was surprised would be an understatement. But overall, I was pleased that I had prevented an information leak.
As our meeting concluded, it was decided that we would gather about once a week as soon as a suitable room for practice was found or prepared. With that, it seemed it was time to wrap up, but Hermione had come up with a method to prevent information leaks—signatures of the participants on an enchanted parchment serving as a roster for the future illegal club.
"Do you really think I'm going to sign a contract with no visible terms?" Malfoy sneered, looking at the Gryffindors with obvious bewilderment.
"Just sign it or get the hell out, Malfoy," Weasley fumed, but to my surprise, without drawing any overt reaction from Malfoy.
"Just draft a clear, simple contract with terms," he sighed sadly. "Merlin, what a bunch of idiots..."
"Watch your mouth," Potter stood up for his friend. "You're the one who came here; we didn't invite you."
"If you're going to do it," I spoke up under the gazes of the gathered crowd, "do it right, that's all."
Because Hermione had to draft a proper contract, we wasted an extra half hour, but at least now everyone could sign it without hesitation. Of course, there were a few disgruntled folks, like Cho Chang's friend who had also come along, but that was just white noise.
Only after that did we all leave the Hog's Head, and Daphne and I were able to go shopping and spend some time together. Yeah... It's going to be a difficult year after all. Or half a year—who knows, maybe we'll drive Umbridge out, or the Dark Lord will reveal himself, and the Minister will withdraw his pet pink toad from Hogwarts. Time will tell.
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