Harry POV*
The corridors were quiet after breakfast, just the sound of our shoes echoing on the stone.
Ron trudged along beside me, yawning, while Hermione kept glancing at me with suspicion like she knew I was hiding something.
"Harry," she said finally, "where are we going? You've been dragging us up and down this floor like a lunatic."
"Patience," I said, grinning. "Trust me. It'll be worth it."
Ron muttered, "That's what you said before trying Bertie Bott's vomit flavored beans."
We stopped in front of a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor.
I paced three times, focusing hard: I need a place to show my friends the truth. A place to train.
The door slid into existence with a ripple, ancient wood and brass handle gleaming.
Ron's jaw dropped. "Blimey, where'd that come from?"
"Welcome," I said, pushing it open, "to the Room of Requirement."
Inside stretched a vast hall, high ceilings, practice dummies, stacks of cushions, bookshelves lining one wall.
It looked like a cross between a classroom and a dojo.
Hermione gasped, eyes wide. "This… this isn't in Hogwarts: A History! How did you—"
"Found it last year." I shrugged. "This room gives you what you need, if you know how to ask. And what I needed was a place to train."
I turned back to them, suddenly serious. "Look, I need to tell you both something. You saw what happened with Quirrell last year. And you nearly got killed because of me."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but I held up a hand.
"I know you want to say it was our choice. But that doesn't change the fact that I'll always be a target. Which means anyone standing near me could be, too. And if that's going to happen again, then I'd rather you be ready."
Ron's brow furrowed. "Ready? Harry, you're talking like, like we're soldiers."
I shook my head. "Not soldiers. Just stronger. You've both got more potential than you think."
I raised my hand, flexing it. A cushion floated smoothly into the air, no wand, no incantation, no effort.
It spun lazily, then set itself back down.
"Magic," I said quietly, "isn't just wands and words. Magic is like a muscle, if you train it, it grows. If you ignore it, it weakens. I've been training since I was a kid. Body, mind, magic. Occlumency for my thoughts, Legilimency to understand others, control so fine I can lift tons without breaking a sweat."
I am not telling them about Magic is as the formless self. They are still kids, they won't understand it to get that realisation.
Let them think magic is a muscle.
Its better then whatever they were doing anyway.
Ron blinked. "Wait, you're saying you can do all this because you've been… working out? With magic?"
I smirked. "Exactly. Think of it like boxing for the mind. Every time I focused, meditated, pushed at the limits… I got stronger. And you can too. That's why I brought you here."
Hermione whispered, "You've been… doing wandless magic since birth?"
"Pretty much." I rubbed the back of my neck. "It wasn't easy, but I had to. And now—I want you both to start. Because I'm not letting last year happen again."
For a moment, the room was silent.
Just the faint hum of the enchanted torches.
Then Ron let out a low whistle. "Well. Bloody hell, Harry. When you say you've been practicing, you don't mess about, do you?"
I grinned, but inside I felt the weight of it. I didn't need them in the fight ahead. But if Voldemort ever made a move against me again… they'd be caught in the crossfire.
And I couldn't let that happen.
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Hermione POV*
I stared at Harry, my mind spinning.
Magic is a muscle. Train it, and it grows.
It was so simple. So obvious. Yet no one in the wizarding world had ever said it that way, not in any book, not in any lecture.
We treated spells like recipes: follow the instructions, and it works. Fail, and it doesn't. But Harry was saying it was more fundamental. More human.
I looked at the cushion he'd levitated without so much as a flicker of effort.
My own wand was clenched in my hand, and suddenly it felt clumsy, unnecessary.
"You make it sound easy," I said slowly.
He shook his head. "It's not. It's years of focus. Of trying and failing. But once you get it…" His eyes gleamed with that strange new presence about him. "It becomes second nature."
Ron groaned. "Brilliant. Next you'll be telling us to run laps around the castle like we're training for Quidditch."
Harry smirked. "Not a bad idea."
I crossed my arms, studying him. There was something different in the way he carried himself now calm, centered, as if magic flowed through him without resistance.
And his humor… sharper, stranger, but covering something much deeper.
Part of me was envious. Part of me was terrified. And part of me most of me was determined.
"All right," I said firmly. "If you're teaching, then I'm learning. I won't be left behind."
Harry's smile softened. "Knew I could count on you, Hermione."
And I realized then that this wasn't just Harry boasting.
This was him… protecting us. Preparing us. Because in his mind, danger wasn't a possibility, it was a certainty.
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Harry's POV
I waved my hand and three cushions floated into the air, settling in a neat row.
"Right," I said. "First lesson: focus. Forget the wand for a moment. Magic isn't wood or words. It's you."
Ron frowned. "You mean I just… think about it and poof?"
"Not just think," I corrected. "Feel it. Like pulling a muscle you've never used before. Breathing helps. Close your eyes, focus on the cushion, and will it to move."
Hermione immediately shut her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. Ron half-heartedly copied her, muttering, "Bet my cushion explodes…"
I chuckled.
A minute passed. Hermione's cushion twitched barely but it moved. Her eyes flew open, startled.
I was startled too but didn't show it outside. Damn, they really are talented.
Guess she wasn't a part of the golden trio in the movies for no reason.
"I—I did it!" she gasped.
"Good," I said. "Now do it again. Consistency matters more than flashes of luck."
Ron peeked one eye open. "Mine's not moving."
"Because you're doubting yourself," I said. "Magic answers belief. If you think it won't work—it won't."
He scowled, muttering under his breath, but then inhaled deeply. Slowly, with effort, his cushion slid half an inch.
Ron shot upright. "Oi! Did you see that?"
Hermione clapped. "Well done, Ron!"
"Bloody brilliant," he said, grinning ear to ear. "That was all me, wasn't it?"
I smirked. "Told you. Magic is a muscle."
We practiced for another half hour. Hermione progressed quickly, her sharp mind grasping patterns. Ron struggled more, but when he relaxed, things clicked. It wasn't perfect—but it was a start.
Finally, I called it off. "That's enough for today. I don't want your brains fried before class."
Hermione huffed, reluctant to stop. Ron, on the other hand, slumped like he'd just run ten laps.
"Mate," he groaned, "this is worse than Quidditch practice."
I laughed, but inside, something eased. They were learning. Slowly, surely, they'd grow stronger.
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Ron was still complaining about "magical muscle cramps," while Hermione scribbled furious notes about what she'd felt during practice.
"Honestly," she said between bites, "if Harry's right, then the entire structure of magical education is—"
"Broken?" Ron interrupted, mouth full of shepherd's pie.
"I was going to say inefficient, but yes."
I chuckled, reaching for pumpkin juice. "Don't let McGonagall hear you. She'll assign an essay."
Professor Flitwick had them revising the Severing Charm.
Hermione performed it precisely. Ron managed, though his slice was more jagged.
I flicked my wand lazily, though the truth was don't need it, and the rope severed into two perfectly smooth pieces.
Flitwick gave a sharp nod of approval but said nothing. Just scribbled something on his parchment, eyes flicking back to me more than once.
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Greenhouses were warm and damp. Professor Sprout had them reviewing properties of various plants used in antidotes.
Hermione eagerly answered half her questions.
Ron grumbled about dirt under his nails.
When it came to pruning with the Severing Charm again, my cuts were effortless, clean, almost artistic.
Sprout's eyes narrowed just slightly, but like the others, she said nothing.
By dinner, Ron was back to complaining.
"My cushion moved this much," he told the twins, holding his fingers barely apart. "And Hermione's was flying all over the place."
Hermione sniffed. "It wasn't flying. It was controlled."
"Sure it was," Ron muttered.
I grinned into my plate, not adding anything. Let them think what they wanted. The important thing was, they'd begun.
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Harry POV*
Thusday*
The door melted into a wide stone hall lined with torchlight.
Wooden dummies stood like soldiers waiting for battle.
Ron whistled low.
"Bloody hell, mate, you've got your own secret training ground? And you didn't tell us sooner?"
I smirked. "You'd have laughed in my face last year if I'd said a room just appears when you need it."
"Not true!" Ron shot back instantly.
Hermione folded her arms. "You absolutely would have, Ronald. Don't lie."
Ron scowled. "Alright, maybe a bit."
I tossed my wand from hand to hand. "Well, now you're here. Time to train."
"Let's start with precision spells," Hermione announced, already taking charge. "Accuracy first, then strength."
I raised an eyebrow. "Funny. I thought I was the teacher here."
Her nose wrinkled. "I'm not letting you run this like a pick up Quidditch practice."
"Oi!" Ron protested. "Quidditch practice is plenty structured!"
"Sure, Ron. If you call chasing a ball and screaming structured."
Ron gaped at her, indignant. "That's strategy, that is!"
I nearly laughed myself to tears just watching them. It felt good. Normal.
Like none of us were standing in a secret chamber training for a war.
When I flicked my hand at a dummy, it slammed against the wall with a wordless
Expelliarmus.
Ron's jaw dropped. "You didn't even say anything."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You don't even move properly half the time. How—"
"Muscle memory," I said easily, catching her wand when I disarmed her next. "Magic's like a muscle. Train it, it listens."
Ron groaned. "You make it sound like sit-ups. Do I need to start doing push-ups for spells now?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't last a day."
"Oi, I could if I wanted!" Ron shouted, going red.
I just grinned. "Sure you could, mate."
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Friday*
The Room shifted into a bizarre gauntlet: swinging bridges, hoops of fire, stunner-firing mannequins.
Ron immediately muttered, "This is going to kill me."
Hermione adjusted her grip on her wand, all serious. "It's about control under pressure. Focus."
Ron stumbled across the first bridge and nearly fell through a hole. "Focus? I'm trying not to die here!"
I vaulted across effortlessly, a shield blooming in front of me without even raising my wand. A stunner fizzled harmlessly away.
Ron's groan carried after me. "You're not even breaking a sweat! That's not fair!"
"Life's not fair," I called back cheerfully. "Neither's magic."
Hermione huffed, blasting a target neatly. "At least some of us are taking this seriously."
"Don't worry, Hermione," I teased, "I noticed you adjusted the angle by two degrees mid spell. Very impressive."
She flushed pink. "W-Well—yes, of course I did. Someone has to maintain standards."
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Saturday*
The Room dimmed into a moonlit glade.
The dummies vanished, replaced by silence and silver light.
"Alright," Ron muttered, "now what terrifying death course do we get?"
Instead of answering, I breathed out and called my Patronus.
No wand. No words. Just will.
The Thestral burst forth in silver fire, wings spreading wide across the room.
Hermione's breath caught. Ron yelped, stumbling back.
"Bloody hell!" he shouted. "You—you just—"
Hermione's eyes were huge. "Harry…how…?"
I rested a hand on the Patronus' spectral wing. "Same way as everything else. Accept it. Stop fighting magic and it flows."
Ron muttered, "That's not magic, that's, you being some kind of…some kind of magical beast!"
Hermione, however, looked at me differently. Less shock, more something like…awe. And maybe a bit of fear.
But she didn't voice it. She just whispered, "It's beautiful."
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Sunday*
At breakfast, Ron kept nudging me.
"Bet you'll blow Dumbledore's socks off today."
Hermione sniffed. "Don't say things like that. Harry's lessons with the Headmaster aren't about showing off."
I smirked. "Well…maybe just a little."
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-Nine11P2