Girl Who Survived: Book Two {Harry Potter: Order of Phoenix}

[Chapter Sixteen: In the Hog's Head.]

[Chapter Sixteen: In the Hog's Head.]



Hermione made no mention of Harry and I giving Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after her original suggestion. Harry's detentions with Umbridge were finally over; Ron had had four more Quidditch practices and not been shouted at during the last two; and all four of us had managed to Vanish our mice in Transfiguration (I had actually progressed beyond Vanishing kittens, to McGonagall's astonishment.), before the subject was broached again, on a wild, blustery evening at the end of September, when the four of us were sitting in the library, looking up potion ingredients for Snape.

"I was wondering," Hermione said suddenly, "Whether you'd thought any more about Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Of course." Harry said for me with a small nod and a repulsed face, "We see the old hag enough -"

"I meant the idea Ron and I had -" Ron cast her an alarmed, threatening kind of look. She frowned at him, "- Oh, all right, the idea I had, then - about you and Ash teaching us."

Harry did not answer at once. He pretended to be perusing a page of Asiatic Anti-Venoms. I rolled my eyes at him.

I, unlike Harry, had given the matter a great deal of thought over the past fortnight. Sometimes I thought about how I'd make a lousy teacher, but at others, I found myself thinking about the spells that had served me well while dealing with particularly dark matters, in fact, subconsciously planning lessons.

"I'm in." I said at once, "That is, if Harry will help me."

Ron and Hermione looked to Harry with pleading eyes.

"I thought it was a good idea from the start," said Ron. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?"

"Harry," I said irritably, he wasn't getting the point, "There's no point pretending that you're not good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person last year, with the exception of myself, who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't. Viktor always said—"

Ron looked to me so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, "Yeah? What did Vicky say?"

"Shutup, Ron." I said in a bored voice. "He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang."

Hermione looked at me suspiciously. Her quizzical look formed a sly smile that lit her eyes with curiosity.

"You've been in contact with him since you got to Hogwarts, haven't you?" she asked with sparkling eyes.

"So what if I am?" I asked with a scoff. "I can have a pen-pal if I—"

"He didn't only want to be your pen-pal—" said Ron accusingly.

"Stuff it!" I said clamping a hand to his mouth.

Hermione shook her head exasperatedly and, ignoring Ron and I, said to Harry, "Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?"

"Ash and I... Teach just you and Ron?"

"I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh, don't be pathetic, Ron. It doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people."

Harry considered this for a moment, then said, "Yeah, but I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by us. We're insane, remember?"

"I despise that! I am perfectly sane!" I said heatedly, crossing my arms in childish anger, "I think you'd be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what we've got to say. Everyone always wants to hear the other side of the story. It's scandalous, and people love scandal."

Harry looked up at me, "Okay. How would we go about it?"

"Look," Hermione said seriously, she leaned towards Harry and I - Ron, who seemed interested enough, leaned forwards to listen too - "You know the first weekend in October's a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?"

"Why do we have to do it outside school?" said Ron.

"Because," said Hermione, returning to the diagram of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage she was copying, "I don't think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to."

*

I had actually been looking forward to the weekend trip into Hogsmeade, but there was one thing worrying me. Sirius had maintained a stony silence since he had appeared in the fire at the beginning of September; I knew he was angry we asked him not to come - but I still worried from time to time that Sirius might throw caution to the winds and turn up anyway. It was just the way he was. What were we supposed to do if the great black dog came bounding up the street towards us in Hogsmeade, perhaps right under the nose of Draco Malfoy?

Speaking of the little twat! I haven't been able to avoid him the past few days! It almost feels as if he's doing it on purpose. Everytime I turn a corridor, he's there, walking the way opposite of me. Even on a few occasions, we've brushed arms, almost petrifying me.

It's not that I was scared of him, because I wasn't. I honestly couldn't tell you the reason for the petrifying feeling.

What made matters worse as I passed Draco in halls, and bumped into him, or even caught him looking at me in Care of Magical Creatures, he'd try to make light conversation. 'Do you think it's going to rain?', 'Why are the Bowtruckles so violent?', 'I think Peeves was planning a prank today.', and my personal favorite, 'You look lovely today.'

The compliments are what threw me off most, because they we so out of character. Whether he genuinely meant the things he said, or he was just messing with me for the sake of messing with me, he was sure getting inside of my head. I tried as hard as possible to brush it off, but I often found myself questioning his motives.

"Well, you can't blame him for wanting to get out and about," said Ron, when I had expressed my fears with him, Harry, and Hermione. "I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, hasn't he, and I know that can't have been a laugh, but at least he was free, wasn't he? And now he's just shut up all the time with that ghastly elf."

Hermione scowled at Ron, but otherwise ignored the slight on Kreacher.

"The trouble is," she said to Harry, who'd shared my concerns, "Until V-Voldemort - oh, for heaven's sake, Ron - comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, the stupid Ministry isn't going to realize Sirius is innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth about him all along. And once the fools start catching real Death Eaters again, it'll be obvious Sirius isn't one… I mean, he hasn't got the Mark, for one thing."

"I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up," said Ron bracingly. "Dumbledore'd go mad if he did and Sirius listens to Dumbledore even if he doesn't like what he hears."

When Harry continued to look worried, though I'd been put to ease, Hermione said, "Listen, Ron and I have been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade."

"Right," said Harry vaguely,.

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You've got enough on your plate without Sirius, too."

She was quite right, of course, he was barely keeping up with his homework, though he was doing much better now that he was no longer spending every evening in detention with Umbridge. Ron was even further behind with his work than Harry, because while they both had Quidditch practice twice a week, Ron also had his prefect duties. However, Hermione and I, who were taking more subjects than either of them, had not only finished all our homework but Hermione also finding time to knit more elf clothes, while I normally spent spare time finding mischief with the twins or helping the boys with their homework.

The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. After breakfast we queued up in front of Filch, who matched our names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardian to visit the village. With a slight pang, I remembered that if it hadn't been for Sirius, I would not have been going at all.

When I reached Filch, the caretaker gave an ugly grimace. Then he gave a curt nod that set his jowls aquiver again and I walked on, out on to the stone steps and the cold, sunlit day.

"Er - why was Filch sniffing you?" asked Ron as Harry joined us and we set off at a brisk pace down the wide drive to the gates.

"I suppose he was checking for the smell of Dungbombs," I said with a loud giggle. Harry joined in with me, laughing beautifully. It was like an inside joke between us. Hermione and Ron gazed us almost lost.

"I forgot to tell you…" Harry said, trying to become more serious, but still smiling widely.

And he recounted the story of sending his letter to Sirius and Filch bursting in seconds later, demanding to see the letter.

To my slight surprise, Hermione found this story highly interesting, much more, indeed, than I did myself.

"He said he was tipped off you were ordering Dungbombs? But who tipped him off?"

"I dunno," said Harry, shrugging. "Maybe Malfoy, he'd think it was a laugh."

My insides writhed at the name, and all the thoughts came flooding back. Might we run into him?

We continued on between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left on to the road into the village. The chilling wind whipped my hair into my eyes.

"Malfoy?" I asked, sceptically. "Well… maybe…"

And I remained deep in thought all the way into the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Harry asked. "The Three Broomsticks?"

"Oh - no," said Hermione as I came out of my reverie, "No, it's always packed and really noisy. I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head, that other pub, you know the one, it's not on the main road. I think it's a bit… you know… dodgy… but students don't normally go in there, so I don't think we'll be overheard."

We walked down the main street past Zonko's Wizarding Joke Shop, where I was not surprised to spot Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals, and turned up a side-street at the top of which stood a small inn. A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture on it of a wild boar's severed head, leaking blood on to the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as we approached. All three of them hesitated outside the door.

"Well, come on," said Hermione, slightly nervously. Harry led the way, and I trailed behind closely.

It was not at all like the Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming warmth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with the stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables. The floor seemed at first glance to be compressed earth, though as I stepped on to it I realized that there was stone beneath what seemed to be the accumulated filth of centuries.

There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth; two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows; I may have thought them Dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents, and in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. I could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly.

"I don't know about this, Hermione," Harry muttered, as we crossed to the bar. He was looking particularly at the heavily veiled witch. "Has it occurred to you Umbridge might be under that?"

Hermione cast an appraising eye over the veiled figure.

"Umbridge is shorter than that woman," she said quietly. "And anyway, even if Umbridge does come in here there's nothing she can do to stop us, Harry, because I've double- and triple-checked the school rules. We're not out of bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing."

"No," said Harry dryly, "especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?"

"Harry just lighten up!" I said brightly, throwing my arms around his neck for what was supposed to be an encouraging hug, "We'll be just fine. Always are."

"You're not afraid of anything, are you?" Harry asked with a teasing chuckle. I'd never realized that to be true until now. I worried about my friends and my school, but I had rarely ever been actually afraid.

"I guess not," I said with a careless shrug and a small smirk.

The barman sidled towards us out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long grey hair and beard. He was tall and thin with almost glassy looking eyes.

"What?" he grunted.

"Four Butterbeers, please," said Hermione.

The man reached beneath the counter and pulled up three very dusty, very dirty bottles, which he slammed on the bar.

"Eight Sickles," he said.

"I'll get them," said Harry quickly, passing over the silver. The barman's eyes travelled over Harry, resting for a fraction of a second on his scar. His face then turned to me and stared deeply into my eyes, his vision slowly trailing to just below my left collar bone.

"Hey!" I yelled, covering myself with a shout of disgust. I did not want his eyes to trail any further, "Watch it!"

"Don't flatter yourself," He said gruffly, "I was merely observing."

"You're going to be 'observing' some nasty injuries if you don't cut it out." I retorted. Ron's hand flew to my mouth, and he pulled my wriggling figure back into his chest.

The man turned away boredly and deposited Harry's money in an ancient wooden till, whose drawer slid open automatically to receive it. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I retreated to the furthest table from the bar and sat down, looking around. The man in the dirty grey bandages rapped the counter with his knuckles and received another smoking drink from the barman.

"You know what?" Ron murmured, looking over at the bar with enthusiasm. "We could order anything we liked in here. I bet that bloke would sell us anything, he wouldn't care. I've always wanted to try Firewhisky—"

"You - are - a - prefect," snarled Hermione. I covered my mouth, suppressing a laugh.

"Oh," said Ron, the smile fading from his face. "Yeah…"

"So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?" Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig. I looked at mine unsurely. Then I figured, a little dirt never hurt, and followed Harry's lead.

"Just a couple of people," Hermione repeated, checking her watch and looking anxiously towards the door. "I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is - oh, look, this might be them now."

The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.

First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with a usually-giggling Ravenclaw girl, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name I did not know; three Ravenclaw boys, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot, Ginny, closely followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom I recognized vaguely as being a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and, bringing up the rear, Fred and George Weasley with their friend Lee Jordan, all three of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed with Zonko's merchandise.

"A couple of people?" said Harry hoarsely to Hermione. "A couple of people?"

I smiled despite Harry's worry. I figured the more our idea spread, the more people would be on our side.

"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," said Hermione happily "Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?"

The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a rag so filthy it looked as though it had never been washed. Possibly, he had never seen his pub so full.

"Hi," said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly, "Could we have… twenty-four Butterbeers, please?"

The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty Butterbeers from under the bar.

"Cheers," said Fred, handing them out. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these…"

I watched excitedly as the large chattering group took their beers from Fred and rummaged in their robes to find coins.

"What have you been telling people?" Harry said in a low voice. "What are they expecting?"

"I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say," said Hermione soothingly; but Harry continued to look at her so furiously that I intervened.

"You don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first." I said with a smile, "I'll just follow Hermione's lead."

"Hi, guys," said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite Harry.

I smiled at Neville warmly, "Hello." the crowd was not having a negative affect on me like it was Harry. You would think being isolated as often as I was would make me anxious in social situations, but I was just the opposite.

In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry and I.

"Er," said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. "Well - er - hi."

The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to the pair of us.

"Well… erm… well, you know why you're here. Erm… well, Harry here had the idea - I mean," (Harry had thrown her a sharp look) "I had the idea - that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts - and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us—" (Hermione's voice became suddenly much stronger and more confident) "—because nobody could call that Defence Against the Dark Arts—" ('Hear, hear,' said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened) "Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands."

She paused, looked sideways at me, and went on, "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells—"

"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?" said Michael Corner, who was watching her closely.

"Of course I do," said Hermione at once. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defense because… because…" she took a great breath and finished, "Because Lord Voldemort is back."

The reaction was immediate and predictable. A Ravenclaw girl shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry and I.

"Well… that's the plan, anyway," said Hermione. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to—"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it—" Hermione began.

"You mean, Dumbledore believes him," said the blond boy, nodding at Harry, "And she's just going along with it even though she wasn't there."

I ground my teeth and felt a spike in my blood's temperature.

"Who are you?" said Ron, rather rudely.

"Zacharias Smith," said the boy, "And I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "That's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about—"

"It's OK, Hermione," said Harry.

I was not an idiot, I knew why these people had come here. I'd hoped my assumptions were wrong— but unfortunately, they weren't. Some of these people - maybe even most of them - had turned up in the hopes of hearing Harry's story firsthand.

"What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?" he repeated, looking Zacharias straight in the face. "I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

The whole group seemed to have held its breath while Harry spoke. I had the impression that even the sleazy barman was listening. He was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag, making it steadily dirtier.

Zacharias said dismissively, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know—"

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone then we can't help you," I said loudly, slamming my hands on the table. My temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again. I knew Harry's had to have been, because mine was as well. I did not take my eyes from Zacharias Smith's aggressive face, "I have heard the story, it was painful enough the first time. I will not listen to it again. And I'm sure Harry doesn't want to talk about Cedric either, all right?"

"She's correct," said Harry with a dismissive nod, "So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out."

I cast a remorseful look in Hermione's direction. I did not blame her in the slightest, but I no longer felt as enthused to be here. None of them left their seats, not even Zacharias Smith, though he continued to gaze intently at Harry and I.

"So," said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again. "So… like I was saying… if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to—"

"Is it true," interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at me, "That you produced a Patronus, on your first attempt?"

There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.

"Yeah," I said, with a nod.

"A corporeal Patronus?"

The phrase stirred something in my memory.

"By chance - you wouldn't know Madam Bones, would you?" I asked.

The girl smiled.

"She's my auntie," she said. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So - is it really true? You make a Jungle-Cat Patronus?"

"Yes," I said with a nod, brushing hair from my face.

"Blimey, Acacia!" said Lee, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, smiling at me. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She's not wrong," mumbled Harry, and a couple of people laughed. I pushed him playfully.

"Hush."

"It's true. If they aren't gawking at my scar, they're staring at you with admiration."

The veiled witch sitting alone shifted very slightly in her seat. My eyes flitted up at her suspiciously before focusing back on the group.

"And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office, Harry?" demanded Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…"

"Er - yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry.

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks and Lavender Brown said "Wow!" softly.

"And in our first year," said Neville to the group at large, "He saved that Philological Stone—"

"Philosopher's," I corrected, in a smiling tone.

"Yes, that - from You-Know-Who," finished Neville.

Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.

"And that's not to mention," I said to everyone slyly, earning Harry's full attention, "All the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year - getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula…"

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. My excitement had sprung back. I was trying to arrange my face so that I did not look too pleased with the situation.

"Look," Harry said, and everyone fell silent at once, "I… I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but… I had a lot of help with all that stuff…"

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Michael Corner at once. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying…"

"Yeah, well—" said Harry.

"And nobody helped you two get rid of those Dementors this summer," said Susan Bones looking at both of us.

"No," said Harry, "No, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is—"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Zacharias Smith.

"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, before Harry or I could speak, "Why don't you shut your mouth?"

Perhaps the word 'weasel' had affected Ron particularly strongly. In any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," he said, "Not that Ash is being much help either."

"That's not what he said," snarled Fred, "And don't you dare breathe another word about Acacia!"

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" enquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred. I giggled watching the two. They were fantastic. I adored them.

"And I'll give credit where it's due, Zacharias." I said with a nasty glint in my eye, "I was focusing on Harry's achievements, not my own."

Hermione hastily opened her mouth, fully aware that my temper was peaking, "Moving on… the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry and Acacia?"

There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in Fred's hand.

"Right," said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. "Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week,"

"Hang on," said Angelina, "We need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said another girl, "Nor with ours."

"Nor ours," added Zacharias Smith.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," I said reasurringly, "But you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against Voldemort's Death Eaters—"

"Well said!" barked Ernie Macmillan, who I had been expecting to speak long before this. "Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our OWLs coming up!"

He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry "Surely not!" When nobody spoke, he went on, "I, personally am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells—"

"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts,' I began explaining my understanding, "Is that she's got some… some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."

"What?" said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information.

"Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths," said Luna solemnly.

"No, he hasn't," snapped Hermione.

"Yes, he has,' said Luna.

'What are Heliopaths?' asked Neville, looking blank.

"They're spirits of fire," said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever, "Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of—"

"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione tartly.

"Oh, yes, they do!" said Luna angrily.

"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?" snapped Hermione.

"There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you -"

"Hem, hem," said Ginny, in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defense lessons?"

"Yes," said Hermione at once, "Yes, we were, you're right, Ginny."

"Well, once a week sounds cool," said Lee Jordan.

"As long as—" began Angelina.

"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," said Hermione in a tense voice. "Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet…"

This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.

"Library?" suggested Katie Bell after a few moments.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," said Harry.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" said Dean.

"Yeah," said Ron, "McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard."

But I was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. For all that Hermione had said about study and homework groups being allowed, I knew this one might be considered a lot more rebellious.

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting."

She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.

"I - I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "That we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to."

Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.

"Er…" said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass to him, "Well… I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."

But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

"I - well, we are prefects," Ernie burst out. "And if this list was found… well, I mean to say… you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out—"

"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year," I reminded him.

"I - yes," said Ernie, "Yes, I do believe that, it's just—"

"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" said Hermione testily.

"No. No, of course not," said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. "I - yes, of course I'll sign."

Nobody raised objections after Ernie. When the last person - Zacharias - had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.

"Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later."

"Wait!" said George, brushing past his brother to stand in front of me. I looked up curiously at him, while he smiled down at me. He stuck his hand out, it had a folded up piece of parchment in it, "This is for you."

"A note?" I asked with a smile.

"A note." He repeated, his cheeks tinted with pink. I felt my own heat up as well, "I have to get going, but don't forget to read it."

In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too.

"Well, I think that went quite well," said Hermione happily, as the rest of us walked out of the Hog's Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later. Harry and Ron were clutching their bottles of Butterbeer.

"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith, just discernible in the distance.

"I don't like him much, either," admitted Hermione, "But he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really - I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny—"

Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his Butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed Butterbeer down his front.

"He's WHAT?" spluttered Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. "She's going out with - my sister's going - what d'you mean, Michael Corner?"

"Well, that's why he and his friends came, I think - well, they're obviously interested in learning defense, but if Ginny hadn't told Michael what was going on—"

"When did this - when did she -?"

"They met at the Yule Ball and got together at the end of last year," said Hermione composedly. We had turned into the High Street and she paused outside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant feather quills in the window. "Hmm… I could do with a new quill."

She turned into the shop. We followed her.

"Which one was Michael Corner?" Ron demanded furiously.

"The dark one," I said with a smirk.

"I didn't like him," said Ron at once.

"He's devilishly handsome, though," I teased with a wink to Ron. He was silent for a moment before looking away.

"I really don't like him."

"Big surprise," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"But," said Ron, trailing behind Hermione and I along a row of quills in copper pots, "I thought Ginny fancied Harry!"

Hermione looked at him rather pityingly and shook her head.

"Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn't like you, of course," she added kindly to Harry while she examined a long black and gold quill.

"So that's why she talks now?" Harry asked Hermione. "She never used to talk in front of me."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Yes, I think I'll have this one…"

She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, with Ron still breathing down her neck.

"Ron," she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, "This is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael, she knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake."

"What d'you mean? Who's taking anything badly? I'm not going to harp on about anything…" Ron continued to chunter under his breath all the way down the street. I couldn't do anything but cackle at him. It was very amusing.

Suddenly, I felt myself again. More so than I had since my return to Hogwarts. I was finally coming back.

And I had never before appreciated just how beautiful the village of Hogsmeade was.