September 24, 1993, 3:30 PM, Path To Hogsmeade
Adam Clarke
The crisp autumn air of Hogsmeade carried the familiar scents of butterbeer and pumpkin pasties as our group made our way down the cobblestone path from Hogwarts. Tony walked beside me, gesturing animatedly as he recounted his latest Transfiguration mishap, while Harry, Su, Ron, and Hermione followed closely behind, their voices mixing with the chatter of other students enjoying their first village outing of the term.
“I’m telling you, Adam, Professor McGonagall looked like she was going to have an aneurysm when my desk sprouted legs and started chasing Terry around the classroom.” Tony said, barely containing his laughter. “How was I supposed to know that thinking about my dog while casting would make the transformation go haywire?”
I couldn’t help but smile at his predicament. “Maybe next time don’t let your mind wander to Biscuit while you’re trying to transfigure inanimate objects. Just a thought.”
“Biscuit?” Su’s voice carried from behind us, tinged with amusement. “You named your dog Biscuit?”
“It’s a perfectly respectable name!” Tony protested, turning to face her while walking backward. “He’s got these little brown spots that look exactly like— “
“Like biscuits, we get it.” Ron interrupted with a grin.
As we approached the heart of the village, I could feel the familiar weight of anticipation settling in my stomach. Today wasn’t just about enjoying butterbeers and browsing joke shops. We had more serious business to attend to later— the formation of our defense group. But for now, I was content to listen to my friends’ banter and try to push aside the lingering concerns about what lay ahead.
“Right then.” I said as we reached the main square, where the paths branched off toward the various shops and establishments. “What’s everyone’s plan for the afternoon?”
“Honeydukes, obviously.” Tony said immediately, patting his pocket where I could hear the telltale jingle of coins. “Mum sent extra money this time, and I’ve got my eye on those new Fizzing Whizzbees.”
“Zonko’s for me.” Ron announced. “I need to restock my dungbombs after Filch confiscated my last batch.”
“I should probably visit the quill shop.” Hermione said thoughtfully. “My eagle feather quill is starting to fray, and I’ve got that Ancient Runes essay due next week.”
Su nodded in agreement. “I’ll come with you. I need new ink as well.”
Harry was quieter than the others, his green eyes scanning the village with that distant look I’d come to recognize. “I think I’ll just… look around. Maybe stop by the Three Broomsticks for a bit.”
I caught his eye and gave him a small, understanding smile. I knew why he wanted to visit Rosmerta’s pub— he’d been asking questions about Lily’s time working there as a waitress during her Hogwarts years. It was one of the few connections he had to her life before she became a Potter, and I couldn’t blame him for wanting to learn more.
“Sounds like everyone’s got their plans sorted.” I said. “I think I’ll just wander around for a bit, maybe do some window shopping. We’ll meet back at the usual spot in a couple hours before…”
“Before our meeting.” Harry finished quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.
“Exactly.” I kept my voice casual, but I could see the mixture of excitement and nervousness in their faces. “Just remember, keep it quiet for now. We don’t need half the school knowing what we’re planning until we’re ready.”
With that, our group began to disperse. Ron and Tony headed off toward their respective sugar and mischief destinations, while Hermione and Su made their way toward the more practical shops. Harry lingered for a moment, and I could see the question in his eyes.
“Go on.” I said softly. “I’m sure Rosmerta has plenty of stories to share.”
He nodded gratefully and headed toward the Three Broomsticks, his shoulders set with determination. I watched him go, feeling that familiar pang of protective affection for my adopted brother. Harry was growing stronger, more confident with each passing day, but I could still see the weight he carried— the pressure of living up to everyone’s expectations.
As I began my own aimless wandering through the village, I found myself greeted with unexpected warmth from the residents. Mrs. Puddifoot waved cheerfully from her tea shop window, calling out a friendly “Hello, dear!” as I passed. The elderly wizard who ran a small shop next to Zonko’s actually stepped outside to shake my hand, his weathered face creased with genuine gratitude.
“Good to see you again, lad.” He said gruffly. “Can’t thank you enough for what you did during… well, you know.”
I felt my cheeks warm slightly. “It was nothing, really. Just did what anyone would have done.”
“Nonsense.” He replied firmly. “Not everyone would have stood their ground like you did. This old village owes you a debt.”
Similar encounters followed as I made my way through the winding streets. The witch who sold magical plants nodded approvingly when she saw me, and even the usually grumpy proprietor of the secondhand bookshop offered me a discount on any purchases. It was strange, being recognized as someone who had made a difference when it mattered.
I supposed it wasn’t really surprising. After all, I had taken part in the defense of this place during Grindelwald’s coordinated attacks. The memory of that chaotic day was still fresh in my mind— the smoke, the screams, the desperate fight to protect people from the wizards who had descended upon Hogsmeade like a plague.
I remembered the feeling of my magic responding to my determination, the way everything had seemed to slow down as I focused on keeping people safe.
It hadn’t been just me, of course. Gilderoy Lockhart had been there too, and whatever his faults as a person, he had proven himself capable when lives were on the line. Together, we had evacuated civilians and held our ground until reinforcements arrived. It was a day that had changed me, I realized— not just because of the magic I had wielded, but because of the responsibility I had felt for the people around me.
As I continued my walk, I caught a glimpse of Harry through the frosted windows of the Three Broomsticks. He was sitting at a corner table with Madam Rosmerta, both of them engaged in what looked like serious conversation. The pub owner’s face was soft with memory, and I could see Harry hanging on her every word. My heart ached for him— for the mother he had never known, for the stories he was so hungry to hear.
I turned away, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment, and found my steps carrying me toward the edge of the village where the buildings grew more sparse and the atmosphere became notably less cheerful. The Hog’s Head Inn loomed ahead, its grimy windows and weathered sign marking it as the kind of establishment that decent folk generally avoided.
The contrast between the warm welcomes I had received elsewhere and the forbidding appearance of Aberforth Dumbledore’s pub was stark. Where the rest of Hogsmeade had seemed to embrace me as a protector, the Hog’s Head remained as unwelcoming as ever. But perhaps that was exactly what I needed right now— a place where I could think without the weight of gratitude and expectation pressing down on me.
After all, I had important preparations to make. The defense group meeting was approaching, and despite my outward confidence, I was nervous about taking on a leadership role. The irony wasn’t lost on me— I was an introvert who preferred to stay in the background, influencing things from there, yet here I was, about to form and lead a group of students in magical combat training.
But someone had to do it, and I was probably the best qualified among my peers. The tournament had proven that, even if I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the recognition that came with it. More importantly, with threats like Grindelwald still out there, we needed to be prepared. We couldn’t rely on adults to protect us forever.
The heavy wooden door of the Hog’s Head creaked as I pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit interior that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The familiar smell of stale ale and something I couldn’t quite identify— but didn’t particularly want to— hit me immediately. A few patrons sat hunched over their drinks in shadowy corners, their faces hidden beneath dark hoods, and the general atmosphere suggested that asking questions about anyone’s business would be profoundly unwise.
Behind the bar stood Aberforth Dumbledore, his wild gray hair and beard giving him the appearance of a man who had long ago given up on appearances. His weathered hands moved with practiced efficiency as he cleaned a glass that looked like it had seen better decades, and his blue eyes— so different from his brother’s, yet unmistakably related— surveyed his establishment with the kind of weary resignation that spoke of years spent dealing with society’s more questionable elements.
When those eyes met mine, for just a single instant, the hard lines around them softened, and I caught a glimpse of something that might have been warmth, or perhaps approval. But it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it, replaced by his usual expression of general displeasure with the world and everything in it.
He jerked his head toward an empty stool at the bar with a grunt that could have meant anything from “welcome” to “get this over with quickly”.
I made my way over, carefully avoiding eye contact with the other patrons, and settled onto the stool that had probably been uncomfortable when it was new.
“Business doing well after the attack?” I asked, keeping my voice low and conversational.
Aberforth’s response was characteristically blunt. “Same as always. People still want to drink and pretend their problems don’t exist. No attack’ll ever change that.”
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. “That’s… good to hear, actually. I was worried things might have been disrupted.”
He gave me a look that suggested he found my concern both unnecessary and slightly amusing. “Takes more than a pack of angry wizards to shut down a good pub, boy. This place has weathered worse storms than Grindelwald’s tantrum.”
There was something reassuring about his matter-of-fact tone, as if the coordinated attack that had terrorized the village was merely an inconvenience to be weathered rather than a catastrophe to be feared. It spoke to a resilience that I found oddly comforting.
“I was wondering…” I continued. “If you might have a space available for a meeting. Nothing too large— just a dozen or so students. We’d be quiet, respectful, and we wouldn’t cause any trouble.”
Aberforth’s eyes narrowed slightly, and I could see him weighing his options. His mouth opened as if to deliver what I was certain would be a firm refusal, but then he paused. Something flickered across his face— maybe memory, maybe conscience— and his expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
The man might be gruff and antisocial, but he wasn’t heartless or an ingrate. Saying no to someone who had put themselves at risk to protect his establishment wouldn’t sit well with whatever moral compass guided him through his deliberately uncomplicated life.
After a long moment, he grunted an affirmative and pointed toward a narrow staircase that led to the upper floors.
“Second floor, third door.” He said curtly. “Don’t break anything, don’t steal anything, and clean up after yourselves.”
“Thank you.” I said, genuinely grateful. “I really appreciate this.”
He waved off my thanks with a dismissive gesture and returned to his glass cleaning, effectively ending our conversation. I took the hint and made my way up the creaking stairs, my mind already turning to the meeting ahead.
The second floor was marginally cleaner than the ground level, though that wasn’t saying much. The third door opened to reveal a small room with a few mismatched chairs and a table that had seen better days. It would do perfectly for our purposes— private, discreet, and unlikely to be disturbed by curious passersby.
As I settled into one of the chairs to wait, my thoughts turned to Aberforth himself. He was a strange man, no question about it. I could sense the magic in him— powerful, well-trained, but held in check by what seemed like deliberate restraint. He reminded me of a sword kept sheathed not from fear of its sharpness, but from a conscious choice not to draw it unless absolutely necessary.
I understood that impulse, perhaps better than most. Being introverted in a world that often demanded extroversion was exhausting, and there were days when I wanted nothing more than to retreat from the expectations and responsibilities that seemed to multiply with each passing month. Aberforth had found his retreat in this shabby pub, serving drinks to questionable customers and keeping his own counsel.
Sadly, retreat wasn’t an option for me anymore.
I didn’t want to be a leader— the role sat uncomfortably on my shoulders like an ill-fitting cloak. I preferred the background, the quiet spaces where I could think and observe without being the center of attention. And yet, here I was, about to lead a group of students in what amounted to advanced combat training. The irony wasn’t lost on me that someone who craved solitude was about to become responsible for organizing and teaching others.
The truth was, Harry wasn’t ready for this kind of leadership role.
He was getting stronger, more confident, and coming into his own in ways that made me proud, but he still looked up to me and still deferred to my judgment in ways that would make it impossible for him to truly lead any group that I was part of. If I tried to step back and let him take charge, he would simply turn to me for guidance at every decision point.
I wasn’t sure what the long-term effects of my interactions with my adopted brother would be. Had I helped him grow, or had I inadvertently stunted his development by being too present, too willing to step in when things got difficult? The question kept me awake some nights, wondering if I was doing right by him.
But for now, at least, I was happy that Harry was doing well. He was healthier, more confident, and had friends who genuinely cared about him. The Harry I knew now was a far cry from the hesitant, somewhat malnourished boy who had arrived at Hogwarts two years ago. That had to count for something.
My brooding was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs, followed by familiar voices. Fred and George Weasley appeared in the doorway, looking around the shabby room with expressions of mixed curiosity and amusement.
“Well, well.” Fred said, settling into one of the chairs. “When you said you’d found us a meeting place, I was expecting something a bit more… respectable.”
“What, you don’t like the ambiance?” George asked, gesturing at the stained wallpaper and dubious-looking stains on the floor. “I think it has character.”
“Character is one word for it.” I replied dryly. “It’s private, it’s available, and Aberforth won’t ask questions about what we’re doing up here. That’s worth more than cleanliness.”
“True enough.” Fred agreed. “Besides, it’s not like we’re planning anything illegal. Just a bit of advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, right?”
“Right.” I said, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that what we were planning might be more significant than any of us realized. “How are you two feeling about this? Any second thoughts?”
The twins exchanged one of their telepathic looks before George answered. “Are you kidding? After what happened during the tournament, we’d be mad not to want better training. Besides, you’ve seen what’s out there. If Grindelwald’s followers can attack Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, they can attack anywhere.”
“And if they can attack anywhere.” Fred continued seamlessly. “Then we need to be ready to defend ourselves and the people we care about. It’s not like the adults are doing a brilliant job of keeping us safe.”
Their matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation was both comforting and sobering. These weren’t children playing at war— they were young people who had seen enough of the world’s darkness to understand that preparation wasn’t paranoia, it was survival.
As we waited for the others to arrive, I found myself hoping that I was making the right choice. Leadership had never been my ambition, but sometimes life didn’t give you the luxury of choosing your role. Sometimes you simply had to step up and do what needed to be done, regardless of your personal preferences.
The sound of more footsteps on the stairs told me that our gathering was about to begin.
The footsteps grew louder, and soon Harry appeared in the doorway, followed closely by Ron and Hermione. Behind them came Su, her dark hair slightly windswept from the walk, and Tony, who was still brushing what looked like chocolate crumbs from his robes— evidently his trip to Honeydukes had been successful.
“Cozy.” Ron commented, looking around the room with raised eyebrows.
“It’s perfect.” Hermione said firmly, though I noticed she carefully avoided touching any of the surfaces as she found a seat. “Private, discrete, and away from prying eyes.”
Harry caught my eye and gave me a small smile. I could see traces of the conversation he’d had with Madam Rosmerta still lingering in his expression— a mixture of melancholy and contentment that spoke of bittersweet memories shared. I made a mental note to ask him about it later, when we had more privacy.
“How did your shopping go?” I asked the group, partly to fill the silence and partly because I was genuinely curious about their adventures.
“Brilliantly.” Ron said, patting his pocket. “Got some new dungbombs and a few other surprises. Zonko’s had some items I’d never seen before.”
“That so, Ronniekins?” Fred walked to him, smiling as Ron looked at him with wariness. “You’ll have to show us sometime.”
“Um… Sure, sure.”
“And I found the perfect quill.” Hermione added, pulling out an elegant phoenix feather quill that gleamed in the dim light. “The shopkeeper said—”
Before she could continue, we heard more footsteps, and I was surprised to see Neville Longbottom’s round face appear in the doorway. He looked nervous but determined, his usual timid demeanor replaced by something more resolute.
“Neville.” I said, genuinely pleased to see him. “I’m glad you decided to come.”
He nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. “After what happened last year, and with everything going on… I need to get better. I need to be able to protect people.”
There was something in his voice that reminded me why I respected Neville so much. Courage wasn’t about being fearless— it was about being afraid and doing what was right anyway. And Neville had that in spades, even if he didn’t always recognize it in himself.
The room was starting to feel crowded, but more people kept arriving. Two Ravenclaw students entered next, and I felt a complex mix of emotions when I saw who they were. Ophelia Scarlet moved with the careful grace of someone who had learned to be constantly aware of her surroundings. The fact that she was here, willing to put herself in potentially dangerous situations again, spoke to a strength that I found both admirable and concerning.
Behind her came Mira Goshawk, now Head Girl, her badge glinting in the lamplight. She surveyed the room with the assessing gaze of someone accustomed to responsibility, and I felt a moment of gratitude that we had someone of her caliber interested in joining us.
“Ophelia, Mira.” I said, nodding to each of them. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for organizing this.” Mira replied, her voice carrying the natural authority that had undoubtedly helped her earn her position. “After last year’s tournament and the attacks, it’s clear we need to be better prepared. Though, you beat me to it— I’d been floating the idea to Ophelia, myself.”
Ophelia simply nodded, her eyes scanning the room as if cataloging escape routes and potential threats. I made another mental note— this time to keep an eye on her during training sessions. The last thing any of us needed was for someone to be retraumatized by our activities.
The next arrivals were Hufflepuffs, led by Cedric Diggory. The sixth-year moved with the easy confidence of someone who had proven himself in the tournament, and I was genuinely pleased to see him. Behind him came several other Hufflepuff students, including a stern-looking seventh-year witch whose name I couldn’t immediately recall.
“Cedric.” I said, standing to shake his hand. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested in joining us.”
“Are you kidding?” He replied with a grin. “After watching you duel last year, I’d be mad not to want to learn from you. Besides, Hufflepuffs might have a reputation for being soft, but we know how to stand our ground when it matters.”
His easy confidence was infectious, and I could see some of the tension in the room beginning to ease. Having someone of Cedric’s reputation and skill level joining us would lend credibility to our group and help convince any skeptics that we were serious about what we were doing.
The room was getting quite full now, but I was surprised when I heard American accents in the hallway. The Ilvermorny students appeared in the doorway, their faces showing a mixture of determination and homesickness that made my heart ache for them. These were the oldest students from their school, the ones who had been forced to watch their home be destroyed and their fellow students scattered.
“We appreciate you including us.” Said a tall girl with auburn hair who I recognized as Sarah Chen, one of their seventh-years. “We need to be ready for when we go back to reclaim our school.”
“Of course.” I said with a nod.
Her words sent a sobering reminder through the room. This wasn’t just about defending Hogwarts— it was about preparing for a larger conflict that none of us fully understood yet. The Ilvermorny students represented the very real cost of Grindelwald’s ambitions, and their presence here was a testament to the stakes we were all facing.
But the biggest surprise was yet to come. I heard footsteps on the stairs again, and this time I was genuinely shocked by who appeared in the doorway. Draco Malfoy entered the room with his characteristic air of superiority, but there was something different about him— a wariness that hadn’t been there before. Behind him came Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and several other Slytherins whose names I couldn’t immediately place.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as the other students noticed the Slytherin contingent. I could see Ron’s face darkening, and several of the Gryffindors were exchanging meaningful glances. Even some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs looked uncomfortable with this development.
Draco’s gray eyes met mine, and I saw something there that I hadn’t expected— uncertainty.
What game are you playing, Draoc? Out in the open like this, it will go back to your parents… Unless I suppose you’re pretending that you’re defecting in order to ‘get intel’? Ballsy, kid.
I took a breath. Whatever this was, I had to roll with it.
“Malfoy.” I said neutrally, keeping my voice carefully controlled. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Things change.” He replied, his voice lacking its usual drawl. “Recent events have a way of… clarifying priorities.”
Daphne stepped forward slightly, her blue eyes serious. “We know what our presence here means to some of you. But we’re not here to cause trouble. We’re here because we want to be prepared for what’s coming.”
“What’s coming?” Ron demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion. “You mean your families and their friends?”
I saw Draco’s jaw tighten, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “My family’s choices are not my choices, Weasley. Some of us are capable of thinking for ourselves.”
The tension in the room was palpable, and I realized that this was going to be the first real test of my leadership. How I handled this moment would set the tone for everything that followed.
I stood up, the scraping of my chair against the floor cutting through the tense silence that had fallen over the room. Every eye was on me, and I could feel the weight of their expectations, their doubts, and their barely contained hostilities pressing down on my shoulders.
“Right.” I said, my voice carrying more confidence than I felt. “I know some of you have concerns about who’s in this room. I can see it on your faces, and I understand why you feel that way. But before anyone says anything they might regret, let me make something very clear.”
I paused, making eye contact with as many people as possible. “This is beyond school. This is beyond house rivalries, beyond old grudges, beyond whatever your families might have told you about each other. What we’re facing is bigger than any of that.”
A Gryffindor sixth-year I didn’t know well raised his hand.
“With respect, Adam, how do we know we can trust them?” He jerked his head toward the Slytherins. “Some of their families are probably supporters of— “
“Stop right there.” I said firmly, cutting him off. “We’re not here to discuss anyone’s family connections or to assign guilt by association. We’re here because we all recognize that we need to be prepared for what’s coming.”
I turned to address the room as a whole. “Look around you. Really look. Do you see the Ilvermorny students? Do you remember what happened to their school? Their homes were destroyed. Their friends were scattered. Their entire world was turned upside down in a matter of hours.”
Sarah Chen’s face was stoic, but I could see the pain in her eyes as I spoke. The other Ilvermorny students were similarly affected, and I could see the impact my words were having on the rest of the room.
“That’s what we’re trying to prevent from happening here.” I continued. “Ilvermorny thought they were safe. They thought their defenses were enough. They were wrong. And if we don’t learn from their mistake, if we don’t prepare ourselves properly, then Hogwarts could share the same fate.”
Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But that doesn’t mean we should just trust— “
“Trust is earned.” I interrupted. “And it’s earned through actions, not through house colors or family names. Everyone in this room made the choice to be here. Everyone in this room is volunteering to put themselves at risk to learn how to defend themselves and others. That’s the only qualification that matters.”
I could see some of the tension beginning to ease, but I wasn’t done yet. “I’ll be honest with you all. The goal of keeping Hogwarts safe might not be the only thing we end up working toward. Maybe someday we’ll be able to help the Ilvermorny students reclaim their home.”
A few heads turned toward the American students, and I saw hope flicker in their eyes.
“Now, I’ll admit that second goal might be a little too much for us.” I continued. “We’re all still kids, after all. We’re not professional Aurors or battle-hardened warriors. We’re students who are barely capable of managing our own homework, let alone fighting a war.”
That earned me a few chuckles, which helped lighten the mood slightly.
“But we all have to start somewhere.” I said. “And if we’re going to start, we need to start together. That means putting aside our preconceptions and working as a team. It means recognizing that the person sitting next to you might have worn different colored robes for the past few years, but they’re here for the same reason you are.”
I gestured toward the Slytherins. “Draco, Daphne, Tracey, and the others didn’t have to come here. They knew they’d face suspicion and hostility. They came anyway. That tells me something about their commitment to this cause.”
“It could also tell us something about their motives.” Muttered a Hufflepuff girl I didn’t recognize.
“It could.” I agreed. “You’re right about that, but then again, that’s true for everyone here. We’re all going to have to prove ourselves through our actions, not our words. And if anyone— from any house— proves themselves unworthy of trust, they’ll be asked to leave.”
I made sure to look directly at Draco as I said this, and he nodded slightly, understanding the implicit warning.
“So here’s what I propose.” I continued. “We’re going to start with the basics. Defense spells, dueling techniques, situational awareness. Nothing too advanced at first, just the fundamentals that everyone needs to know. As we progress and as trust develops, we can move on to more sophisticated techniques.”
Mira Goshawk raised her hand. “What about supervision? Are any of the professors going to be involved?”
I shook my head. “Perhaps Professor Lupin, but even then, not directly. I think it’s better if we handle this ourselves, at least initially. We’re more likely to be honest with each other about our capabilities and limitations if we’re not worried about grades or House points.”
“And if someone gets hurt?” asked Cedric.
“We’ll take every precaution.” I assured him. “We’ll start with theoretical work and basic exercises. No full-contact dueling until everyone’s comfortable with the fundamentals. And we’ll always have multiple people present during training sessions.”
“What makes you think you’re qualified to teach us?” The question came from another Hufflepuff witch I didn’t recognize, her voice carrying a note of challenge that made everyone in the room tense up again.
I felt my jaw tighten slightly. This was the question I’d been dreading, the one that cut right to the heart of my own insecurities about taking on this role.
“That’s a fair question.” I said carefully. “I’m thirteen years old, same as some of you, younger than many others. I don’t have any formal teaching credentials, and I’m certainly not claiming to be an expert on everything.”
I paused, gathering my thoughts. “What I do have is experience. I’ve been in real combat situations. I’ve faced dark wizards who were trying to kill me and innocent people around me. I’ve had to make split-second decisions under pressure, and I’ve learned from my mistakes.”
“During the tournament.” Someone murmured.
“During the tournament, and during the attacks on Hogsmeade.” I confirmed. “I’m not saying that makes me the best duelist in the wizarding world, or even the best in this room. But it does mean I’ve learned some things that might be useful to share.”
“Plus.” Fred Weasley interjected with a grin. “Weren’t any of you watching the matches last year? Adam’s probably the strongest duelist any of us have access to. Unless you’ve got a better alternative?”
I felt a flash of gratitude toward Fred for the support, even as I tried to downplay the compliment. “I’m not interested in being the strongest anything. I’m interested in making sure we’re all prepared for what’s coming.”
“What exactly do you think is coming?” Asked Daphne, her voice thoughtful.
I considered the question carefully. “I don’t know for certain. But Grindelwald’s attacks weren’t random. They were coordinated, strategic. He’s building something, gathering followers, acquiring resources. And he’s not going to stop with what he’s already done.”
“My father thinks the Ministry will handle it.” Said a Ravenclaw boy whose name I couldn’t remember.
“The Ministry thought they could handle it last year.” I pointed out. “How well did that work out? Better yet, how well did the MACUSA defend themselves?”
Silence fell over the room as everyone absorbed that sobering reminder.
“Look.” I said, my voice softening slightly. “I hope I’m wrong. I hope the adults get their act together and deal with this threat before it reaches us. But hope is not a strategy, and I’d rather have us all be prepared for something that doesn’t happen than caught off guard by something that does.”
“Better be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war.” Tony quoted, and I smiled.
“The Book of Five Rings?” I said, looking at the boy, who nodded. “You’ve been busy.”
I could see heads nodding around the room, and I felt a surge of relief. Maybe this was actually going to work. Maybe we could put aside our differences and work together.
“So.” I continued. “If you’re interested in joining this group, in learning how to defend yourselves and others, then welcome aboard. We’ll start with basic theory and work our way up from there. Everyone will have a chance to contribute, and everyone will have a chance to learn.”
The meeting seemed to be concluding on a positive note, with most of the initial tensions resolved and a sense of cautious optimism beginning to take hold. I was just about to suggest we start discussing a regular meeting schedule when I heard footsteps on the stairs once again.
My heart sank as I realized we were about to have another unexpected arrival, and I had a sinking feeling that this one might be even more disruptive than the last.
The footsteps grew louder, but before I could even begin to wonder who else might be joining us, the Hufflepuff witch who had questioned my qualifications earlier decided she wasn’t finished with her challenges.
“I still don’t understand.” She said, her voice carrying across the room with stubborn persistence. “Why should a thirteen-year-old be telling us what to do? What makes you think you can order us around?”
I felt my patience beginning to fray. We had been making progress, building something that might actually work, and now this. I could see the fragile unity we’d been constructing starting to crack around the edges as other students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“I’m not trying to order anyone around.” I said, keeping my voice as level as possible. “I’m trying to organize a group of students who want to learn how to defend themselves. If you don’t think that’s something you’re interested in, you’re free to leave.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” She replied, crossing her arms defensively. “I’m saying that just because you’re some kind of tournament champion doesn’t mean you know how to teach or lead. There are seventh-years in this room, people with more experience and maturity than you have.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could get a word out, Mira’s voice piped up.
“Seriously, Linda?” She said, and I finally had a name to go with the face. “I’ve trained with Adam in the past, and I can tell you that he’s probably the strongest duelist any of us have access to. Besides that, while most of us were hiding in the castle, Adam was out there fighting dark wizards and protecting innocent people. That’s not the kind of experience you get from textbooks.”
“Exactly.” Said one of the Ilvermorny students, her American accent thick with emotion. “We watched our school fall because we weren’t prepared. If more people like Adam had been proactive, maybe things would have been different.”
I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment at the praise, but Linda wasn’t backing down. “Fighting ability isn’t the same as leadership ability. Just because someone can duel doesn’t mean they can teach others how to do it.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Asked Harry, his voice carrying a note of irritation that surprised me.
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t learn.” Linda replied, still being supremely stubborn. “I’m saying we should find someone more qualified to teach us. Someone older, more experienced.”
Everyone in the room, now annoyed at the girl, began talking over each other to reprimand the girl, who only seemed to take it as validation for her arguments.
Lord save me from stupid kids.
“Look.” I said, raising my voice slightly to get everyone’s attention. “Linda raises valid concerns. I am young, and I don’t have formal teaching experience. But I’m not asking anyone to follow me blindly or to trust me without question.”
I looked directly at her as I continued. “What I’m offering is to share what I’ve learned, to help organize training sessions, and to work with all of you to develop our defensive capabilities. If you don’t think that’s valuable, or if you don’t think I’m the right person to help coordinate it, then you’re absolutely free to leave.”
“I’m not trying to undermine you.” Linda said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “I’m just trying to make sure we’re thinking this through.”
“We did think it through.” Said Sarah Chen, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen her entire world destroyed. “We’re thinking about what happens if we’re not prepared when the next attack comes. We’re thinking about whether we want to be victims or survivors.”
“And we’re thinking about the fact that Adam has actually faced dark wizards and lived to tell about it.” added Tony, speaking up for the first time. “That’s not something you can learn from books.”
“Plus.” Said Su with a slight smile. “He’s not exactly asking us to follow him into battle tomorrow. He’s asking us to practice basic defense spells in a safe environment. Even if he turned out to be a terrible teacher, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“We could waste our time.” Linda replied stubbornly.
“As opposed to what?” Asked Hermione, her voice sharp with exasperation. “Sitting around doing nothing while the world falls apart around us? I’d rather waste time learning than waste time doing nothing.”
I could see that the argument was starting to exhaust everyone involved, and I decided it was time to bring it to a close.
“I think we’ve covered this ground pretty thoroughly.” I said. “Linda, if you’re not comfortable with the arrangement, I completely understand. No one’s forcing you to participate.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” She replied, though her tone was still defensive. “I just wanted to make sure we were making the right choice.”
“And now you’ve had a chance to voice your concerns and hear everyone else’s responses.” I said diplomatically. “The choice is yours to make. Are you in, or out?”
She sat back in her chair, clearly still not entirely satisfied but apparently recognizing that she wasn’t going to get the support she’d been hoping for.
“Fine.” She said. “I’ll give it a try. But if this doesn’t work out, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”
“Fair enough.” I replied with a slight smile. “Though I hope you won’t have cause to.”
The tension in the room was finally beginning to ease, and I could see people starting to relax again. We had weathered the storm, and it looked like we might actually be able to move forward with some degree of unity.
“Right then.” I said, clapping my hands together. “Now that we’ve got that sorted, let’s talk about practical matters. When should we meet? How often? What should we focus on first?”
But before anyone could answer, we heard three sharp raps echoing through the room. I’d heard footsteps before, but assumed it was someone else, as they hadn’t entered.
Eavesdroppers, huh? I thought, closing my eyes and gathering myself for a moment.
“Come in.” I called out, though every instinct I had was telling me that whoever was on the other side of that door was going to complicate things significantly.
The door swung open to reveal Blackthorn Jr., and my blood immediately ran cold. He stood in the doorway with that same arrogant bearing he’d always carried, his dark hair perfectly styled despite the climb up the Hog’s Head’s questionable staircase. Behind him, as always, were his two stooges, both wearing expressions of barely concealed contempt as they surveyed our makeshift meeting room.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees as soon as they appeared. I could feel the tension that had finally begun to ease snapping back into place like a rubber band stretched too far. Several people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and I noticed more than a few hands moving instinctively toward their wands.
Blackthorn’s eyes swept across the room, taking in the mixed group of students with what might have been amusement. When his gaze finally settled on me, I saw something there that made my skin crawl— a combination of smugness and calculation that suggested he knew exactly how unwelcome his presence was.
“Well, well.” He said, his voice carrying that same smooth tone that had always set my teeth on edge. “Quite the little gathering you’ve got here, Clarke. Very… diverse.”
I felt my jaw clench as I prepared to ask him exactly what he was doing here, but before I could get the words out, he held up a hand to stop me.
“I want to join.” He said simply, as if announcing his intention to order a drink rather than requesting admission to a group that had every reason to despise him.
The silence that followed was deafening. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears as I tried to process what I’d just heard. Blackthorn Jr.— the boy who had made inappropriate advances on Ophelia, who had attacked me with the intent to severely hurt— wanted to join our defense group.
“You want to what?” I managed to say, my voice coming out more strained than I would have liked.
“Join your little club.” He repeated, stepping further into the room without invitation. “Learn some advanced defensive techniques. Contribute to the cause. All that noble stuff you’re so fond of.”
I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me, waiting to see how I would handle this. The fragile unity we’d been building was hanging by a thread, and I knew that my response to this moment would determine whether that thread held or snapped entirely.
“Why?” I asked, the single word coming out sharp and suspicious.
Blackthorn smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made me want to reach for my wand. “Does it matter? You’ve been giving quite the inspirational speech about putting aside differences and working together. About how actions matter more than family names or House colors. Surely you’re not going to be a hypocrite now?”
The bastard was using my own words against me, and he knew it. I could see the calculation in his eyes, the way he was playing this situation to maximum advantage. He knew that refusing him would make me look like a hypocrite after everything I’d said about giving people a chance to prove themselves.
“Yes, names and colors. I said nothing about actions, though. After what you did to Ophelia and what you tried to do to me.” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “You think you can just walk in here and—”
“And what?” He interrupted, his tone still maddeningly calm. “Learn how to defend myself and others? Isn’t that what this is about? Or are you saying that some people deserve protection and others don’t?”
I could feel my temper starting to fray. This was exactly the kind of manipulation I’d come to expect from him, the way he could twist any situation to his advantage. But I also knew that everyone in the room was watching to see how I would handle this challenge to my leadership.
“You have a history of making people feel unsafe.” I said carefully. “This group is supposed to be a safe space for learning.”
“People change.” Blackthorn replied with a shrug. “Recent events have been… educational. Perhaps it’s time for me to prove that I’m capable of growth. Besides, we buried the hatchet, didn’t we?”
“Growth?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “You expect us to believe that you’ve suddenly developed a conscience?”
“I expect you to give me the same chance you’ve given everyone else in this room.” He said, and I hated how reasonable he sounded. “Unless your grand speeches about unity and putting aside differences were just pretty words with no real meaning.”
I could feel the frustration building in my chest like a pressure cooker about to explode. He was right, damn him. After everything I’d said about judging people by their actions rather than their reputation, about giving everyone a chance to prove themselves, I couldn’t simply refuse him without looking like a complete hypocrite.
But the thought of having him in the group, of having to work with him and trust him with the safety of other students, made my stomach turn. Especially with Ophelia sitting right there, having to relive part of her trauma every time she looked at him.
“What do you think, Ophelia?” I asked, turning to face her directly. “You’re the one who would be most affected by this decision.”
She was quiet for a long moment, her face pale but her expression thoughtful. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady but I could hear the effort it took to keep it that way.
“If he’s serious about changing.” She said slowly. “Then maybe he deserves a chance to prove it. But…”
Here, her voice hardened. “at the first sign that he’s reverting to his old behavior, he’s out. No warnings, no second chances.”
I felt a surge of admiration for her courage, even as I wondered if she was making a mistake.
“Are you sure?” I asked quietly. “You don’t have to— “
“I’m sure.” She said firmly. “I won’t let him drive me away from something I believe in. And if he’s genuinely changed, then maybe this is how we find out.”
Blackthorn’s smile widened slightly, and I felt that familiar urge to hex him into next week. But Ophelia had made her choice, and I had to respect that.
“Fine.” I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “But understand this, Blackthorn. You’re on probation. One inappropriate comment, one hint that you’re not taking this seriously, one sign that you’re making anyone uncomfortable, and you’re out. Permanently.”
“Understood.” He replied, his tone still maddeningly calm. “I appreciate the opportunity to prove myself.”
As he and his friends found seats in the increasingly crowded room, I felt a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. Something about this felt wrong, like we were walking into a trap that I couldn’t quite see yet. Blackthorn Blackthorn Jr. didn’t do anything without an ulterior motive, and I had no idea what his real agenda was.
But as I looked around the room at the faces of the other students— some concerned, some curious, some a little hostile— I realized that this was just another test of the unity we were trying to build. If we could find a way to work together despite our differences, despite our histories, despite our mutual distrust, then maybe we really could become something more than just a collection of frightened students.
The question was whether that unity would survive long enough to be tested, or whether it would crumble under the weight of old grudges and new suspicions.
“Then, if there are no more topics of discussion…” I produced a sheaf of parchment and slid it forward. “Write and sign your names here, and we’ll begin talking about scheduling…”
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