Disclaimer: I am not the owner of Harry Potter and any Wizarding World related content for a multitude of reasons. For starters, the real owner of Harry Potter lives in Scotland. I, on the other hand, live rent free in the heads of canon shippers.

Chapter 75

In Charms class the following day, Professor Flitwick assigned the class into random pairs to practice the Banishing Charm on a set of cushions, and Harry happened to be paired with Parvati.

"Has she said anything to you?" The black-haired girl asked as she managed to propel her cushion a few feet forward.

"Nothing," Harry shook his head as he managed to launch his third straight cushion into the box they were supposed to be aiming for. "Has she noticed yet?"

"Oh yeah, she noticed alright," Parvati snickered, flicking her wand once more. "She woke Lav and I up when she came back from your patrol last night and started tearing the dormitory apart."

"Does she think it was one of you?"

"I'm sure the thought's crossed her mind," Parvati shrugged. "But she hasn't asked us anything yet. I'm surprised she hasn't said anything to you, though."

"Maybe she thinks I'll be mad at her," Harry guessed, summoning all three of his cushions back towards him. "I imagine she's going to figure out every possible way it could have been taken to try and avoid admitting to me that she lost it."

"God you two are stubborn," Parvati shook her head. "Would you be mad at her? If she had actually…you know…"

"No, not really," Harry shook his head. "I can just talk to Angelina. Being the youngest Seeker in a century gives me a pretty long leash with Quidditch related matters, I think."

"Must be nice," Parvati snorted. "So, you really wouldn't be mad at her?"

"No," Harry shook his head, turning and looking across the classroom. His eyes landed on Hermione, who was coaching her partner, Neville, through the wand motion of the Banishing Charm. "Not for that long, at least. I don't think I can stay mad at her."

"That so?" Parvati asked, crossing her arms and following his gaze. The two of them watched Hermione's eyes light up as Neville finally nailed the wand motion and sent his cushion barreling backwards. The smile on Hermione's face as she watched the cushion fly was positively radiant, and Harry thought he was going to melt into a puddle right there on the spot just from looking at her.

"Yeah," He sighed dreamily, grinning from ear to ear.

He didn't stop smiling for the rest of the class.

The next day was Friday, and with the end of the week came Quidditch tryouts for the Keeper position.

Ron spent most of the day looking rather green, and no matter what sort of encouragement Neville, Lavender, and the rest of the Gryffindor Gang offered he seemed more nervous than he did when he faced the Boggart in their third year. He didn't take a single note over the course of the day, which was not remarkably out of character for him, but he was so on edge that he was the only person not named Harry or Hermione to stay awake for the entirety of History of Magic, which was most certainly out of character.

By the time classes wrapped up and the bell chimed four o'clock one hour prior to tryouts, the redhead looked dangerously close to fainting as the Gryffindors reached the common room. Harry wanted to try and offer his friend some words of reassurance, but before he could even open his mouth Hermione had grabbed his arm and began dragging him towards their usual couch and out of earshot.

"What's up?" He asked once they sat down, placing his bag on the floor and leaning back into the couch cushions.

"I've tried everything," Hermione said with a determined look on her face. "I've searched every inch of my dormitory, I've tried the Summoning Spell, I've asked Parvati and Lavender if they had seen anything suspicious, I talked to the elves that are in charge of doing laundry for our dormitory, and nothing has come of it. So now I only have one avenue left."

Harry blinked. "I am…so confused right now."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Did you, or did you not, steal your Quidditch jersey out of my dormitory at some point this week?"

Harry tilted his head. "Did you lose my Quidditch jersey?"

"I know you took it!" She huffed.

"Hermione, I can't get into the girls' dormitories," Harry shrugged. "You would know that if you read Hogwarts: A History."

Hermione growled.

"But I can assure you, swearing on my magic and crossing my heart and all that, that I did not swipe my jersey from your dormitory," He said. "Now, are you saying that my Quidditch jersey missing?"

Hermione seemed to realize that he was telling the truth; her eyes widened and she nodded reluctantly, barely meeting his gaze.

"Well then," Harry sighed, rubbing his hands on his thighs. "I suppose I'll just have to ask Angelina for a new one."

Hermione bit her lip. "Are you…are you furious with me?"

"No, of course I'm not mad," Harry shook his head. He glanced in the opposite direction, sporting a wicked smirk that was out of her sight. "Just disappointed," He turned back around, schooling his features as he did so.

To say Hermione looked crestfallen would have been akin to calling the Pacific Ocean a puddle. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her look so utterly devastated, and he felt a twinge of remorse as he watched her shoulders slump.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he reached into his bag and pulled out a familiar scarlet and gold garment, "I have to go get changed," He grinned as he stood up.

For a moment, Hermione was so dejected that she didn't even register that he was holding his Quidditch jersey. Then, she sat bolt upright and let her jaw drop as she stared at it. "What…how did you…" She spluttered incoherently for a few seconds before giving herself a little shake. "How?"

"I may or may not have asked Parvati to take it from your stuff while you and I were out patrolling the other night," He shrugged, still smiling triumphantly.

"But…but you said you didn't have it!" Hermione frowned. "You lied to me!"

"I said I never took it," Harry shrugged again. "I said I never went into your dormitory and I said I never stole the jersey. I never lied to you."

Somehow, Hermione's jaw dropped even further. "But…but…I tried the Summoning Spell! How come that didn't work?"

"That was actually pretty annoying to deal with," Harry admitted, examining his jersey. "I had to call Sirius on the mirror and have him and Lupin teach me how to enchant an object so it can't be summoned. It took me a while, and at one point while I was casting the spells you must have summoned it from your dorm because it flew off my bed and towards the door. I was lucky it was locked."

"You…" Hermione still looked completely, utterly stunned. "You little…" She trailed off, speechless. The triumph and elation that Harry felt course through him could only be rivaled by winning the Quidditch Cup.

"You know, the Sorting Hat might have been onto something when it tried to put me in Slytherin," Harry grinned, leaning down and giving Hermione a kiss that quite literally took her breath away. "I'm off to go get changed. I'll see you," He winked, leaving his now even more stunned – and noticeably flustered – girlfriend to sit and stare into the fireplace.

It wasn't until well after the tryouts had ended, well after the celebratory party held to congratulate Ron on securing the Keeper position, that Hermione decided to forgive Harry for his little stunt.

He was back in the corridor. For what felt like the millionth time since the start of the summer holidays, Harry found himself trapped in a tunnel of near-total darkness, walking towards an ebony door that he knew was locked. Yet despite knowing that the door would not yield, he could not stop himself from drifting towards it, as if his body was disconnected from his mind and under the control of someone else. Slowly – agonizingly slowly – he inched towards the end of the hallway, even though his instincts were screaming at him to turn around and put as much space between himself and that mysterious door as possible.

"Harry!"

His eyes snapped open and he immediately sat upright, scrambling backwards until his back slammed into a rather hard surface that felt like a headboard. Wincing, Harry blinked a few times and vigorously rubbed his eyes until his head stopped spinning and he could collect his thoughts.

He was back in his bed in Gryffindor Tower. The same bed he had fallen asleep in and been in all night, no matter how realistic that dream was. The lackluster bit of natural light peeking through the dormitory's lone window and a quick glance at his watch informed him that it was very early in the morning, and the notorious oversleepers he called roommates – along with pretty much everyone else in the castle – would most certainly be asleep at this hour.

"Harry! You there?"

Now that he was no longer dreaming, he was able to recognize the voice and immediately reached under his pillow, fumbling blindly until his fingers curled around the handle of a certain mirror. He quickly held it out in front of him and snatched his glasses off of his bedside table.

"Sirius?" He whispered, leaning forward and closing his curtains. "Are you aware that it's five in the morning?"

"I know, but –" His godfather's expression flashed from grim to concerned in less than a second. "You don't look so good, Harry, are you alright?"

"I'm feeling peachy, besides the fact that I was woken up at five in the morning."

"So that's why you're pale and sweaty?" Sirius's feaures hardened, and Harry immediately felt bad for his jab. "Nightmares?"

"The hallway," Harry sighed. "Same one I've been dreaming about since the start of the summer."

Sirius frowned. "Anything different this time? Now that you're at school and out of Grimmauld?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "It's always the same dream." He paused. "Why did you call me? Is something wrong?"

Sirius looked like he wanted to keep interrogating him about the dream, but after a beat he relented. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed and lowered his voice. "Do you remember what I told you about Sturgis Podmore disappearing?"

Harry tilted his head. "What?"

"Sturgis Podmore, the blonde bloke from the Order –"

"I know he's in the Order, what's this about him disappearing?"

"He was on duty," Sirius whispered. "The night before you left for Hogwarts, the thirty-first. He was supposed to come back that morning with intel on Fudge's appointee for Defense professor, but –"

"He never showed," Harry finished for him. Between his introduction to Dolores Umbridge as a professor, Prefect duties, and the endless piles of homework he had been assigned over the course of his first week at Hogwarts, his conversation with Sirius after the Welcoming Feast felt as if it had taken place a lifetime ago. "Do you know what happened to him?"

"Now we do," Sirius nodded. "We found out late last night. He was arrested."

Harry's jaw dropped, but Sirius kept talking.

"He appeared in front of the Wizengamot yesterday. You'll read about it – and his inevitable sentencing – in today's edition of the Daily Prophet," He tensed slightly. "The Ministry hushed his arrest up so well, not even Tonks or Kingsley or Arthur knew about it. We found out from the charges that he was attempting a robbery. Tonks did some asking around and found out that he was caught red-handed while breaking into a top-secret part of the Ministry."

"Top-secret?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Where in the Ministry?"

"That's what you won't read in the papers," Sirius answered. "He was breaking into the Hall of Prophecies."

Harry's eyebrows climbed even further.

"The Order's been here at Grimmauld all night trying to figure out what happened," Sirius elaborated, glancing around. "We actually just called it a night about ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes ago?" Harry repeated, checking his watch. "Please tell me you figured out what the hell is going on and that you didn't stay up until five with nothing to show for it?"

"We have a guess," Sirius said, to which Harry groaned. "A damn good guess," He clarified. "It's just about the only explanation we can come up with, and we had some pretty smart people in the room."

"What is it, then?"

"We think Sturgis was hit with the Imperius Curse. Whoever bewitched him commanded him to break into the Hall of Prophecies, most likely to swipe the prophecy."

Harry sucked in a breath. "How can you be sure?"

"We can't," Sirius admitted. "Sturgis is in holding in the Ministry right now until he gets transported to Azkaban and nobody is allowed to see him. Not even Tonks or Kingsley are being asked to question him; we suspect there's been a few bribes to make sure that he stays hidden away."

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry clenched his jaw.

"Most likely," Sirius nodded, stifling a yawn. "Wouldn't surprise me if he was the one who bewitched him. But, there's more. Sturgis refused to speak in his own defense during the hearing."

"You think he was bewitched to do that?" Harry asked.

"It makes sense," Sirius sighed. "If Sturgis wanted to betray us on his own free will, he could easily opt to speak in his own defense and make a deal with Fudge now that he's Chief Warlock."

"What kind of deal?"

"Ratting out the Order," Sirius said grimly. "If he were to testify that Dumbledore was running a secret society that directly contradicts the Minister's agenda, Fudge would probably give him an Order of Merlin before tracking the rest of us down and sending us to Azkaban." He spoke the last word with a shudder.

Harry took a moment to absorb that. "So, you're confident he was bewitched?"

"I can't see another explanation," Sirius sighed.

"So, it's official," Harry said in a solemn voice. "Voldemort's definitely after the prophecy?"

"Seems like it."

"Lovely," Harry sighed, his shoulders sagging as he leaned back against his headboard. "Thanks for waking me up at five to tell me that the most fearsome Dark Lord in history was one low-grade Ministry employee away from obtaining the one thing we don't want him to have."

Sirius's expression somehow turned even bleaker, to which Harry groaned. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Yeah, there is."

"What is it?"

"We know why Fudge wants Umbridge at Hogwarts. And we know why she's not teaching you any real Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Why?"

"Fudge doesn't want the students of Hogwarts – especially you – trained in combat."

"It's a little late for that," Harry scoffed, thinking about the pile of N.E.W.T. level Defense books lying in his trunk courtesy of Lupin.

"Your prowess at Defense aside," Sirius cracked a smile, "Fudge is under the impression that Dumbledore is utilizing the Hogwarts student body to build up a private army capable of taking on the Ministry."

Harry stared. "I…what?"

"Fudge thinks Dumbledore is building up some sort of army," Sirius repeated slowly.

Harry's jaw dropped. "You…you mean…he actually thinks that…" He spluttered incoherently before finally composing himself. "He has to know how batshit insane that sounds, right?"

"Harry, Fudge passed 'batshit insane' a while ago," Sirius sighed.

"Oh, well that's comforting," Harry drawled sarcastically. "So, what? Umbridge is some sort of Ministry spy within Hogwarts?"

"She's part spy, part fascist dictator," Sirius said. "Fudge wants her there presumably to report back to him on any sort of activity that might damage his fragile ego, but he also sent that wretched toad for a reason." He paused. "Umbridge is ruthless, Harry. As ruthless as one gets. If she gets even a whiff of anti-Ministry sentiment in the corridors, I'll bet my entire family fortune that she'll crush it herself in some sort of twisted and psychotic way that will discourage anyone else from even thinking about challenging her and Fudge."

Harry thumped the back of his head against his headboard. "Do you have anything to tell me that is not either horrifying or depressing?"

"Um…" Sirius winced. "Tonks is thinking about getting a dog?" He offered in an uncertain voice.

"Really?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"No, I made that up," The Marauder groaned, covering his face with his free hand. "I'm sorry, Harry, I wish I had some good news for you, but right now I don't."

Somehow, Harry's shoulders sagged even lower.

"I'm sorry," Sirius repeated. "And believe me, I'd love to stick around and chat with you and hopefully find some more light-hearted things to talk about, but I am about to fall asleep standing up, so –"

"It's fine," Harry waved him off. "Maybe I'll call you tomorrow?"

"That works," Sirius nodded, yawning. "Alright, I'll talk to you then, Harry. Be careful."

"I will," Harry sighed, frowning as his reflection replaced his godfather's face in the mirror. He glanced at his watch and saw that he still had plenty of time to sleep before breakfast. Even Hermione – the earliest riser in all of Gryffindor – was almost certainly still asleep.

Unfortunately, he was more than a bit reluctant to subject himself to another dream in that corridor, and he doubted sleep would come easily after what Sirius had told him. So, he flung open his curtains and grabbed the first book he could find in his trunk: A Few Good Men. Feeling a temporary surge of nostalgia for afternoons in Sapphire Park, when his biggest problem was how to handle his newfound crush on his best friend, he changed out of his pajamas and headed down to the common room.

As he expected, the room was deserted when he reached the bottom of the stairs. Making himself comfortable on his and Hermione's usual couch, he soon found himself lost in the world of Lieutenant Kaffee and Lieutenant Commander Galloway.

He had cleared through nearly ninety pages by the time he heard footsteps descending into the common room, and a few moments later he was engulfed in a strong hug from behind, accompanied by the always-comforting scent of vanilla shampoo.

"You're up early," Hermione mumbled into the crook of his neck, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Is everything okay?" She asked, leaning over the back of the couch and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Did you have another nightmare?"

"No, I slept fine," He lied, closing his book and placing his hands atop hers. "Sirius called me, though," He added after a pause.

Hermione released him from her embrace at once and moved around the side of the sofa, frowning as she took a seat beside him. "What's wrong?"

"How much time do you have?" He laughed, but there was little amusement in the air. Hermione said nothing, settling for taking his hand in hers and silently imploring him to speak. Sighing, he leaned back into the couch cushions and began recounting his conversation with Sirius, not sparing any details. Hermione said nothing while he talked, but it was clear that she was bursting with questions with every new bit of information. Towards the end she even resorted to physically biting her tongue to keep herself in check.

By the time Harry finished, the knot of nervousness that had manifested itself in his stomach earlier that morning returned in full force. Hermione was silent for a few moments, absent-mindedly rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand while she gathered her thoughts.

"It does sound like Sturgis was bewitched," She finally spoke, biting her bottom lip. "And it's hard to imagine any prophecy – other than the one Voldemort is after – being significant enough to use an Unforgivable in order to obtain it."

Harry turned his hand palm-side up and laced their fingers together.

"So…it seems like it really is happening," She concluded, looking into the crackling fireplace.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Sturgis isn't going to speak a word in his defense?" Hermione scrunched her eyebrows together. "That's allowed?"

"Defendants are granted the right to remain silent during their trials," Harry nodded.

"Did Sirius tell you that?"

"I read it in a book."

"What book?"

"Extraordinary Trials in History, Magical Misdemeanors in the Modern Law, and a bunch of others that I read back when we were researching for Buckbeak's trial," Harry shrugged.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, visibly impressed. "I forgot how much you love reading about trials."

Harry smirked and shook his head. "I love reading A Few Good Men," He pointed to his copy, which was lying on the coffee table in front of them. "Reading about trials is about as close as I can get to a magical equivalent of the greatest play of all time."

"No, I think you actually enjoy reading about them," Hermione mirrored his smirk. Harry rolled his eyes, but before he could offer a witty retort of his own, she pressed on. "Is the Order going to keep sending members to protect the prophecy?"

"They have to, right?" Harry asked, fighting to keep the dejection out of his voice. "Whoever is standing in the Department of Mysteries is the last line of defense between Voldemort and the thing he wants most."

"But…" Hermione took a deep breath. "I mean, that night…it was Sturgis. What if someone tries again and it's Sirius, or Tonks, or –"

"I know," Harry cut her off, mostly because he didn't want to think about what she was implying. "We just have to hope that they can fend for themselves, if it comes to that."

An unpleasant silence ensued.

"I just wish that there was something I could do," Harry finally spoke, verbalizing one of the many things that had been gnawing at him for the last hour and a half.

"I know you do," Hermione said wearily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry countered, his voice a tad more confrontational than he wanted it to be. Hermione opened her mouth to elaborate – and for a moment Harry braced himself for a lecture – but she thought better of it.

"The Minister seriously thinks Dumbledore wants to create an army of children?" She asked with a frown.

"Yeah, apparently."

"Unbelievable," She huffed. "I mean, the nerve of them to interfere at Hogwarts based on nothing more than…than paranoia and baseless conspiracy theories!" She shook her head.

"I know," Harry nodded.

"And not just any interference, mind you, but interfering with what is arguably the most important subject in our curriculum!" She continued, appearing too absorbed in her own fury to have heard Harry. "Honestly, there is a war at the Wizarding World's doorstep, yet the Ministry is deliberately choosing now to prevent us from learning how to protect ourselves!"

"I know," Harry squeezed her hand.

"Think about it!" She pressed on. "This has to be the worst possible time for Hogwarts to have a rubbish Defense professor."

"I know."

"I mean, with everything that's happening with Voldemort and the war, now more than ever we need a proper teacher!"

At that moment, as if a switch had been flipped, the anger in Hermione's eyes vanished, and her hardened features slowly but surely softened. Her mouth dropped open, but based on the dreamy sort of expression that was making its way across her face, it did not seem like she was about to start talking any time soon.

"Hermione?" Harry asked. She didn't even acknowledge him, clearly too lost in her own world. "Hermione?" He repeated, nudging her with his elbow. She blinked and turned to face him, still looking uncharacteristically distant. "You okay?" He asked.

"Brilliant," She whispered, drumming her fingers pensively. "Yes…yes," She nodded, and Harry had the distinct feeling that she was conversing with her own thoughts rather than him. "I…I have an idea!" She finally perked up, giving him a dazzling smile.

"What?"

"I have an idea," She repeated, her face suddenly alight with a passion he only saw when she recited information from Hogwarts: A History. "It's our O.W.L. year, right?" She asked, but she didn't wait for an answer. "So, we've got to do something about Umbridge, don't we? If we want to pass our exams? If anyone in our year wants to pass their exams?"

Harry blinked. "Do something about Umbridge? Like…like kill her?"

Hermione gave him an unsmiling look before snatching his A Few Good Men paperback off the coffee table and smacking him on the shoulder with it.

"Ow!" He yelped, wrenching the book-turned-weapon out of her hands before she could do any more damage. "Alright, alright, if you don'twant to kill Umbridge, then what are you suggesting?"

Giving him one last glare, Hermione leaned back and took a deep breath. "Nobody is going to learn how to protect ourselves with Umbridge as a professor, right?"

"Right."

"And…well, you have loads of books on Defense, right? Between what Lupin gave you for your birthday last year and the year before, plus we can always go to the library," She continued.

"Right," Harry nodded again, suspecting he was finally catching onto something for once. "So, you want us to start up a study group?"

"Sort of…" Hermione bit her bottom lip. "But…I think we still need a teacher," She sounded rather nervous. "A proper teacher. With everything that's going on, don't you think we've surpassed the need for just learning spells out of books? Theory of magic isn't going to help anyone fend off a Death Eater. We need to practice these spells, and we need to have someone experienced enough to coach us through it and make sure nothing goes wrong when we cast certain spells."

Harry pursed his lips. "If you're talking about Lupin or Sirius or Tonks, they're way too busy with the Order."

Hermione nodded. "I agree. Between the Order and finding a way to meet them without Umbridge noticing, our best bet would be meeting them during Hogsmeade weekends, and that's not nearly frequently enough." She paused, taking another breath. "But that's irrelevant, because I wasn't talking about anyone from the Order."

"Who, then?" Harry tilted his head.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Hermione, I'm dense. We've been over this."

Hermione let out a long sigh, and for a moment looked exasperated enough to try and hit him with another book. "I'm talking about you, Harry."

Harry stared, stunned into silence. Then he snorted. "I'm not a teacher, Hermione."

"You taught me how to cast a Patronus."

The confused grin on Harry's face vanished. "That…that was different."

"It really wasn't," Hermione countered immediately, but she plowed ahead before Harry could argue back. "But before you try and tell me otherwise, think about what I'm suggesting. Think about what you've done! You killed a fifty-foot basilisk with a sword when you were twelve, Harry. You fended off a hundred dementors at once with a single Patronus a year later. You won the Triwizard Tournament at fourteen years old when you were competing against the best of-age students that Europe had to offer, and you capped that off by fighting Voldemort in the flesh and living to tell the tale."

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him once again.

"And I know you're going to say something absolutely asinine like 'I had help' or 'That was luck', but even if those statements are true, that doesn't mean you aren't a great wizard," She paused, taking a deep breath. "Do you really think that you have nothing to offer when it comes to teaching Defense? After everything you've endured? After everything you've achieved?"

Harry remained silent for a moment, awkwardly tapping his foot on the carpet as he mulled over Hermione's words. He still felt hesitant – and baffled – about her proposal, but the longer he thought about it, the easier it was to picture himself planning lessons and coaching his peers through various defensive spells.

It wasn't as if he was being asked to teach his friends how to duel Death Eaters into submission, after all. All he had to do – if he agreed, of course – was provide just enough guidance for his classmates to pass their Defense O.W.L.s. And, if they learned how to defend themselves along the way, that would be a rather nice perk.

"How often would we meet with this…study group?" He asked, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione shrugged. "At least once a week, don't you think? I'm sure it won't be easy to find more than one evening per week to meet, between Quidditch and Prefect patrols and all."

Harry nodded, struggling to find anything wrong with what she had said. "And who are you planning to mention this little study group to?"

Hermione grinned. "Are you actually considering this?"

"I'm just…clarifying some things," Harry said as nonchalantly as he could.

Smirking slightly, Hermione shrugged again. "Anyone who doesn't want to fail one of their final exams. Along with anyone who doesn't want to end up on the wrong end of a Death Eater's wand without knowing how to protect themselves."

Harry tensed slightly. "Do you seriously think a lot of people here would be willing to listen to me?"

"I think you'd be surprised," Hermione said thoughtfully. "It really wasn't that long ago that you were the hero of Hogwarts, with your performance in the Tournament and all."

"And what about Umbridge? You know she won't take kindly to this."

"Then we make sure she doesn't find out," Hermione said plainly.

"Are you suggesting we break the rules? Isn't that usually my job?"

"Look," Hermione said softly. "You said you wished there was something you can do, right? Something to help with the war, something to try and stick it to Umbridge, to defy the Ministry. That's what you want to do, right?"

"I mean…" He trailed off feebly. When Hermione gave him a deadpan look, he sighed. "Yeah, okay, I do," He relented, darting his gaze down to his lap. "I want to do something about…about all of this."

"Of course you do," She chuckled. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be Harry Potter."

Harry smiled at that, glancing up and locking eyes with Hermione. "You really think I can do this?"

She mirrored his smile and took his hand once again. "I know you can."

Something about her tone, her conviction, made his heart flutter. "Will…I mean, would you mind helping me? You know, with teaching and all?"

Hermione let out a laugh that made Harry's smile widen. "Help you? Harry, what is it you think I've been doing for the last four years?"

"That's fair," Harry conceded, squeezing her hand.

"So, you'll do it?" She asked, biting her lip in anticipation. The second Harry started nodding, she flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug so tight he expected he would need several doses of Skele-Gro for his ribs later on. He ignored the pain, however, and returned the embrace with a grin.

"You're awfully excited," He observed, resting his chin on her shoulder as she burrowed into him.

"Aren't you?" She mumbled into the crook of his neck. "I expected you to be ecstatic at the thought of sticking it to that…that foul little gargoyle."

"Gargoyle?" Harry repeated with a smirk. "You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," She released him from her embrace and grinned. "Oh, this is going to be wonderful!" She rubbed her hands together gleefully. "We'll need to come up with a date for our first meeting, of course. And we need to figure out how we're going to inform the rest of the student body about this. And, of course, we need to plan out what exactly you're going to teach and how you'll go about it."

"Not to mention where we're going to meet," Harry chimed in.

"You're right!" Hermione said cheerfully. "Oh my, more work!" She clapped her hands together before faltering slightly. "I know that sounded sarcastic, but…"

"Literally nobody would think that was sarcastic coming from you," Harry deadpanned.

"Really?"

"Not for a second."

"Oh," Hermione blinked, a frown making its way onto her face. "That's bad, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Harry shook his head. "I think it's adorable."

Hermione brightened instantly, subjecting him to another bone-crushing hug. Unlike its predecessor, this embrace was capped off with a brief but passionate kiss that had the Boy-Who-Lived smiling dazedly for at least a minute.

He was eventually pulled out of his blissful state by Hermione elbowing him and asking if they ought to get an early breakfast. Nodding, Harry tossed A Few Good Men into his bag and pushed himself off the couch. Hermione followed suit and soon the two of them were clambering through the portrait hole.

"Maybe I should start calling your Professor Potter," She teased as they descended a staircase. "What do you think?" She asked, lacing her fingers with his and exaggeratedly batting her eyelashes at him.

Harry blushed and said nothing.

"I like it," She smirked. "Professor Potter, do you think you could help me with a certain spell?" She cooed, obviously trying to get some sort of reaction out of him.

"You're ridiculous," He sighed.

"Professor Potter, did you know you're my favorite teacher?" She leaned into his side and smiled cheekily at him.

"Jesus, Hermione…" Harry's blush intensified, and he found himself praying that the nearest paintings did not gossip as much as the Fat Lady did.

"Professor Potter, I could really use your help with this assignment," She pressed on, licking her lips. "Do you think you could offer me some private lessons?"

Somehow, Harry's face grew even hotter and he felt his pulse quicken considerably. They passed a worn wooden door that he knew housed a broom closet and barely squashed down his temptations. "Please stop talking," He said as coolly as he could as they reached the third floor.

"Make me," She fired back.

Something inside Harry snapped, and before he could even process his own actions he had wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist and pinned her up against the nearest wall, kissing her so hard he half-expected her lips to be bruised from the impact. Based on how quickly her arms encircled his neck and the noises she was making, he assumed that she didn't mind his lack of finesse on this particular occasion.

They pulled apart only a few seconds later, gasping for breath and smirking at each other triumphantly, as if they had both won their little battle of wills up until that kiss. They simply stared at one another for a moment, the silence only filled by their breathing.

Until…

"Hem hem."

Harry's stomach plummeted, already knowing what he was going to see as he whipped his head around. Sure enough, Dolores Umbridge was standing at the end of the hallway, clad entirely in pink and holding a clipboard to her chest.

"Interesting…" She said with a sadistic smile, pulling a quill from behind her ear and writing something down onto her clipboard. "Very interesting," She mused as she turned on her heel and walked away.

A/N: It's been a while since I had a cliffhanger, hasn't it?

Sorry this thing took ages. My original draft for it was incredibly boring and I've had all sorts of finals and family commitments between my last update and this update, so I haven't been able to prioritize writing nearly as much as I want to. But, hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. I did a huge overhaul of it to make it more enjoyable than the original version. The first act didn't even originally exist! It was just going to be the conversation with Sirius and Hermione suggesting the DA (will it be called the DA in this?). Can you imagine how boring of a chapter that would have been? God, I would have hated myself if I published that.

Anyway, references! If you're wondering if Harry and Hermione are going to reach Brooklyn 99 levels of Machiavellian heisting to try and gain possession of Harry's Quidditch jersey, you wonder correctly. And the heists will occur a lot more frequently than once a year. Speaking of Brooklyn 99, the whole bit about Hermione thinking her comment about work being interpreted as sarcasm is a paraphrased sequence courtesy of Amy Santiago. Those two would be best friends, I'm telling you.

Anyway, I want to thank you all for your patience and your support. I read and cherish every one of your reviews and I appreciate every single one of you that has clicked Follow/Favorite thus far. This story has taken off in a way that rivaled my wildest expectations, and I truly cannot thank you all enough for bringing us to this point. Thank you, and stay safe!