Canon Alert: On their meeting in Hog's Head, I have copied some lines from the HP canon to keep it as aligned as possible, sans Harry, who was of course, still aboard NX-01 Enterprise.
On their way to Hogsmeade, Hermione and Ron trailed along the long line of students, ready to be inspected by Mr. Filch, the school caretaker, whether their names are in the list.
They walked briskly down the slope on their way to Hogsmeade after inspection.
"D'you reckon that they've roped off the section where the Death Eaters were killed?" Ron asked Hermione.
"Only way to find out." Hermione replied, not bothering to correct the error that they might be just former Death Eaters.
They circled the village outskirts, which had nothing to show at all. Ron and Hermione were losing some hope in this case. If anything, the Ministry did quite a great job of cleaning the mess.
"Hermione, look!" Ron called out to her. Hermione ran to him.
Ron touched what appeared to be a scorch mark on the tree he's standing beside right now.
"You were burned back in the Quidditch practice." Hermione recollected.
"Looks like they've got a the hang of fire spells." Ron touched the scorch marks with the tip of his fingers.
"Look, there's another one." Hermione pointed to the other tree. It also had scorch marks. They ran to it.
"It looks too thin for a fire spell." Hermione declared, eyes glued to the tree trunk. The trunk sported long, black lines across it on one side. Then contemplative silence. "Laser beams."
"Laser beams?" Ron scowled.
"Muggle stuff." Hermione interjected. "Light drawn into thin lines. But I won't be surprised if the Ministry's discovered new spells."
"Hermione, these are vigilantes. We can't be certain that they're working for the Ministry."
"Ron, just because someone's in the Ministry, it doesn't mean they're allied to it." Hermione interjected, still scanning the clearing. Ron walked along, looking for more clues. They leafed through the bushes, brambles, and grasses. They seemed to have found nothing, for they have kept their bloodhound look on the ground around them.
"Look." Ron picked something up from a thicket. Hermione's eyes darted to the thing on Ron's hands.
They eyed it closely. The thing in question looked like a dreadfully-shrunken shark body hardened into smooth armor. Its appendage looks even weirder. It was black, a bit hooked, and grooved to the sides. Ron eyed it with curious interest. Hermione, however, looked at it as if she had seen something like it before.
"Firelegs." Ron muttered.
"No, firearms." Hermione gently picked it up from his hands. She aimed it at the nearby tree trunk and squeezed what looks like the trigger. The firearm glowed from the tip; releasing a jet of red light. Both Ron and Hermione cringed, but her finger on the trigger squeezed steadily, until the trunk grew red hot and that it suddenly exploded. They ducked to avoid the jumping flames.
They gave each other knowing looks. It's a surprise that the Ministry has not found this device.
"We better keep it." suggested Ron.
Hermione gave him an affirmative look. She immediately fitted it inside her jacket pocket with Harry's wand.
It wasn't long before all the senior staff found out all about Harry. Harry is The Boy Who Lived, the only survivor to the terrorist Lord Voldemort's attack. None of them, not even Archer, had the slightest understanding on how Harry, as a baby, was able to repel the fatal attack (which they imagine as a fatal dose of particle radiation coming from Hermione's wand) when his parents, both fully-grown wizards, aren't able to. What they understand is that Harry is the only person who had survived this curse.
Only Dr. Phlox seemed to show a lot of fascination on him, his scar in particular. Dr. Phlox has discovered that Harry's scar contains plenty of magical residue (they gave it a new term), similar to the one found on Commander Tucker's wounded thigh.
What frustrated Dr. Phlox is that he had no means of extracting this residue, neither from Commander Tucker or from Harry Potter, and so he asked Harry how it could be done.
"I don't have any idea." Harry shrugged as he sat up on the bio-bed one day in Sickbay. Hermione could have given the Denobulan a more intelligent reply.
"Perhaps I can give you a slight analgesic. I have no medical background on treating magical injuries, but perhaps this could relieve your headache for a few hours." Phlox smiled, his hands on a hypospray. "Hold your chin up, please."
Dr. Phlox seemed to have forgiven him. The Denobulan imagined that such an advanced branch of…magic requires degrees and marks that are up to Starfleet specifications.
At least Harry isn't confined to the Brig anymore. Archer felt, that as long as Harry has no wand in his hands, he can roam around the ship as often as he like, sans the restricted sections. A crewman led him to his guest quarters on E-Deck, which is a slight improvement to the blanket-less Brig. Though dully gray and blue all over, it had books, a shower, a lavatory, a red bed, and some spare clothes. The best part about it must be the window, where Harry has a great look on the planet Earth.
Harry could not help but feel trapped, though-a feeling reminiscent with his stay with the Dursleys'. The starship is in high orbit; no owls could possibly reach him here. He had not once heard from Hermione, Ron, or Sirius one summer. While the absence of the bad guys like Voldemort, Snape, and Umbridge pleased him, the delightful things like Quidditch, Ron, Hermione, and Hogwarts in general offset all of it.
Then Harry's scar started to sear again. He did not feel the headache that usually came along with it-thanks perhaps to Dr. Phlox's analgesic. But the burning sensation was head-splitting all the same. While it burned, he saw flashes of black doors and black tiles appearing before him. His eyes travelled everywhere along that black corridor, corridor, and another black corridor. Then the scenery changed. Everything has suddenly turned green and yellow. Harry found himself surrounded with decks and decks of what appeared like giant glowing keyboards. The high ceiling was metal and green and forbidding. The lighting is strange to him; the lamps are spiky and oddly-shaped. This is no Muggle or wizard architecture.
"You fool," Harry said in a high voice. "You do not bother with the boy! The boy will come to me!"
He is facing a tall creature, the most terrifying creature he has ever seen. Spikes sprout from his horrid green, red, and yellow scales. Yet he had a head, two legs, and two hands. Horridly reptile-looking this creature is, he made no mistake in believing that this is as sentient as a human.
"My Lord, we should proceed in both fronts. We kidnap the boy, while we continue our search."
"You dare raise your voice to the Dark Lord!" Harry interjected, hissing. At the instant he muttered "Crucio," and the alien was soon on the ground, writhing in pain. "You dare tell the Dark Lord what to do!"
Harry blinked and gasped. And he's back in his guest quarters again.
Ron and Hermione hurried to the Hog's Head.
It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be compressed earth, though as they stepped on to it they realized that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries.
The two looked around them, eyeing the shrouded figures that might have been dementors if they have not spoke.
"I don't know about this, Hermione," Ron muttered, as they crossed to the bar. He was looking articularly at the heavily veiled witch. "Has it occurred to you Umbridge might be under that?"
Hermione cast an appraising eye over the veiled figure.
"Umbridge is shorter than that woman," she said quietly. "And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here there's nothing she can do to stop us, Ron, because I've double- and triple-checked the school rules. We're not out of bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing."
"No," said Ron dryly, "especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?"
The barman sidled towards them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to the two of them.
"What?" he grunted.
"Two Butterbeers, please," said Hermione.
The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar.
"Four Sickles," he said.
"I'll get them," said Ron quickly, passing over the silver. Then the barman turned away and deposited Ron's money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Ron and Hermione retreated to the furthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around. The man in the dirty grey bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman.
"You know what?" Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. "We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn't care. I've always wanted to try Firewhisky -"
"You - are - a -prefect," snarled Hermione.
"Oh," said Ron, the smile fading from his face.
"Where are they now?" muttered Ron.
Hermione checked her watch and looking anxiously towards the door. "I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is - oh, look, this might be them now."
The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people. First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with Cho and one of her usually-giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Harry might not have known; three Ravenclaw boys Ron was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot, Ginny, closely followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Ron recognized vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and, bringing up the rear, his brothers Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.
Hermione turned to Ron happily, "Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?"
The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full.
"Hi," said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly, "could we have… twenty-five Butterbeers, please?"
The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty Butterbeers from under the bar.
"Cheers," said Fred, handing them out. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these…"
When they have settled down on their Butterbeers and paid up, Hermione finally spoke.
"Well, er, hi." She smiled nervously.
The rest eyed her for a long while.
"You all know why we were here." She continued, "You see, Harry had an idea. I mean, I had an idea, that we study Defense Against the Dark Arts. And I mean, to really study it, you know, not the rubbish Umbridge is giving us, because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Hear, hear," Anthony Goldstein commented. Hermione looked heartened, and her voice became stronger.
"I think it would be better for us if we would take matters into our own hands." Pause, "And by learning it, we won't simply study it in theory, but actually do real spells."
"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?" said Michael Corner, who was watching her closely.
"Of course I do," said Hermione at once. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defense because… because…" she took a great breath and finished, "because Lord Voldemort is back."
The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho's friend shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Ron and Hermione.
"Well… that's the plan, anyway" said Hermione. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to -"
"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice.
"Well, Dumbledore believes it -" Hermione began.
"You mean, Dumbledore believes Harry," said the blond boy.
"Who are you?" said Ron, rather rudely.
"Zacharias Smith," said the boy, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes Harry say You-Know-Who's back."
"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about -"
Ron pulled Hermione's ears near his mouth, "We could say that Harry was kidnapped by Lord Voldemort's supporters."
"Yeah, but I haven't said that we're recruiting them into the rescue mission." Hermione whispered back; feeling the pistol on her chest.
"Well, look now, Harry's not exactly right here with us right now, is he." Ron finally spoke. "You've got to save that cross-examination for another time."
"So it's true that he's kidnapped, then?" quipped Luna Lovegood.
"True," Hermione nodded.
"So what?" Ernie Macmillan interrupted, "Are you going to tell us that You-Know-Who did it?"
It turns out that some of these people - maybe even most of them - had turned up in the hopes of hearing Harry's story firsthand.
"So," said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again. "So… like I was saying… if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to -"
"Is it true," interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Hermione "that Harry can produce a Patronus?"
There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.
"Yeah," said Hermione slightly defensively.
"A corporeal Patronus?"
"Yes," added Fred.
"Blimey!" said Lee, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"
"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning at Lee and Ron. "She said you got enough attention as it was."
The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat.
"And did he kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demanded Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…"
"I still want to hear it from Harry himself." Zacharias Smith drawled.
"You can go now if you're not interested to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts." Hermione challenged him.
Smith went silent.
"Well, can you produce a Patronus?" Lavender pointed to Hermione. "I've figured that you're the sort who can teach Harry so many advanced spells."
Tense silence.
"Listen," Hermione stuttered, "I don't think we're going to encounter Dementors anytime soon-"
"But can you?" Lavender demanded.
"I can try." Hermione scowled. "And it's Professor Lupin who taught him. Look, you think I've already got a lot in my head the moment I was born, but actually, I started out where all of you began. D'you really want to pass your OWLs or not?"
Everyone looked at each other, muttering in agreement.
Archer made no mention when Harry can return to Hogwarts, and Harry did not dare ask. Not yet.
And that has kept him silent while eating dinner with the Captain and four of his senior officers. Subcommander T'Pol, Commander Tucker, Lieutenant Reed, and Dr. Phlox. But not exactly wordlessly silent. He answered the questions about his school as casually as Muggles talk about their jobs. It made him a little uncomfortable that none of the senior officers mentioned the details of their mission to him, not even their careers. He thought he has as much right to know, now that these aliens are allied to Lord Voldemort. But Harry wasn't complaining. Especially that Archer declared Lord Voldemort to be their enemy as well, Harry figured that the quickest way back into Hogwarts was to be nice while aboard Enterprise.
"But Malcolm did not receive owl mail when he was eleven years old, did you, Malcolm?" Trip observed as he munched on his pan-fried catfish.
Lieutenant Reed remained silent. Apparently he did not like being a wizard.
"Malcolm?" Archer asked.
Malcolm, with downcast eyes, shook his head. Harry gave him an apologetic look. The awkward silence gave the senior officers the indication that they should not press on his…newfound talent, not during mealtime anyway.