The following day, Hermione and Ron snuck to the library after lunch to talk.
"Well, that went well," Ron said sarcastically, sinking into a chair. "I hope you didn't spend too much time on that potion for his hand."
"That wasn't," Hermione paused, searching for the word, "ideal… but I do think we got him thinking about it."
"Are you joking? He thought we were mental!"
"No, did you see his face when I said You Know Who's name?" Hermione said, leaning forward. "He knew I meant it."
"Did you really have to say his name?" Ron shuddered. "It creeps me out. And are you sure he's going to actually warm up to the idea? I don't want another bowl tossed at my head."
"Let's just give him a bit of space to think about it and, in the meantime, maybe start thinking of some people we could ask to join."
"Well, obviously, the Gryffindors," Ron said.
"Right, but we have to open it to other houses," Hermione said. "Remember what the sorting hat said? We need to stick together."
"Fine, but I swear if you invite any Slytherins, I quit."
Hermione smiled, but in the back of her mind, she thought of Sophie and the other handful of Slytherins who deserved to learn to defend themselves as well. She'd have to figure that out as well.
For two weeks, Hermione and Ron carefully avoided the subject of their Defense club around Harry. They also began casually gauging interest from their fellow students. To Hermione's surprise, the enthusiasm was overwhelming. More students than she had anticipated were eager to learn practical defence, although a few surprising declines dampened her spirits. Jillian and Bem, whom Hermione considered good friends, rejected the offer.
"Why did the student eat his homework?" Bem asked. They had met in Divination during their third year, and his puns had made the class bearable.
"I don't know, why?" Hermione asked, smiling.
"Because the professor said it was a piece of cake," Bem grinned.
"We could definitely use your humour to lighten the mood," Hermione said, chuckling. "Life's a bit depressing these days."
"What's depressing are my grades," Bem said with a sad smile. "I'd love to, I would, but I can barely keep up with this OWL work. If I get a bit more caught up, I'll leg it to you as fast as I can."
Jillian, on the other hand, brought up a valid concern. "You know I'd love to," she said, "but if a spell hits me wrong? Professor McGonagall is amazing, but she's no audiologist. My cochlear implants would be destroyed."
Hermione's birthday passed without much fanfare. She was too focused on polling her fellow students' interest to think about celebrating. Ginny, however, made sure Hermione celebrated with a pack of Butterbeer and treats from the kitchen.
One afternoon, as the three of them worked on their Potions homework, Hermione took a deep breath and looked at Harry.
"I was wondering," Hermione said, "whether you'd thought any more about Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry."
"Course I have," said Harry grumpily. "Can't forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us-"
"I meant the idea Ron and I had-" Ron cast her an alarmed, threatening kind of look. She continued with the ruse, "– Oh, all right, the idea I had, then – about you teaching us."
"Well," Harry said slowly. "Yeah, I – I've thought about it a bit."
"And?" said Hermione eagerly.
"I dunno," said Harry. He looked up at Ron.
"I thought it was a good idea from the start," said Ron. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?"
"Yes, Harry," said Hermione gently. She knew she had to tread carefully. "But all the same, there's no point pretending that you're not good at Defence Against the Dark Arts because you are. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely; you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't. Viktor always said –"
Ron looked round at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, "Yeah? What did Vicky say?"
"Ho ho," said Hermione in a bored voice. "He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang."
Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.
"You're not still in contact with him, are you?"
"So what if I am?" said Hermione coolly, though her face turned slightly pink. "I can have a pen-pal if I –"
"He didn't only want to be your pen pal," said Ron accusingly.
Hermione shook her head exasperatedly and, ignoring Ron, who was still watching her with a frown, said to Harry, "Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?"
"Just you and Ron, yeah?"
"Well," said Hermione, looking a mite anxious again. "Well ... now, don't fly off the handle again, Harry, please ... but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh, don't be pathetic, Ron. It doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people."
"Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by me. I'm a nutter, remember?"
"Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you've got to say," said Hermione earnestly. "Look," she leaned towards him – Ron, who was still watching her with a frown on his face, leaned forward to listen too – "you know the first weekend in October's a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us in the village, and we can talk it over?"
"Why do we have to do it outside school?" said Ron.
"Because," said Hermione, returning to the diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage she was copying, "I don't think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to."
As the weekend at Hogsmeade approached, Hermione and Ron spread the word about their clandestine meeting. Hermione started to worry that too many people would show up, which might raise suspicion.
Harry, on the other hand, was anxious about their Hogsmeade visit for different reasons. He hadn't heard anything from Sirius since the night he appeared in the fire.
"Well, you can't blame him for wanting to get out and about," said Ron when Harry discussed his fears with him and Hermione. "I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, hasn't he? And I know that can't have been a laugh, but at least he was free, wasn't he? And now he's just shut up all the time with that ghastly elf."
Hermione scowled at Ron but otherwise ignored the slight on Kreacher.
"The trouble is," she said to Harry, "until V-Voldemort – oh, for heaven's sake, Ron – comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, the stupid Ministry isn't going to realise Sirius is innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth about him all along. And once the fools start catching real Death Eaters again, it'll be obvious Sirius isn't one ... I mean, he hasn't got the Mark, for one thing."
"I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up," said Ron bracingly. "Dumbledore'd go mad if he did, and Sirius listens to Dumbledore even if he doesn't like what he hears."
"Listen, Ron and I have been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defence Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade."
"Right," said Harry vaguely.
"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You've got enough on your plate without Sirius, too."
A few days later, Hermione and Ron were assigned patrol duty from nine to eleven. She could tell Ron was nervous; this was his first official patrol, unlike Hermione, who had signed up for extra shifts. She helped him straighten his badge and tie before they crawled through the portrait hole.
"I thought we could start down near the dungeons and then make our way back upstairs one level at a time," Hermione said.
"In order?"
"Well, yes. Why?"
"Anyone doing something dodgy will know exactly where we are and would be able to leg it down the stairs to avoid us."
"But a systematic-"
"'Mione, how many times have we been out after curfew? We can't make it easy for 'em. We gotta think like we're dodgy too."
Hermione had to admit Ron was right. The less predictable they were, the better. Hermione followed Ron to the fifth-floor corridor to begin their rounds.
"So we just walk around and yell at people snogging?" Ron said, peeking into darkened classrooms and lifting tapestries off the wall to look behind them.
"Or doing anything they aren't supposed to be doing," Hermione said. "It's not necessarily just snogging."
"Well, to be fair, Harry, Fred, George, and Lee are all in the common room, and we're here… so the people who'd be causing non-snogging trouble are accounted for."
Hermione giggled. "That's true."
They were approaching the statue of Boris the Bewildered. Hermione pointed it out and then indicated the fourth door just past it. "Have you tried the Prefects' Bathroom out yet?"
"No, haven't gotten there yet," Ron answered. "You?"
"It's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. It's the best thing in this castle," Hermione said. "I highly recommend it."
"Can we have a look right now?" Ron asked.
Hermione hesitated. They weren't supposed to do anything but patrol, but a quick peek wouldn't hurt. "Oh, all right. Just for a minute."
Ron grinned and ran ahead to the entrance like an excited first-year seeing the castle for the first time. Hermione caught up to him and spoke the password, "Sandalwood."
The door opened, and they both stepped inside. Immediately, the scent of lavender and chamomile washed over them. Hermione took a deep breath, feeling her stress start to melt away.
"Brilliant," Ron whispered reverently as he slowly looked around. "I have half a mind to take a dip right now!"
"You can come back when we're done with our patrol," Hermione said.
"Fine," Ron whined but followed Hermione out to the hall.
They continued to walk the halls, not finding anyone. "Lots of people are interested in meeting up at Hogsmeade," Hermione said. "I dunno where we should even go."
"The Three Broomsticks should be big enough," Ron said.
"But we could be overheard," Hermione said. "We need somewhere out of the way."
"What about the Hog's Head?" Ron shrugged. "No one worth their salt ever goes there. We'd be by ourselves except for the odd drunk."
Hermione smiled. The Hog's Head sounded perfect. Now that she had the venue, she could focus on a method to ensure the members of this new group weren't snitches… and she had an idea that Ginny could help with.
Hermione had created a monster by introducing Ron to the Prefects' Bathroom—he had been there nearly every night since their patrol. She warned him he'd get even further behind in his work, but he argued he needed to take care of himself before taking care of any schoolwork.
Surprisingly, though, he didn't complain much about his assignments or ask Hermione to copy her work. Maybe Ron's self-care was truly a positive change for him. Harry, however, was still struggling. Hermione tried to show him different strategies to help with his workload, but he saw it as "even more work" instead of an investment in his future time management. However, if everything went to plan at the Hog's Head, she knew she would have to push him to make time for the defence club.
The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. After breakfast, they queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardians to visit the village.
When they reached Filch, the caretaker gave a great sniff as though trying to detect a whiff of something from Harry. Then he gave a curt nod that set his jowls aquiver again, and Harry walked on, out onto the stone steps and into the cold, sunlit day.
"Er – why was Filch sniffing you?" asked Ron as he, Hermione, and Harry set off briskly down the wide drive to the gates.
"I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs," said Harry with a small laugh. "I forgot to tell you when I sent that message to Sirius, Filch came up and tried to intercept my letter, saying that he had a tip that I was ordering Dungbombs. Thankfully, Cho was there and helped me calm him down."
"He said he was tipped off you were ordering Dungbombs? But who tipped him off?" Hermione said, her suspicions piqued.
"I dunno," said Harry, shrugging. "Maybe Malfoy, he'd think it was a laugh."
They walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left onto the road into the village, the wind whipping their hair into their eyes.
"Malfoy?" said Hermione sceptically. "Well ... yes ... maybe …" Of course Harry would say Malfoy. He never really saw the bigger picture. It was always Snape or Malfoy, and he insisted on that for far too long, missing the actual clues as to who the real issue was. Granted, Snape and Malfoy were awful and created a lot of problems in their own right, but each year, they had been convinced it was one of them, and each year, they were proven wrong.
"Where are we going, anyway?" Harry asked as they reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade. "The Three Broomsticks?"
"Oh – no," said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, "no, it's always packed and really noisy. I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head, that other pub, you know, the one, it's not on the main road. I think it's a bit ... you know ... dodgy ... but students don't normally go in there, so I don't think we'll be overheard."
They walked down the main street past Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop, where they were not surprised to see Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals, and turned up a side street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of a wild boar's severed head, leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as they approached. All three of them hesitated outside the door.
"Well, come on," said Hermione, slightly nervously. Harry led the way inside.
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 filthy room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. Hermione wrinkled her nose and looked back at Ron. Why on earth did he think this was a good place to meet? The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, lit instead with the stubs of candles on rough wooden tables.
Ron wouldn't meet her eye. Hermione frowned but focused on the task at hand. She glanced around the room for anyone who might overhear them. There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth; two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; and in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly.
"I don't know about this, Hermione," Harry muttered as they crossed to the bar. He was looking particularly at the heavily veiled witch. "Has it occurred to you Umbridge might be under that?"
Hermione cast an appraising eye over the veiled figure. She had thought the same thing.
"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, Harry, 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 into 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 Harry drily, "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.
"What?" he grunted.
"Three 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.
"Six Sickles," he said.
"I'll get them," said Harry quickly, passing over the silver. The barman turned away and deposited Harry's money in an ancient wooden till whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Hermione, Ron, and Harry 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. "Yeah."
"So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?" Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig.
"Just a couple of people," Hermione repeated, checking her watch and looking anxiously towards the door. Harry didn't have to know how many 'a couple' stood for. "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 opened with a creak. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment before vanishing, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.
First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, closely followed by Parvati and Padma with Cho and one of her friends. Luna Lovegood drifted in next, followed by Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson. Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Ginny walked in next, with Zacharias Smith bringing up the rear. Fred and George Weasley, with their friend Lee Jordan, carried large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.
"A couple of people?" said Harry hoarsely to Hermione. "A couple of people?"
"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," said Hermione happily. This was going even better than she thought it would! She couldn't believe how many had shown up. "Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?"
The barman had frozen while wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked like 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 …"
Harry rounded on Hermione as Fred passed out the drinks. "What have you been telling people?" he said in a low voice. "What are they expecting?"
"I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say," said Hermione soothingly, but Harry continued to look at her so furiously that she added quickly, "You don't have to do anything yet. I'll speak to them first."
In twos and threes, the new arrivals settled around Hermione, Ron, and Harry, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space, and Cho's friend looking miserable. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry.
"Er," said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. "Well – er – hi."
The group focused on her, though eyes regularly darted back to Harry.
"Well ... erm ... well, you know why you're here. Erm ... well, Harry here had the idea – I mean" (Harry had thrown her a sharp look) "I had the idea – that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defence Against the Dark Arts – and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us –" (Hermione's voice became suddenly much more robust and more confident) "– because nobody could call that Defence Against the Dark Arts –" ("Hear, hear," said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione was heartened) "– Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands."
She paused, looked sideways at Harry, and went on, "And by that, I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells-"
"You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?" said Michael Corner.
"Of course I do," said Hermione at once. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence 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 Harry.
"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 in a rather aggressive voice.
"Well, Dumbledore believes it –" Hermione began.
"You mean Dumbledore believes him," said the blond boy, nodding at Harry.
"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 him say You-Know-Who's back."
"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly before everything was derailed entirely, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about-"
"It's OK, Hermione," said Harry.
"What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?" he asked, looking Zacharias straight in the face. "I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."
The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Harry spoke. Hermione certainly did and forced herself to exhale.
Zacharias said dismissively, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details; he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered. I think we'd all like to know-"
"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone, I can't help you," Harry said. Hermione could tell his temper was starting to rise. She glanced at Ron, silently alerting him as well. "I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right?" Harry continued. "So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out."
He cast an angry look in Hermione's direction. Hermione held her breath again, but none left their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continued to gaze intently at Harry. Hermione needed to intervene and bring it back to her original intentions.
"So," said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again, much to her dismay. "So ... like I was saying ... if you want to learn some defence, 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 Harry, "that you can produce a Patronus?"
There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.
"Yeah," said Harry, slightly defensively.
"A corporeal Patronus?"
"Er – you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" he asked.
The girl smiled. "She's my auntie," she said. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So – is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"Blimey, Harry!" said Lee, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"
"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning at Harry. "She said you got enough attention as it was."
"She's not wrong," mumbled Harry, and a couple of people laughed.
The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat. Hermione tried to take another look at her face but couldn't see anything.
"And did you 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…"
"Er – yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry.
Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks, and Lavender said "Wow!" softly. Hermione could see Harry start to blush. Maybe hearing it from other people would have more of an effect on him.
"And in our first year," said Neville to the group at large, "he saved that Philological Stone-"
"Philosopher's," whispered Hermione.
"Yes, that – from You-Know-Who," finished Neville.
Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.
"And that's not to mention," said Cho, "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year – getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things…"
There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table.
"Look," Harry said, and everyone fell silent at once, "I ... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but ... I had a lot of help with all that stuff …"
"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Michael Corner at once. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying."
"Yeah, well-" said Harry, feeling it would be churlish to disagree.
"And nobody helped you get rid of those Dementors this summer," said Susan Bones.
"No," said Harry, "no, OK, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is-"
"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Zacharias Smith.
"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, "why don't you shut your mouth?"
Perhaps the word 'weasel' had struck a nerve with Ron. He looked at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.
"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," Zacharias mumbled.
"That's not what he said," snarled Fred.
"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" enquired George, pulling a long, lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.
"Or any part of your body, really. We're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred.
"Yes, well," said Hermione hastily, "moving on ... the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"
There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in Fred's hand.
"Right," said Hermione, relieved that something had finally been settled. "Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week-"
"Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."
"No," said Cho, "nor with ours."
"Nor ours," added Zacharias Smith.
"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione, slightly impatiently, "but you know, this is rather important. We're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters-"
"Well said!" barked Ernie Macmillan. "Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our OWLs coming up!"
He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry, "Surely not!" When nobody spoke, he went on, "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells –"
"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, "is that she's got some ... some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilise us against the Ministry."
Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."
"What?" said Harry.
"Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths," said Luna solemnly.
"No, he hasn't," snapped Hermione.
"Yes, he has," said Luna.
"What are Heliopaths?" asked Neville, looking blank.
"They're spirits of fire," said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever, "great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of-"
"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione tartly. She didn't have time for Luna's barmy stories.
"Oh, yes, they do!" said Luna angrily.
"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?" snapped Hermione.
"There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded, you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you –"
"Hem, hem," said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defence lessons?"
"Yes," said Hermione at once, "yes, we were, you're right, Ginny."
"Well, once a week sounds cool," said Lee Jordan.
"As long as –" began Angelina.
"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," said Hermione in a tense voice. "Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet…"
This was somewhat more difficult; the whole group fell silent.
"Library?" suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.
"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," said Harry.
"Maybe an unused classroom?" said Dean.
"Yeah," said Ron, "McGonagall might let us have hers. She did when Harry was practising for the Triwizard."
"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione, not publicly dismissing Ron's horrible idea. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting."
She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated as though she was steeling herself to say something. She did not look at Ginny, who helped her with this part of the plan. She felt too guilty to.
"I – I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to."
Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but Hermione noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.
"Er…" said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment George was trying to pass to him. " Well... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."
But Ernie was looking somewhat hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.
"I – well, we are prefects," Ernie burst out. "And if this list was found ... well, I mean to say ... you said yourself if Umbridge finds out –"
"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year," Harry reminded him.
"I – yes," said Ernie, "yes, I do believe that, it's just-"
"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" said Hermione testily.
"No. No, of course not," said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. "I – yes, of course I'll sign."
Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Cho's friend gave her a somewhat reproachful look before adding her own name. When the last person – Zacharias – had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract… and, technically, they had. Hermione (with Ginny's help) had jinxed the parchment, so if anyone broke the agreement, there would be… consequences.
"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase. We'll be seeing you all later."
The rest of the group took their leave in twos and threes, too.
"Well, I think that went quite well," said Hermione happily as she, Harry, and Ron walked out of the Hog's Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later. Harry and Ron were clutching their bottles of Butterbeer.
"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," said Ron, glowering after Smith's retreating figure, just discernible in the distance.
"I don't like him much, either," admitted Hermione. "But he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? The more people, the better, really. I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he wasn't going out with Ginny."
Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his Butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed Butterbeer down his front.
"He's WHAT?" spluttered Ron, outraged, his ears burning bright red. "She's going out with – my sister's going – what d'you mean, Michael Corner?"
"Well, that's why he and his friends came, I think. They're obviously interested in learning defence, but if Ginny hadn't told Michael what was going on –"
"When did this – when did she –?"
"They met at the Yule Ball and got together at the end of last year," said Hermione composedly. They had turned into the High Street, and she paused outside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant feather quills in the window. "Hmm ... I could do with a new quill." She felt very uncomfortable talking about Ginny's dating life, especially in front of Ron. However, she also noticed a pang of jealousy cross Harry's face. She turned into the shop, hoping they'd drop the subject. Harry and Ron followed her.
"Which one was Michael Corner?" Ron demanded furiously.
"The dark one," said Hermione. He had been wearing all-black robes. Ginny had said he was in his "Goth phase."
"I didn't like him," said Ron at once.
"Big surprise," Hermione couldn't help but say under her breath.
"But," said Ron, following Hermione along a row of quills in copper pots, "I thought Ginny fancied Harry!"
Hermione looked at him rather pityingly and shook her head. Could this conversation possibly get any more awkward?
"Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course," she added kindly to Harry while she examined a long black and gold quill.
"So that's why she talks now?" Harry asked Hermione. "She never used to talk in front of me."
"Exactly," said Hermione. "Yes, I think I'll have this one…"
She approached the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, with Ron still breathing down her neck.
"Ron," she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, "this is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael. She knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake."
"What d'you mean? Who's taking anything badly? I'm not going to harp on about anything…" Ron continued to mutter under his breath all the way down the street.
Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and then said in an undertone, while Ron was still muttering imprecations about Michael Corner, "And talking about Michael and Ginny ... what about Cho and you?"
"What d'you mean?" said Harry quickly.
"Well," said Hermione, smiling slightly, "she just couldn't keep her eyes off you, could she?"