A lamp-lit hush filled the meeting room in the group's hidden sanctuary, its walls lined with runic carvings and comfortable seating arranged in a loose circle. Though the school year had only just started, the old magic in this space welcomed them back as if no time had passed. Harry, Draco, Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Daphne, and Neville settled into chairs around a sturdy wooden table, faces eager yet tinged with caution. The last echoes of the Sorting Hat's ominous song lingered in everyone's mind, fueling a sense of urgency about their plans.
"Feels like forever," Blaise murmured, letting out a breath of relief. "Summer was what—barely two months? Yet look at what we gathered." He patted the satchel at his side, presumably full of potions notes.
Pansy swept aside a stray curl, glancing around. "Shall we do a proper debrief first? Some of us overcame more advanced challenges than others." Her teasing tone shot a look at Harry, who gave a crooked grin.
Draco leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. "Indeed. We basically promised to share what we learned. Let's keep it organized. We can start with Harry—he's got the wandless magic stories, right?"
At that prompt, Harry cleared his throat, recalling the intense sessions with Snape all summer. "Well… as some of you know, I've been practicing wandless casting. Summoning small objects, creating illusions, even a bit of duel-grade jinxing. I'm not, like, anywhere near perfect, but I can reliably toss a Stupefy or Expelliarmus with minimal incantation, if I focus."
A quiet ripple of admiration passed around the table—Theo raised an eyebrow, scribbling a note in the shared ledger. Pansy nodded with approval, while Neville gave a hesitant but genuine smile. "That's brilliant, Harry," Neville said, voice soft. "Could be a huge advantage if anyone tries to disarm you."
Daphne, typically reserved, inclined her head. "I'm curious: does it drain you more than standard casting? You must burn through magical stamina quickly."
Harry shrugged, recalling the mild exhaustion that often followed intense practice. "It does if I'm not careful. Snape hammered in a need for discipline—no flailing about. But yeah, it's an energy sink. I can't do it relentlessly."
Draco smirked. "Still, that's a weapon in itself. If you can knock out an enemy who disarmed you, they'll never see it coming. And illusions on top of that—cunning."
A hum of agreement rippled through the group before Blaise turned to Neville. "And you? Word is you studied under some well-regarded Herbologist. Something about cross-breeding magical vines?"
A faint blush colored Neville's cheeks. "Yes—um, we grew specialized variants of Devil's Snare that respond to mild lumos illusions. I learned about binding roots that amplify potions if used in certain brews. Also, there's this new species—Moonlit Lily—that glows under starlight, though I haven't tested it in potions yet."
Pansy brightened at the mention. "That could be huge for advanced healing potions—lilies often boost restorative properties. We can incorporate it with my healing expansions from last term."
Daphne took note, lips curving slightly. "We'll schedule a group potions session if you manage to get cuttings or seeds for our greenhouse. Might blend well with illusions, too."
Theo, pen scratching on parchment, pinned Neville with a thoughtful look. "Precisely. If we can cultivate a controlled patch in the greenhouse, we'll have a potent stash for next-level healing or advanced illusions."
Draco extended a hand, palm up. "So, illusions from Harry, advanced Herbology from Neville, plus potions from Pansy and Blaise, and runic expansions from me and Theo. We're covering a broad scope." A satisfied grin spread across his face. "We'll be unstoppable—so long as we coordinate."
A hush of shared resolve filled the room. Harry let the moment hang before voicing the next thought. "Don't forget Quidditch. Draco's aiming for Chaser, and I've got the gloves. We can lock that Cup down again, especially if you keep pushing illusions or wards around the pitch—subtly, of course."
Pansy smirked. "Of course—would we do anything unsubtle? We just need to outmaneuver the referees."
They all let out quiet laughter. The mood warmed, as though every tension from last year had melted into this synergy of ambition and unity. Still, a reminder of the Hat's ominous lines hovered at the corners of their minds: Beware the ties that might ensnare…
As if summoned by that lingering sense of caution, a faint hiss reached their ears—Feroximus, Harry's ancient serpent, slithered along the back of the table from a hidden nook. The group halted, eyes drawn to the slow coil of scales. Harry's grin was immediate. "Feroximus decides to show up whenever we get too excited, I guess."
The snake's red eyes flickered, letting out a subdued hiss that only Harry understood. "You chatter like fledglings—fine, but keep your guard. The old halls murmur rumors."
Harry's face stiffened. He translated quietly, "He says we talk a lot, but should remain wary. Something about rumors in the old halls. Possibly referencing the Sorting Hat's warnings, too." An uneasy shift passed among them—Feroximus rarely repeated himself, and the Hat's caution seemed echoed in his words.
Theo exhaled, setting down his quill. "All the more reason to keep forging forward. Our illusions, runic wards, potions, and cunning are needed. Dumbledore's ignoring staff concerns, Lockhart's incompetent, and the Hat's implying new threats. We must be ready."
Blaise nodded firmly. "Agreed. Let's finalize a schedule—some advanced illusions from Draco and me, runic expansions with Theo, potions sessions with Pansy and Neville's herbs, wandless duels for Harry to refine. We can meet here nightly if needed."
The entire circle murmured a quiet assent. In that hush, Feroximus hissed once more, turning away to coil in a corner, apparently satisfied the warning was delivered. A sense of unified purpose rallied the group. They were no longer novices blindly meddling; they had skill, discipline, and a serpentine ally older than Hogwarts itself.
The corridor leading away from their hidden meeting room gradually expanded into a broader, open chamber of smooth stone floors and high, vaulted ceilings. Torchlight flickered against the walls, revealing a space originally intended for storage but now painstakingly transformed into a private dueling arena. At the far end stood a few training dummies, simple enough to withstand an assortment of practice spells.
Harry stepped inside, slowing to let the rest of the circle follow. Draco was just behind him, wand in hand, casting an appraising glance around the warded walls. Blaise and Theo came next, exchanging murmurs about the runic inscriptions they'd placed over the summer to ensure stray spells wouldn't bounce dangerously. Pansy and Daphne moved in after them, each appearing eager to see how everyone had progressed in their practice, while Neville, quietly determined, hung close to the back.
Shutting the door behind them, Harry gazed across the chamber with a sense of anticipation. He could almost taste the energy in the air, equal parts excitement and trepidation. It felt oddly comforting to be here again, standing on the smooth stone and hearing the crackle of the torches.
"All right," Harry said, voice carrying in the stillness. "We'll pick up where we left off last year. Draco's hoping to refine his dueling technique, and I'm trying to incorporate wandless magic, so let's just go at it."
He moved aside so Draco could step forward. Despite his usual cool demeanor, Draco's grip on his wand betrayed a certain impatience. "I've got a few new spells to try," he said, lips curving in a confident line. "Let's see if your wandless can keep up."
Harry caught the challenge in Draco's tone and smirked, tucking his own wand into his belt to emphasize that he was relying mostly on raw concentration. "Go easy," he teased. "I'm still getting used to stunners without a wand."
They took up positions in the center of the room. Blaise and Theo lingered on one side, verifying that none of the wards needed adjusting, while Pansy, Daphne, and Neville watched from the other. The silence that settled over the chamber felt charged, each friend bracing to see how Harry and Draco had progressed since last term.
Draco started with a controlled stunner. Harry tensed, conjuring a faint, invisible shield without an incantation. A wave of heat rippled against his arm, forcing him to give ground. But the spell didn't knock him down. Draco pressed the advantage with a second jinx, a crackle of red light that whirled across the smooth floor. Shifting his stance, Harry locked eyes with Draco, mustering the pulse of magic in his palm. He thrust his hand out, loosing a weak but still tangible burst of energy that swatted Draco's curse aside.
"Not bad," Draco said, half-grudging in approval, flaring into a sidestep and flicking his wand. "But let's see how you handle a disarming hex."
A bright surge of red arced toward Harry. He gasped, pushing a swift wandless counter. The hex sizzled upon contact with his invisible barrier. The recoil stung, though, and he stumbled back. Draco advanced, determined. For a moment, Harry marveled at how Draco's reflexes had sharpened, no doubt from his father's summer tutelage.
From the sidelines, Pansy let out an interested hum, glancing at Neville. "I see they're both stepping it up," she remarked. "This isn't child's play anymore."
Neville nodded, absentmindedly tapping a small container at his waist. "I made a burn salve with Pansy's help," he explained quietly. "Just in case one of them takes a hex full-on."
At that instant, Draco narrowly dodged a short-range stunner from Harry, retaliating with a short, rasped incantation that made the air waver. Harry jerked aside, sweat breaking on his brow, chest heaving. Wandless drained him fast, but the exhilaration of success thrummed in his veins. Their duel concluded only when Draco nearly clipped him with a stronger stunner, leaving Harry panting, arms shaking from the effort to repel it without a wand.
They eased apart, both breathing heavily. Blaise and Theo came forward to clap them on the shoulders, and Neville thrust his healing salve at Harry, urging him to apply a dab where the jolt had stung his forearm. Harry relented, feeling the soothing effect rush in. He grinned—he wouldn't have minded going a few more rounds, but the twinge in his muscles warned him not to push his wandless too hard.
"All right," Draco declared, brushing imaginary dust off his robes, a smirk playing on his lips. "We should rotate. I'm done showing off for now."
Pansy stepped up, pairing with Daphne for some smaller-scale sparring. Theo joined Blaise on the other side, the pairs launching quick bursts of standard jinxes and shield charms. Instead of illusions or advanced runic traps, their focus remained on the fundamentals. Everyone recognized that as exhilarating as illusions were, raw spellwork and stamina would matter in real confrontations.
Halfway through Pansy and Daphne's exchange, a slithering hiss from behind turned everyone's head. Feroximus, Harry's centuries-old serpent companion, poked his head from behind a small shelving unit. He glided across the floor, scales glinting in the torchlight. Harry paused, listening to the reptile's hiss in Parseltongue, then smiled softly.
"Feroximus says," Harry interpreted for the others, "that at least we're testing real spells this time, instead of trick illusions." The snake's lazy flick of the tongue indicated a mix of approval and complaint at the noise.
A mild laugh passed among the group. They'd grown used to the ancient snake's temperament—ever watchful, ever blunt in his assessments. Neville knelt briefly to greet the serpent, though he gave it a respectful distance. The snake flicked its tail, apparently content just to observe.
When at last Pansy and Daphne's spar ended, the circle converged near the center. A bright sense of camaraderie welled up, each friend measuring how far they'd come: Harry with his wandless breakthroughs, Draco's refined dueling stances, Neville's herbal salves that swiftly soothed minor burns, and the rest sharpening their fundamental spells.
They parted ways with the satisfying knowledge that they were forging stronger defenses and deeper trust among themselves. Stepping into the corridor leading back to the main sanctuary, Harry cast a final glance around the dueling chamber. The exhilaration of mastering real spellwork, free of illusions, lingered in his chest—reminding him that if any new threats rose from the shadows hinted at by the Sorting Hat, they would face them head-on, armed with the sharpened edges of their own growing power.
They left the dueling chamber with hushed voices and buoyant spirits, winding through the sanctuary's corridors until they reached a smaller room bathed in a cool, steady glow of magelight—their potions lab. Reclaimed from an old storage area, it held neat rows of glass jars, shelves stacked with ingredients, and a central table where instruments for brewing lay carefully arranged. The air carried a faint tang of dried herbs mingled with the sharper bite of stock solutions.
Draco took the lead, stepping into the room like a professor entering a classroom, his wand twirling absently at his side. Harry, Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Daphne, and Neville trailed in behind him, each claiming a spot around the table. A handful of cauldrons rested on the bench, cold for the moment, waiting to be fired up for the day's practice. Some side windows offered a glimpse of the grounds outside, though the hidden location kept them away from prying eyes.
"Right," Draco began, letting the swirl of conversation die. "We're focusing on an advanced minor fortification brew today—something Father mentioned could be useful for general duels or even Quidditch. It's not complicated if you handle the steps in proper order." He reached for a small parchment listing instructions, spreading it across the tabletop so everyone could see. In the overhead glow, his face took on a confident cast, reminiscent of how Severus Snape might look before a lesson.
Blaise peered at the recipe, tapping the parchment lightly. "So we'll combine standard base potions with a mild resilience agent. Is that from the advanced N.E.W.T. syllabus?"
Draco nodded, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. "Precisely. I adapted the formula with a safer dosage—should be accessible to us. We just need to watch the temperature shifts carefully."
Neville leaned in, rummaging through a small pouch. "I've got some fresh seeds from the greenhouse that might replace the usual dried option. That might enhance the brew's potency if we steep them right."
Pansy offered him a short smile. "Let's try it. Fresh herbs can speed the reaction. This kind of fortification brew can go sour fast, though." She claimed one of the cauldrons and began setting it up, carefully adjusting the angle over the unlit burner.
Daphne, meticulously unwrapping a mortar and pestle, murmured, "We'll keep the final yield small. No point in producing a large batch if we're still perfecting the ratio." She glanced at Harry. "You able to help chop ingredients, or do you want to test wandless stirring?"
Harry chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. "I'll chop for now. Might do wandless stirring if Draco thinks it won't disrupt the consistency. Snape warned me that potions can be fussy about magical fluctuations."
Draco gave a tight-lipped grin. "Stirring wandlessly might be interesting, but let's keep it simple first. Take a seat—there's a chopping board free." Then, with a flick of his wand, Draco ignited the nearest burner's flame and dropped a base mixture of water and standard brew concentrate into a cauldron. The hiss and slight bubble was the starting note of their lesson.
Soft conversation filled the space as each member took on a role—Theo measured out powdered root, Blaise offered a stable heat charm to maintain temperature, Pansy prepared a mild thickener, and Daphne set a timer for each critical phase. Neville selected plump seeds from his bag, demonstrating how they should be ground to release their essence. Harry, standing at the side, carefully diced leaves and stems to Draco's specifications, mindful not to jostle the pot or upset the timing. Periodically, Draco would check the mixture, sniffing the steam or swirling it to gauge texture.
They moved with an almost choreographed rhythm, the camaraderie from their earlier dueling practice now transmuted into a calm precision suited to brewing. After each addition, Draco explained the reason behind it—how the seeds bonded with the mixture to reinforce one's bodily resilience, how a trace of spine-of-lionfish added a mild protective effect, and how the brew needed exactly three clockwise stirs (not four) at the final stage. His tone carried a hint of authority, tempered by an eagerness to share what he'd learned over the summer. Now and then, someone would ask for clarification—Blaise about the lionfish ratio, or Pansy about the final color—and Draco would patiently respond.
In one lull, Feroximus slid into the doorway, flicking his tongue to taste the air. The snake gave a brief hiss, apparently unimpressed by the pot's pungent aroma. Harry stifled a grin; though the serpent hardly approved of the lab's sharper smells, it seemed content to watch from a safe distance, no complaints this time.
By the time they reached the final steps, the brew simmered to a gentle golden sheen, sending a warm, subtle glow through the lab. Draco measured a pinch of dried scurvy-grass, dropping it in to test reaction. A swirl of steam rose, tinted faintly green. He took a careful sniff. "Smells about right," he said, turning off the burner. "Let's see if we did this properly. If so, it should have a mild effect—nothing dramatic, but a sense of slight endurance."
He ladled a small amount into a vial and passed it to Harry. "Be the test subject?"
Harry shrugged with a good-natured half-smile. "Sure. As long as you don't expect me to sprout horns." With that, he knocked back the draught. The taste was earthy, with a slow burn rising in his throat, but not unpleasant. He waited a moment, the group watching him closely. Eventually, he nodded. "Feels… a bit warm. Not seeing any illusions, so that's good."
A quiet sense of relief and satisfaction lit the circle. Neville, excited, asked, "Mind if I try a sip, too? If it's stable, maybe I can see how it reacts with my fresh seeds in a bigger batch next time." Draco handed him a fresh portion, and Neville sipped it without wincing. Another nod of approval confirmed they'd succeeded.
With that, Draco set the remainder of the brew to cool, urging everyone to bottle it once it settled. Blaise and Theo exchanged enthusiastic glances—this potion was a small but meaningful triumph, a testament to how much they'd grown. Pansy set aside the stirring rod, stepping back to admire the calm shimmer of the liquid. Daphne, always methodical, jotted notes on improvements for next time.
As they began to tidy up the workspace, Draco exhaled, satisfaction glowing on his face. "We'll refine it more soon, but at least we have a workable formula. Should come in handy if we ever need a little extra fortitude—maybe if Lockhart tries some half-baked demonstration in Defense, or if… anything else arises."
His final words trailed off, hinting at the unspoken concerns carried over from the Sorting Hat's ominous tone. Yet for this moment, the sense of camaraderie and accomplishment overshadowed any creeping apprehension about the new year's dangers. They were learning, building on summer's knowledge, forging themselves into a cohesive force capable of facing whatever Hogwarts might throw at them next.
Exiting the potions lab, the group trailed through the torchlit corridors of their secret sanctuary, talking quietly about the successful brew they'd just completed. The air felt charged with a lingering sense of triumph, each member keenly aware that what they'd achieved was beyond the scope of ordinary Hogwarts coursework. Harry, in particular, found himself savoring the subtle warmth left by the fortification potion he'd tested.
Neville led them further into a narrow passage where the stone walls gradually gave way to a humid warmth. At the end of the corridor, they stepped through an archway into their hidden greenhouse room—a space they'd fashioned last year for cultivating magical plants. A combination of runic designs and mild heating charms kept the air balmy, and a series of magical lanterns hung overhead, lending the chamber a gentle glow that evoked a hidden garden rather than a dungeon annex.
Rows of planters lined the interior, some filled with seedlings in various stages of growth. Taller pots housed twisting vines or squat, herb-laden patches—evidence of Neville's painstaking effort over the summer. The familiar scent of damp earth and faintly floral magic enveloped them as they took in the subtle changes: new planters, reorganized shelves, an updated array of seed packets pinned to a board.
Neville, cheeks tinged pink with quiet enthusiasm, gestured for them to gather around a waist-high planter box containing lush, deep-green foliage. "So," he began softly, "I thought we'd start by looking at these Moonlit Lilies—the ones I mentioned in my letter. They're still young, but if we treat them right, they'll bloom within a few weeks." He reached out, brushing a leaf gently. "When they do, the petals glow faintly under starlight. And if we use them in certain potions, we might enhance healing or even stability for advanced brews."
Harry, Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne crowded closer, gazing at the unassuming green stems. Draco leaned in with a curious frown. "So just how bright do they glow, anyway? Is it strong enough to help us in, say, night-time tasks?" His tone suggested more than mere curiosity—perhaps strategic interest if illusions or wards required a light source.
Neville offered a half-shrug, gently nudging aside a few leaves. "Not as bright as a wand's Lumos, but I've read accounts of it being used for stealth or subtle illumination. I'll need a few nights of observation to confirm." He glanced at Pansy, recalling her healing expansions. "The petals, though, hold real potential for potions. If we manage to cross-breed them with another species that's good for stamina, we could produce a new additive for your salves or Draco's fortification brew."
Pansy's eyes gleamed with interest. "So we'd get healing and protective benefits in one plant. That's incredible. Once these are stable, we can try small cuttings for test potions." She raised an eyebrow at Draco. "You might find it improves your new fortification draft even more."
Draco ran a hand through his hair, letting the idea settle. "That'd be quite the synergy. If your future seeds are more potent, we'd have a distinct advantage—even outside the usual Hogwarts materials."
Nearby, Theo hovered over a different bed of writhing shoots, the coloration reminiscent of a milder Devil's Snare variant. "And these are… the cross-bred vines? The ones that respond to partial lumos illusions?" He seemed intrigued, gently prodding a tendril, which coiled back shyly.
Neville nodded, a quiet pride in his expression. "Yes, exactly. They're not aggressive unless triggered, so we can handle them safely. If we ever need them for defensive purposes—like quarantining an intruder in our sanctuary—they'd be easier to control."
He beckoned them to follow deeper into the greenhouse, where rows of smaller pots housed seedlings with glossy leaves and a faint shimmer to their veins. Along the way, Blaise and Daphne commented on the humidity, wiping faint perspiration from their brows. The atmosphere was thick with the aroma of earth and a magical hum from living plants charged with potential.
As they paused beside a wide planter box filled with low, broad-leafed herbs, Neville knelt to display a hidden root system. "Under here are the binding roots I wrote about. They're used in advanced potions to tie multiple magical effects together. If used incorrectly, they'll cause the entire brew to fuse into a gummy mess. But if done right, we can bond different properties—like a two-in-one potion."
Pansy and Blaise exchanged a glance, already imagining the alchemical possibilities. Harry, still absorbing the scale of Neville's horticultural achievements, remarked on how far they'd come since their first meeting. "None of us knew half of this last year," he said, half in wonder.
Neville's cheeks reddened a little more. "I just… had good tutors this summer. And it helps that we have a dedicated greenhouse we can keep secret. I'm still learning a lot—gotta be careful not to overwater or overfeed the magical plants."
Their conversation drifted to the more mundane tasks of maintenance—watering schedules, a reminder to rotate the planters for uniform light distribution, and how to manage runic wards that could occasionally disrupt plant growth. Draco offered to help set a schedule for checking on them, and Theo chimed in with an idea to weave the greenhouse's wards more harmoniously around each pot, ensuring minimal interference.
Harry listened, thoroughly impressed by Neville's command of the subject. The greenhouse, quietly humming with magical life, echoed the unity they'd cultivated over the past year. Much like the advanced potions and dueling skills they'd honed in the other rooms, these thriving plants symbolized their shared ambition to stand above ordinary Hogwarts expectations.
After a thorough inspection of each row, Neville gave them a broad smile, pointing out a final bed of budding shoots that might be ready for harvest in a few weeks. "We'll try a small experiment then," he suggested, "seeing if the Moonlit Lily petals enhance Draco's brew. If it works, we can scale it up for the entire circle."
Warm satisfaction rippled among them. With their immediate objectives in place—a new advanced fortification brew, synergy with these mystical plants, and the combined defensive potential of everything they'd learned—everyone felt a renewed sense of purpose. They might not know exactly what perils the Sorting Hat's cryptic verses foretold, but their alliance, bolstered by fresh knowledge in herbology, potions, and more, stood as a steadfast bulwark.
As they made their way back toward the exit, footsteps echoing through the balmy chamber, Harry couldn't help but share a brief look with Draco. In the interplay of dim magical lanterns and rustling leaves, the hush of late summer enveloped them, forging the quiet confidence that, in these hidden halls and rooms, they were readying themselves for any shadow that might fall over Hogwarts.
They filed out of the greenhouse room with care, murmuring over Neville's successes in cultivating the Moonlit Lilies. The air in the corridors was cooler compared to the humid warmth they'd just left, and a sense of satisfaction hung between them as they approached another section of their secret sanctuary: the medical ward. Although small, this enclosed chamber had been adapted to store essential healing supplies and accommodate basic treatment—a hidden infirmary of sorts, should anyone in the group need discreet care.
A soft glow from wall sconces illuminated neat rows of cots, polished counters, and neatly arranged cabinets stocked with potions and salves. The faint herbal tang that lingered here derived as much from Neville's contributions—freshly grown herbs now distilled into healing mixtures—as from Pansy's determined work refining her knowledge of restorative magic. Harry, Draco, Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and Neville took positions around a central table where a few tomes of medical spells rested, their covers bearing crisp labels in silver script.
Pansy cleared her throat to gather their attention. She set down a slim volume she'd been carrying under one arm. "All right," she began, "we've practiced potions and dueling. Now we'll address healing—something we might need anytime we push ourselves too far in a fight." She glanced from Draco to Harry, as if reminding them of their recent sparring injuries.
Harry recalled the subtle ache left from Draco's disarming hex in the dueling chamber. He offered a lopsided grin. "We definitely need it. Neville's salves help, but there's more to healing than a jar of ointment."
Blaise, his gaze flicking across the organized shelves, commented quietly, "And if we ever confront real curses, illusions won't fix a burn or a broken bone. Knowing how to mend each other quickly might make the difference."
"Precisely," Pansy confirmed. She guided them around the table, where a pair of medical dummies lay on cots. Fashioned from enchanted cloth and supportive frames, these simulacra responded to mild hexes with simulated injuries. Pansy tapped one, and a flicker of life-like movement rippled through its covering. "We'll demonstrate on these. You can practice spells for bruises, shallow cuts, and moderate contusions without harming a real volunteer."
Theo leaned closer, observing the dummy's faint motion. "So it's charmed to show a wound if we cast a mild hex?"
Pansy nodded. "Exactly. Then we use the correct healing spell or salve to treat it. I want us to master Vulnera Minora Curare, the standard healing incantation for small injuries. Also, we'll incorporate a bit of the salve Neville and I collaborated on." She gestured to a nearby cupboard containing neatly labeled vials.
Daphne folded her arms, a small frown of concentration drawing her brows together. "I know the incantation but haven't tested it much. Let's see how it goes."
With a whispered incantation, Pansy activated one of the practice dummies. She flicked her wand, sending a faint spark of red light into its shoulder, simulating a mild stunner wound. A dark blotch appeared on the cloth, as though bruised. She beckoned Draco, who stepped forward, wand at the ready.
He muttered the incantation—Vulnera Minora Curare—and a faint silver glow touched the cloth. But the bruised patch faded only partially. Draco tried a second pass, adjusting his posture and wand angle. This time, the bruise faded further, though not entirely. He exhaled, half in frustration, half in relief. "I see—needs a steadier approach."
Pansy nodded, satisfied with Draco's attempt. "Better to undercast than overcast. If you push too hard, you risk shocking the wound. Let me show you." She took position, drawing a measured breath, then whispered the incantation, voice calm yet firm. A cool, silver shimmer rippled from her wand, spreading across the dummy's patch of fake bruising and smoothing it out entirely.
Blaise gave a low whistle. "That's precision. Good job, Pansy."
She flushed slightly, pride mixing with composure. "I've been practicing. It's not as showy as illusions or duels, but every bit as challenging."
Afterwards, they took turns with the dummy—Harry, despite leaning toward wandless spells in duels, found a wand was still necessary to get the delicate healing incantation right. Neville attempted the spell, carefully enunciating the incantation. He stumbled initially, but on the second try, the shimmering light banished the bruise. He offered a shy grin. "Guess I can apply the same care to healing as to plants."
Draco offered a terse nod of approval, briefly clasping Neville's shoulder. "We'll need your help if some idiot tries advanced hexes on us. This is good progress."
A short while later, Pansy demonstrated use of the salve they'd created—smooth, minty, and faintly luminous from the compounds drawn from Neville's herbs. She dabbed it onto the dummy, prompting the enchantment to register the "injury" as treated. The dull cloth brightened, signaling success. "Applying the salve carefully can accelerate minor bruise healing or small burns," she explained. "Just imagine if we combine it with Draco's fortification brew from earlier."
Daphne passed the jar around, each friend taking note of the texture and smell. Harry tested some on a small patch of bruising that Draco re-inflicted for the sake of practice. The bruise receded swiftly, leaving only a cool tingle in its wake.
"That's really effective," Harry remarked, stretching his arm. "Better than what the school infirmary typically gives for small injuries."
Blaise looked impressed as well, scanning the jar's label. "If we keep refining, we might have an alternative to the standard Skele-Gro or generic ointments. Less painful, hopefully."
With that, they agreed to store multiple jars in the ward for any future training mishaps. Tidying up the workspace, Pansy and Neville discussed a plan to expand their knowledge of more advanced healing spells, possibly gleaning references from the restricted sections in potions or herbology. Draco insisted they also learn a few advanced "counter-curse patches" for more serious injuries, in case a real threat arose.
By the time they wrapped up, a sense of deeper unity and readiness pervaded the hidden ward. The group collected the leftover salve jars, stowed the medical dummies, and cast mild illusions to restore the room's unassuming appearance. Another day, another step forward in their private mastery.
As they left the ward in a small group, the echoes of their footsteps mingled with a mutual confidence that, should this year's rumored shadows materialize, they wouldn't lack for healing or skill to meet those challenges. Pansy lingered at the door, lips curving in a brief, determined smile as she flicked the lantern off. Knowledge had become their shield—herbology, dueling, potions, and now healing—woven into a powerful tapestry that bound them together.
The corridors of their secret sanctuary felt quieter now, a reflection of the long hours the group had spent honing their dueling and healing skills. With a gentle hush following them, Harry, Draco, Pansy, Theo, Daphne, Neville, and Blaise reached a small, book-lined room they had designated for academic lessons beyond Hogwarts' norm. The faint scent of parchment and old leather filled the air, mingling with the cool, still atmosphere of the hidden corridors.
A trio of desks stood arranged in a semicircle around a makeshift lectern—really just a tall reading stand they had salvaged from an old storeroom. Its surface bore intricate carvings of runes, a sign of the subject they planned to tackle. Blaise, running a thoughtful hand over the script etched into the lectern's top, settled his notes on it and turned to face the others.
"All right," Blaise said, voice soft but resonant in the snug space. "We've worked through potions, dueling, and healing. Now it's time to brush up on runes. Last year, we barely scratched the surface before we got caught in… well, all that nonsense with the Stone. But we can't neglect them again. Runes can reinforce wards, bind spells together, or just give us a deeper edge in advanced magic."
Draco inclined his head, eyes drifting to a tall stack of tomes resting on the nearest desk. "Father always pressed the importance of reading runic lines—like in old wards and family grimoires. There's power in the language itself, if you know how to key it properly."
Harry, nodding in agreement, stepped forward to join the circle around Blaise. "We've already embedded some runic arrays here in the sanctuary—like those that shield our hidden rooms. But that was more about existing designs. I guess we need to learn how to craft or modify them ourselves, right?"
"That's the goal," Blaise said, calmly flipping open one of the thick, cloth-bound books. The faint rasp of parchment underscored his next words. "I spent part of the summer going through advanced references, focusing on small-scale arrays that combine easily with everyday spells. I'd like to demonstrate one we might use to anchor defensive wards around the greenhouse or the meeting room."
Theo, who had tinkered with runes often, peered over Blaise's shoulder. "We tested a lesser variant last year, but it only repelled minor hexes. If we want something that stands up to, say, Lockhart's meddling or a stronger intruder, we have to refine the base sequence."
Blaise tapped a passage on the open page, the runic symbols arranged in careful lines. "Exactly. Let's call this 'Arcus-Anchor Array.' A half-moon structure is drawn at the top, referencing protection, then we link it to a triple-serpent line—yes, I know," he added with a sidelong glance at Harry, "the serpents are purely symbolic here. It's how they wanted to depict magical guardians. Anyway, once that's inscribed, we set a small power source, like a steady flow from a minor stone or even a consistent magical environment. Then we finalize it with an incantation tying the runes to the location."
Neville, leaning his elbows on the table, studied the symbols. "So if we carve these in a discreet corner—like under a floor stone—it'll keep wards stable without us recasting them all the time?"
"That's the idea," Blaise said, flicking his wand at a piece of chalk. "We'll do a quick demonstration on this slab here." He pointed to a smooth rectangular slate set near the far wall. Stepping over, he beckoned the others to follow, chalk now in his hand. With careful precision, he sketched a half-moon curve at the top, followed by entwined lines resembling serpents below.
Draco and Pansy watched intently, each angled to see how Blaise formed the symbols. Daphne remained poised at Blaise's side, offering steady commentary when he paused to ensure a line was correct. The hush of concentration settled among them, broken only by the soft scratch of chalk on slate.
Once he finished, Blaise tapped the design with his wand, reciting a short, old incantation. The chalk lines glowed faintly, pulsing with a gentle light that died down after a moment. Harry felt a subtle shift in the room's magical tension, as though a stable hum now resonated in the background.
"That's the foundation," Blaise said, stepping back. "You can tie a small hex or ward to these lines. If we do it properly, it's self-sustaining, pulling just enough energy from the local environment or from a minor conjured source. We only have to check them occasionally for wear."
Pansy let out a quiet breath. "Impressive. I can see how it might reinforce the illusions, or even keep a healing ward stable. But we should be careful about drawing too much from the greenhouse environment, right? Don't want to starve our plants of magic."
Theo and Neville nodded, each thinking of the greenhouse's expansions. Blaise gave a reassuring shrug. "It's about balancing. We'll keep the arcs small. Anyway, with more practice, we can adapt similar arrays around our other secret rooms."
Harry, letting a grin stretch across his face, approached the newly-drawn runic lines. "And this is a stepping stone for more advanced arrays down the line?"
Blaise smirked, gathering his book. "Of course. This is child's play compared to what's in the deeper passages of runic knowledge. But we have to start somewhere. We'll refine as we go."
They lingered a few moments, each taking turns copying the rune shapes onto their own parchment or conjured slates, discussing potential adjustments for their wards in the greenhouse, meeting room, or even along the corridors of the sanctuary. Draco proposed weaving these runes into a single, continuous belt around the entire hidden zone, though Theo pointed out they'd need a stable power node at each major intersection.
The sense of synergy that had settled over them earlier, in the dueling room and the potions lab, now blossomed anew in this runic lesson. They were all aware that Hogwarts' new term was rife with mysteries—the Sorting Hat's ominous lines still echoed in the back of their minds. But here, in the quiet hush of an unassuming classroom deep beneath the school, they found clarity in each other's expertise and direction.
As they packed up their notes and chalk, Blaise reminded them they'd do a test run of a protective array soon, perhaps over the weekend. Neville mused about whether runic lines would disrupt certain herb-laden wards. Pansy and Draco talked about ensuring they didn't conflict with illusions or healing wards. And Harry, mind buzzing with possibilities, felt that each skill they acquired—wandless dueling, advanced potions, healing lessons, and runic mastery—combined to make them more than just a group of students. They were forging a safety net for themselves, one anchored in knowledge the rest of Hogwarts might not suspect they possessed.
The group's footsteps echoed across a broad hallway that led from the classroom to the main sanctuary space—a larger common area they had set up as a sort of lounge and meeting spot. Here, comfortable chairs circled around a low table, and a modest fireplace flickered on one wall, reflecting faint orange glimmers against the stone. Unlike the smaller rooms devoted to dueling, potions, or herbology, this one felt more welcoming, a space where they could pause between lessons or discuss strategies over a warm fire.
They entered in subdued conversation: Harry, Draco, Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Daphne, and Neville each finding a seat around the table. The hush that had followed their runic practice carried over, though the energy from their accomplishments still buzzed beneath the calm surface. Draco cast a quick glance at the flickering flames, then turned to face the circle with a hint of formality.
"So," he began, running a hand over the back of a tall chair before sinking into it. "We've covered dueling, potions, healing, and runes. Now it's time for something else. I know many of you think 'politics' means dealing with the Ministry or pureblood gatherings. But it's more than that." His gaze swept around the group, gauging their attention.
Blaise, resting one ankle atop the other, folded his arms. "I recall your father's notes on forging alliances. We did a bit of that last year—discreetly building trust with certain older students, scanning who might be a problem. Now you're saying it goes deeper, right?"
Draco's nod was brisk. "Exactly. Lucius has hammered into me that every place where wizards gather—Hogwarts included—operates on networks of influence. House lines, staff favoritism, who your parents are, which clubs you join… all of it can shift power. If we want to protect ourselves, or shape events, we can't just rely on illusions or advanced wards. We need to navigate people, too."
Pansy drummed her fingertips lightly on the table. "Which means forging connections beyond just Slytherin, I assume. If we snub everyone else, we'll be the only ones outside the loop."
"Yes," Draco agreed. "And the Sorting Hat's ominous talk about unity might be a clue. If a new threat emerges, we can't just barricade ourselves in the dungeons. We might need Ravenclaws for certain knowledge, or Hufflepuffs for access to staff resources. Even some of the more open-minded Gryffindors—like maybe Longbottom's housemates—" he shot Neville a mild, respectful nod, "—could prove beneficial."
Neville shifted in his seat, nodding slowly. "I see. It's not about controlling them, but building some measure of trust. Though… some of my housemates might find it odd if I start cozying up to them about alliances."
Theo adjusted his posture, leaning forward. "So we do small gestures—subtle. Offer help with subjects we excel at. Show them we're not just a circle of conspirators ignoring the rest of Hogwarts. Meanwhile, we keep an eye out for those who might sense we have secrets."
Draco's smile was faint but approving. "Precisely. Call it a chessboard approach: we watch the major pieces—older prefects, staff who are less enthralled with Dumbledore's decisions—and maneuver accordingly." He paused, letting the flicker of the fireplace underscore his words. "Another part is dealing with Lockhart. We all know he's incompetent, but the public loves him. If we undermine him overtly, we risk looking like troublemakers. So we need a subtler approach—expose his failings in a way that protects us, or at least ensures the staff sees we're not the problem."
Daphne toyed with the fringe of a throw pillow, face thoughtful. "So, in short: no blatant sabotage, but maybe letting him hang himself with his own rope. If he tries some impractical demonstration, we can help… or watch it fail gently, and let the staff realize we're more competent."
"Yes." Draco's voice rang quietly. "Between illusions, wards, and advanced skill, we can overshadow him easily. But we mustn't appear malicious. We want the staff—aside from Dumbledore, perhaps—to see us as the stable ones if chaos erupts."
Harry, arms resting on the chair's edges, exhaled softly. "Let's not forget the bigger threats hinted at by the Sorting Hat's new warnings. If anything bigger than incompetent Lockhart stirs, we can't afford petty enmities with other houses. We might need… well, a broader alliance."
Neville offered a subdued nod. "I can talk to a few Hufflepuffs, especially those who respect herbology. Maybe the same approach can be used with Ravenclaw—someone like Terry Boot, or older students who share our academic pursuits."
A hush settled, the only sound the quiet crackle of embers in the fireplace. Draco folded his arms, evidently satisfied with the conversation's direction. "So, we proceed carefully. Subtle gestures, forging minor alliances, maintaining courtesy. We don't compromise our own circle's secrecy or concede the Stone's location, obviously, but we remain open to potential partnerships."
Blaise spoke up next, his tone measured. "And if, at any point, Dumbledore tries to rope us into something or Lockhart tries to exploit us for publicity, we coordinate a response. A united front in both open and hidden matters."
Harry let the moment sink in, heart steady with conviction. They'd grown more than just cunning and skill—they were shaping a broader strategy. The greenhouse, potions lab, dueling chamber, and now a careful web of alliances. Something about it felt both comforting and precarious, as if they were building a defense against an unseen storm. But at least they had each other.
With that, Draco closed his small notebook of Lucius's gleaned wisdom, the hush of finality wrapping around the circle.
They remained seated in the circle of chairs, the fading warmth of the hearthlight casting soft shadows against the stone walls. A hush lingered from Draco's concluding remarks on wizarding politics, everyone digesting the conversation. Then Daphne cleared her throat gently, gathering a small sheaf of parchment from her lap. At once, she commanded their attention—poised, elegant, and with a quiet intelligence that rarely vied for the spotlight.
"I've been reading through some old legal codices," she began, tapping the edges of the parchment. "Partly inspired by Draco's father's notes on the Ministry, but also from a few texts my mother sent me. I thought it'd be good for us to have at least a basic handle on Wizarding law—especially if we're forging alliances or, you know, dealing with advanced magic that might border on the restricted."
The group straightened in their chairs, curiosity flickering in their expressions. Harry, arms resting on the sides of his seat, recalled the hush that always accompanied mention of the Ministry or the Wizengamot. Far too many times last year, their secret activities had skirted the edges of official rules. Now, it seemed, Daphne was about to illuminate precisely how precarious that line could be.
"Most of you know the Wizengamot is our high court," Daphne said, glancing around. "They decide major legal disputes and criminal cases—like if someone uses Unforgivable Curses or tampers with restricted artifacts. But lesser matters, too, can escalate if the right (or wrong) people push them."
Blaise, arms folded, nodded in subdued agreement. "That's the place where prejudices sometimes rule, correct? If someone has the right connections, they can maneuver out of trouble… or put others into it."
Daphne's lips pressed into a thin line. "Exactly. Certain families hold more sway. Lucius Malfoy, for one, has a seat—so does my mother, though less influential than Draco's father. It's why many purebloods claim they can circumvent laws. Knowing who to approach, who to avoid… that's part of the political game Draco just outlined."
Shifting in his chair, Neville ventured a question, voice quiet but earnest. "How does that affect us? We're not casting Unforgivables or messing with giant dark artifacts. At least, not intentionally."
Daphne's gaze flicked toward Neville kindly. "True. But consider smaller infractions—unauthorized expansions of wards, advanced potions that dip into restricted ingredients, experimenting with certain hexes in the sanctuary. If discovered by the wrong official, it can become a case. Or if a rival tries to accuse us of misdeeds, having a grasp of law—and allies in it—can shield us."
Theo, who'd been jotting notes, looked up. "So… do we form connections with ministry aides or keep our heads down?"
"That's where Draco's father's stance helps," Daphne replied. "We remain polite with the right families—Malfoy, Greengrass, Zabini, others. Keep them from suspecting us of dangerous activities. Meanwhile, we also ensure we know enough law to defend ourselves if, say, Dumbledore or Lockhart misreads what we're doing."
A rustle of cautious satisfaction passed through the group. Pansy nodded, twisting a loose strand of hair. "So basically, we stay below the radar unless we want to get entangled in legal trouble, yet be ready to invoke certain rights if needed."
Daphne offered a crisp nod. "Precisely. I can teach the fundamentals—like the categories of restricted spells and items, or the guidelines for property wards. You'll see references to them in advanced textbooks soon enough."
A mild hush settled, each friend thinking back to the Sorting Hat's warning, to the intricate network of alliances Draco described, and to their own covert expansions of magical study. Knowledge of the law, it seemed, was another vital shield for a group forging its path in the hidden corners of Hogwarts.
Harry, letting a slow breath escape, realized how integral this new lesson was: not illusions, potions, or duels, but the backbone ensuring their ambitions wouldn't land them before the Wizengamot. He inclined his head at Daphne in quiet thanks. She'd provided them another key to survival—and dominion over their own fate—no matter what shadows might loom in Hogwarts' corridors.
A drowsy hush descended over the group as they left the final lesson room—Daphne's notes on wizarding law still echoing in their minds. The corridors of the sanctuary carried them back toward the main gathering space, each footstep softened by exhaustion yet laced with a deep sense of accomplishment. Hours had passed in a blur of dueling spells, healing incantations, herb cultivation, runes, and political strategy. Now, the flickering lanterns illuminated tired faces lit with contented smiles.
They reconvened in the sanctuary's central foyer, where a few plush chairs surrounded a quietly smoldering hearth. One by one, Harry, Draco, Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Daphne, and Neville sank into the cushions, letting a warm fatigue settle into their muscles. The day's lessons felt beyond anything standard Hogwarts classes could offer. In the hush, the occasional pop from the fireplace and the faint hum of old magic in the walls underscored their unity.
Draco, leaning his head back against the seat, eyed the circle. "Seems we covered just about everything," he remarked. "Wandless spells, advanced potions, new plants in the greenhouse, healing incantations, runes, politics, legal codes… We're practically running our own curriculum."
Pansy let out a soft laugh, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. "Don't forget Quidditch practice and illusions to add into the mix. We might as well earn extra credit in every subject while we're at it."
"That or attract every suspicious stare if we're not careful," Theo cautioned, tapping his quill idly on the arm of his chair. "We should keep a low profile, especially with Lockhart prowling about for publicity."
Blaise glanced at Harry. "But what we've done today is proof that we can handle more than most second-years. If anything sinister stirs up again, we won't be caught unprepared. And if Lockhart tries to entangle us in some fiasco, we've got politics and legal fallback."
Harry, half-lidded eyes reflecting the glow of the hearth, nodded in agreement. Feroximus was coiled at his side, flicking a slow tongue but content to remain quiet. "I say we continue like this—discreet, building each skill. The Sorting Hat's song warned about old threats, so it's good we're taking everything seriously."
Neville, perched at the edge of a seat, gave a small shiver of excitement. "I never thought I'd be part of something like this. It feels… reassuring to know we have a plan, not just for the year but for any unexpected dangers."
Daphne offered him a faint smile of support. "We do," she said, "and after tonight, I think we're ready to handle a lot more than we could last year. Let the Hat's warning come; we'll face it together."
A hush followed, and for a lingering moment, they simply let the warmth of the fire and their shared accomplishments fill the space. The faint hum of old magic in the sanctuary soothed any underlying worry—reminding them that, together, they had woven a tapestry of knowledge greater than any single House or standard class could provide.
Eventually, Draco drew a slow breath. "Same time tomorrow, perhaps, for a quick review—maybe we can test that new runic array in the greenhouse. Or try more of Neville's potions herbs?"
"And see if I can keep improving my healing approach," Pansy added, half to herself. "Yes, that'd be good."
Agreement rippled through the circle. One by one, they rose from their seats, stiff from the day's efforts but brimming with quiet pride. Gathering bags, notes, and the last of the leftover salves, they made their way to the exit leading back to Hogwarts' regular corridors. Each footstep—soft against the worn stones—reverberated with the confidence of a new term begun under their own clandestine mastery.
Behind them, the sanctuary lights dimmed, leaving only the memory of a day's worth of lessons that bound them closer. Ahead lay the challenges of Hogwarts life—Quidditch matches, Lockhart's nonsense, Dumbledore's watchful eye, and whatever hidden threat might rise from the old halls. Yet no one doubted their readiness.
They were no longer novices; they were a unified circle, forging their path through skill and ambition, ready to protect their secrets—and each other—at any cost. As they stepped from the hidden sanctuary into the hushed twilight of the castle, the final echo of their day's work followed them like a promise of resilience against all that might unfold in the weeks to come.