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HP Chapter 120: The Hog's Head
🕑 Added 2025-10-06 18:13:09 +0000 UTCThe Hog's Head stood at a crossroads in the village of Hogsmeade, its battered wooden sign hanging from a rusted bracket above the door. The sign bore the head of a severed wild boar, blood seeping through the white cloth wrapped around it. As Anne approached, the wind made the sign creak noisily.
She tilted her head to glance at it, hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The interior of the Hog’s Head was small, dark, and filthy, reeking strongly of goats. The thick grime on the bowed windows let in hardly any light, and stubby candle stumps flickered on the rough wooden tables.
There weren’t many people in the pub yet, and Hermione and the others hadn’t arrived. Anne let out a quiet breath of relief and walked up to the bar. Behind it stood the barkeep, a tall, gaunt old man with a tangled mass of long, gray hair and beard. He looked like he had a permanent scowl etched into his face.
Anne froze for a second when she saw him. Just then, a familiar voice rang out by the door.
“Something feels off, Hermione,” Harry said in a low voice, eyeing a witch wrapped in layers of scarves. “Did you ever think it might be Umbridge under there?”
Hermione glanced at the heavily covered figure.
“Umbridge is shorter,” she replied quietly. “And even if she did come here, she couldn’t stop us, Harry. I’ve checked the school rules two or three times. We’re not breaking any of them. I even asked Professor Flitwick if students are allowed in the Hog’s Head. He said yes, though he strongly suggested I bring my own cup. I reviewed everything I could find about forming study groups and extracurricular clubs. We’re completely within our rights. I just think we shouldn’t make a big fuss about it.”
“What’ll it be?” the barman grumbled at Anne, his tone edged with impatience.
“Er…” Anne lowered her voice and rasped, “A Firewhisky, please.”
The old man gave her a long, penetrating look, then rummaged under the bar and pulled out a grimy glass. Just then, Hermione, Ron, and Harry stepped up beside her.
Anne subtly shifted away from them. Hermione was talking quietly with Ron and Harry, too focused to notice anyone else.
“Three Butterbeers, please,” Hermione said.
The barman gave her a brief nod and then slammed the Firewhisky on the bar in front of Anne. “Four Sickles.”
Anne fumbled in her pocket, pulled out four Sickles, and placed them on the counter. She picked up the drink and walked away without a word.
Hermione glanced at her by chance and paused, her eyes lighting up for a brief moment. She kept watching Anne as she turned and sat at a table with her back to them.
Harry paid for the Butterbeers. Ron nudged Hermione’s arm with his elbow. “Where should we sit?”
Harry followed Hermione’s gaze toward a table where a figure cloaked in black robes was seated alone. He looked slightly tense. “What is it? Hermione, is there something wrong with that person?”
“No,” Hermione shook her head, a subtle thrill in her voice. “Nothing at all. Let’s take the table in the back.”
Anne caught a few words of their conversation and relaxed. Thank goodness. She hadn’t been noticed. She was just there to satisfy a bit of curiosity. Listen in, then leave. That was all.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron sat at the farthest table from the bar, but by coincidence, Hermione ended up directly across from Anne, with just a few empty tables between them.
Anne noticed but couldn’t tell if it was deliberate. She tugged her hood lower and kept her eyes fixed on her Firewhisky.
“So, Hermione, who exactly is supposed to be meeting us?” Harry asked once they were seated.
“Just a few people,” Hermione said, checking her watch and glancing toward the door. “I asked them to come around this time. I’m sure they know where, oh, look, that must be them now.”
The door creaked open, slicing the dim room in half with a shaft of dusty sunlight, then the light vanished as a large crowd piled in, blocking the entrance.
Anne had her back to the door, so she couldn’t see who had come in, but from the sound of footsteps, there had to be over a dozen.
“A few people?” Harry said hoarsely. “You said a few?”
“Yes, I did,” Hermione replied cheerfully. “Looks like the idea really caught on. Ron, could you grab a few more chairs?”
“Hey,” Anne heard Fred’s voice. “Can we get, what, twenty-five Butterbeers? Thanks! Everyone chip in, I’m not paying for all of them!”
The group flooded into the pub and quickly filled the empty tables around Hermione, Ron, and Harry.
With twenty-something people now between them, Anne felt safe enough to breathe normally again.
The sound of scraping chairs and chatter faded, and Hermione's voice rang out.
“Um,” she said, her voice a touch higher than usual from nerves, “hello, everyone.”
“Well, um, right. You all know why we’re here. The thing is, Harry had an idea, I mean, I had an idea, about learning real Defense Against the Dark Arts. You know, actual useful stuff, not the rubbish Umbridge has been teaching, ” (Hermione’s voice grew stronger) “because no one’s going to call that Defense Against the Dark Arts, ”
“Well said!” said Anthony Goldstein, clearly impressed.
“So I thought, why not take things into our own hands?”
She glanced at Harry. “I mean, really learn how to defend ourselves, not just theory, but actual spells, ”
“But you still want to pass the O.W.L.s, right?” Michael Corner asked.
“Of course,” Hermione said quickly, “but more importantly, I want real training. Because, because…” She took a deep breath. “Because Voldemort is back.”
The effect was immediate. A few people gasped, others spilled their Butterbeer.
“Right,” Hermione went on. “So if you’re interested, we need to talk about, ”
“What proof is there that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?” demanded a sharp-voiced blond boy from Hufflepuff.
“Well, Dumbledore believes, ” Hermione began.
“You mean he believes him,” the boy said, nodding at Harry.
“And who are you?” Ron asked rudely.
“Zacharias Smith,” the boy said. “I think we have the right to know why he says He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back.”
“This meeting isn’t about that,” Hermione jumped in swiftly.
“It’s all right, Hermione,” Harry said firmly. “Why do I say he’s back? Because I saw him. Dumbledore explained everything at the end of last year. If you don’t believe him, you won’t believe me, either. I’m not spending the afternoon convincing anyone.”
Zacharias sneered. “Last year, all Dumbledore told us was that Cedric Diggory was killed by You-Know-Who. He didn’t tell us how. Don’t you think we deserve to know?”
“If you came to hear a murder story, I’m not going to help you,” Harry said coldly. “I’m not talking about Cedric. If that’s what you’re here for, you can leave now.”
No one left. Not even Zacharias, though he continued to glare at Harry.
“So,” Hermione said in a high, tight voice, “as I was saying, if we want to learn defensive spells, we need to figure out how often to meet, where to meet, ”
“Is it true,” a girl with a long braid interrupted, staring at Harry, “that you can cast a Patronus?”
Everyone murmured, clearly interested.
“Yes,” Harry said cautiously.
“A real one? With a body?”
“Er, do you know Madam Bones?” he asked.
The girl smiled. “She’s my aunt. I’m Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So, it’s true? Yours is a stag?”
“Yes,” Harry confirmed.
“That’s brilliant, Harry!” Lee said, looking impressed. “I never knew that!”
“Mum told Ron not to spread it around,” Fred grinned at Harry. “She said you already get too much attention.”
“She’s right,” Harry said softly. A few people laughed.
“You killed a Basilisk with Dumbledore’s sword?” Terry Boot asked. “That’s what a portrait told me.”
“Well, not exactly…” Harry began, but Neville cut in.
“When we were in first year,” he told the group, “he saved the Philosopher’s Stone from You-Know-Who.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“Not to mention,” Cho said, “all the tasks he completed in the Triwizard Tournament, dragons, mermaids…”
There were murmurs of admiration.
“Actually,” Harry said, and everyone quieted, “I, I got a lot of help with those things, ”
“You didn’t get help with the dragon,” Michael Corner said. “That was awesome.”
“Well, ” Harry stammered.
“No one helped you with the Dementors this summer either,” Susan added.
The group grew noisy again with praise and approval.
“All right, all right,” Hermione said quickly, “back on topic. Do we all agree that Harry should teach us?”
Everyone murmured their assent.
“Great,” said Hermione, visibly relieved. “Now, how often should we meet? Less than once a week probably won’t do much, ”
“Wait,” Angelina said, “not if it clashes with Quidditch practice.”
“Same here,” Cho added.
“And ours too,” Zacharias chimed in.
“We’ll find a night that works for everyone,” Hermione said firmly. “But this is important. We’re talking about learning to protect ourselves, against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, ”
“Hear, hear!” Ernie Macmillan boomed. “I believe this is the most important thing we’ll do all year, even more than the O.W.L.s! Why the Ministry gave us a useless teacher at such a time is beyond me. They’re clearly in denial and trying to stop us learning any proper magic, ”
“We think Umbridge won’t let us practice defense,” Hermione explained, “because she believes Dumbledore is forming a student army to rise up against the Ministry.”
There were gasps, everyone looked shocked, except Luna Lovegood, who said dreamily, “Makes sense. Cornelius Fudge has a secret army of his own.”
“What?” Harry asked in disbelief.
“Yes, he does,” Luna said solemnly. “An army of heliopaths.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Hermione said sharply.
“He does so,” Luna insisted.
“What are heliopaths?” asked Neville.
“They’re fire spirits,” Luna said. “Huge, blazing beings that gallop across the earth burning everything, ”
“They don’t exist,” Hermione interrupted.
“Oh, they do!” Luna said, clearly offended.
“Then show us proof,” Hermione snapped.
“There are tons of eyewitness accounts. Just because you don’t know about them, ” Luna glared at her.
Anne had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. The back-and-forth between Luna and Hermione was too amusing. Her shoulders shook slightly, which drew a few curious glances from Hermione.
“Ahem, ahem,” Ginny said in a perfect impression of Professor Umbridge. A few people jumped before everyone burst out laughing.
“Weren’t we trying to decide how often to meet?” Ginny reminded them.
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” Hermione said, quickly pulling her focus back. “Once a week sounds best,” Lee Jordan suggested.
“Provided, ” Angelina began.
“Yes, yes, we know about Quidditch,” Hermione said, clearly trying to keep control. “There’s one last thing, where do we meet?”
The question brought silence. “The library?” Katie Bell suggested.
“I don’t think Madam Pince will be happy with us practicing jinxes in the library,” Harry said.
“We’ll find somewhere,” Hermione said. “Once we decide on the time and place, we’ll let everyone know through the grapevine.” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a parchment and quill. “I’d like everyone to sign their name. That way we know who came today. And by signing, you agree not to tell Umbridge or anyone else what we’re doing.”
After more discussion, everyone signed the parchment. Hermione carefully rolled it up and tucked it into her bag.
“Wow, time flew by,” Fred said cheerfully, getting up. “George, Lee, and I have some top-secret shopping to do. See you all later!”
Others began filtering out in twos and threes. Anne ducked her head lower, just in case someone recognized her. But in truth, hardly anyone noticed her. The pub was dim, she was cloaked in black, and she sat far off in the corner.
Only Luna paused as she passed, wrinkling her nose and sniffing. Anne’s heart jumped, but a moment later, Luna wandered off looking dazed, as if nothing had happened.
Once Hermione, Ron, and Harry had also left, Anne finally let out a long sigh of relief. She picked up her Firewhisky, gave it a swirl, but didn’t take a sip. She just stared at the fiery red liquid gleaming in the candlelight.
About ten minutes later, Anne checked the time, set down the untouched drink, stood up, and left the Hog’s Head.
