Part 2
Harry Potter stood in front of the room of his fellow students, wand held deceptively loosely between the fingers of both hands in front of him, his stance tall, alert, and intensely motivated. As he watched, pairs of students faced off against each other, practicing curses and counter-curses, hexes and shield charms, and even, he noted with pride and some amusement, defensive and offensive transfiguration over in the corner under the critical eye of Hermione.
The DA had made a triumphant comeback, and while there was no longer a need for a secret society this year, as McGonagall gave them the go-ahead with what could be interpreted as her stern brand of approval, all members still signed the spelled parchment Hermione had conjured, swearing them to discretion between members on the content and participants of their meetings. She, Harry, and Ron had all agreed that strategically, it made sense to keep the extent of their knowledge quiet. It also was likely that some parents and teachers -as well as the wider wizarding world and most definitely the Ministry- would have a few issues with some of the lessons Hermione had devised. She had been busy over the summer writing to Viktor Krum, requesting all sorts of Dark Arts texts that were commonly taught at Durmstrang, to better prepare herself and Harry for the war to come. She had also, after much grumbling, conceded to Harry's suggestion of asking Fleur and by extension Bill for any resources they had found useful or interesting over the years. While Harry had found some of the Beauxbatons jinxes particularly clever once Hermione had translated them, Bill's curse-breaker knowledge had fascinated Hermione for the remainder of their stay at The Burrow.
While Harry was in charge of instructing the Defensive skills, Hermione took point for the more offensive 'grey' magic from the Bulgarian books, as well as basic warding and healing. She also insisted on hosting meetings with the muggleborn students to brief them on safety measures they could take in their homes with their muggle families. Harry was sure she was planning on visiting each and every household at the end of the year once she could legally apparate to check on their well-being, encourage them to relocate outside Britain, or set up defensive wards on their properties herself.
Hermione had also, much to Harry's amazement -although really, he shouldn't be surprised at this point, with all she had achieved so far in their time together- been inspired by Dumbledore's transfiguration of the Ministry's Fountain of Magical Brethren, and delved into research on how to animate the surrounding objects to her advantage in a duel. As Harry glanced once again into the corner where she held court, he smirked to see their practice cushions transform into blankets that settled over the faces of her mock adversaries -though they stood against her three-to-one- temporarily blinding them and allowing her to put them in a full body bind. When Hermione looked up across the room at him, feeling his stare, she smiled at him impishly before returning her attention to her eager students.
Focusing back on the pairs in front of him, he nodded in approval at Ron and Ginny up front with Neville and Luna, practicing their silent casting, though for the two girls they wouldn't formally study this until their following year. In fact, across the board, academic year had generally been tossed out the window, and everyone advanced at their own pace within small groups until every last member was mastering spells well above their grade level. That'll show Tom Riddle, Harry thought smugly, remembering the curse Dumbledore speculated the Dark wizard had cast upon the DADA position years before, ensuring that an entire generation of students had suffered from substandard Defence instruction.
Harry was jolted out of his musings by a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. He snapped into action on reflex, rapidly casting a shield charm to his left, dropping to his knees in a spin that brought him around to face his attacker and fired off two silent French jinxes in rapid succession in the direction of his would-be opponent. Now across from him, Neville grinned widely as he jumped the first jinx that went low, then conjured a mirror to reflect the second into a nearby practice dummy, where the jinx made the wooden structure melt bonelessly.
"Blimey Harry, you weren't pulling any punches there, were you?!" Neville laughed at him, turning his incredulous stare back toward him from the now liquified wood puddle.
Everyone in the room had stopped to stare at the pair in awe and anticipation -they surely couldn't wait to learn moves and spells like that. Harry grinned back at Neville as he stood from his position on the floor, ruffling his dark hair somewhat self-consciously as he admitted he might've over-reacted. Although, after the events in June, he'd rather over-react than under. "Just testing your reflexes there Nev, like I'm sure you were testing mine," he replied wryly.
"As you were everyone," Hermione called out from the back corner of the Room, setting everyone's whispers and exclamations to rest as they resumed their activities.
Harry wandered closer to Neville and Ron, Ginny and Luna having switched off to practice against each other for a while.
"That was wicked fast work with the mirror there Nev," Ron was effusing, clapping the other boy soundly on the shoulder. "Haven't I been saying since third year when I got my new wand that it makes all the difference?" He chuffed a bit to himself, shaking his head in remembrance no doubt of the broken then spell-o-taped wand he'd had to deal with all through second year.
Harry smiled at Neville, agreeing with Ron that having a wand of his own and not using his father's had definitely improved his spell-casting, but he also knew it was more than that. Ever since the Azkaban breakout the previous year, Neville had a fire in his belly and a chip on his shoulder, needing to prove to his grandmother -and himself- that he was every bit as brave as his parents. Harry sometimes wondered at the fact that Voldemort had chosen him and not Neville to go after that Halloween, and how different their lives might have been. Would Neville's parents have both been killed instead of Harry's? Would Lily and James have met the same fate or worse as Frank and Alice Longbottom? He could never decide which was the worse outcome, and thinking about it made his head hurt and his chest ache for Sirius, for someone to still call family. But then he would look around and take in the Weasleys and Hermione, the boys he shared his Gryffindor dorm with even, and remind himself that family came in many shapes and sizes.
"The confidence suits you Nev," Harry added, punching the other boy lightly in the arm before wandering over to a group of mostly second years who were trying to help a firstie with his jelly legs jinx.
At nine o'clock, Hermione called a cease-fire and Harry proudly congratulated the large group on their efforts, and wished them well and safe over the Christmas break.
"Harry, I've been thinking recently-" Hermione started as they stayed behind as usual to clear up the practice pillows and set the dummies to rights -how Hermione was able to re-solidify the one Harry had melted, he'd never know.
"You don't say," Harry interrupted with a cheeky grin, quickly dodging the smack that was headed his way from her small hand, chuckling quietly in response.
"Oh honestly!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. "I was thinking of asking Tonks and Kings to show us a few basic hand-to-hand manoeuvres while we're off over Christmas, so we can show them to the group when we get back. It would really be helpful to learn how to defend ourselves in close quarters, especially since, realistically we're all still bloody children going up against full-grown adults at least twice our age in most instances-"
"Hermione, breathe!" Harry interjected, stopping the witch before she got too carried away. "I think that's a great idea, and I'm one hundred percent on-board with learning to fight the muggle way -I was Dudley's human punching bag for years, remember?" he added sardonically.
Just as Hermione was surely about to either express her sympathies for his shitty childhood, or plot the destruction of the Dursleys -either one was possible with this witch- Harry quickly cut her off by grabbing her hand and squeezing it quickly in his own. "Hey," he said more quietly. "It was a long time ago now, and I have much bigger problems than my dolt of a cousin."
She shot him a wry, understanding smile, and the two exited the Room of Requirement to head back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry was immensely grateful to both of his best friends for standing by him and supporting him the way they had. He'd never had a choice to be in this war or not, but they did, and yet despite the clear and persistent dangers, they continued to stand tall with him, ready for that sword to inevitable swing against them and their loved ones. When he had voiced his concerns to the pair over the summer, Hermione had vehemently told him, "It's no choice at all, Harry -for any of us really, but especially for muggleborns like me. It's a noble cause, a necessary cause, if we want to be able to live freely… If we want to live."
Ron had nodded along in that agreeable way of his, and added "Yeah, mate, I know it doesn't often feel like it, but it's not just your fight -it's ours too."
When the last school year had ended shortly after the battle at the Ministry, Harry had largely closed in on himself in his pain and grief. He had led his friends into danger and not, as it turned out, for the noble cause of rescuing his godfather from the clutches of Voldemort, but because he had played right into the Dark wizard's plans to lure him to the Department of Mysteries. His friends had all been wounded in the melee against their much older and more experienced opponents, and as if that guilt didn't eat away at him enough, Sirius had been killed, having rushed to Harry's aid with the handful of Order members who had come to their rescue.
The loss of his godfather, who had come to mean so much to him in the two years he had gotten to know him, was a sharp and constant ache that Harry tried in vain to manage every day. Despite Dumbledore's platitudes at the end of last year that the elderly wizard was largely to blame for the circumstances leading to Sirius' death, Harry still felt overwhelmed at times with 'should-have's and 'if-only's. If only he had listened to Hermione, and trusted her more rational approach to the situation; if only he had remembered sooner that Snape was an Order member still at Hogwarts, however much he might dislike him personally; if only he had heeded Sirius when he encouraged him to learn occlumency, even with Snape, to help block out the images projected to him from Voldemort.
After weeks of stewing in those toxic thoughts at the Dursleys', he was finally able to pull himself out of that spiral a little with his return to The Burrow, one of his favourite places in the wizarding world. There, surrounded by his surrogate family and the constant stream of Order members popping by the temporary headquarters, he'd started to mourn Sirius healthily, and without lashing out at everyone who tried to help him. It was there that Hermione filled him in on her summer reading thus far, and the three friends began to plan times to get together to practice the new material once they returned to school. When Hermione caught Harry staring forlornly into a broken shard of Sirius' two-way mirror, spiralling into regret once more, she'd casually suggested that it might be beneficial to share their new knowledge with others, and that really, starting the DA up again -legally this time- could be a very good way to prepare themselves and their friends for the upcoming war. For the first time since Sirius was killed, Harry had felt a stirring of real hope and energy within him, and he knew Hermione saw it in his eyes when she'd smiled softly back at him.
It was then he'd made the decision to share the details of the prophecy with Hermione and Ron, as Dumbledore had suggested, and he'd felt lighter ever since, knowing that while the rest of the wizarding world whispered and speculated, the ones who mattered to him most knew the truth and supported him. He wouldn't have to fight alone.