HP: A Magical Journey

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The link is also in the synopsis.

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The morning of the first Hogsmeade visit in the first week of October was a bright but windy day. After breakfast, almost all students — third year and above — queued up in front of Filch, who matched their names to the long list of students who had permission from their parents or guardian to visit the village.

But while the majority of students went to various stores and shops in the village, a small stream of students walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars and turned left onto the road into the village, the wind whipping their hair into their eyes. They walked down the main street past Zonko's Joke Shop, past the post office, 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 upon it of a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it.

「 Hog's Head Inn 」

The sign creaked in the wind as the people approached, and for the students of Hogwarts, it was a place not many were used to visiting; as such, many hesitated before entering.

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 squalid 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 earthy, but when one stepped on it, the soles of their boots would stick to the sticky floor.

All who entered in time, there was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty gray 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; one might have thought them dementors if they had not been talking in strong Yorkshire accents; in a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her toes. They could just see the tip of her nose because it caused the veil to protrude slightly.

"So, Potter," said Eddie loudly, who had been sitting silently in the middle of everything, "why have we gathered here — you know that I am a busy man," Marcus sitting by his side raised a brow, "so I hope this isn't going to turn into a huge waste of my time. . . . I have only thought of ten ways to whoop your stuck-up arse in quidditch and quite frankly I don't think that's enough in my book, I need to at least plan double to thoroughly embarrass you on the field — so — what's the deal here."

A silence had preceded Eddie, and the same silence followed him. Everyone was just staring at him with varying expressions — some amused, some not.

"I didn't call you here! I would never call your sorry self even if I was dying," said Harry acidly, glaring at Eddie, who was leaning back into his chair with one arm hanging behind the backrest.

"I know that," said Eddie with a smirking scoff, "like I would show up anywhere even if you came begging for it — maybe I will if you accept that I'm the better man."

The rest of the students watched intently as what seemed to barrel into a fight, but just then, an irked voice with a mix of exasperation stopped both of them.

"Okay, stop this childishness, you two," said Ivy Potter, "can you two not fight for once — do you two somehow feel obligated to go at each other's throat when you see each other, because there's no such thing, and if you can't, then don't speak at all," she turned to her brother, "I was the one who called Carmichael here — no! I don't want to listen, Harry — now behave both of you, I want to start!"

The barman sidled toward them out of a back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long gray hair and beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to some. The barman froze when he saw the crowd of children in his bar; possibly he had never seen his pub so full.

"What?" he grunted with a glare.

"Hello," said Marcus, standing up from his chair and counting the gathered crowd quickly. "Could we have . . . forty-three butterbeers, please?"

The man reached beneath the counter and pulled four dusty, very dirty crates of butterbeer, which he then slammed on the bar.

"Take forty-three. . . . five galleons and a sickle. . . . give me five gold," he said.

"I'll get them," said Marcus and handed the man five galleons from his pocket before returning with the crates levitating behind him, "I paid. . . we can settle everyone's share at the end of this meet."

As Marcus set the crates on a table in the center, Luna took out her wand from her hair-bun, and after a chant and flourish of the wand, the bottles had been chilled with ice magic.

Ivy watched numbly as the large chattering group took their beers from the table.

First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with Cho and one of her usually giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy that 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, and one of the most surprising attendees in Headboy Cedric Diggory and a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Ivy did not know; out of the five Ravenclaw boys, Ivy knew Eddie Carmichael and Marcus Belby (who was talking something seriously with Susan Bones), the other three she was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot; Ginny, followed by a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Ivy 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.

Ivy wasn't expecting so many people to show up. Hermione scooted near her.

"Wow," she said in a low voice, "this. . . . this is more that we thought."

"Uh-huh, y-yeah," said Ivy nodding in agreement, "this is twenty people more than we thought — twenty people more than our best and most unlikely estimate."

"Hi, Ivy," said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite to where Harry sat.

Ivy gave a polite smile, still feeling a little nervous. Her worries didn't lessen when everyone settled down in twos and threes around her, Hermione, Harry, and Ron, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna gazing dreamily into space, Eddie looked bored, but his eyes seemed attentive. When everybody had pulled up a chair, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry.

"Hello everyone," said Ivy, and despite hiding, her voice was still a bit higher than usual out of nerves.

The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to Harry.

"Most of you must've some idea why you're here. . . Well, we here had the idea — that it might be good if people who want to study Defense Against Dark Arts — and I mean really study it, you know, not the utter garbage that Umbitch had been teaching us" — Eddie whistled and suddenly Ivy's voice became much more confident — "because nobody in there right or even wrong mind could call that Defense Against Dark Arts. . . ."

""Hear, hear,"" said the Weasley twins, and Ivy looked heartened.

". . . . well, I thought it would e good if we, well, took matters into our own hands." She paused, looking at everyone a few people in the room, and went on, "And by that, I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells —"

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

"Of course, we do — don't well all," said Hermione. "But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because . . . because . . . She took a great breath and finished, "Because Voldemort's back."

The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho's friend shrieked and slopped butterbeer down herself, Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch, Padma Patil shuddered, Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough, and Eddie along with Marcus frowned deeply. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry.

"Well . . . that's the plan anyway," said Ivy. "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 —" Ivy began.

"You mean, Dumbledore believes him," said the blond boy, nodding at Harry.

"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 okay, Hermoine," said Harry.

Harry knew that something like this was bound to happen and felt that both Ivy and Hermoine should have seen this coming. Some of these people — maybe even most of them — had turned up in the hope of hearing his story firsthand. . . . And while they were planning this meet, Harry had stayed quiet when neither had bought up this issue because he knew they wouldn't approve.

"What makes me say You-Know-Who's back, you say?" he asked, looking Zacharias straight in the face with his arms folded. "I saw him — because — I — was — there. . . . But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don'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. Harry had the impression that even the barman was listening in. He was wiping the same glass with the filthy rag; it was becoming steadily dirtier.

Zacharias said dismissively, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that you got kidnapped by You-Know-Who and somehow got back to Hogwarts after a fight with him. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how you escaped, I think we'd all like to know —"

"Do I like look I give a knut's worth of shit what you would like, eh, Smith?" Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith's aggressive face and looked down at him. "Even though I fought with Voldemort, it wasn't a what I would call a traditional duel, and nor was my experience a positive one — Voldemort is every bit as evil as all the stories say about him."

Harry didn't want to, but he kept the smirk off his face, which threatened to break on his face when Zacharias flinched at the sound of Voldemort's name.

"If anyone of you doesn't like my answer or want to know the specifics, you might as well clear out. I couldn't care less," said Harry nonchalantly.

Zacharias glanced at Eddie, thinking that the Ravenclaw would take offense as Harry had addressed all of them; but. . .

"What the hell are you looking at me like that?" said Eddie with jibe in his voice. "Potter said that he doesn't give a knut's worth of shit about what you like, in the same way, I won't listen to his crap if someone paid me to do it."

"Then why are you here?" asked Zacharias.

"Were you listening, or are those ears just for show? The good Potter and Granger said that this is for Defense Against Dark Arts; why else do you think we are here for?"

". . . . They're a year younger than you," said Zacharias as a last attempt, gritting his teeth.

"Congratulations for stating the obvious, doofus," Eddie pointed his thumb towards his back, "the fucking Headboy and other seventh years are here; I'm going to learn from them — and unlike you, I don't stick to the course material and actually learn to fucking apply myself — but that's to expected, I'm smarter than you after all. . . . and a far better Chaser."

In the end, no one left their seats, now even Zacharias Smith, though he no longer gazed at Harry.

"S-So, erm," said Ivy, moving the conversation along so the group didn't fall silent, "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 meet."

At the back, Cedric leaned forward from his chair and spoke up, "This is dandy and all, but we, the seventh year, have NEWTs to prepare for — how is this going to help us?"

Harry, feeling impatient, rose from his chair and replied, "I can produce a corporeal Patronus."

Cedric, along with the other seventh years, blinked in surprise.

"A corporeal Patronus, you say," said Cedric. "That's. . . actually pretty impressive."

"I can teach it to you," said Harry, "and that's a reason for you to attend if you would like to attend."

"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" asked 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. Harry was feeling slightly hot around the collar now.

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

"Sorcerer's," hissed Hermione.

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

Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.

"And that's not to mention," said Ron smiling proudly, "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past dragons and merpeople and those god awful acromantulas and things . . ."

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table.

"Look," he said, and everyone fell silent at once, "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. . . and just like the help I got, we can help each other out and get ourselves out of the mess that Umbitch had dug for us."

"Yes, well," said Ivy hastily, "moving on . . . the point is, who here wants to partake in this study group?"

There was an approving murmur in the group. But in Hogwarts, there was something known as the house system, which could sometimes make things complicated.

The Hufflepuffs glanced at Cedric, who thought for a moment before nodding. "Hufflepuffs are in," he said, "and I will personally help by keeping you updated on what's happening with the professors — meaning, I will spy on Umbridge for you."

The Golden Squad being part of Gryffindor meant that the lions were in and probably the ones the most excited about this thing — defying Umbridge was right up Gryffindor alley.

Finally, everyone looked at Ravenclaw, and the members of Golden Squad glanced at Eddie, but the Ravenclaw students glanced at Marcus, who thought for the longest time before looking up at the Golden Squad.

"Ravenclaw is in, but this better be what you think it's going to be," said Marcus. "The gamble of going behind Umbridge's back better be worth the risk."

"Right," said Ivy, 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 Eddie, "nor with ours. . . . it better not."

"Nor ours," added Cedric Diggory.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione, slightly impatiently, "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. "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 upon 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 Dark Arts," said Ivy, "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 many, 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 eyewitness accounts; just because you're so narrow-minded, you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you believe anything isn't everybody's fault!"

Hermione looked at Eddie, who shrugged, "Don't look at me. I stopped arguing against this a long time ago. Plus, she spends so much time with an enabler who indulges her thoughts." Of course, said enabler wasn't present here.

"Hem, hem."

At once, everyone in the inn's bar shivered with their heart almost jumping out of their chest. They turned to expect the pink monster but saw Ginny Weasley smiling.

"Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get Defense lessons?" she said.

"Yes," said Ivy at once, "yes, we were, you're right . . . Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet . . ."

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

"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 agree not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we're up to."

Some people signed the parchment, but there were several people who looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list. But eventually, as the list of names grew, the unwilling ones too joined under peer pressure. 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 and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase and progress reports to draw; we'll be seeing you all later."

"Same here," Cedric got up from his chair, "I have a date to attend," he looked at his girlfriend, Cho, who also got up, "see you guys later, keep me posted." The two lovebirds then left with fingers interlocked with each other.

In twos and threes, the rest of the group took their leave too. Leaving only the Golden Squad and Eddie, Luna, — and Marcus, who was collecting money from everyone as they left.

"Carmichael," said Ivy, calling to Eddie.

"Hmm? Yeah, what?" said Eddie looking up from playing rock-paper-scissors with Luna.

"Where is Quinn?" she asked. "He didn't show up. . ."

"My boy is busy today. . . well, he entered his annual busy season last week."

"What's he doing?"

Luna raised her hand in answer, "He is worried about weight."

". . . Weight," Ivy spoke in confusion. "As in, he's worry about his weight. . . I don't think he's fat, though."

Luna shrugged and then went back to making rock, paper, and scissors shapes with her hand with full concentration between her brows.

"There's no use of thinking what Quinn is doing," continued Eddie, "he has the habit of disappearing from time to time — you get used to it."

"I see," Ivy couldn't say she wasn't interested in where Quinn was, "do you think he will join this study group? I mean, if we are able to get him in, everyone will benefit greatly from it."

"I don't know if Quinn will join or not. I myself only came here because Marcus was keenly interested in what you were suggesting and because Luna and Cho were also going. . . . If you want to know if Quinn is willing, then you need to ask on his own, but as I said, he entered his busy season last week, and that usually goes for months."

Ivy bit her lower lip and nodded. She really wanted Quinn to join.

'I mean, he will be perfect. He taught us last year, and that was amazing — yeah, I need to get Quinn to participate,' she thought and by the end was determined to get Quinn to participate no matter what.

"You know when and where to find him," said Eddie before turning to Ron, "see you on the field, Weasley; I'm really looking forward to seeing if I will be able to set some new record against you."

"You wish. I'll stop every—" said Ron, but Eddie was already walking away laughing.

Ivy turned to Hermione, who was reading names from the list. "Hermione, do you have the AID cards? I want one," she said.

Hermione looked up and went off, "Which one do you want? I have more than forty generations worth of cards — do you know, with the latest issue card, you could press it against on any of the classrooms' doors, and it would turn into a game of tic-tac-toe — if you touch two transformed cards together, that will register them as player-1 and player-2. . . and then you can play while anywhere in the castle, no matter what the distance."

". . . I just need one that would tell me if Quinn's in his office or not."

"I have the perfect one for you! When we get back, I'll be showing you Issue #19. It's from a few years back, but it's a classic one."

"O-Okay," said Ivy in the face of the sheer excitement from her best friend.

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Quinn West - MC - What can I say? I love my calling cards.

Eddie Carmichael - Talker - Let's get some focking study in.

Marcus Belby - Ravenclaw Ringleader - Got his money back in full.

Hermione Granger - Collector - I have a Issue #1 in pristine, untouched condition.

Ivy Potter - Organizer - I-I just need a card.

FictionOnlyReader - Author - Extremely SICK (bcos of weather change) - But very long chapter, so see you later. . . Maybe tomorrow or day-after-tomorrow.

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The link is in the synopsis!