Harry pushed open the door to his study room, the familiar scent of old parchment and books mixing with the faint crackle of magic in the air. He paused at the entrance, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of Daphne and Susan engaged in a mock duel. Sparks flew between them, Susan casting quick spells while Daphne weaved and dodged with practiced ease.

A small smirk tugged at Harry's lips as he watched them for a moment, before calling out, "Oi, Susan, Daphne—hold up for a sec!"

Susan, clearly startled by Harry's voice, turned instinctively towards him. It was a split second of distraction, but it was all Daphne needed. Her spell hit Susan squarely in the chest, sending her stumbling backward with a yelp.

"That," Harry said as he stepped further into the room, "is your first lesson, Susan. Never take your eyes off your opponent."

Daphne lowered her wand, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she walked over to Susan, who was now rubbing her chest. "You alright?" Daphne asked, a note of concern in her voice.

Susan nodded, her face flushing in embarrassment. "Yeah, I'm fine," she muttered, though her pride seemed to have taken a hit.

"Good," Harry said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "Because we're done with mock duels for now. Susan, I'm going to work with you directly for a bit. Daphne, can you sit back for a bit, and keep an eye on Susan's form?"

Daphne nodded, stepping back to give them space, her eyes sharp and focused, ready to observe. Harry turned his attention fully to Susan, who was still regaining her composure.

"Alright, Susan," Harry began, his tone less harsh now, but still firm. "What's your preferred style of magic?"

Susan blinked, clearly puzzled. "Preferred style?" she echoed. "I'm… not sure what you mean."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, realising he might have overestimated her competence. "Do you favour charms, transfiguration, or something else? When you're in a tough spot, do you lean more toward defence or offence? What spells do you find easiest to cast—curses, jinxes, or defensive spells? That's your style."

"Oh!" Susan bit her lip, thinking carefully. "I guess I'm decent with charms, but I haven't really thought about it that way before. I just… well, use what I've learned in class."

"Alright, that's a start," Harry said, nodding. "Now, think about the type of magic you naturally connect with. Do you find yourself drawn to spells involving fire, explosions, wind, water—anything elemental? What kind of magic feels right when you're under pressure?"

Susan paused, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "I've never really thought about it like that… But I've always been good with shield charms. And once in class, I managed a pretty strong wind spell when we were learning elemental charms."

Harry considered that for a moment. "That's good. So you might have an affinity for defensive magic and wind-based charms. That's what we'll focus on today. If we can find where your strengths lie, you'll be much more confident in combat."

He gestured for Susan to take a stance. "Alright, we'll start with something simple. I want you to cast a shield charm. Any charm you want, just something to block spells."

Susan nodded, taking a breath and raising her wand, though there was still a hint of uncertainty in her movements. But, to her credit, her shield did form, at a level that should have rewarded her with an O in class.

"Right, fix your stance." Seeing her hesitation, he sighed softly, before expanding his point, "Imagine someone is physically running at you, ready to hit you. How would you hold yourself to prepare for that attack?"

Susan adjusted her stance slightly, but Harry shook his head. "No, not just slightly. Think about it. Someone's charging at you—how are you going to stand?"

She hesitated for a moment, then widened her stance, lowering her centre of gravity as if bracing for impact. Harry nodded approvingly.

"Better. Now, keep that mentality in mind with your magic too. Magic isn't just something you fling from your wand, Susan. You've got to treat it like it's an extension of you. Your shield charm is only as strong as you believe it is. The way you hold yourself, the way you think about the spell—it all affects its strength."

Susan swallowed nervously, trying to internalise Harry's advice. She cast the shield charm again, this time with more intention behind it. The translucent barrier shimmered in front of her, noticeably more solid than before.

"Good, can you see how stronger that is already? Now, shield!" He finished, raising his voice to a yell, as he conjured a knife and began to charge at her.

She barely had time to react. Her eyes widened in panic as Harry charged at her, the gleaming knife in his hand. Instinctively, she raised her wand higher, but her focus wavered, and the shimmering shield flickered.

Before Harry reached her, he stopped abruptly, lowering the conjured knife and standing over her. "See that? You doubted yourself. The second fear took over, your shield weakened. In a real fight, that's when you'd lose."

Susan let out a shaky breath, her grip on her wand tight. She glanced at Daphne, who was watching with a calm but serious expression.

"It's not just about casting the right spell, Susan. You need to trust yourself, trust the magic you're using. That's the only way you'll hold up when things get rough."

Susan nodded, her face pale but determined. "I understand," she whispered, her voice wavering but resolute.

Harry gave her a nod of approval. "Alright. Take a deep breath. Let's try again, but this time, don't just react. Own the spell. Don't let anything shake your confidence."

Susan exhaled slowly, setting her stance once more, her eyes narrowing as she readied her shield charm. After Susan steadied herself, Harry stepped back, his eyes scanning both her and Daphne, as if deciding on his next move.

"Here's the thing about magic," Harry began, his tone shifting to something more introspective. "In class, they'll teach you how to wave your wand and say the right words. They'll tell you the rules and the technical details. But that's only half of it."

Magic isn't just about knowing the spell or following instructions. It's about mindset. Mentality," Harry continued, his voice growing more focused. "Each kind of magic needs you to understand why you're using it. Defensive spells, like your shield charm, are all about standing your ground, being calm in the face of danger. If you're panicking or doubting yourself, the magic knows. It responds to you."

He gestured to with his wand, seeing the way Susan's eyes wearily followed it. "Think of it like this: every spell has a mentality behind it. Defence isn't just about protecting yourself physically—it's about mentally fortifying yourself, too. You need to believe that nothing can break through. That's what makes a shield strong."

Without warning, Harry spun around, flicking his wrist as the knife shot toward Susan. She gasped in shock, raising her shield just in time. The blade stopped dead, inches from her, quivering as it remained stuck within the shimmering barrier.

Harry's grin widened. "Mentality," he repeated, his voice cool but approving.

Susan stared at the knife, her breath coming in shallow bursts, but the shield held firm.

"You see?" Harry said, stepping closer. "Your magic knew. You didn't even think—you just reacted. That's what I'm talking about. It's not about the spell itself, but how you feel when you cast it."

Harry stepped closer, eyes glinting with approval as he gestured toward the quivering knife still stuck in her shield. "You did good. But now, what's your next move?" he asked, his tone calm but probing.

Susan blinked, still catching her breath. "I… I could drop the shield."

"You could," Harry agreed, nodding slowly. "But then what? The knife would fall to the floor, and I could pick it up and attack again. You'd be back at square one."

Susan's brow furrowed, clearly trying to think through the next step.

"Remember, defence isn't just about holding the line—it's about turning the situation to your advantage. That knife's yours now," Harry continued, stepping back slightly to give her space. "Use it."

Susan stared at him, unsure. "How?"

"Banish it," Harry instructed, his voice gaining an edge of urgency. "Don't just drop the shield—push the knife back. Turn it into your own attack."

She hesitated for a moment, her grip tightening on her wand as she tried to focus. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she muttered the incantation. The shield shimmered briefly before the knife was sent flying through the air, back toward Harry.

Without missing a beat, Harry raised his wand and effortlessly deflected the knife into the ground, its blade clattering harmlessly across the stone floor.

"Nice work," he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That's what I mean by mentality. You took control of the situation instead of just reacting to it."

"How was your meeting with Dumbledore?" Daphne asked as Harry settled beside her, his expression shifting from focused to thoughtful. He had just given Susan a list of spells to run through, leaving her to practise as he joined Daphne in a quieter corner of the room.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Harry answered tiredly, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall. "Dumbledore took the fall, told Umbridge he'd attend her detentions in my place. She got all huffy and left. Then we talked a bit—I told him about the giant in the forest. He also mentioned he'd be giving me private lessons."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Private lessons? For what?"

Harry cracked one eye open, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Officially? To 'make up for the start of term.' Unofficially? I think Dumbledore has something else in mind. He did tell me last year that he'd support my desire to face Voldemort. Hopefully, he's going to be teaching me powerful spells."

Daphne nodded slowly, before her eyes widened as something clicked. "Wait—did you just say there's a giant in the forest?"

Harry shrugged, still leaning back with his eyes closed, completely unfazed. "Yeah, he's not too bad once you get to know him. Hagrid's looking after him, mostly."

Before Daphne could respond, Harry's voice cut through the room again. "Susan, you're hesitating on your wrist movement. Try snapping it faster when you cast—don't overthink it."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Your eyes are still closed," she pointed out, amused.

Harry grinned, eyes still shut. "I don't need to see to know when someone's not committing to a spell. You can feel it in the air."

Daphne shook her head, both impressed and a little exasperated. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Mmm, maybe." Harry cracked one eye open to glance at her. "But it's working, isn't it?"

Across the room, Susan managed a stronger shield, her focus sharpening. Daphne sighed, resigned. "Fine. So, what's with this whole mentality and posture stuff? You never did that with us last year."

"Oh, it's something new I've been thinking about. I talked with Professor Maxime while I was away, and she mentioned something similar, so I thought I'd try it with Susan."

"Wait, so you're just making it up as you go?" Daphne asked, half-amazed by his arrogance.

"Well no, not exactly." Harry sat up, stretching. "It's grounded in established theory. The idea that belief and confidence shape your magic has always been there. I'm just expanding on how to build that belief. If you think a stance helps your spell, you put more faith in it. When it works, that faith grows."

He shot a glance at Susan, who was now perfecting her shield. "Once she's ready, I'll teach her how to cut back on the movements and stance. But for now, it's about building confidence."

Daphne mulled over Harry's explanation, watching as Susan repeated the shield charm with more confidence. The shimmering barrier held steady this time, no quivering or flickering.

"Alright," Harry said, standing up and crossing the room to stand beside Susan. "Your shield is strong, but it's not the only thing you need to rely on in a duel. Defence isn't just about blocking attacks; it's also about controlling the space around you."

He gestured for Daphne to join him. "Daphne, break Susan's shield."

Daphne hesitated, glancing at Susan before giving a nonchalant shrug. "Alright, your funeral," she teased.

Having spent most of the summer working with Susan, Daphne wasn't overly confident in her ability to consistently win a duel. But duelling in a classroom setting? That was a different game entirely—one that Daphne took some glee in exploiting.

She fired three ice spells in quick succession, each one splashing harmlessly against Susan's shield. But the fourth spell, a subtle summoning charm, missed its mark, supposedly. Instead, it latched onto the desk behind Susan, yanking it forward with surprising force.

The desk slammed into Susan's back, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Harry raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile. "Good job, Daphne... but let's try not to break Susan's spine next time, yeah?"

Daphne's winced, but pointed an accusing finger at him. "Hey, you throw desks at people all the time!"

"Yeah," Harry replied dryly, "but I cushion them first."

As Harry made his way down the castle corridors toward Ancient Runes, he couldn't help but notice how much quieter Hogwarts had become. The usual energy that buzzed through the halls was gone, replaced by an uneasy stillness. Conversations were reduced to whispers, and the carefree laughter that once echoed through the stairwells was nowhere to be found. Even the Gryffindors—typically the loudest house—seemed to have lost their spark.

Not that Harry minded the quiet. In fact, it was almost a relief. Without the usual noise, no one seemed to be blaming him for anything—for once. No talk of Voldemort, no wide-eyed first-years gawking at his scar or whispering behind his back. Just silence.

But that didn't stop people from approaching him. Constantly.

"What are you going to do about Umbridge's decree?"

"Harry, she's banned us from gathering! Are you going to stand for this?"

As if Harry had ever cared about following school rules in the first place. Like he'd care about Ministry decrees.

He wasn't even sure why they kept coming to him. Sure, he'd offered to help run the defence group, but that didn't mean he was going to lead some kind of rebellion every time the Ministry passed a new rule.

He snorted quietly to himself. He had enough on his plate as it was. Between catching up on lessons he'd missed and whatever Dumbledore had planned for their private sessions, Harry barely had time to think, let alone deal with Umbridge's endless decrees.

As the Runes classroom came into view, he felt a small sense of relief. At least here, away from the constant pressure, things felt almost normal. Despite how early he was, Professor Babbling was already there, sorting through a pile of parchment at her desk, her sharp eyes lighting up as she spotted him.

"Harry!" she greeted him with enthusiasm, her voice carrying the excitement she barely tried to contain. "I've been meaning to speak with you. I think I've made a breakthrough on a possible fourth-generation mithril ward generator. It's still in the theoretical stages, of course, but with your input, we could get something tangible within a few days."

Harry couldn't help but smile, intrigued. "Really? What did you find?"

Bathsheda leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "I've been experimenting with a new rune set. It uses old Nordic designs but layered with an ancient Goblin metalcraft principle. Given we know how close your work is to Goblin metalcraft, and with mithril's conductivity—"

She was interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the door as a few early-arriving students began filtering in.

Professor Babbling straightened up, her professional demeanour slipping back into place. "Ah, we'll discuss it later, Harry. Take a seat. I want to walk you through the structure before we move forward, but now isn't the time."

Harry nodded, still processing what she'd said, and made his way to his usual seat. Just as he settled in, Daphne slipped into the chair beside him.

As more students filed in, the usual buzz of conversation filled the room, but before the lesson could begin, the classroom door creaked open again. In strode Professor Umbridge, her pink cardigan practically glowing in the otherwise muted classroom.

She walked straight to the front of the room and seated herself beside Professor Babbling's desk, her usual sickly-sweet smile plastered on her face.

Professor Babbling blinked in confusion, clearly taken aback. "Professor Umbridge, is there something you need?"

Umbridge's smile widened, though the warmth never reached her eyes. "Oh, no, dear," she said, her voice thick with condescension. "I'm just conducting a... follow-up inspection, you see. I do hope you don't mind."

Professor Babbling's brows furrowed, her confusion shifting into barely concealed irritation. "My class is running perfectly fine, Professor Umbridge. I see no reason why an additional inspection is necessary."

Umbridge didn't immediately respond, instead letting her fingers lightly tap on the desk in front of her. The rings on her fingers scraped against the wood with a faint, grating sound, the sharp edge of metal dragging in a way that set Harry's teeth on edge. It was a small but deliberate noise, just enough to irritate, like nails on a chalkboard.

"Rest assured," Umbridge finally said, her smile tightening with faux sympathy. "This isn't about you, Professor. It's purely for the benefit of the Ministry. They want to ensure our most... high-profile students receive the best education possible. I'm sure you understand."

"As you wish," Professor Babbling replied, her voice tight with masked irritation. She turned to the class, clearly doing her best to ignore the unwanted guest as she began her lesson.

Harry quickly found himself falling into the familiar rhythm of Ancient Runes. Despite having missed the first month of term, the material Professor Babbling covered—rune translations and theoretical applications—was already familiar to him. He'd spent enough time reading ahead during the summer, and, more than once, he caught himself absently jotting down notes as Babbling spoke, his attention wandering slightly.

Around him, students furrowed their brows in concentration, with Daphne tapping her quill in thought as she worked on the complex patterns. But Harry moved through the exercises with little difficulty, his notes neat and precise as he finished ahead of time.

As Professor Babbling moved on to discussing the historical significance of certain rune sequences, Harry found his mind drifting to the discussion they'd had earlier—about the potential fourth-gen mithril ward generator. He could still feel the excitement from the conversation buzzing in the back of his mind, barely containing his eagerness to dive deeper into the project.

With the Triwizard Tournament the previous year, he hadn't given that particular project any thought, to his regret. But he was glad it seemed like Bathsheda had clearly been working on it, as best she could.

But, as the class continued, a grating sound cut through the quiet hum of quills and parchment. Umbridge, her saccharine smile never quite fading, had taken to tapping her fingers against the desk again, the scrape of her rings dragging on the wood in that same, unsettling rhythm.

Her gaze locked onto Harry, her eyes narrowing as she watched him work with too much ease.

"Mr. Potter," Umbridge's voice rang out suddenly, breaking the flow of the lesson. Every head turned in Harry's direction, the room stilling in quiet anticipation. "I couldn't help but notice how... little effort you seem to be paying to your work. Considering you've missed a rather significant portion of this class, I'd expect you to be a bit more... focused. Surely, you must be desperate to catch up?"

Professor Babbling paused, her hand hovering over the chalkboard, a concerned glance flicking between Harry and Umbridge.

Harry looked up, meeting Umbridge's gaze with an even expression. "I've kept up with the readings, Professor," he said coolly, his quill still in hand. "The material isn't new to me."

Umbridge's smile tightened. "Is that so? How... interesting. I would've thought missing the first month would have put you at quite a disadvantage. Unless, of course, you've found a way to make things easier for yourself...? Or perhaps you believe this material isn't pushing the class enough?"

There was a subtle insinuation in her words, one that wasn't lost on Harry. The challenge hung in the air, and the other students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Professor Babbling cleared her throat, stepping in with a measured voice. "Mr. Potter has always been a diligent student in this class, Professor Umbridge. I can assure you, his understanding of the material is well-earned."

But Umbridge's gaze didn't waver from Harry, waiting for him to falter.

Harry met her eyes, unbothered, and shrugged lightly, keeping his tone casual but firm. "It's just Runes, Professor. I've studied ahead. I'd be happy to show you my notes if you're interested."

For a brief moment, Umbridge's smile faltered, the condescending sweetness giving way to something sharper. She tapped her rings against the desk once more, the grating sound even more pronounced this time, before leaning back in her chair, her gaze cool. "No need, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice clipped. "No need at all."

The tension in the room thickened, but Professor Babbling quickly resumed her lecture, her voice steady as she continued her explanation of the rune sequences. She didn't glance at Harry or offer any extra guidance, as she might have under different circumstances. Instead, she subtly moved the lesson forward, drawing attention back to the material.

Harry, for his part, was used to this kind of dance. He knew Babbling would normally challenge him with additional exercises or more advanced theory, but with Umbridge present, she couldn't risk it. He let his gaze drop back to his notes, his quill moving absently, his mind half-focused on the lesson and half-aware of Umbridge's every movement beside the professor's desk.

The grating tap of her rings finally ceased, but Harry could still feel the weight of her gaze lingering, like she was waiting for any slip. He smirked inwardly. He wasn't about to give her one.

The rest of the lesson passed without further incident, the tension slowly easing as the students buried themselves in their work. Daphne leaned closer to Harry, whispering under her breath as she scratched out a complex rune sequence, "I don't know how you can act so calm with her sitting right there."

Harry simply shrugged, his expression unreadable. "She doesn't matter." He replied, broadcasting his thoughts straight into her mind, which Daphne immediately leaned into, "Umbridge may think she's important, but she's not Voldemort, or even Crouch. It's kind of pathetic, really."

Daphne suppressed a smile, her quill still moving as she responded in kind through their mental link. "I suppose when you've faced what you have, it does make her seem... small." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a trace of amusement in her thoughts. "Still, you make it look so easy."

"Practice," Harry replied, the mental tone light but with an edge of irony. "After a while, it's hard to take people like her seriously. People who hide behind rules instead of real power."

Daphne's lips twitched. "And here I thought you were just lazy."

He chuckled silently, the sound echoing in her mind. "Maybe a little."

Across the room, Umbridge's eyes scanned the students like a hawk, but she couldn't detect the silent exchange happening right under her nose. Harry's face remained impassive as he bent over his notes, but inside his mind, the conversation flowed effortlessly.

Professor Babbling continued with the lesson, and as the class drew to a close, she finally gave Harry a brief, approving glance. She hadn't forgotten about their earlier conversation, and neither had he. The anticipation of their future work was the one thing keeping him engaged through the otherwise tedious lesson.

As the students packed up, Umbridge rose from her seat, her watchful gaze lingering on Harry for a moment longer before she swept out of the room, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.

After making sure she wouldn't return and promising Daphne he'd catch up with her later, Harry stayed behind, feeling the atmosphere relax slightly without Umbridge's oppressive presence.

Professor Babbling approached, her eyes gleaming with excitement now that they had a moment to themselves. "Now, about that fourth-generation ward generator," she began, lowering her voice. "I've been making some headway on the rune theory and structure."

Harry straightened up, intrigued. "What've you got so far?"

"I've figured out how to have the runes last indefinitely, and allow for multiple owners to control the wards, but that's not the urgent part. We can add those features at any time," Bathsheda said, brushing them off as though they were minor details. Her voice grew more focused, her enthusiasm clear. "What we need to focus on is that I've found a way to distort the output of the mithril ward, making it much harder for a ward breaker to decipher. They won't be able to predict its structure."

Harry's brows furrowed. "Distorting the ward output? Like... changing its form or masking it?"

"Exactly," she said, nodding vigorously. "The structure itself stays stable, but to any prying eyes, it appears scrambled—impossible to decode. And, as an added layer of protection, I've found a way to keep the wards rotating constantly. They'll always be shifting, just enough to throw anyone trying to break through completely off balance."

Harry leaned back in his chair, impressed. "That's brilliant…. Really brilliant! Are you sure it will work though?"

Professor Babbling gave him a confident smile. "Theoretically, everything lines up perfectly. But until we actually test it with your mithril, there's no way to know for sure."

Harry nodded, still processing the implications of her work. "The rotating wards and scrambled output could be a real game-changer. If it works the way we hope, it'll make ward-breaking almost impossible."

Bathsheda chuckled softly. "That's the idea. It's all theory until we put it to the test, though. Now that you're back, we can finally move forward."

"Alright," Harry agreed, leaning forward in his chair again. "Let's start setting things up." Only to sigh, as he remembered he had the student's to teach on Tuesday. "Are you still free on Wednesdays?"

"I am, but I don't think you are, mister." She pointed out,

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you're right. My schedule's packed—especially with everything going on this year. But I'll make time when I can."

Professor Babbling smiled knowingly. "You've got a lot on your plate, Harry, but don't worry. We'll get there when the time is right. When you're ready to move forward with the ward generator, we'll make it happen."

"Thanks," Harry said, appreciating her understanding. "I'll find a way to fit it in. This ward project could really make a difference."

"Indeed," she agreed. "But don't push yourself too hard. Focus on what you need to do for now. We can pick this up whenever you're ready."

Harry gave her a grateful nod before standing up. "I'll catch up with you when I've got a bit more time."

Bathsheda smiled warmly. "I'll be here."

With that, Harry left the classroom, his mind already turning to the packed schedule ahead. Between the extra lessons with Dumbledore and everything happening with Umbridge, he had more on his plate than ever before. But his thoughts drifted to the group of students waiting to learn real Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Only to just about avoid running into Professor Snape, who looked down at him passively, his black eyes as unreadable as ever.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice still carrying its usual bite, but without the venom it once held. "How gracious of you to return to us. How regrettable that you hadn't been swallowed whole after all."

Harry smirked slightly. "Not yet, Professor."

Snape's lip twitched—almost imperceptibly, but Harry had learned to recognise it over the past year. "You've missed several weeks of Potions lessons. I expect you'll make up for that with little issue, seeing as you've been... otherwise occupied." His tone was dry, but lacking the malice it used to carry.

"I've kept up with the readings," Harry replied, matching Snape's dry tone. "I'll be caught up by next week."

"See that you are," Snape replied curtly, though there was no true sting behind his words. He paused for a beat, eyes flicking to the nearby students before lowering his voice slightly. "And Potter, do keep your head on your shoulders. Not all of your peers have maintained their... innocence."

Harry's expression sharpened. "Is there someone specific I should keep an eye on?"

"You're clever enough to figure that out on your own, aren't you?" Snape replied curtly, though there was no true sting behind his words. "After all, I'm sure your time spent gallivanting with giants has only sharpened your already keen powers of observation."

Harry's eyes narrowed, reading between the lines. "If there's something I should know, Professor..."

Snape's lips curled into something resembling a smirk. "Let's just say, Potter, I spent much of my summer at Malfoy Manor. I'm sure you can imagine what that entails."

Before Harry could press further, Snape's robes swished as he turned on his heel, his voice drifting back with one last, cryptic remark. "Do try not to let it be you who's caught off guard this year, Potter."

And with that, Snape was gone, leaving Harry to mull over the subtle warning. It wasn't that Harry didn't appreciate the man's words, but he knew Draco couldn't be a Death Eater.

He could still remember the fear in Draco's eyes during the Quidditch World Cup riots—the way the Death Eaters' cruelty had almost claimed him by accident. Draco had come to Harry after that, desperate for strength.

They had trained together for a year, and Harry had seen the raw intensity in him. Not the arrogance or posturing Draco usually hid behind, but a deep, burning need to never feel powerless again.

Draco had nearly died that day, and since then, he was Harry's, not Voldemort's. Which meant Draco had taken Harry's advice to hide his true loyalty—and done it so well even Snape hadn't figured it out.

The next evening, after a rather uneventful dinner in the Great Hall, Harry found himself making his way toward the seventh-floor corridor. He wasn't exactly looking forward to the meeting—he had enough on his plate without adding more responsibilities. But Cedric was right: these students needed help. And with Umbridge watching their every move, it wasn't like they could just sit back and wait for things to change.

As he reached the seventh floor, Harry's frustration deepened when he saw a group of students already lingering by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. They were standing around, too obvious for comfort, chatting in hushed but nervous tones.

"What are you all doing?" Harry hissed, his voice sharp as he walked toward them. Several students jumped at his tone. "You can't just hang around like this! Do you want Umbridge to figure it out?"

Cedric stepped forward, his usual calm presence acting as a buffer. "Harry, it's fine. Everyone's just anxious. We'll be more careful going forward."

Harry exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders slightly. He gave Cedric a brief nod but shot a glance at the others. "Yeah, well, you've got to be more careful."

After quickly scanning the corridor to make sure they were alone, Harry turned back toward the wall opposite the tapestry. He didn't want to explain how to open the Room of Requirement—not yet. As far as he was concerned, keeping that knowledge private was better for everyone.

"We're going inside," he muttered, stepping a few feet back from the wall as though to strategise with Cedric. As he spoke, he began pacing back and forth discreetly. "Let's make sure everyone stays focused in there."

His pacing was subtle enough that it seemed like he was just mulling over plans with Cedric, but by the third pass, a reinforced wooden door appeared on the stone wall, shifting into place silently.

"There. Let's go," Harry said simply, motioning for everyone to head inside. Cedric led the group in, followed by the others, and Harry entered last, closing the door behind him.

The Room of Requirement had done its job perfectly. They stepped inside to find three sunken duelling pits surrounded by raised walkways, offering a clear view of the action from all angles. The pits were designed for combat practice, but the room had much more to offer than just duelling spaces.

Several distinct zones were laid out for practice: an office space with desks and bookshelves for navigating tight quarters, a village street with narrow alleyways and cobbled roads perfect for ambushes, and a small two-story house complete with narrow hallways and staircases, ideal for practising close-quarters combat.

The space was huge, far larger than any classroom, with a looming sense of reality that pressed down on the students.

"Is this..." Neville began, eyes wide as he looked around, "is this really for us?"

Cedric glanced at Harry with a raised brow, impressed. "This... is next-level."

Harry gave a slight nod, pleased at the reaction. "We're not here to learn theory anymore. We're here to prepare. Each of these areas is designed for real-world scenarios." He gestured to the village street and the house. "You won't always have the luxury of duelling in open spaces. You'll need to learn to adapt to any environment."

The students murmured among themselves as they began to understand the gravity of what Harry had prepared for them.

Cedric looked around, still taking in the duelling pits, obstacle courses, and environments. "This is incredible, Harry. You've thought of everything."

Harry's expression remained focused. "Not everything. But it's enough to get us started."

One of the younger students, a Ravenclaw, raised their hand timidly. "Do we… just start with duelling? Or is there something specific we need to know first?"

Harry considered for a moment. "Duelling is important, but survival isn't just about knowing how to throw a spell. It's about adapting—quick thinking, making use of your surroundings." He gestured towards the small house. "If you're fighting indoors, or on a crowded street, you're going to need more than just a good spell. You'll need strategy. We'll be practising all of that."

"Right," Cedric said, stepping up beside Harry. "I think we're all here, so I guess we'll start. Harry, we are all yours."

Harry gave a small nod at Cedric before stepping forward, his eyes scanning the group. "Alright, let's start simple. Everyone, pick a partner and practise some low-level spells—Wingardium Leviosa, Flipendo, Expelliarmus—just get used to working with the magic you know. We'll focus on refining those before we move onto anything more advanced."

Zacharias Smith groaned loudly from the back of the group. "Wingardium Leviosa? Really? I thought we were here to learn new spells, not waste time revisiting the ones we learned in first year."

The room grew tense, several students looking toward Harry for his reaction. Harry stayed calm, his tone measured but firm. "You won't benefit from learning new spells if you can't fight and survive with the ones you already know. Knowing a dozen new incantations doesn't help if you can't apply them under pressure."

Zacharias folded his arms, still looking unimpressed. "How's a first-year spell like Wingardium Leviosa supposed to be effective in a fight? I'm really disappointed in this, Harry. I expected something better."

Without a word, Harry turned toward one of the practice dummies in the corner of the room. His wand flicked upward, casting Wingardium Leviosa with a sharp twist of his wrist.

The dummy shot into the air so fast it left a blur, slamming hard into the stone ceiling with a deafening crack. The sound of wood and stuffing splintering echoed throughout the room. A few students flinched as the dummy stuck for a moment, before dropping like a stone, crashing to the floor in a twisted, broken heap.

Its torso was split, limbs dangling unnaturally at odd angles. One arm had completely come off, bouncing a few feet away, and the head was dented inward.

The shattered remains lay on the ground, utterly destroyed. It was clear that if the dummy had been a person, the force of the impact would've snapped bones instantly, leaving no chance for survival.

The room was deathly silent.

Harry turned back to Zacharias, his expression calm but with an underlying intensity. "That would've killed a person. It's not about the spell—it's about how you use it. Now, you want to start complaining again, or do you want to learn how to survive?"

Zacharias swallowed, his earlier arrogance gone. He muttered something unintelligible, avoiding Harry's eyes. The other students exchanged glances, realising they weren't here to mess around with harmless spells anymore.

"Pair up," Harry repeated, his voice calm but commanding. "And let's start from the basics."

There was a shuffling of feet as the students divided into pairs. Some of them looked uncertain, others eager. Harry glanced around the room, taking in the different expressions. A few, like Ron, Daphne, Cedric, and the Weasley twins, looked entirely at ease, ready to get started. Luna stood in the corner, her wand already drawn, a dreamy but focused look in her eyes.

"First up—Expelliarmus," Harry said. "The Disarming Charm. I know it's basic, but it's a spell that we can practise without harming each other." His eyes lingered on Zacharias, "Unless anyone disagrees?"

No one moved.

"Good. Let's practice. On the count of three. One... two... three."

The room erupted in shouts of Expelliarmus. Wands flicked and snapped, but the results were mixed. Around the room, spells flew in all directions. A few hit their targets, but many missed entirely. Some of the students barely managed to disarm their partners, their spells causing only a weak push or a faint flicker of red light.

Harry kept a watchful eye, his mouth pulling into a thin line. Most of them had no real grasp on their spells, their efforts sloppy and half-hearted. A book went flying off a shelf as a wayward spell missed its mark completely. Across the room, someone yelped as their partner's spell sent a wave of sparks too close to their face.

Ron, Daphne, Cedric, Fred, and George, however, were having no such trouble. Fred and George turned the practice into a game, seeing who could disarm the other with more flair. Cedric worked with precision, his wand steady as he knocked Ernie's wand from his hand, though Ernie managed to recover quickly after a few attempts.

Neville, though competent and having trained with Harry for over a year, was having a harder time. He managed to disarm his partner a couple of times, but his wand work was shaky, the pressure of being watched clearly affecting him. His usual confidence seemed to wane under the eyes of so many others.

Harry noticed the slight hesitation in Neville's movements and stepped over. "Neville," he said in a low voice, "you've done this a hundred times before. Forget about the others, focus on your target. You've got this."

Neville looked up, meeting Harry's eyes. He nodded, swallowing the nervous energy that had built up. His next attempt was more controlled, his wand flicking with a sharper precision, sending his partner's wand spinning through the air.

"There you go," Harry said with a faint smile. "See? You know what you're doing."

Neville allowed a small smile to cross his face, his confidence returning.

Meanwhile, across the room, Zacharias, still partnered with a frustrated Hufflepuff, was having more trouble. He stumbled through the motions, clearly frustrated at his lack of progress. His spells were weak, unfocused, causing his partner's wand to twitch but not leave their hand. Harry approached him, his voice low but firm.

"You're rushing it," Harry said. "You've got the mechanics, but you're not focusing. Slow it down, Zacharias. Focus on what you're doing instead of trying to impress someone."

Zacharias shot him a glare but nodded begrudgingly. Harry continued to walk through the room, correcting students, adjusting wand grips, and giving advice. Most of them were still struggling, but Harry wasn't discouraged. He had known from the start that this was necessary— but if they couldn't handle basic spells, they'd have no hope in a real fight.

Ron was duelling Daphne now, the two of them trading spells back and forth with ease, wands clashing in mid-air as they tested each other's strength. Fred and George continued to make light of their duel, laughing as they threw Expelliarmus at each other in increasingly ridiculous ways, one of George's disarming attempts resulting in Fred spinning dramatically across the floor.

After making his rounds through the students, correcting stances and offering advice, Harry was called over by Susan, who was frowning thoughtfully.

"Hey, Harry," she began, glancing around at the others practising. "Why Expelliarmus? Wouldn't a spell like Stupefy be better in a real duel?"

Harry paused, considering Susan's question. He could see the curiosity in her eyes, and he knew it was a valid point. Expelliarmus wasn't flashy, but that wasn't the point.

He called for the other students' attention before answering. "Susan just asked me why we are using Expelliarmus instead of something like Stupefy, however I don't intend to ever teach Stupefy here. Anyone want to try and guess why I won't?"

Susan's face flushed at suddenly being the centre of attention, her eyes darting to the ground as she tried to avoid meeting anyone's gaze. She fidgeted with her wand, clearly wishing she hadn't asked the question out loud. A few of the other students glanced her way, but most were focused on Harry, waiting to see where this was going.

The room grew quiet as Harry's question hung in the air, students exchanging glances. Fred Weasley was the first to pipe up, raising an eyebrow.

"Because it's too boring?" he suggested with a smirk, earning a few chuckles from the students around him.

"No," Harry replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "Anyone else?"

Luna tilted her head thoughtfully. "Because Expelliarmus disarms without causing harm?"

"That's part of it," Harry agreed, nodding to Luna. "But there's more to it."

Cedric, always the thoughtful one, frowned in concentration. "Maybe... because Stupefy is too predictable? It might leave you vulnerable?"

Harry smiled slightly. "No. I won't be teaching you Stupefy, because Stupefy is a pointless spell. It takes more effort to stun an enemy than it takes for them to be reawakened, and that's assuming they even go down from just one spell.

"Stupefy is a dueller's spell, it's a clean and safe way to win a duel. We will not be duelling, and it won't give you a clean end to a true fight. If you have to knock someone unconscious, bash their head in, or constrict their breathing until they drop. Both of those methods are harder to undo, and harder to predict.

"Expelliarmus won't always work on an opponent, but when it does work, it will work very well. If you are fighting a group, an opponent can summon the wand back, but they still have to pass it back to their friend. And that's a moment you can use."

The room fell into an uneasy silence as Harry's words sunk in. The students exchanged nervous glances, many of them processing the shift in tone. They had expected something more straightforward, more familiar—practising the same spells they'd learned in class, maybe refining them. But Harry was clearly thinking about something far grittier, something closer to what they might actually face.

Fred Weasley, having had enough of the room's mood, broke the silence first. "Blimey, Harry, you really know how to liven up a Tuesday evening," he quipped, though there was a new edge to his usually carefree grin.

Beside him, George nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. "We'll have to rethink our whole strategy of bouncing around the room like lunatics then. Head-bashing sounds way more fun."

A few students chuckled, but the laughter was strained, almost nervous.

Susan Bones, her brow furrowed, leaned in slightly. "So... you're saying we should be prepared to... hurt people?" Her voice was tentative, like she was still adjusting to the idea that this wasn't going to be a normal Defence class.

Harry met her gaze, his expression serious but not unkind. "I'm saying that if you want to survive, you can't expect your opponent to play by the rules. In a real fight, you do what you have to."

Ron, standing a little taller at the back, nodded in agreement. "Makes sense, really. I mean, Death Eaters aren't gonna follow a rulebook, are they?"

Neville, who had been unusually quiet, shifted his weight, his hands tightening around his wand. His face was set, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "But... we're supposed to be better than them, right? We don't want to become like them."

Harry looked at him for a long moment, appreciating the struggle written on Neville's face. "It's not about becoming like them. It's about protecting yourself and the people around you. You fight to survive—not to prove you're better."

Cedric cleared his throat, bringing some of the focus back to him. "I think what Harry's saying is, we can't afford to think of this like we're practising for exams anymore. We need to be prepared for anything. And that means learning how to use what we already know in ways we haven't thought about before."

"What I'm saying, is that you can hold onto that moral high ground, and still die. You'd be far better to be safely in bed at night questioning your tactics, than being lowered into the ground, as your family piles dirt onto your morally righteous coffin."

"Merlin Harry, bring the mood down, why don't you!" Fred quipped, trying to cut through the growing tension in the room.

Harry paused, his expression softening slightly as the gravity of his words hung in the air. He glanced around at the students, their faces now serious and contemplative. He allowed the weight of it to sink in before he gave a small shrug, his tone a touch lighter.

"Look, I'm not here to make things sound pretty," Harry said. "But I'd rather you face reality now, than when it's too late." He gave a brief pause, scanning the room again, his voice more measured now. "We're all here to survive—not to sugarcoat anything."

The room was quiet, the weight of Harry's words settling in as the students absorbed the harsh reality of what he was telling them. He let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking again.

"I'm not going to force anyone to come back," Harry said, his tone serious but calm. "This isn't about passing exams or learning how to play nice in a duel. If you want that, go to class, and you'll learn what the Ministry-approved curriculum offers. But in here, we're going to focus on survival. On what it takes to come out of a real fight alive."

A few students exchanged uneasy glances, the gravity of his words clearly sinking in. Cedric stood silently beside Harry, his expression one of quiet support.

Harry took a step forward, scanning the group. "If that's not what you want, you don't have to come back. There's no shame in it. But those of you who do come back, understand this—we're not learning how to win points in a duel. We're learning how to stay alive when someone's trying to kill you. If you're with me, I need you to be all in. Otherwise, you might be putting someone else in danger."

The silence stretched on, and Harry waited, watching for any sign of dissent or hesitation.

The tension in the room finally broke when Ernie Macmillan, his face pale but determined, raised his hand. "I don't want to be turned into a killer, Harry," he said, his voice steady but conflicted. "I'm here to learn how to survive, but... if it means crossing that line, I don't think I can do it."

Cedric, standing nearby, looked like he was about to intervene, but Harry caught his eye and gave a slight shake of his head. He wanted to handle this.

Harry stepped forward, his expression calm but serious. "I'm not here to turn anyone into something they don't want to be," he said, his voice carrying across the room. "I'm not going to make you a killer. I'm going to give you the tools, the skills, and the knowledge to survive. What you do with those tools—that's your choice."

Ernie swallowed, the uncertainty still there, but he was listening.

"I'll teach you how to escape dangerous situations, how to fight your way out if there's no other option. But you need different tools for different scenarios. Some of you might be able to run. Some of you might need to stand and fight. I can't predict what situations any of us will end up in."

The room was silent, every eye on Harry.

"I'm not asking you to lose your conscience or cross a line you're not willing to cross," Harry continued. "But I am asking you to be prepared. The world out there... it's not going to give you the choice of playing nice. You have to decide now if you're willing to learn everything you can. How you use it—that's up to you."

Ernie nodded slowly, the conflict still there but tempered by a clearer understanding of Harry's intentions. Around the room, other students looked thoughtful, absorbing the gravity of the conversation.

Cedric gave Harry a respectful nod, silently acknowledging how he handled the situation.

The room remained quiet for a moment longer before Fred Weasley broke the tension, leaning casually against a nearby duelling pit. "Well," he said, his tone light but thoughtful, "if we're going to be learning all this... real-world stuff, I reckon we need a proper name, don't we? Something a bit more... official."

Several students looked around, intrigued by the idea.

"I like the sound of that," George added, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Something to really stick it to the Ministry, too. They don't think we're capable, so let's show them." He paused, glancing around the room as if making sure everyone was paying attention. "What about D.A.?"

"D.A.?" Susan asked, tilting her head.

"Yeah," George continued, his grin widening. "Dumbledore's Army. If Umbridge and the Ministry are so scared of us learning real Defence, why not give them something to really be scared of?"

"Dumbledore's Army," Cedric repeated, testing the name. "I like it. Feels... fitting."

The room buzzed with chuckles and murmurs of agreement, but Harry's expression darkened.

"No," Harry cut in sharply, silencing the room. "We're not calling ourselves 'Dumbledore's Army.' That's not what this is about." His voice softened slightly, but there was an edge of finality to it. "Dumbledore's been fighting his own battles for years. We don't need to drag his name into this, and more importantly, we don't need to give the Ministry more reasons to come after us. It's risky enough as it is."

The group shifted uncomfortably, a few glances exchanged as the weight of Harry's words sank in.

"Well, that's fair, I suppose," George muttered, looking a bit deflated.

"Alright, then," Fred said, scratching his head. "But we still need a name. Something... fitting."

There was a brief pause as the students mulled it over.

"How about the 'Defence League?'" someone suggested, but it was met with a few shrugs and unenthusiastic murmurs.

"We could go with something symbolic," Luna chimed in, her voice serene. "Like... 'The Phoenix Circle.' You know, like rebirth and all that."

Cedric nodded thoughtfully but seemed unsure. "It's not bad, but... I don't know if that's quite right for us."

The room went quiet again, and then Ernie spoke up, his face lighting with inspiration. "What about 'The Lantern Keepers?' We're here to keep the light of knowledge burning, even when the Ministry's trying to snuff it out."

A ripple of interest went through the group, and heads began to nod in agreement.

"The Lantern Keepers," Cedric repeated, considering it. "I like it. It's not flashy, and it won't raise too many eyebrows. But it has meaning." He glanced around the room, gauging the reactions. "We're not here to be soldiers, but we are here to learn how to survive. Keep the light alive."

Cedric turned to Harry. "What do you think?"

Harry, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, shrugged indifferently. "Doesn't matter to me," he said, his voice calm but detached. "I don't see a point in having a name for this, but if you all want one, 'Lantern Keepers' is as good as any."

There were a few murmurs of agreement as Harry pushed off the wall. "Now, what's more important is how we're going to meet up next time. It's not like we can keep hanging around in the corridors."

Daphne glanced around, her brow furrowed. "Harry's right. The last thing we need is Umbridge catching wind of this. How are we going to plan the next meeting?"

Cedric nodded thoughtfully. "We'll need a way to signal everyone discreetly without raising suspicion."

The room fell into a brief silence as the students mulled over the problem. Fred and George shared a knowing look, identical smirks creeping across their faces.

"Leave that to us," Fred said, winking at Harry.

"We've got just the thing in mind," George added, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"For now," Cedric cut in, "we'll meet again this Friday. Same time, same place, but by then, Fred and George will have a solution."

A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, though a handful of students still seemed uneasy about the logistics. As they began packing up and filing out of the Room of Requirement, Harry lingered near the door, his eyes locking with Fred and George's as the crowd thinned.

"Oi, you two—hang back a minute. I've got a request for you both," Harry called quietly.

Fred raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Secret assignments? We love those."

George grinned, already intrigued. "What do you need, Harry?"

"I was thinking—would you be up for coming up with some other things that might be useful? Defensive objects, distractions... whatever you think will help us. I trust you two to be creative."

Fred and George exchanged glances, their excitement palpable.

"Dangerous, subtle, and perhaps a bit reckless?" George asked with a grin.

"If you want." Harry granted, knowing their creativity in such things far outpaced his own.

"Leave it with us, Harry," Fred said, giving Harry a wink. "We'll make sure you're well stocked."

George clapped Harry on the back as the twins turned and left, leaving Harry alone in the now-empty Room of Requirement. The door clicked shut softly behind them, the faint echo lingering in the vast, transformed space.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the weeks to come pressing down on his shoulders. Between Dumbledore's lessons, keeping an eye on Draco, and preparing his friends for what they might face, he wondered how much longer he could juggle it all.

But there was no turning back now.

The Room of Requirement shimmered faintly in the dim light, as if sensing his thoughts. It had given them the tools they needed, but Harry knew it would be up to him to ensure they were used wisely.

He took a breath and leapt down into the nearest duelling pit, the stone floor beneath him cold and unforgiving. With a flick of his wand, the Room responded, conjuring several robed dummies, their blank faces turning toward him in eerie unison.

No hesitation.

Harry lashed out with a spell before they had a chance to move, and the first dummy rolled aside, retaliating with a silent, red streak of light. He dodged it, heart racing, the sound of his own quickened breath filling the space. The dummies pressed forward, closing in, their wand tips flashing as they flanked him.

Good. He needed this.

Wey Hey! 9k words in a week, which I don't see myself trying to repeat.