Nothing is mine.

Harry attends the first DA meetup to help Hermione recruit followers.

I Am I, And You Are You

Umbridge's class echoed with the tapping of her nails on the desk as she strode along the front of the benches and stalked back, peering across the bowed heads of the class with a sickly, fake sweet smile plastered upon her squat face; the sound cut through the slow scratch of quills and Ron's weary laboured breathing like nails down a chalkboard.

'Remember, children,' Umbridge simpered. 'It is important not just to commit the words of the Ministry's experts to mind, but to heart. Sources of information outside the Ministry may not provide a clear and unbiased perspective of the problem, being more led by superstition and rumour than truth.'

Harry laughed to himself, drawing a huge smiley face across his blank page.

'Harry,' Hermione hissed. 'Don't get detention; we're going to Hogsmeade for lunch and you need to be with us at the Hog's Head.'

'Are we? Who's we? This sounds like a date.' He shook his head. 'I'm happy that you're finally over Malfoy, Hermione, but I feel I should inform you that my mother was, in fact, a—'

'It's not a date.'

'I knew I shouldn't have told you about her being a Muggle-born.'

'And that's not why.' Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. 'Just, don't get detention, okay?'

'She never gives me detention,' Harry said. 'Not since the smiley-face-quill-incident. I think she was sickened by the idea of the smiley face having eyebrows—'

'Mr Potter.' A titter of high-pitched girlish laughter burst from Umbridge. 'I distinctly remember saying you were to copy all these notes down in silence. Did you not hear me?'

'No, I heard,' he replied.

'And yet you're not silent.'

Harry added eyebrows to his smiley face with a cheerful flourish of his wand. 'I mean, I'm not copying down any of the notes, either, so it probably shouldn't come as a great surprise.'

'There are only five minutes left.'

'I was just thinking the very same thing,' he said, chuckling to himself.

A low snigger rippled through the class.

'Well, you may find your OWLs quite difficult if this is the amount of effort you put in.'

'I've resigned myself to failing every question about cartoon vampires,' Harry confessed in his loudest whisper. 'I'm just hoping that they don't ask about them because they're not actually in the syllabus.'

Umbridge's smile slipped a fraction. 'Finish your notes please, children. When you are finished, you may go.'

'Oh, excellent.' Harry leapt to his feet. 'In that case, I am very much done.'

She watched him go with an ugly gleam in her brown eyes, the sickly smile on her flabby face fixed in place like some grotesque waxwork doll.

He laughed to himself as he left.

'I'm also done,' Hermione blurted, sweeping her things into her bag and scrambling after him.

Harry leant against the wall as she caught up. 'Were you?'

'Shut up.' She rummaged through her bag, tugging her books into line. 'She was staring again.'

'Umbridge?' He grinned. 'I know. She looked incredibly angry.'

'No, Daphne Greengrass.'

'Oh.' Harry considered that, mulling it over as the butterflies swirled in ever tighter circles in his stomach. 'Well, I'm actually just going to pretend I didn't hear you.'

'So you still have a massive crush on her.'

'I didn't say that.'

'It couldn't be more obvious if you wrote it on your forehead, Harry.' She huffed and grabbed his arm, dragging him along the corridor toward the courtyard. 'And she's some awful culty Pure-blood, too.'

'Okay, yes, it turns out that she is, but, counterpoint, she's got really nice blue eyes, and that bit of hair that falls over face is just…' Harry hunted around for a word to fit the way the butterflies melted into a tingling, tickling ball of little legs and tiny wings, but none of them quite seemed to do it justice.

'Just…' A little peal of laughter escaped Hermione. 'Just what, Harry? Just cute? Pretty? Beautiful?'

'Just shut up,' he retorted. 'Why are we even going to Hogsmeade?'

'Because Umbridge is destroying any chance we have of passing our OWLs,' she hissed. 'And not just that, but any hope we have of learning how to defend ourselves from Voldemort and his insane Pure-blood cult nonsense.'

'So we're going to that creepy old pub to drown our sorrows?' Harry gave her a grin and a thumbs up, strolling out of the castle into the surrounding gardens overlooking the Black Lake. 'Excellent idea, Hermione. Although really not like you, I was expecting some kind of revision club.'

Hermione pursed her lips.

'Oh, come on.' He groaned. 'Really?'

'It's important!'

'Why would you make it so horribly uncool as a revision club, then,' Harry complained. 'Nobody will want to come. Voldemort will kill everyone and it will all be your fault.'

'They'll come if you're the face of it,' she said.

'I didn't agree to that.'

'Who else can do it?'

'You.' Harry considered it for a long moment. 'I was going to say Ron, but I actually can't manage it with a straight face.'

'Harry.' Hermione shook her head, a small smile on her lips. 'Nobody will listen to me. You're you. I'm just smart.'

'They've probably realised how you feel about Muggle-borns, too,' he reckoned. 'You'd just be a shorter, younger Voldemort with a lot more hair and smaller boobs.'

'My boobs have nothing to do with you.' She dug her elbow into his ribs. 'And you really need a new joke.'

'Don't worry, I've got one planned,' Harry promised, with a broad grin. 'You're going to hate it.'

She rolled her eyes at him. 'Will you do it?'

'Yeah, I will, but I'm not following your timetable or doing anything boring like chasing people around and giving them homework,' he replied. 'You can do that if you want.'

'I'll figure out that bit and where to do it so Umbridge doesn't learn,' Hermione said. 'You just… lead.'

'Can I teach them how to make better potions than Snape's terrible recipes?'

'No.' Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. 'Did you hit your head over the summer?'

'Not that I remember—' he laughed '—but if I hit it really hard, I wouldn't remember, would I?'

A long sigh slipped from her lips. 'Just let me talk when everyone arrives; it won't be long, I said at the start of lunch so we have some time.'

Harry gave her a double thumbs up.

The small village of Hogsmeade squatted in the green fields and woods of the valley beyond the train station, the steep quaint stone roofs rising from the small web of cobbled streets like rows of merpeople monoliths from the bed of the Black Lake.

Hermione led him halfway along the mainstreet, then tugged him down a side alley to where the sagging, battered sign of the Hog's Head hung before its scuffed, scratched front door.

'Looks really shady,' Harry reckoned. 'I feel like I'm going to walk in there and get offered drugs by at least four different people.'

'Say no,' Hermione told him, pushing open the door.

'But what if they taste nice, Hermione? How bad can cocaine really be for you?'

'My parents would kill me if I ever took drugs, Harry.'

'Mine won't.' Harry laughed to himself as she stared at him, open-mouthed. 'What? They can't, can they? Not without a lot of necromancy, and does it really count as them killing me in that case?'

She shook her head, fighting her smile every inch of its way across her face as she ushered him inside.

Two old wizards in worn tight leather robes not dissimilar to Dawlish's sipped their drinks at the far end of the bar.

'Do either of you sell drugs?' Harry asked.

They ignored him.

Hermione turned bright red. 'Harry, please just shut up.'

'Well, don't come crying to me if you don't get any drugs,' he retorted, dropping onto a stool.

The barman twisted a dusty rag around inside a scratched pint glass. 'You drinking anything, kid?'

'Not right now,' Harry said. 'I could go for a butterbeer, though—' he dug through his pockets for a couple of sickles '—and I can even pay for it.'

Hermione sighed. 'I'll get one as well.'

The barman studied Harry with strangely familiar bright blue eyes, then ducked down and plucked two bottles out from below the bar. 'Been a while since anyone but my regulars have come in here,' he said, swiping the dust off with his rag. 'You want a glass?'

'I'm good,' Harry said, pulling his wand from his sleeve and twisting the top off the bottle with a flick of his wrist.

The barman slid it across.

'Harry,' Hermione hissed. 'Did you do that wordlessly?!'

He shrugged. 'It's only taking the top off a bottle; you know exactly what's meant to happen. You could do it with a bottle-opener, why not with a wand?'

'Non-verbal charms and spells are sixth year stuff.'

'Are they, though?' Harry grinned and took a swig of his butterbeer. 'Why do they call this butterbeer? It doesn't have butter in it. Or beer.'

The barman shrugged.

'Does it say in Hogwarts: A History?'

'No.' Hermione prodded her bottle with her wand a few times, a deep frown on her face. 'I think it's more to do with butterscotch from the taste.'

'You're meant to drink it,' Harry informed her. 'With your mouth.'

'I'm trying to get the top off!'

He flicked his wand, twisting the cap off and sending it rolling along the bar. 'There you go.'

'You're just rubbing it in, aren't you?' She pursed her lips. 'How do you do it?'

'I genuinely just did it,' he admitted. 'I didn't even really think about it, I just… knew what I wanted. It's a bottle-cap, not rocket science.'

Hermione sighed. 'Well, this is why you're teaching.'

'My aforementioned genius,' Harry agreed. 'I am getting better at potions. Snape's versions are all dreadful, though. Anyone could make them better.'

Hermione sipped her drink.

'Well, maybe not Neville,' he said. 'He'd probably burn the school down with a mouthwash potion.'

'There's no such thing.'

The door banged open.

Ron stood there in the sun, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. 'You left me!'

'Sorry, mate—' Harry sipped his butterbeer '—every man for himself with Umbridge. Why did you run?'

'Because like half our year is right behind me and I thought you should be warned.' He staggered in and slumped into the stool beside Harry. 'You didn't say you were inviting the entire school, Hermione.'

'I only invited a few people we could trust!' She peered at the door and the swelling sound of voices. 'How many?'

'Like, at least a whole class,' Ron replied. 'Maybe two.'

'Oh no,' Hermione whispered. 'I'm not good at talking to lots of people.'

'I can do it,' Harry said.

'No,' she hissed. 'You'll say something weird and ruin it.'

'Wow.' He laughed. 'So I get to teach, but not to speak.'

'Yes, I…' Hermione's voice dwindled away as students poured into the pub. 'Oh dear...'

'Fuck me,' the barman muttered. 'And none of the little bastards are even old enough to buy a real drink. I've only got about four butterbeers left in that box.'

His two older regular patrons muttered something to each other, finished their drinks, and disapparated with loud cracks.

Harry grinned. 'At least the revision club is really popular.'

She cleared her throat. 'Okay, so… everyone just come in and find a seat or stand against the wall.'

The hubbub of chatter faded to an air of expectant silence as they stared at Harry.

'Don't look at me,' he said. 'Hermione's the one who started all this. Apparently, I'm not allowed to talk, or I'll say something weird.'

'Shut up then,' Hermione whispered in his ear.

'Talk then.' Harry took a long swig of butterbeer. 'Or I'll tell them you're gathering supporters for your anti-Muggle-born terrorism plot.'

Hermione stood up, fiddling with the bottle in her hands. 'Right. Ignore Harry, I am not against Muggle-borns. I am Muggle-born.'

'It's a ruse,' Harry stage-whispered, cupping his mouth with one hand. 'She's a Pure-blood plant. She's actually Lady Something-Granger and is set on killing all of us Muggle-borns off.'

'You're not a Muggle-born, mate,' Ron said. 'Your family's really ancient and famous.'

'And dead.' Harry chuckled to himself. 'I'm basically a Muggle-born in all but name. And Potter's not even a very exciting name.'

Ron shrugged. 'No idea. Mum and dad don't care about that stuff. I know, like, absolutely nothing about it.'

'Would you two just shut up,' Hermione hissed. 'I'm trying to talk to everyone.'

Harry raised his hands to concede defeat.

'Sorry,' Ron mumbled, his ears turning a little red.

'Right, now those two are finally finished,' Hermione said, 'let me explain why we're here.'

'Umbridge,' Zacharias Smith said. 'We all know that.'

'Well, yes,' Hermione said. 'But we need to pass our OWLs, we need to be able to defend ourselves. It's nearly Halloween and we've learnt nothing from her. We need to learn from somewhere else.'

'From what?' Smith demanded. 'You believe him?'

'Yes,' she snapped. 'Don't you?'

'We've got nothing but his word.'

'Also the fact that a few people disappeared and reappeared as very macabre and questionable sculpture,' Harry chimed in. 'Mostly people who upset Voldemort.'

A little shiver swept through the crowd.

'But who cares about that,' he said. 'You want to pass your OWLs, right?'

'Yes,' Smith admitted.

'Well, there you go,' Harry replied. 'Problem solved.'

'So, we're going to learn our OWL stuff?' Padma Patil asked. 'From who?'

'Harry,' Hermione stated.

'What?' Terry Boot wriggled through to the front. 'He gets worse grades than most of my house in half our classes.'

'Not in Defence,' she retorted. 'And if you had any lessons with him this term, you'd realise he's really really good at magic; he's just an idiot about it.'

'Let's put it to a vote,' Harry decided, ignoring the stinging backhand of Hermione's compliment. 'Hands up if you've killed more Dark Lords than I have?'

'That's not even a vote,' Terry Boot said.

'Right, but clearly I'm better at defending myself against the Dark Arts because you haven't killed even one Dark Lord.' Harry ticked things off on his fingers. 'Voldemort. Quirrel being possessed by Voldemort. Giant spiders. The basilisk. Dementors. Werewolves. The tournament can just be one thing, because I'm running out fingers.'

'Alright,' Terry Boot muttered. 'We get it. And I remember the corporeal Patronus from quidditch in third year, so fine.'

'We can just learn together,' Harry suggested. 'I actually don't really want to teach, but Hermione made me. She orders me around because my mum was—'

'I do not!'

'Denial is the first stage of confession,' he announced.

'Mate, she is going to murder you soon,' Ron said, 'like, really soon.'

Hermione glowered at Harry.

'Fine—' he zipped his lips shut with a broad grin '—I'm done.'

'I'll work out a place for us to meet without Umbridge finding out,' Hermione promised everyone.

'Who cares if she knows?' Lavender dabbed lip gloss onto her lower lip. 'Like, really, who cares at all?'

'She's sabotaging us deliberately,' Hermione replied with such an air of thinning patience that Lavender took a step back and fumbled her lip gloss, leaving a pink smear across her palms. 'If she finds out, she'll try and stop us. The Ministry is afraid of us learning how to fight for some reason.' She dug a piece of parchment out of her bag. 'Everyone who wants to join, please write your names on this. But first, are there any questions?'

'Yeah, I've got one for Potter,' Terry Boot said. 'How do you know Voldemort really came back?'

'I saw it.' Harry finished his butterbeer, smothering a flash of frustration. 'I saw him come back. I saw him kill some poor wizard called Erik. And I saw him kill Igor Karkaroff. He ripped all his legs and arms off to give him creepy wings.'

'Durmstrang's Headmaster?' Smith scoffed. 'No way.'

Silence fell across the pub, broken only by the barman's rag squeaking in the pint glass he was cleaning.

'He did,' Susan Bones said. 'My aunt asked me about Harry after he had some hearing thing for the Wizengamot. Said he knew exactly what happened to Karkaroff before anyone else could have known. It's impossible, she said, but he knew…'

A low murmur rippled through the students.

'Wait,' Hermione whispered. 'So that really is why you keep making jokes about limbs being ripped off?'

'Moving on from people having their limbs ripped off with magic, because we really shouldn't give Hermione ideas,' Harry said. 'Any other questions, preferably more cheerful, or even more related to Hermione's revision club?'

'No,' Ernie Macmillan said. 'But how are you not dead? All that stuff you listed, if that's true, you should be dead.'

'Oh, basically just luck,' Harry replied, pushing his sleeve up to show off the circular scar on his upper arm. 'See? The basilisk got a fang into me when I stabbed it in the mouth and killed it. I was dying; it was weird, all quiet and numb, like falling asleep in the snow, and then Dumbledore's phoenix healed me.'

Susan Bones twitched, her blue eyes wide behind her messy auburn hair. 'You died?'

'What? No.' Harry laughed. 'I was dying from the venom and Fawkes cried on me. I healed. I didn't actually die. Or I'd be, you know, dead, not here.' He passed the barman his empty bottle. 'Look, this is just Hermione's club thing, okay. It's got nothing to do with me or Voldemort; I'm just helping her. This is about learning what we're supposed to so we don't get eaten by not-cartoon vampires and pass our OWLs. If you want to know how to fight dark wizards, then go find an auror or something. A first class one or whatever they are.'

'I'm not pestering a first-class auror.' Susan Bones shook her head. 'They're really scary. Well, except my Auntie Amelia.'

Terry Boot scratched his nose. 'Well, I'm in. Can't hurt. We're not learning anything from that woman and practising together might help. I remember that patronus Potter cast a couple years back and he did win the Triwizard Tournament, so I won't say no to a bit of help from him, either.' He dug through his pockets. 'Anyone got a quill?'

Hermione produced hers, placing it and the parchment on the bar. 'Just sign up there.'

Harry hopped off his stool and retreated out of the way by the window.

'Wait,' Smith said. 'Potter, I've got one more question.'

'What now?'

'What's the group called?'

'Something really inappropriate that will needle Hermione,' Harry said. 'Does anyone know anything about Pride and Prejudice?'

Hermione huffed.

'Potter's Army,' Seamus shouted.

'I don't want an army,' Harry said. 'Make it Ronald's Army.'

'Mate, no.'

'Dumbledore's Army,' Lavender suggested. 'It's Dumbledore they keep attacking in the papers, isn't it?'

'All in favour?' Hermione watched the hands go up with an air of resignation. 'Umbridge is not going to like that name if she ever hears about it; it will only make things worse.'

Harry chuckled beneath his breath. 'Can you imagine her face? That stupid fake smile will slide right off it.'

'Er, Harry.' Cho sidled out of the huddle toward him, her red-headed friend at her side. 'Hey…'

'Hey, Cho—' he offered her a bright smile '—how're you doing?'

'Harry,' Hermione hissed in his ear.

'What? It's a polite question.' Harry rolled his eyes. 'You question everything I do, Hermione. I'm beginning to think you really are a Pure-blood infiltrator set on sowing discord among us.'

'She… you know—'

'It's okay,' Cho murmured. 'I just… I wanted to ask about—' tears glistened in her warm brown eyes '—did it — did it hurt him?'

Harry scratched the back of his neck. 'No. We got portkeyed into a weird graveyard and then there was a flash of light and that was it. Ghost Cedric came out of Voldemort's wand with the whole weird Priori Incantatem thing and he didn't really seem all that upset about it. I don't think it hurt him at all.'

'Oh.' Cho's lip trembled. 'Well, that's good.'

'Yeah, that spell is really not as bad to get hit with as some of the others,' Harry said. 'Like, you'd just be gone; in an instant. That's not so bad. The Imperius Curse is awful, or, at least, according to Hermione and Ron, it is; Fake-Moody clearly wasn't very good at it because it didn't work on me. And the other one really hurts. It's like having millions of burning hot screws twisted into every bit of you all at the same time, but don't worry, that only happened to me, Cedric skipped out on that part of things.' He laughed to himself as Cho stared, wide-eyed. 'It's not so bad, Cho. I had nightmares all summer about Cedric and everyone else dying, but I'm fine now. You'll be fine too one day.'

'I don't want to just forget him.' A tear slipped free, trickling down her cheek. 'I can't do that.'

Harry swept her into a tight hug, patting her gently on the back. 'Then don't. But he wouldn't want you to be sad. That's all Ghost Cedric wanted, to make sure the people who loved him weren't left hurting because he was gone.' A quiet little sniffle came against his chest and a warm dampth soaked into his robes. 'He wanted you to be happy,' he promised, leaning back and dabbing Cho's tears away with the edge of his sleeve. 'And you know, even if you miss him, you can still be happy.' Harry offered her his brightest smile. 'Look at me, my entire family is dead, something or someone tries to kill me almost every year, and I'm still here, and honestly, I'm quite enjoying myself. Especially this year. It's really upsetting Snape; he can't stand it when children are happy. I think it strikes at the core of his small, shrivelled-up, vampire soul.'

A choked little laugh escaped Cho. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome.' Harry patted her on the head. 'Just watch out for Hermione, if you leave your Muggle-born friends unattended when she's around, you might never find them again. We've nearly lost Ron three times this year already, and he's just a Pure-blood who doesn't hate Muggles.'

Cho's red-headed friend frowned, but a tearful smile spread across Cho's face.

'You're a good friend,' Cho whispered.

'A friend.' Harry feigned horror. 'Damn and there I was hoping to take advantage of this tragedy to finally go to the Yule Ball with you. Wait, it's not happening this year is it? Damn. Foiled again.'

'Harry!' Hermione hissed.

'What, you said Greengrass was too evil and Slytherin. Cho's nice. And very pretty. And—' Harry paused as Cho broke down into laughter '—wait, are you Muggle-born, Cho? Is that why Hermione's so upset about this?'

'No,' she gasped, between hysterical giggles. 'Ow. My ribs hurt.'

'Weird. Hermione, why do you object to every girl I like?' He thrust a finger at her. 'I knew it. You want me for yourself. It's the jealousy thing again!'

Hermione stared at him. 'I'm going to curse you later. With facial-boils. Not Jelly-legs.'

'Pffft, you don't scare me,' Harry said. 'I'm not future Harry, I'm present Harry; I'm not the one who'll be cursed.'

'That doesn't even make sense.' She sighed. 'Cho, I'm really sorry, he's been in a weird mood since we first saw him at the end of the holidays; he's not trying to be insensitive, he's just trying to cheer you up.'

'It's okay,' Cho promised. 'It worked. And I kind of needed that. I've not laughed in… in a really long time.'

'See?' Harry shot her a bright grin and made a mess of her hair with one hand. 'It's not so bad, right? You just have to smile and smiling's easy.'

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linktr . ee / mjbradley