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HP409- Fifth Year
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 19:36:56 +0000 UTCAfter a short lull in the conversation, the mood shifting slightly after the mention of students leaving Hogwarts, Harry leaned forward and spoke.
“This year, I’m training all of you in spells. Real training. Not the usual practice duels or club sessions. We’re not half-arsing it.”
That got their attention. Every eye at the table turned to him. Some with interest, others more guarded.
Tracey tilted her head. “And who gave you the authority, Supreme Commander?”
“Amelia did,” Harry said, casually. “She signed off on it. Ministry-endorsed and all. Figured it was better than pretending we’d learn anything new from another batch of recycled curses.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Proper authorization?”
“She made it official,” Harry said. “I found a hidden room at Hogwarts. We’ll train there—no prying eyes. You lot are the core. We can bring in a few more, ones we trust. Everyone else gets the club sessions. Also, new DADA professor’s Tonks.”
Draco made a face. “My cousin?”
Harry grinned. “Yeah. Your cousin Tonks.”
Draco groaned. “Fantastic. Can’t wait for the family reunion.”
“You’ll live,” Tracey said, popping the crust of her pizza into her mouth. “Probably.”
Hermione leaned forward. “You’re serious about this training?”
Harry nodded once. “I’m not playing house duels anymore. We go through proper sequences—combat magic, fast-casting, counter-hex drills, all of it.”
“You going to lecture us too?” Blaise asked, not looking up from his plate.
“No. I’ll leave the lectures to Hermione,” Harry replied, then added, “and yes, I’ll make her write the flashcards.”
Hermione gave him a flat look. “I’ll hex you.”
“Only if you can catch me,” Harry said, grabbing another slice.
Daphne leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. “What kind of training space?”
“Hidden. No portraits, no wards linked to staff. Big enough for all of us. Safe, but not soft,” Harry said, looking around the group. “We’ll hit everything—dueling, resistance charms, group formations, shield splits, even live creature drills if we can swing it.”
Ginny whistled low. “You’re really planning for war.”
“I’m planning for reality,” Harry said.
“Still sounds like war,” Pansy muttered.
Astoria looked intrigued. “Are we allowed to bring snacks to this war?”
Harry gave her a deadpan look. “You’re in charge of snacks.”
She grinned. “Perfect.”
Neville wiped his hands on a napkin. “So when do we start?”
Harry grinned. “The day after opening night.”
A collective groan circled the table. Tracey dropped her head onto her folded arms, her voice muffled. “He’s going to wake us at sunrise, isn’t he?”
“Dress code too,” Harry added. “No robes. Trainers only.”
“You’re unbearable,” Daphne muttered.
“Still showed up though,” Harry shot back.
The group settled into easy chatter after that. Food came and went, plates piled up, and drinks refilled. They talked about everything and nothing. Bits of summer they hadn’t mentioned in letters, the parts that didn’t make it to the group chat.
Neville went red when he mentioned Fleur had moved into Longbottom Manor. “Not in my room,” he added quickly, glancing around as if expecting someone to hex him. “Gran said absolutely not. Separate wings.”
That earned a wave of laughter, Tracey nearly choking on her drink and Hermione covering her face in silent amusement.
“She probably thinks Fleur’s going to seduce the entire house,” Susan said.
“She’s not wrong,” Daphne said. “Have you seen Fleur?”
“Don’t encourage him,” Ginny said, elbowing Neville, who by now was sinking lower into his seat.
Conversation slipped from Hogwarts gossip to Quidditch team shifts and who might get made Head Boy this year. Nobody brought up the war, not really. Just the occasional glance exchanged when the topic came close. Not now. Not today.
Eventually, plates emptied, and people started getting restless. Chairs scraped back, napkins were folded and tossed on the table. Goodbyes weren’t dramatic—just a mix of “see you soon” and casual nods. Pansy left with Susan and Hannah, muttering something about finding a shop still open. Luna wandered out with Ginny and Hermione, talking about enchanted mirrors and beetle-friends.
Neville stuck around just long enough to thank Harry again for the seeds, before slipping out with a promise to try sprouting them by moonlight. Blaise, Theo, and Draco headed out together, Blaise promising to send that summary Harry asked for.
Daphne and Tracey were the last to leave the booth. Astoria stayed put for a moment, finishing the last of her butterbeer.
“Back to France, then?” Tracey asked as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Yeah. A week tops,” Harry said.
Daphne raised an eyebrow. “A week? That’s all?”
“Nothing left to dig through. Flamels want me back for final notes.”
Astoria stood up, brushing off her skirt. “You better bring me back a cursed frog this time.”
“Put it on the list,” Harry said.
She stuck out her tongue and joined her sister. The three girls walked out together, Tracey waving over her shoulder. Harry stayed in the booth for a moment longer, letting the last of the noise fade.
Later that evening, he was back in France.
The ring brought him to the courtyard just behind the château. He stepped inside without knocking, dusted off his shoes on the mat, and headed straight for the small study at the back. Petunia looked up from a book on magical herbs, raised an eyebrow, then went back to reading. No one said anything.
Nicholas and Perenelle were sitting at the long table in the sunroom, papers and glass tools scattered everywhere. Perenelle glanced at him once, then turned back to a bubbling potion. Nicholas passed him a folder without a word. Harry flipped it open and skimmed through the notes—magical resonances, rune degradation, leyline intersections.
"Fun read," Harry muttered, settling into the chair.
Harry spent the next week at Beauxbatons with Madam Maxime, setting up their version of the Duelling Club. She didn’t question the setup much—just asked for assurances the Magical Books wouldn’t backfire on the students. He showed her the diagnostics tab, how the books responded only to the owner’s magic, how it recorded spell mastery without being intrusive. That seemed enough. She walked him through the school’s old ballroom, now turned training hall, and said, “Do what you must, Monsieur Potter. Just keep the explosions down.”
Within days, a full Duelling setup mirrored Hogwarts'. Books bound, enchanted, and distributed. Basic dummies conjured and animated. A few older students poked fun at the idea at first—until one of them got tossed across the floor by a mannequin mid-duel. After that, everyone paid attention. The system linked smoothly. As soon as someone bound a book, Harry had access—anonymous avatar profiles, spell performance logs, tactical responses. Not just names, but also numbers and dueling styles. That was the beauty of it. His back doors let him track and map every single user, slotting them into the Virtual Room. If they showed promise, he could simulate sparring sessions against their avatars.
Beauxbatons was just the second node. He’d done the same thing at the Ministry before heading off to South America. Half the Auror department now unknowingly tested themselves against Harry’s programmed scenarios. He didn’t need names—only data. Every flick of a wand, every shield, every stumble was fed into the system. There wasn’t a better way to read the magical world’s pulse.
By the time he left France, Maxime was already considering opening the club to nearby magical academies. Harry didn’t argue.
He returned to the Château for a day—repacked his notes, double-checked his samples, left a few of his translations with Nicholas, then used the ring again.
Harry apparated onto the quiet street just outside the Grangers’ home. Early morning light spilled through the gaps in the houses, still soft, barely warming the air. A few cars were parked along the curb, one of them undoubtedly Dr. Granger’s. The brick house stood neat and proper, curtains drawn, flowerpots still damp from last night’s watering.
He stepped up to the door and rang the bell once. It opened a few seconds later.
Hermione stood there, coat on, trunk floating behind her.
“Took you long enough,” she said, stepping aside.
