Chapter 31: Hogs Head

September 11, 2002 – Wednesday

Gryffindor Common Room

Several minutes passed before Harry found himself seated with Dawn, Hermione, and Ron in the cozy confines of the common room. He had just finished recounting to them the discussion he had with Buffy.

"Buffy's right. Something needs to be done, Harry. Something that reveals what kind of teacher and person she is," Hermione declared, her voice tinged with determination.

Dawn nodded in agreement, her expression mirroring her twin's resolve. "Hermione is right," she chimed in. "We all know how dreadful a teacher she is, and it's clear we're not going to learn any defense from her at all."

Ron, stifling a yawn, interjected, "Well, what can we do about that? It's too late, isn't it? She's got the job, and she's here to stay. Fudge'll make sure of that."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, shooting a nervous glance at Harry before continuing. "Well, you know, Dawn and I were talking earlier…" She paused, gathering her thoughts before plunging forward. "We were thinking that maybe the time's come when we should just—just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" Harry inquired suspiciously.

"Well—learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," Dawn reiterated, her voice carrying a sense of determination.

Ron let out an exasperated groan. "Come off it," he protested. "You two want us to do extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week?"

"But this is much more important than homework!" Hermione insisted, her tone bordering on urgency.

Harry and Ron exchanged incredulous looks, unable to comprehend Hermione and Dawn's fervor.

"I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework," Ron quipped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Hermione's expression softened, her eyes alight with a sense of purpose. "Don't be silly, of course there is," she countered. "It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year—"

"We can't do much by ourselves," Ron admitted in a defeated tone. "I mean, all right, we can go and look up jinxes in the library and try to practice them, I suppose—"

"No, Hermione and I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books," Dawn interjected firmly. "We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."

"Buffy isn't going to be able to do it, since she's spying on Umbridge," Ron pointed out. "And she's the first person I would have thought about."

"If you're talking about Lupin..." Harry began.

"No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin," Hermione interjected. "He's too busy with the Order, and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends, and that's not nearly often enough."

"Who, then?" Harry inquired, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Dawn heaved a deep sigh, her expression resigned. "Hermione is talking about you, Harry. About you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Harry stared at the sisters, disbelief written all over his face. The idea of himself as a teacher was a foreign concept, one that he hadn't even considered before. The weight of their suggestion settled heavily on his shoulders, leaving him feeling both overwhelmed and uncertain.

"Harry, I know your first reaction is going to be hell no," Dawn said, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and determination, as she fixed her gaze upon her friend. "You are not a teacher. And you're right, you aren't. But here is the thing. You've faced Voldemort three times and won. Two of those times before I even met you, and the third was last June. You know what you're doing."

"Dawn's right, your first year—you saved the Stone from Voldemort," Hermione chimed in, her tone carrying a sense of admiration mixed with urgency.

"But that was luck," Harry interjected, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "That wasn't skill—"

"Second year," Ron interrupted, his voice brimming with loyalty, "you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I—" Harry started, his voice trailing off with a hint of self-doubt.

"Third year," Ron continued, his tone firm and unwavering, "you fought off about a hundred dementors at once—"

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't—" Harry began, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration, his mind grappling with the events that had unfolded.

"Last year," Dawn interjected, her tone steady yet resolute, "you fought off Voldemort while Glory held me hostage in Sunnydale."

"Listen to me!" Harry's voice rose almost angrily, his emotions swirling within him like a brewing storm. "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck—I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help—"

Dawn, Ron, and Hermione exchanged knowing smirks, their expressions a silent testament to their unwavering belief in Harry's abilities. But Harry felt his temper flare, an inexplicable anger surging within him. "Don't sit there grinning like you know better than I do, I was there, wasn't I?" he said heatedly. "I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because—because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right—but I just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing—STOP LAUGHING!"

Ron, Dawn, and Hermione quickly wiped the smiles off their faces, the gravity of Harry's words sinking in as they realized the depth of his frustration and self-doubt.

"You don't know what it's like! You all have never had to face him, have you?" Harry's voice quivered with a mixture of anger and desperation, his eyes locking with theirs, searching for understanding amidst the turmoil of his emotions.

Dawn stood up, her eyes blazing with determination as she closed the distance between herself and Harry, her voice carrying the weight of their shared history. "I have been there, remember?" she asserted, her words cutting through the tension in the room. "You did something I was unable to do. You fought Voldemort while I did nothing with Glory. This is why it should be you. Because you've faced him and either defeated him or gotten away."

Harry's chest tightened with the weight of her words, the memory of their past encounters with darkness flooding his mind. He could feel the gravity of her argument pulling at him, urging him to confront the reality of his own strength and resilience.

Still breathing hard, Harry sank back into his chair, his thoughts swirling in a tumultuous sea of uncertainty and self-reflection. The weight of Dawn's words bore down upon him, reminding him of the burden he carried, not just as a wizard, but as a symbol of hope in the face of darkness.

"Well… think about it," Hermione interjected quietly, her voice a gentle plea amidst the charged atmosphere. "Please?"

September 24, 2002 – Tuesday

Library

Neither Dawn nor Hermione had mentioned Harry giving Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after their original suggestion. The idea lingered in the air, an unspoken invitation hanging between them, waiting to be acknowledged. Then, on a wild, blustery evening at the end of September, when the four friends found themselves huddled together in the library, seeking refuge from the storm raging outside, the topic resurfaced.

"I was wondering," Dawn said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet murmur of rain against the windows, "whether you'd thought any more about Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry."

"'Course I have," Harry replied grumpily, his frustration evident as he recalled the less-than-ideal teaching they had endured under the watch of their current instructor. "Can't forget it, can we, with that hag teaching us—"

"I meant the idea Hermione and I had about you teaching us," Dawn clarified, her eyes fixed on Harry, a silent plea for consideration shining in their depths.

Harry fell silent, the weight of their proposal settling heavily upon him. He glanced down at the pages of his book, his mind racing with thoughts and uncertainties. "Well," he began slowly, his words measured as he struggled to articulate his inner turmoil, "yeah, I—I've thought about it a bit."

The air around them seemed to crackle with anticipation as Hermione leaned forward, her eagerness palpable. "And?" she prompted, her voice barely containing her anticipation, her eyes searching Harry's for any sign of agreement.

"I dunno," Harry replied, his words a feeble attempt to stall for time as he grappled with the weight of their expectations. He glanced up at Ron, silently pleading for support or perhaps a diversion from the mounting pressure.

"I thought it was a good idea from the start," Ron chimed in, his voice filled with newfound enthusiasm now that he sensed Harry's reluctance to engage in another heated argument.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his thoughts swirling with doubts and insecurities. "You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?" he pressed, his tone tinged with a hint of desperation.

"Let me tell you something, Harry," Dawn interjected, her voice soft yet resolute, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that left no room for doubt. "Something I have been deeply afraid of for years."

June 2, 1997 – Monday

The Master's Cave

The Master held Buffy firmly by her arms, his grip like iron, rendering her unable to break free. His voice, dripping with sinister allure, whispered intimately into her ear, his words a chilling revelation that sent shivers down her spine. "You tried. It was noble of you," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "You heard the prophecy that I was going to break free and you came to stop me. But prophecies are tricky creatures. They didn't tell you everything."

Buffy's heart pounded in her chest as the weight of his words settled upon her. She felt a cold dread creeping into her soul as she realized the true extent of the danger they faced.

"You're the one that frees me," the Master continued, his smile sending a chill down Buffy's spine. "If you hadn't come, I couldn't go. Think about that."

With a sudden and terrifying swiftness, the Master buried his fangs into Buffy's neck, the sharp pain searing through her as he drank deeply of her blood. A rush of power surged through him, and Buffy felt herself growing weaker with each passing moment, her vision swimming as darkness threatened to engulf her.

"God, the power!" the Master exclaimed, his voice filled with ecstatic triumph as Buffy slumped in his grasp. "By the way..." he added casually, as if commenting on the weather, "I like your dress."

And then, as quickly as he had come, the Master left, his form disappearing into the darkness of the cave, leaving behind a scene of devastation and despair.

Twelve-year-old Dawn, hidden and trembling with fear, emerged from her hiding place, her wide eyes filled with horror as she witnessed the cruel fate that had befallen her sister. With a courage born of desperation, she rushed to Buffy's side, pulling her limp form from the pool where she had fallen.

"Buffy?" Dawn's voice was trembling, choked with tears as she cradled her sister's head in her lap, her heart pounding with fear.

But Buffy lay motionless, her chest still, her breath silent. Dawn's heart sank with dread as she feared the worst.

"Buffy, please," Dawn begged, her voice filled with desperation as she looked up to see Xander and Angel approaching. "She's not breathing, Xander. Help her, please," she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion as tears streamed down her face.

September 24, 2002 – Tuesday

Library

Harry sat across from Dawn, his heart heavy with apprehension as he listened to Dawn recount the harrowing tale of Buffy's encounter with the Master. The air seemed to crackle with tension, each word hanging in the air like a weight upon his soul.

As Dawn's voice trembled with emotion, her words weaving a tapestry of fear and despair, Harry's mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He could feel the fear radiating from Dawn, her anguish echoing in his own heart as he imagined the horrors Buffy had endured.

With each passing moment, Harry's sense of helplessness grew, a gnawing feeling of guilt twisting in the pit of his stomach. He longed to reach out, to offer comfort and support, but he knew that words alone could not erase the pain that Dawn had faced.

Dawn's voice wavered as she spoke, her words carrying the weight of sorrow and resilience. She wiped the tears from her eyes, her gaze meeting Harry's with a mixture of sadness and determination. "So, you see, Harry," she began, her voice trembling with emotion, "even heroes have lucky and unlucky days. And do you know what happened next?" Dawn continued, her voice gaining strength with each word. "Her friend Xander performed CPR and brought her back to me."

Hermione's comforting gesture towards her twin spoke volumes, a silent display of solidarity amidst the uncertainty that hung in the air. With a reassuring squeeze, she turned back to Harry, her expression a mix of hope and apprehension.

"Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?" she asked, her voice tinged with anticipation as she awaited Harry's response.

Harry's brow furrowed in thought as he considered Hermione's proposal. "Just you, Dawn, and Ron, yeah?" he clarified, seeking clarity amidst the swirling emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Well," Hermione began, her anxiety creeping back into her voice, "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 Voldemort—oh, don't be pathetic, Ron—it doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people."

Harry pondered her words, his mind wrestling with the implications of opening up his teachings to a wider audience. "Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you three would want to be taught by me," he replied, his tone tinged with self-doubt. "I'm a nutter, remember?"

"Not the only one, remember?" Dawn teased gently, a playful glint in her eye as she reminded him of the shared struggles they had faced. "But you know what, Harry, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you've got to say."

Hermione leaned toward Harry, her voice a whisper of determination as she laid out her proposal. "Look," she began, her eyes meeting Harry's with a sense of urgency, "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?"

Ron's skepticism was palpable, his brow furrowing in confusion as he voiced his doubts. "Why do we have to do it outside school?" he questioned, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"Because," Hermione replied, her gaze never leaving 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."

The weight of her words settled over them like a heavy shroud, the threat of Umbridge's watchful eye a constant presence that loomed over their every move. Dawn nodded in agreement, her voice echoing Hermione's sentiments. "'Mione is right," she affirmed, her eyes flashing with determination as she met Harry's gaze.

October 4, 2002 – Friday

Buffy's Suite

Dawn's heart fluttered with anticipation as she eagerly awaited the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. The prospect of escaping the confines of Hogwarts castle and venturing into the quaint village filled her with a sense of excitement she couldn't contain. She and Hermione had meticulously planned every detail, knowing that this weekend would serve as the perfect opportunity to gather members for their clandestine Defense Against the Dark Arts club.

Her determination to defy the oppressive reign of Dolores Umbridge, fueled her resolve. With Hermione by her side, they had devised a cunning strategy to ensure the club remained a well-guarded secret. They had confided in Buffy enlisting her help to keep Umbridge at bay and prevent her meddling presence from spoiling their plans.

"Well, you can't blame him for wanting to get out and about," Ron remarked, his tone carrying a hint of understanding as he sought to comfort Harry amidst his fears about Sirius potentially showing up in Hogsmeade. "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 lunatic elf."

Dawn shot Ron a disapproving glare.

Hermione, ever the voice of reason, interjected, addressing Harry directly, "The trouble is, until 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 realize 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," Ron offered optimistically, attempting to bolster Harry's spirits.

"Dumbledore'd go mad if he did, and Sirius listens to Dumbledore, even if he doesn't like what he hears," Hermione added, her confidence in Dumbledore's authority unwavering.

Despite Harry's lingering concern, Dawn stepped in to offer reassurance, her voice steady and comforting. "Listen, Hermione and I have been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade."

"Right," Harry responded absently, his thoughts still consumed by worries of Sirius's safety.

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione murmured softly, her words infused with empathy. "You've got enough on your plate without Sirius too."

October 5, 2002 – Saturday

Umbridge and Buffy's Office

The next morning found Buffy and Umbridge ensconced in their office, the atmosphere tense with an unspoken tension that hung thick in the air. Umbridge, perched behind her desk like a regal yet menacing figure, broke the silence with a note of surprise lacing her words.

"Buffy, you're not going to Hogsmeade with your sisters?" she inquired, her expression one of genuine astonishment as she regarded the Slayer before her.

Buffy, her features carefully composed into a mask of nonchalance, met Umbridge's gaze head-on. "I thought I would catch up on some correspondence with my Watcher, Giles, and my fellow Slayer, Faith, in Sunnydale," she replied smoothly, weaving a thread of deception into her words.

Umbridge's lips pursed disapprovingly as she leaned forward, her demeanor exuding an air of authority. "You can do that tomorrow, Buffy," she insisted firmly. "I really think you should spend time with your sisters. In fact, I think you need to report to me what goes on in Hogsmeade."

Buffy's brow furrowed in a mixture of frustration and defiance at Umbridge's audacity. "You want me to spy on 'Mione and Dawn?" she questioned, her voice tinged with incredulity as she struggled to contain her indignation. "I draw the line on spying on my sisters, Dolores," she asserted, her tone firm and resolute.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed, her thin lips curling into a tight smile that did little to disguise her displeasure at Buffy's refusal to comply with her demands. Behind her saccharine facade, there simmered an undercurrent of irritation at the Slayer's defiance.

"Buffy, dear, I'm simply concerned for your well-being," Umbridge began, her tone dripping with false sympathy as she attempted to coax Buffy into submission. "Surely you understand the importance of keeping a watchful eye on those who may pose a threat to our beloved Hogwarts?"

Buffy's jaw clenched as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of Umbridge's manipulative tactics. "I understand perfectly well, Dolores," she retorted, her voice laced with steel. "But I refuse to betray the trust of my sisters and engage in such underhanded tactics."

Umbridge's gaze hardened, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features before she masked it behind a facade of icy composure. "Very well, Buffy," she conceded, her tone dripping with thinly veiled condescension. "But remember, loyalty to Hogwarts must always come first."

"Hogwarts does come first," she affirmed, her voice carrying a note of determination. "Have I not punished Hermione and Dawn when they deserve it?"

Umbridge's lips curved into a tight smile of acknowledgment, a begrudging admission of Buffy's adherence to the rules and regulations set forth by the Ministry. "Yes, you have," she conceded, her tone betraying a hint of reluctant approval. "Very well, Buffy. I won't ask you to go against your family. After all," she continued, her tone softening slightly, "you are officially Dawn's legal parent since you are her legal guardian. And I would hate for either Dawn or Hermione to not respect your authority in that role."

Buffy's senses tingled with a familiar prickling sensation, her instincts honed by years of facing down adversaries both mundane and supernatural. As Umbridge's words hung in the air like a subtle but unmistakable warning, Buffy's awareness snapped into sharp focus.

She recognized a thinly veiled threat when she heard one.

Entrance Hall

After a hearty breakfast, Dawn, Hermione, Ron, and Harry found themselves in line before Filch, the grumpy caretaker, who meticulously checked their names against the list of students permitted to venture into the village. Each name was scrutinized with a suspicious eye, as Filch ensured that parental or guardian permission had been granted for the excursion.

When it was Harry's turn to face Filch, the caretaker's nostrils flared as if attempting to detect some hidden scent emanating from him. With a curt nod that sent a shiver down Harry's spine, Filch reluctantly permitted him to pass, and Harry stepped out into the crisp air of the sunlit day, his spirits lifted by the prospect of the outing.

As they made their way down the stone steps and along the wide drive towards the gates, Ron couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "Er—why was Filch sniffing you two?" he inquired, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Harry chuckled softly, recalling the encounter with Filch moments earlier. "I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs," he explained, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I forgot to tell you…"

And so, Harry regaled his friends with the tale of his encounter with Filch, recounting the incident where he had hastily sent a letter to Sirius, only for Filch to burst in moments later, demanding to see the contents of the letter.

"He claimed someone had tipped him off about us ordering Dungbombs," Harry concluded, his brow furrowing in thought. "But who could have possibly tipped him off?" Dawn interjected, her memory jogging as she recalled the events of that particular day. "Was that the day I accompanied you to the Owlery?" she pondered aloud, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Yes, it was, and I dunno," Harry replied with a shrug, his uncertainty evident in his tone. "Maybe Malfoy, he'd think it was a laugh."

As they strolled between the imposing stone pillars adorned with winged boars and turned onto the road leading into the village, the brisk wind whipped their hair into their eyes.

"Malfoy?" Hermione echoed, her skepticism apparent as she mulled over Harry's suggestion. "Well… yes… maybe…" Her brows furrowed in contemplation, while Dawn remained lost in her own thoughts, her expression mirroring Hermione's deep concentration as they made their way deeper into Hogsmeade.

Streets of Hogsmeade

"Where are we going anyway?" Harry interjected, breaking the silence with a hint of curiosity. "The Three Broomsticks?"

"Oh—no," Hermione replied, snapping out of her reverie. "No, it's always packed and really noisy. Dawn and 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 continued down the bustling main street, passing Zonko's Joke Shop, where the mischievous Weasley twins and their friend Lee Jordan were no doubt causing chaos as usual. They skirted past the post office, from which owls fluttered out at regular intervals, and turned up a quiet side street. At the top stood a small inn, its weathered exterior bearing testament to years of wear and tear. A battered wooden sign creaked in the wind, displaying a macabre image of a wild boar's severed head, blood dripping onto the pristine white cloth beneath it.

Outside the inn's entrance, all three of them hesitated momentarily, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.

"Well, come on," Hermione urged, her voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. With Harry leading the way, they pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside

Hog's Head

The contrast between the Hog's Head and the Three Broomsticks couldn't have been more stark. While the latter exuded an air of welcoming warmth and pristine cleanliness with its spacious bar, the former was a cramped, dingy space that seemed to have seen better days. The single room reeked of a pungent odor that could only be described as reminiscent of goats, its atmosphere heavy with a palpable sense of mystery and intrigue.

At the bar, a peculiar sight greeted them: a man with his entire head swathed in dirty gray bandages, yet somehow still managing to consume copious amounts of a smoking, fiery substance through a narrow slit over his mouth. In the shadows, two mysterious figures cloaked in hoods occupied a table by the window, while a witch draped in a thick black veil sat in a dim corner beside the crackling fireplace.

Harry's unease was palpable as they approached the bar, his gaze lingering on the veiled witch with a sense of apprehension. "I don't know about this, Hermione, Dawn," he muttered under his breath, his thoughts drifting to the possibility of Umbridge lurking beneath the veil. "Has it occurred to you Umbridge might be under that?"

Dawn cast a discerning glance at the veiled figure, her voice hushed as she offered her assessment. "Umbridge is shorter than that woman," she remarked quietly. "But remember, Buffy is supposed to be keeping her up at the castle. So unless she is unable to do so, it's doubtful Umbridge would even come in here. Can you really see her in a place like this?"

Harry shook his head in reluctant agreement, finding it difficult to envision Umbridge amidst the dimly lit confines of the Hog's Head.

"Anyways," Hermione interjected, her tone firm and resolute, "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 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."

Harry's dry remark elicited a chuckle from Dawn and Hermione, their shared amusement cutting through the tension that lingered in the air. "No," Harry quipped, his tone tinged with sarcasm, "especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?"

Their banter was interrupted by the arrival of the barman, who shuffled toward them from a dimly lit back room. He cut a rather uninviting figure, his grumpy demeanor accentuated by a mass of long gray hair and beard that obscured much of his face. "What?" he grunted, his voice gruff and coarse.

Unfazed by his brusqueness, Dawn politely requested, "Four butterbeers, please."

With a begrudging grunt, the barman retrieved four dusty, grimy bottles from beneath the counter, slamming them down onto the bar with a resounding thud. "Eight Sickles," he demanded, his tone curt and to the point.

"I'll get them," Harry offered quickly, eager to expedite the transaction. He passed over the required payment, feeling the weight of the barman's gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes betraying a flicker of recognition as they settled momentarily on Harry's distinctive scar. Without another word, the barman deposited the coins into an ancient wooden till, its drawer sliding open automatically to receive the payment.

With their drinks in hand, Dawn, Harry, Ron, and Hermione retreated to the farthest table from the bar, seeking solace in the relative seclusion it offered.

Ron's eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced over at the bar, his enthusiasm evident in his voice. "You know what?" he murmured excitedly, "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," Hermione interjected sharply, her tone laden with disapproval as she cut off Ron's suggestion with a glare.

Ron's expression fell, the enthusiasm draining from his features as he sheepishly conceded, "Oh... yeah..."

Unfazed by the brief interruption, Harry redirected the conversation, his curiosity piqued. "So who did you two say is supposed to be meeting us?" he inquired, wrenching open the rusty top of his butterbeer and taking a swig.

"Just a couple of people," Hermione reiterated vaguely, her attention momentarily diverted as she scanned the room.

Dawn checked her watch before casting a hopeful glance toward the door. "Hermione and 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—"

As she spoke, the door of the pub swung open, flooding the dimly lit interior with a thick band of dusty sunlight that illuminated the room for a fleeting moment before being swallowed by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.

The Hog's Head pub seemed to burst at the seams as a veritable procession of Hogwarts students poured through the door, filling the dimly lit space with chatter and laughter. Leading the charge was Neville Longbottom, flanked by Dean and Lavender, their faces alight with anticipation. They were closely followed by the Patil twins, Parvati and Padma, accompanied by Cho Chang and one of her typically giggling friends, adding to the lively atmosphere.

The eclectic group continued to swell as Luna Lovegood glided gracefully into the room, her dreamy expression adding an ethereal quality to the gathering. Behind her came a flurry of familiar faces: Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson, their Gryffindor pride evident in their easy camaraderie; Colin and Dennis Creevey, their excitement palpable as they darted through the crowd; Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait trailing down her back.

Among the Ravenclaws, three boys, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot, made their entrance, their intellectual curiosity evident as they engaged in animated conversation. Ginny Weasley followed, her fiery red hair a striking contrast against the muted tones of the pub, accompanied by a tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose.

Bringing up the rear were the irrepressible Weasley twins, Fred and George, flanked by their friend Lee Jordan, their arms laden with large paper bags brimming with Zonko's merchandise. The sight of them caused a ripple of excitement to sweep through the pub, as they were known for their mischievous antics and penchant for trouble.

"A couple of people?" Harry rasped incredulously to Hermione and Dawn, his eyes widening in disbelief at the sight before him. "A couple of people?"

"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," Hermione replied, her smile widening at the sight of the bustling crowd.

Sensing the need for more seating, Dawn turned to Ron, her voice laced with urgency. "Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?"

Meanwhile, the barman stood frozen in disbelief, his rag hanging limply from his hand as he surveyed the crowded room. Fred, taking charge of the situation, approached the bar with a grin, addressing the overwhelmed barman with a nonchalant wave. "Hi," he greeted casually, quickly counting his companions. "Could we have… twenty-five butterbeers, please?"

As the barman begrudgingly began to fetch the requested butterbeers from beneath the counter, his glare fixed squarely on Harry, a palpable tension hung in the air. With an irritable gesture, he tossed down his rag as if he had been interrupted in the midst of something crucial, his annoyance evident in his abrupt movements.

"Cheers," Fred chimed in, distributing the butterbeers to the eager group. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these…"

The large gathering of students, their voices blending into a lively chatter, eagerly fished through their robes to unearth the necessary coins, each one contributing to cover the cost of their drinks.

Curiosity gnawed at Harry as he turned to Hermione and Dawn, his voice barely above a whisper. "What have you two been telling people?" he questioned, his gaze searching their faces for answers. "What are they expecting?"

Hermione, ever the voice of reason, attempted to assuage his concerns with her calm demeanor. "We've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say," she reassured him soothingly. But Harry's furrowed brow betrayed his lingering apprehension, prompting Dawn to interject hastily, "You don't have to do anything yet, Hermione and I'll speak to them first."

Before Harry could respond, Neville Longbottom, his face alight with enthusiasm, approached their table with a warm greeting. "Hi, Harry, Dawn," he greeted warmly, settling into a seat opposite Harry.

Harry attempted to return the greeting with a smile, but his throat felt inexplicably dry, his nerves getting the best of him. Meanwhile, Cho Chang, her smile directed at Harry, drew Dawn's attention, prompting a glare from Dawn.

As the new arrivals settled around Harry, Ron, Dawn, and Hermione, the atmosphere crackled with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. Groups formed organically, some bubbling with enthusiasm, while others exuded an air of quiet curiosity. Luna Lovegood, ever the enigma, sat in her own world, her dreamy gaze fixed on some distant point.

With every chair occupied and the chatter gradually subsiding, all eyes turned expectantly to Harry, though a few stray glances also found their way to Dawn, the unspoken tension between them palpable.

"Erm," Hermione began, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness as she cleared her throat, "Well—er—hi."

The group's attention shifted to Hermione, their curiosity piqued by her hesitant demeanor. However, their gazes kept darting back to Harry and Dawn, their unspoken curiosity simmering beneath the surface.

"Well… erm… well, you know why you're here," Hermione continued, her words gaining momentum as she found her footing. "Erm… well, Harry here had the idea—I mean," she corrected herself quickly, catching Harry's pointed look, "Dawn and I had the idea—that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts—and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us—"

Her voice grew stronger and more assertive, a spark of indignation igniting her words as she spoke out against Umbridge's inadequate teaching methods. "Because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts…"

"Hear, hear," Anthony Goldstein interjected, his voice echoing the sentiment shared by many in the room.

Hermione's expression brightened at the supportive reaction, her resolve bolstered by the encouraging response from her peers. "Well, Dawn and I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands," she began, her voice gaining momentum as she glanced sideways at Harry for reassurance. "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells—"

Before Hermione could finish her thought, Michael Corner interjected with a pointed observation. "You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?"

"Of course we do," Dawn affirmed without hesitation, her voice carrying a sense of determination. "But we want more than that, we want to be properly trained in Defense because Voldemort's back."

The impact of Dawn's words was immediate and palpable, sending shockwaves through the group. Cho's friend let out a startled shriek, spilling butterbeer down herself in her surprise. Terry Boot gave a sudden twitch, Padma Patil shuddered involuntarily, and Neville emitted an odd yelp that he hastily masked with a cough. Despite their varied reactions, all eyes remained fixed on Harry and Dawn, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

Hermione, undeterred by the unexpected response, forged ahead with her explanation. "Well… that's the plan anyway," she concluded, her tone resolute. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to—"

The blond Hufflepuff player cut her off abruptly, his voice laced with aggression as he demanded, "Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?"

Dawn interjected firmly, her voice cutting through the tension that had settled over the group. "Here is the thing," she began, her tone resolute. "Harry and I have seen him personally."

"And Dumbledore believes it—" Hermione interjected, seeking to lend further credence to their claims.

The blond boy, identified as Zacharias Smith, interrupted Hermione with a pointed observation. "You mean, Dumbledore believes them," he stated, nodding towards Harry and Dawn, his skepticism evident in his tone.

Ron, ever straightforward, didn't mince words as he addressed the newcomer. "Who are you?" he demanded rather rudely, his curiosity tinged with suspicion.

"Zacharias Smith," the boy replied curtly, his demeanor unapologetic. "And I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes them say You-Know-Who's back."

Hermione, ever the peacemaker, swiftly intervened to defuse the growing tension. "Look," she interjected, her voice firm but diplomatic, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about—"

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry interjected, his voice calm but firm as Dawn nodded in agreement beside him. "What makes Dawn and I say You-Know-Who's back?" Harry challenged, fixing Zacharias with a steady gaze. "As Dawn said, we saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don't believe us, and we're not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

"Harry's right," Dawn affirmed, her voice carrying a hint of frustration. "It is because of Voldemort that I was given to an enemy of my sister called Glorificus," she added, her tone tinged with bitterness.

Zacharias waved away their explanations dismissively. "All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who, that you, Harry, brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts, and that you, Dawn, were captured and he and Professor Summers went to rescue you," he argued, his tone skeptical. "He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, or how you were captured, Dawn. I think we'd all like to know—"

Dawn's resolve hardened as she prepared to divulge the harrowing details of their ordeal. "Very well," she said, her voice steady despite the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. "Cedric, Harry, and I arrived at the cups almost at the same time. I was the first one. I grabbed one and was ported as the cup was turned into a portkey. Death Eaters were waiting the moment I ported in. They bound me waiting for Harry to arrive. Moments later Harry and Cedric appeared. Personally, I would rather not go into what happened to Cedric, it was scary. But the end result is, Cedric was dead and I was handed over to Glorificus and taken to Sunnydale. To the Hellmouth. Glory, as we called her, then proceeded to use my blood in a ritual to open a portal to a hell dimension. If not for Hermione and Buffy coming with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, I would be dead right now myself."

A heavy silence descended upon the group as Dawn finished recounting the traumatic experience, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.

"So," Hermione continued, her voice strained with nervous energy, "So… like Dawn and I were 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—"

Before Hermione could finish her thought, the girl with the long plait down her back interjected, her gaze fixed intently on Harry. "Is it true," she inquired, her curiosity evident, "that you can produce a Patronus?"

The question sparked a murmur of interest among the assembled group, their attention now fully focused on Harry.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his tone tinged with defensiveness at the sudden scrutiny.

The girl pressed further, her curiosity unquenched. "A corporeal Patronus?" she clarified.

Harry hesitated, caught off guard by the specificity of her question. "Er—you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" he deflected, attempting to sidestep the interrogation.

The corners of the girl's lips curled into a smile of recognition. "She's my auntie," she revealed with a hint of pride. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So—is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?"

Harry nodded, confirming her inquiry with a simple "Yes."

"Blimey, Harry!" exclaimed Lee, his eyes wide with admiration. "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," Fred chimed in, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he teased Harry. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

Harry chuckled wryly in agreement, acknowledging the truth in Mrs. Weasley's admonition. "She's not wrong," he mumbled, his response eliciting a few chuckles from the group. The veiled witch sitting alone in the corner shifted ever so slightly in her seat, a subtle indication of her presence amidst the conversation.

The interrogation continued as Terry Boot jumped in with his own question, his curiosity piqued. "And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" he demanded, his voice eager. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…"

"Er—yeah, I did, yeah," Harry confirmed, his voice tinged with modesty.

Justin Finch-Fletchley let out a low whistle of admiration, while the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks. Lavender Brown added her own soft "wow," her eyes wide with wonder.

"And in our first year," Neville chimed in, eager to contribute to the conversation, "he saved that Sorcerous Stone—"

"Sorcerer's," Hermione corrected him with a hiss, her dedication to accuracy unwavering.

"Yes, that, from You-Know-Who," Neville continued, undeterred by Hermione's correction.

Hannah Abbott's eyes widened in disbelief, her expression mirroring the astonishment shared by many in the group.

"And that's not to mention," Cho interjected, her gaze shifting to Harry as she spoke, a fond smile playing on her lips, "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year—getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things…"

"He and I had to get through," Dawn corrected Cho sharply, her glare directed at the girl.

There was a collective murmur of impressed agreement that rippled around the table, acknowledging Harry and Dawn's remarkable feats.

"Look," Harry began, his voice cutting through the murmurs and instantly commanding the attention of everyone present. "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," Michael Corner interjected eagerly, his admiration evident in his tone. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying…"

Harry couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at the compliment, though he attempted to downplay it. "Yeah, well—" he started, realizing it would be churlish to dismiss Michael's praise outright.

Turning his attention to Dawn, Michael continued, his expression sincere. "And I do have to admit, you putting your dragon to sleep was pure genius."

Dawn's smile widened at the compliment, a sense of accomplishment shining in her eyes as she responded, "Thanks," her gratitude genuine as she exchanged a warm smile with Michael.

Susan Bones interjected, her tone earnest as she addressed Harry directly. "And nobody helped you, Harry, get rid of those dementors this summer," she pointed out.

Harry nodded in agreement, acknowledging her observation. "No," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "No, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is—"

Before Harry could finish his thought, Zacharias Smith cut in, his tone accusatory. "Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" he demanded, his skepticism palpable.

Ron, never one to shy away from defending his friends, spoke up loudly before Harry could respond. "Here's an idea," he interjected, his voice carrying a note of irritation as he directed his gaze at Zacharias. "Why don't you shut your mouth?" Ron suggested, his expression conveying his readiness to take action if needed.

Zacharias flushed, taken aback by Ron's blunt retort. "Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," he argued, his frustration evident in his tone.

"That's not what he said," snarled Fred Weasley, coming to Harry's defense with a fierce glare aimed at Zacharias.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" inquired George, his tone laced with mischief as he brandished a long and 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," chimed in Fred, his grin matching his twin's mischievous demeanor.

Hermione, ever the peacemaker, interjected hastily to redirect the conversation. "Yes, well, moving on… the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"

Padma Patil spoke up, expressing her desire to learn from both Harry and Dawn. "Personally, I think that I would like to learn from both Harry and Dawn. After all, Dawn and Hermione are Professor Summers' sisters. Dawn would have to have learned some of that muggle defense stuff," she reasoned.

A murmur of general agreement rippled through the group, indicating their support for Padma's suggestion. Meanwhile, Zacharias folded his arms and remained silent, perhaps too preoccupied with keeping an eye on the intimidating instrument in George's hand to contribute to the discussion.

Hermione, visibly relieved that progress was being made, seized the opportunity to address the next question at hand. "Right," she began, her tone decisive. "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," Angelina interjected, her brow furrowing in concern. "We need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," asserted Cho firmly, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," echoed Zacharias Smith, his tone equally resolute.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," Hermione interjected, her patience wearing thin, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against Voldemort's Death Eaters—"

Ernie Macmillan, seizing the moment to voice his own convictions, interjected forcefully, "Well said!" His tone was commanding, as though expecting resounding agreement from the group. "Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!" He paused dramatically, as if anticipating a chorus of disbelief. When no one spoke up, he continued, "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon 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—"

Hermione, always quick to provide context, interjected with her own insight. "We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," she explained, "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 mobilize us against the Ministry."

The revelation left nearly everybody stunned, their expressions ranging from disbelief to alarm. Luna Lovegood, however, seemed unfazed by the news, offering her own unique perspective. "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."

Harry, caught off guard by this unexpected revelation, could only respond with a bewildered, "What?" as he struggled to process the implications of what he had just heard.

"Yes, he's got an army of heliopaths," asserted Luna solemnly, her tone carrying an air of certainty.

"No, he hasn't," Hermione retorted sharply, her skepticism evident.

"Yes, he has," Luna insisted, unmoved by Hermione's disbelief.

Curiosity piqued, Neville interjected with a question, his expression revealing his confusion. "What are heliopaths?" he asked, his tone tinged with curiosity.

"They're spirits of fire," Luna explained, her eyes widening as she spoke, giving her an even more eccentric appearance. "Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of—"

"They don't exist, Neville," Hermione interrupted tartly, her dismissal of Luna's fantastical claim clear in her tone. Her words were like icicles, piercing through the air with a cold certainty.

"Oh yes they do!" retorted Luna angrily, her conviction unwavering despite Hermione's skepticism. Luna's voice echoed with a fiery determination, as if each word were a flame igniting in defiance.

"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?" snapped Hermione, her frustration evident in her tone. Her voice crackled with impatience, like dry leaves being trampled underfoot in the autumn wind.

"There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you—" Luna countered. Her words flowed like a gentle stream, unwavering in their calm insistence amidst Hermione's storm of doubt.

"Hem, hem," interjected Ginny, her voice eerily reminiscent of Professor Umbridge's, causing a ripple of amusement among the group. Ginny's interruption sent a shiver down their spines, a chilling reminder of authority gone awry.

"Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get Defense lessons?" Realizing the need to refocus, Hermione quickly conceded. "Yes," she agreed, "yes, we were, you're right…"

"Just a second," interrupted Lee Jordan, his brow furrowing in thought. His expression was a canvas of contemplation, each crease in his forehead a sign of his deep concentration. "Now that we understand Umbridge's reasons for not teaching us defense. Is that also the reason Buffy isn't teaching us defense?"

Dawn shook her head. "No," she clarified. Her words were a beacon of clarity amidst the fog of uncertainty. "There is something that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are not privileged to reveal. If Buffy could, she would be teaching us herself and is actually in favor of what we're doing here today. She just can't openly say it. Now, I think for all interested parties here, I think once a week would…"

"Sound cool," Lee Jordan finished for Dawn, a grin spreading across his face as he eagerly anticipated the prospect of regular defense lessons.

"As long as—" Angelina started. Her words hung in the air, a thread of caution woven into the conversation.

"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," Hermione interjected, her voice tinged with tension. There was a palpable edge to her tone, a reminder of the pressing matters beyond their gathering. "Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet…"

The group fell into a thoughtful silence as they considered their options. Each member lost in their own thoughts, weighing the possibilities.

"Library?" suggested Katie Bell after a few moments. Her voice cut through the quiet like a whisper of suggestion, offering a sanctuary of knowledge for their clandestine meetings.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," Harry remarked, his concern evident. His words hung in the air like a cautionary whisper, highlighting the potential consequences of their actions.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" Dean proposed. His suggestion was like a beacon of hope amidst the uncertainty, offering a practical solution to their dilemma.

"Yeah," agreed Ron, chiming in, "McGonagall might let us have hers…" His optimism was tempered by the reality of their situation, a faint glimmer of possibility in the face of adversity.

"Ron, I don't think McGonagall is going to let us use hers," Dawn interjected. Her voice carried a note of reason, grounded in the harsh truths of their current circumstances. "No teacher is, in fact, because if Umbridge found out, she could use that against them. After all, she does now have the power to suspend them."

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione. Her determination shone through her words, a beacon of leadership amidst uncertainty. "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, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something. "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 put down his signature.

Several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list. Their expressions varied from uncertainty to outright reluctance, casting a shadow of doubt over the room.

"Er…" said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass him. His hesitation was palpable, like a thick fog enveloping his thoughts. "Well… I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is." His words were a feeble attempt to sidestep the issue, a desperate grasp at avoidance.

But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, her silent challenge piercing through his wavering resolve. "I—well, we are prefects," Ernie burst out. His voice trembled with uncertainty, the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. "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. His words were a gentle nudge, a reminder of the stakes they were all facing.

"I—yes," said Ernie, his voice faltering. "Yes, I do believe that, it's just…" His words trailed off, lost in the sea of doubt and apprehension.

"Ernie, do you really think Hermione would leave that list lying around?" said Dawn testily. Her tone carried a hint of frustration, a challenge to Ernie's wavering trust.

"No. No, of course not," said Ernie, his confidence growing slightly. "I—yes, of course I'll sign."

Nobody raised objections after Ernie. 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, a subtle shift in the air that left them all feeling a bit more bound together.

It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract, a silent agreement sealed with their signatures, binding them to secrecy and solidarity in their cause.

"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. His tone carried a sense of urgency, a reminder of the tasks that awaited them beyond the confines of their clandestine meeting. "George, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later."

In twos and threes, the rest of the group took their leave too, dispersing into the bustling streets with a shared sense of purpose.

Streets of Hogsmeade

"Well, I think that went quite well," said Hermione happily, her smile radiant in the sunlight as she, Dawn, Harry, and Ron walked out of the Hog's Head a few moments later. The warmth of the sun on their faces was a welcome contrast to the secrecy of their meeting, a reminder of the world beyond their clandestine gatherings. Harry and Ron still clutched their bottles of butterbeer, a tangible reminder of the camaraderie they had shared in the dimly lit pub.

"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," said Ron, his voice tinged with irritation as he glowered after the figure of Smith just discernible in the distance.

"I don't like him much either," admitted Dawn, her voice carrying a hint of reluctance. Her words were a confession tinged with apprehension, a glimpse into her reservations about Zacharias.

"But he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say?" Dawn's explanation was laced with a sense of obligation, a reminder of the delicate balance between inclusion and discretion. "But the more people, the better really—I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny—"

Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed butterbeer down his front. His reaction was visceral, a sudden eruption of shock and disbelief.

"He's WHAT?" said Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. The intensity of his reaction was palpable, his emotions laid bare for all to see. "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—well, they're obviously interested in learning defense, but if Ginny hadn't told Michael what was going on—" Dawn explained, her voice steady despite Ron's growing agitation.

"When did this—when did she—?" Ron sputtered, his words tumbling out in a flurry of confusion.

"They met at the Yule Ball and they got together at the end of last year," said Dawn composedly. Her tone was calm, a stark contrast to Ron's flustered state.

Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop

They had turned into the High Street, and Hermione 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," Hermione said, her eyes lighting up with interest as she turned into the shop. Harry, Dawn, and Ron followed her, the air thick with tension from Ron's earlier outburst.

"Which one was Michael Corner?" Ron demanded furiously, his voice betraying his simmering frustration.

"The dark one," said Hermione, her tone matter-of-fact as she scanned the display of quills.

"I didn't like him," said Ron at once, his words dripping with disdain.

"Big surprise," said Hermione and Dawn under their breath, their shared amusement barely concealed.

"But," said Ron, his voice trailing off as he followed Hermione and Dawn along a row of quills in copper pots, "I thought Ginny fancied Harry!"

Hermione glanced at Dawn and saw her sister glaring at Ron. She understood why, of course. With Dawn crushing on Harry, she didn't want any more competition for his attention. It was a subtle dance of emotions, one that Hermione had become adept at deciphering.

"Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago," Hermione said, trying to placate Dawn while also enlightening Ron about his sister's feelings. "Not that she doesn't like you, of course," she added kindly to Harry, her words a gentle reassurance amidst the swirling emotions.

"So that's why she talks now?" Harry asked Hermione, his voice tinged with realization. "She never used to talk in front of me."

"Exactly," said Hermione, her tone confirming Harry's suspicion. She continued to examine a long black-and-gold quill, her focus divided between the conversation and the merchandise.

"Yes, I think I'll have this one…" Hermione decided, making her choice. She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, Ron still breathing down her and Dawn's neck, his presence a constant reminder of the tension lingering between them.

"Ron," Dawn said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, her voice firm with admonishment. "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 chunter under his breath all the way down the street, his words a murmured protest against the reality of the situation.