Harry named their new student club the "Defense Against the Dark Arts Study Group."
A name that sounded quite plain, practical, and boring, actually. Nothing flashy or provocative that might draw unwanted attention from certain people.
Unlike the "D.A." (Dumbledore's Army) that Harry had secretly organized in the original canon story, this time they didn't need to hide in shadows or operate in complete secrecy. They could function openly with official permission and had the obvious support and backing of most professors, including the Headmaster himself.
The only person who wasn't particularly pleased with this development, in fact, who was actively opposed was 'Professor' Dolores Umbridge.
This was totally predictable.
Because in her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, she repeatedly and ardently emphasized to students that the subject required absolutely no practical combat training whatsoever. None. Theory and Ministry-approved curriculum were sufficient for all defensive needs, she insisted shrilly.
And the gathering Harry and his friends were now organizing was nothing short of a direct contradiction and public disapproval of her entire teaching methods and educational philosophy. It was almost an implicit statement that her approach was inadequate.
After hearing the news about the Study Group from several tattling students, probably Slytherins hoping to curry favor—Umbridge had immediately marched to Dumbledore's office and expressed her strong opposition to the Headmaster in what were reportedly very shrill terms.
However, based on Adrian's observation of Umbridge's pinched, frustrated expression these past few days as she stalked through corridors and glared at students, her formal protest seemed to have had absolutely no effect whatsoever on Dumbledore's decision.
The Study Group had been approved, and that approval stood firm.
This outcome was only natural and entirely expected—after all, despite Fudge's attempts to extend Ministry influence, Umbridge's actual authority at Hogwarts was still quite limited at present.
She could complain, but she couldn't stop allowed student activities.
As for the venue for their meetings, out of a certain selfish and protective motivation, Harry didn't yet want to reveal the existence of the incredibly useful Room of Requirement to a large group of students.
Therefore, the meeting location was ultimately set in a large abandoned classroom on the fifth floor that had apparently been unused for years. The room was dusty and filled with broken furniture when they first found it.
Adrian and Professor Flitwick had kindly helped Harry expand and prepare the space somewhat using Extension Charms and Cleaning Spells, making it considerably larger and cleaner—large enough to comfortably accommodate several dozen people for lively movement and spellcasting activities without people constantly bumping into each other.
The walls had been reinforced against errant spells. The floor had also been cleared and leveled.
For both Adrian and Flitwick, since this was primarily Harry's organized activity and his leadership opportunity, unless absolutely necessary they wouldn't actively intervene in any way or take over the teaching.
They would only step in directly when students encountered genuinely life-threatening situations— and make no mistake, based on years of their teaching experience, they knew there were always be some absolute idiots who would somehow manage to point their wands at themselves while casting offensive spells. Or accidentally set themselves on fire.
Student supervision was important.
Finally, the calendar turned to the first Saturday in October, and the inaugural official meeting of the "Defense Against the Dark Arts Study Group" was scheduled to begin at ten o'clock in the morning.
Harry arrived early to prepare.
Unfortunately, though many students had responded enthusiastically to the initial call and expressed strong interest when personally invited, only about twenty people actually showed up at the designated time.
The attendance was disappointing but not totally surprising.
Clearly, most students ultimately weren't willing to sacrifice their precious leisure time and Saturday morning sleep, especially without proof the group would be worth the effort. Or rather, more cynically, they were still cautiously waiting to see how things would go before committing.
If the first meeting was successful and word spread, more would join. If it flopped, they'd avoided wasting their time.
But Harry didn't particularly mind the low initial audience. He'd expected this.
With more people, he probably couldn't have managed the teaching effectively anyway given his limited experience. And these twenty who came were basically Harry's acquaintances and trusted friends.
The vast majority were Gryffindors, which made sense, with a handful of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs scattered throughout.
Once everyone who was coming had finally arrived, Harry gathered them all together in the open space in the center of the cleaned classroom, arranging them in a loose semicircle.
Adrian and Professor Flitwick stood together by the wall near the door, observing but remaining consciously separate from the group. They looked at the gathered children of varying heights and ages with some complex emotion.
This entire situation, this necessity for student-led defense training, was all because of a certain Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's negligence and incompetence.
"There are considerably fewer people than we expected," Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice sounded softly beside Adrian's ear, carrying a hint of worry and disappointment. "The educational effect might not be very good with such a small group."
"It's enough for a successful start," Adrian replied calmly, his gaze sweeping steadily over the students present and assessing them. "This is only the very first meeting, after all. If it's successful and proves valuable, word of mouth will spread rapidly through the school, and naturally more people will want to join."
Professor Flitwick nodded slowly in acknowledgment of this logic, then lowered his voice even further and asked with concern, "But Adrian, do you really plan to leave all the actual teaching responsibilities to Harry? He's only a fifth-year student himself, barely fifteen years old. That's a tremendous amount of pressure and responsibility."
Adrian glanced toward Harry, noting the extreme composure and calm confidence visible in his posture and face and answered with complete certainty, "He can handle it. I have absolute confidence in his abilities. Besides..."
He smiled slightly.
"We're here supervising, aren't we? We won't let anything go too wrong."
At that moment, Adrian's observant gaze noticed an unexpected and particularly interesting figure among the small crowd of students.
John Selwyn.
The quiet, composed first-year child who had been sorted into Slytherin house at the start of term, the one Adrian had encountered on the train and had been keeping a casual eye on since then.
For a first-year student to attend this gathering was truly unusual in itself—first years rarely got involved in organized activities beyond their house, typically sticking close to what was familiar.
And what made John's presence even stranger was that he was a Slytherin student.
Slytherins weren't supposed to be here. The house as a whole had been intentionally excluded from general invitations, and individual Slytherins attending may face consequences from their housemates.
Yet here John stood, apparently unconcerned about any backlash.
Interesting indeed.
"All right, all right, everyone, come over here please," Harry called out, standing before the group. He clapped his hands together sharply several times to get everyone's complete attention. "Gather round. Closer. We're all friends here."
Students shuffled forward obediently, forming a tighter semicircle around him.
Positioned prominently in front of Harry sat a large, sturdy-looking wooden trunk.
"What's that trunk for?" Ron asked Hermione beside him in a low, puzzled voice, gesturing subtly toward the mysterious object. "Did he mention it to you?"
Hermione shook her head slowly. "I don't know. He never said anything about a trunk."
Although she and Ron had rehearsed the general lesson plan with Harry several times beforehand, this trunk—honestly, Harry had never mentioned this particular part before.
Harry's serious green gaze swept across every face present, making brief eye contact with each student to ensure he had their full attention. His tone became particularly grave and somber.
"Before we begin the actual lesson, I must make something absolutely clear to all of you, this is not some game of pretend or theoretical exercise, but a real, practical, live-fire drill with actual danger involved. If anyone feels scared or uncomfortable right now, there's still a chance to leave."
The students looked at each other with varying expressions of confusion, nervousness, and excitement rippling through the group.
Several exchanged uncertain glances. Quiet murmurs spread.
Scared? Why would they be scared? Wasn't this just an ordinary study group for practicing spells?
What danger could there possibly be with two professors supervising?
A few of the younger students swallowed nervously. But, no one actually moved toward the door or left the room.
Seeing this united decision, Harry nodded lightly in approval and satisfaction.
He walked slowly to the mysterious trunk and ran his hand over its surface. He said clearly, projecting his voice so everyone could hear, "First, the very first and most important thing you need to learn before anything else is how to face your fear."
His hand rested on the trunk's lid.
"When facing a real threat to your life, you'll understand immediately how pale and powerless and completely useless the theory learned in safe classrooms actually is. Theory and memorization will never make you take real action when your life is in danger."
Several students wriggled uncomfortably at this harsh truth.
"So, when I open this trunk," Harry continued, his voice dropping lower and more intense, "the first thing you need to do is move your feet immediately—Run."
Harry's fingers rested on the trunk's lid as he looked one final time at the confused or increasingly nervous faces before him, feeling somewhat nervous himself beneath his calm appearance.
His heart was pounding.
'Was what came next perhaps a bit too stimulating for a first lesson? Too extreme?
Too late to reconsider now.'
At the same time, Professor Flitwick watched with growing alarm as Adrian slowly drew his wand from his robes, clearly preparing for something significant. A distinctly bad feeling rose sharply in his heart.
'What exactly was in that trunk that required such careful treatment and Adrian's wand at ready?'
Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself, and suddenly lifted the heavy lid with both hands.
A bone-chilling, suffocating cold instantly poured out from the trunk's dark interior like water from a broken dam. The temperature in the entire classroom plummeted intensely within seconds ice.
Frost began forming on the windows.
Breath became visible.
The magical lights over their heads became dim and started flickering uncertainly.
"This is... Merlin above!" Professor Flitwick cried out in alarm, his high voice cracking even higher with shock and horror. He instinctively reached for his wand and started to step forward to intervene. "Harry, what have you done?!"
But Adrian's firm hand gently pressed down on Flitwick's small shoulder, holding him in place. Adrian's voice remained perfectly calm and controlled, carrying no panic at all.
"Wait, Professor Flitwick," He said softly. "Let's see how they react first."
"But—!" Flitwick sputtered.
That's right—such a terribly familiar feeling, such an unmistakable sensation. The thing in the trunk, the source of that overwhelming cold and creeping despair, was definitely a Dementor.
An actual Dementor.
At Hogwarts.
In a student meeting.
The Dementor slowly emerged from the trunk's depths, its tattered black robes seeming to float in an absent wind. Its rotting, skinny hands reached forward blindly.
The classroom immediately fell into absolute chaos and panic.
Some students immediately screamed at the top of their lungs and ran madly, desperately toward the door, shoving past each other in their terror. Pure survival instinct was overriding everything else.
Others froze completely in place as if petrified or stupefied, rooted to the floor, staring at the terrible creature with faces gone pale and eyes wide with fear. Their wands dangled uselessly from nerveless fingers.
The unluckiest few students even collapsed to the ground as their legs simply gave out beneath them, unable to support their weight. They sat there trembling, unable to move or think.
The classroom instantly became chaotic, absolute pandemonium. Fear spread among the students like a contagious plague, feeding on itself and growing stronger.
Even Hermione and Ron, who were considerably more experienced than most, turned pale.
Though to their credit, they still looked relatively composed compared to the panicking students around them. They'd faced Dementors before, at least from a distance. This wasn't completely new.
However, what happened next nearly made both their hearts stop completely and their composure shatter.
The Dementor fully emerged from the trunk in one fluid movement and immediately flew straight toward Harry—Harry, who was standing closest, who'd opened the trunk.
Its decayed hands with strips of gray flesh hanging from bone reached forward with clear intent, seemingly wanting to take his soul right here. The creature's hooded face bent toward Harry.
"Harry! Danger!" Hermione screamed desperately with terror. "Move! Run!"
But Harry stood absolutely firmly in place. He raised his wand high above his head with confidence.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A dazzling, brilliant silver light burst from his wand tip. The light combined and took the solid, corporeal form of a large, proud stag with magnificent antlers.
The Patronus was beautiful, majestic, radiating warmth and joy and life.
The silver stag held its head high and proud, shaking its antlers once, then began pacing gracefully around the classroom with smooth, powerful movements. It moved between students, passing close enough to touch, and everywhere it went the bone-chilling cold gradually dissipated, replaced by warmth and comfort.
The Dementor retreated from the Patronus as if burned, making horrible rattling sounds of distress. It was forced to retreat step by step, backing away, shrinking, losing substance and power until it finally shrank back completely into the trunk.
Harry then waved his wand with a sharp gesture, and the lid slammed shut with a resonant "BANG" that echoed through the silent room. Multiple locks clicked into place automatically, sealing the creature inside.
The magnificent Patronus remained for a few seconds longer, looking at the students with what seemed like calm observation, then slowly faded and vanished completely into the air.
The classroom's temperature began returning to normal.
The lights brightened. Color came back to the world.
Seeing the Dementor safely imprisoned once more, the students who'd run toward the door slowly, cautiously stopped their panicked run. Those who'd frozen began to unfreeze, blinking and looking around in confusion.
The fallen students were helped shakily to their feet by friends.
Gradually, very gradually, the room quieted down from chaos to shocked silence.
For a moment, the scene fell into an eerie, stunned silence where no one spoke or moved. Everyone simply stared at Harry, processing what they'd just witnessed.
"That... that was a real Dementor?" Ron finally managed to murmur, his voice shaking slightly. He felt his scalp tingling with lingering fear and adrenaline. "An actual Dementor? Here? How did he even... where did he get it?"
________________
You can read more chapters on:
patreon.com/IamLuis