The Magical Battle Room, a permanent and immutable creation of Filius Umbra, breathed with the energy of a living organism. Unlike its more volatile counterpart, the Room of Requirement, this chamber had been carved by the professor's will to be a pillar of Hogwarts' mandatory curriculum. Its walls of black stone, engraved with runes that channeled and softened offensive magic, bore witness to years of intensive classes. It was a place as fundamental to the school as the Great Hall or the Library.
Filius entered, preceded by his reputation. His steps were silent, but his presence filled the space. Ada Wong followed him, a magical crystal terminal floating at her side, already displaying the profiles of the fifth-year students.
"Good morning," his voice didn't need to rise to command attention. The students' murmuring ceased instantly. "Percy, the report on the class's progress with the assigned spell combinations?"
Percy Weasley straightened his shoulders, not out of nervousness, but from the ingrained posture of someone shaped by this training since the age of eleven. "Professor, the class has achieved 92% proficiency in the standard defensive sequence and 88% in the coordinated offensive one. The data was compiled after last night's mandatory practice sessions."
An almost imperceptible nod from Filius signaled his approval. "Today, we will apply that proficiency in a context of extreme adversity. The scenario: a squad of Aurors, caught off guard and outnumbered. Groups: three Aurors against eight Dark wizards."
There was no surprise, only focused acceptance. These students had been prepared for this. They knew that the safety Hogwarts provided was, in truth, rigorous training for a dangerous world.
"Remember," Filius's voice echoed, "this simulation is not about winning. It is about surviving, about inflicting costs on the enemy and extracting yourself from a disadvantageous situation. It is the core of what it means to be a prepared witch or wizard." He raised a parchment. "The six spells drawn for this exercise are: Protego Horribilis, Defensive Transfiguration, Controlled Incendio, Petrificus Totalus, Obscuro, and Expulso."
With a wave of his wand, the central arena transformed into intricate Celtic ruins, with fallen menhirs offering cover and open clearings that were potential dead ends.
Percy, Penelope Clearwater, and Stephen Cornfoot from Hufflepuff stepped forward to form the first Auror trio. On the other side, eight Slytherins, led by Malcolm Baddock, assumed the role of aggressors. The battle that followed was a ballet of contained magic and calculated strategy.
Percy's defensive strategy was a testament to his education. He didn't think; he reacted with the reflexes forged in years of mandatory classes.
· Tactical Barricade: Using Defensive Transfiguration, he and Stephen didn't create a simple wall, but a staggered fortification that channeled the attackers into funnels where Penelope's spells were most effective.
· Field Control: Stephen employed Controlled Incendio not to set fires, but to demarcate the battlefield, creating exclusion zones that broke the larger group's cohesion.
· Efficient Communication: Percy's commands were short, coded, a military language developed over five years under Umbra's watchful eye.
Filius watched, his silvery eyes capturing every detail, while Ada noted metrics on her terminal.
"The larger group is succumbing to internal chaos," she commented, her voice low. "They have trained together, but they haven't learned to think together under pressure."
"Predictable," Filius replied. "Numerical advantage breeds complacency. Desperation, when channeled, sharpens the mind. It is a lesson Percy has internalized."
When two Slytherins managed to flank the position, Percy didn't hesitate. "Curtain!" he ordered. Penelope cast Obscuro, creating a wall of momentary darkness. In the brief moment of confusion, Stephen immobilized both with Petrificus Totalus before they could reorient themselves.
In the end, the Auror trio's victory was uncontestable.
The Pillar of Defensive Education
As the students regrouped, breathless but with the upright posture of veterans, Filius lectured on the errors and successes. His analysis wasn't just about that specific exercise, but about the philosophy behind the entire curriculum.
"What you witnessed today," he began, "is the result of an educational policy that recognizes the realities of the wizarding world. This course was not instituted as a reaction to fear, but as a pillar of prevention. Since your first year, each of you has been introduced to concepts that your parents' generation would only learn in the midst of a battlefield."
He walked among them, his gaze resting on faces he had known since they were frightened children holding their first wands.
"We know peace is a fragile construct. Dark Lords rise, regimes fall, toxic ideologies resurface. Hogwarts, under my influence and Headmaster Dumbledore's, decided it would no longer send its children into the world as lambs to the slaughter. Instead of reacting to crises, we are forging the resilience to prevent them."
He stopped in front of Percy. "Mr. Weasley is not a prodigy. He is a product. A product of a system that values discipline as much as talent, strategy as much as raw power. He is proof that constant preparation is the only true antidote to tyranny."
The class ended with the announcement of the mini-dueling tournament, a scheduled event on the academic calendar. As the students left, several remained behind to train, using the room as they always had – as a tool at their disposal.
In the corridors, the culture was palpable. A group of second-years practiced dodging maneuvers while discussing the day's lesson. A seventh-year girl coached a first-year on the best way to hold a wand during a prolonged Protego. Umbra's mandatory course wasn't just a class; it was the circulatory system of a new Hogwarts – a Hogwarts that was quietly becoming the best-defended institution in the wizarding world, not by its walls, but by the indomitable character of its students.
Filius watched the scene from the doorway, Ada at his side. "They don't fully understand," he murmured, "the burden we bear by preparing them for a horror we hope they never encounter."
"But it is a necessary burden," Ada replied, closing her terminal.
"Yes," Filius agreed, his eyes reflecting the corridor's torches. "As long as a shadow exists in the wizarding world, we will continue to forge the light that will hold it back. That has always been, and always will be, the purpose."
Chapter (Part 2): Ghosts and Friendship at the Three Broomsticks
A biting cold, typical of the Scottish Highlands in autumn, accompanied Lily Potter to the doors of the Three Broomsticks. The village of Hogsmeade, shrouded in the late afternoon light that was quickly turning to dusk, was a balm for her soul. This brief respite from the intense routine of Hogwarts and the meetings of the Court of Owls was more than deserved.
She had barely crossed the pub's cozy threshold, pushing aside the heavy velvet curtain, when a familiar, uninhibited laugh cut through the ambient chatter. It was a laugh she hadn't heard with such lightness in a very, very long time. Lily couldn't help but smile as she located the source of the noise.
"Madam Rosmerta," she greeted with a cordial nod to the proprietress, a woman of radiant beauty and a presence almost as legendary as her pumpkin fizz. Rosmerta returned the greeting with a broad smile and a wink, already busy filling wooden tankards at the polished bar.
Lily then headed to the table in the farthest corner, where her two great friends were waiting. Sirius was reclined in his chair with a carefree expression he rarely possessed, while Remus watched the scene with his usual quiet smile.
"Looks like you started without me, Sirius," said Lily, taking off her coat and hanging it on the chair next to Remus.
Sirius raised his glass of fire whiskey, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and the smooth effect of the drink. "Yes, my dear, I am Sirius!" He then burst into laughter at his own joke, a hoarse sound that still carried echoes of his years of seclusion, but now sounded genuinely joyful.
Lily laughed, shaking her head. "Horrible, Black. Simply horrible."
Before she could sit down, Sirius stood up (with a slight unsteadiness that betrayed the amount of whiskey already consumed) and pulled her into a warm, firm hug. It was a hug that meant many things: apologies, gratitude, and unshakable loyalty. "Good to see you, Lil," he whispered, his voice a bit gruff.
"You too, Sirius," she whispered back, squeezing him tightly before pulling away. She then turned to Remus, who had stood up to greet her. "Remus," she said, kissing his cheek. "Are you well?"
"Better every day, Lily. Thank you for asking," he replied, his voice as soft as ever.
As they settled and Lily ordered a drink, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about trivialities, news from Hogwarts, and, as always, the conversation soon turned to Harry. Lily's heart swelled with intense love and a pang of guilt as she saw the most recent photos Ron had sent her by owl. Sirius, in turn, was visibly moved, his usually bravado-filled face softening at the sight of his godson's smile.
Her eyes met Sirius's across the table. A silent understanding passed between them. She remembered with painful clarity the blind fury that had consumed her upon waking from her coma and discovering that Sirius, her son's godfather, had disappeared, leaving Harry alone in the world. The scolding she had given him, when he was finally released from Azkaban, was one of the most memorable of her life.
But the anger had melted away, replaced by a deep and painful understanding. She understood that he had been thrown into that godforsaken place without a trial, without a chance to defend himself. His struggle didn't end with his escape. It took four years of intensive recovery at St. Mungo's to help him rid himself of the nefarious effects of prolonged exposure to the Dementors. The psychological scar was deep, but seeing him laugh in that silly way was the clearest proof of his progress.
Wanting to shift the conversation's focus to her other friend, Lily turned to Remus. "And you, Remus? How are things?"
A genuine smile illuminated Remus's face. "Unbelievably well, Lily. Thanks to the 'Hound's Bane Potion' provided by the Court of Owls, I'm managing to live with a normality I never thought possible." He shook his head, marveling. "A significant portion of the Court's Research Division resources is dedicated to finding a cure for lycanthropy. It's... it's a hope I had abandoned long ago."
Lily nodded, knowing the efforts well. "Filius mentioned the progress is promising. They are sparing no effort to find a definitive cure." Her mind, however, flew to an even more secret project, known only to the highest-ranking Counselors: the research for a cure for the miscarriages that plagued even wizarding families. She thought of Filius, the Lord of Shadows, whose genius was often directed at the most complex problems. He was the lead researcher, working in the shadows not for fame, but out of a sense of duty she deeply admired.
It was at that moment that Sirius, upon hearing the mention of the Court and Filius's name, scowled. His good humor seemed to evaporate, replaced by a dark cloud. His fingers tightened around his glass. Everyone at the table knew about the affair between Lily and Filius – an open secret among the closest friends – and Sirius's disapproval was equally well-known.
"That Court... and him...", Sirius began, his voice a low growl. "Sometimes I wonder what the real price is for all this 'help'."
Before he could continue, Lily's voice cut through the air, firm and final. "Not a word about that, Sirius. We've already talked about this subject." Her green eyes locked with his, not with anger, but with an unshakable determination he knew very well.
The silence that followed was tense and uncomfortable. Remus seemed to want to shrink into his chair, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.
It was then that divine intervention, in the form of Madam Rosmerta, arrived. The proprietress approached the table with a bottle of premium fire whiskey and three clean glasses.
"A round, on the house," she announced, her warm smile directed specifically at Sirius, breaking the tension with the skill of a born diplomat. "To celebrate old friendships that have withstood time and darkness."
Sirius seemed to hesitate for a moment, but Rosmerta's gesture and Remus's pleading look were enough. He took the new glass she placed before him, raising it in a silent toast.
The heavy atmosphere dissipated, and the conversation flowed again, returning to safer subjects and memories of a time when their biggest worry was surviving N.E.W.T.s and James's pranks. As they laughed at a particularly embarrassing story involving James and a package of Exploding Bonbons, Lily felt a profound gratitude for that moment of normality, surrounded by the ghosts of the past and the fragile, but persistent, promise of a happier future. The pain of the war years was still there, but in that warm pub, among friends, it seemed a little more bearable.
Chapter (Final Part): Whispers and Recovery
The afternoon sun bathed the Hogwarts corridors in an amber light, but the mood between Harry, Ron, and Hermione was a mixture of lingering unease and budding excitement. They were walking towards the Quidditch pitch, their conversation slowly moving on from the terrible scare with Ginny and the cursed diary.
"Imagine, a diary... from Voldemort himself," Hermione whispered, her eyes wide with a horror that was slowly being replaced by her innate curiosity. "The magic to bind a piece of one's soul to an object... it's theoretically possible, but the ramifications are..."
"Let's not talk about it anymore, Hermione," Ron said with a slight shudder. "Ginny's safe, that's what matters." He perked up noticeably. "Besides, there's something way better to think about now."
A grin spread across Harry's face. "He's right. Next month! We finally get to start the mandatory Dueling classes."
It was then that Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater walked past them, holding hands. Percy, every bit the proud prefect, nodded to them.
"Harry, Hermione," Percy greeted. "Ron. Shouldn't you three be heading to the pitch? Angelina said practice was mandatory for reserves, too."
"We're going, Percy," Ron said, though his attention was already elsewhere. As the older couple moved on, Ron's eyes widened. "Did you hear that? They were talking about their Dueling class. Percy said Professor Umbra taught them a 'disarming chain' against multiple opponents!"
"That's exactly what I mean!" Hermione said, her own excitement breaking through. "The curriculum is progressive. They learn advanced tactics in the fifth year because they've built a foundation since their first year. And now it's our turn to start building ours!"
"I can't wait to actually learn how to properly cast Expelliarmus in a duel, not just in practice," Harry said, his mind already on the Disarming Charm.
"Or a decent Protego," Ron added. "Fred and George said the first real spell we learn is how to block a Stunning Hex properly. How brilliant is that?"
They reached the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Harry split off from them. "See you after practice!" he called, running towards the locker room.
Ron and Hermione climbed into the stands and spotted Ginny. She was sitting a few rows up, not alone, but next to a girl with long, dirty-blonde hair and a necklace of Butterbeer corks.
"It's Luna Lovegood," Ron murmured to Hermione. "She's a first-year in my sister's year. A bit... you know."
The two went to sit with them. "You alright, Ginny?" Ron asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
Ginny looked at them, and though the shadows under her eyes were still visible, she managed a small, genuine smile. "I'm better now," she replied. "Madam Pomfrey's treatment was perfect. And Luna's keeping me company."
Luna Lovegood turned her large, dreamy eyes on them. "Hello," she said in a vague, melodic voice. "The Wrackspurts are particularly bad around the goalposts today. It must be very confusing for the Keepers."
Ron blinked. "The what-now? No, we're just here for the team practice."
"Ah," Luna said simply, and returned to gazing at the sky as if watching something fascinating.
The practice began, and Ron and Hermione tried to focus on the Chasers' new formation. But Luna's presence was... distracting. After a few minutes, Ron leaned close to Hermione, his voice a conspiratorial whisper.
"Hermione," he hissed, his eyes darting towards Luna, who was now humming softly and twisting a cork on her necklace. "You don't think... she could be a spy, do you? For Ravenclaw? To steal our Quidditch tactics?"
Hermione looked from Ron's utterly serious, concerned face to Luna, who was now gently waving at a passing butterfly. An expression of pure, exasperated amusement crossed Hermione's face.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other, the same absurd thought hanging in the air between them. They both pictured it: Luna Lovegood, master spy, clandestinely noting down plays while discussing invisible creatures and wearing radish earrings.
Then, in a moment of perfect, unified certainty, they both shook their heads and said in unison:
"Naah, couldn't be."
The shared conclusion made them both grin, and the last of the day's tension seemed to lift. They turned their attention back to the practice, leaving Luna to her own world, as the sun set over Hogwarts, ending a day that, despite its shadows, was already looking forward to the promise of learning how to fight back.