Harry sat slouched in the corner of the common room, Hermione’s words still echoing in his head.

A secret class, she’d said, eyes bright and certain, for us to actually learn how to defend ourselves.

At the time, it had sounded brilliant. Now, under the crackling firelight, it sounded mad.

He rubbed a hand over his face, muttering to himself, “Who’d want to be taught by me, anyway?”

Across from him, Ron looked up from a game of wizard chess. “You’re mental, mate. You’ve fought You-Know-Who—twice! Everyone knows you can handle yourself.”

Harry groaned. “Yeah, and half the school thinks I’m lying about that. Great qualifications for a teacher, huh?”

Hermione, perched in the armchair beside them with a stack of parchment on her knees, huffed impatiently. “Honestly, Harry, you’re being ridiculous. You’re the only one who’s actually fought dark wizards. That’s experience no professor here can match—not even Kakashi.”

Harry’s head snapped up at that. “Kakashi? He’s not teaching it, is he?”

“No,” Hermione said, “but he knows about it.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “He does?”

She gave a guilty little smile. “I told him. He thinks it’s a good idea.”

Harry blinked, then sighed, shoulders sinking. “Of course he does.” he grumbled, "because he knows he won't have to teach it."

He could almost hear Kakashi’s calm voice in his head: ‘Rebellion’s healthy for growth, Harry. Just don’t get caught.’

He slumped further into the couch. “I still think you’re mad.”

Hermione gave him that look — the one that meant she was both fond of him and absolutely done with his self-doubt. “You’ll see, Harry. Once people hear, they’ll want to learn from you. They already believe in you more than you think.”

Harry snorted, but Ron grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Face it, mate — you’re gonna have a fan club before this is over.”

“Brilliant,” Harry muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just what I always wanted. A fan club of rule-breaking wizards.”

Still, when he glanced at Hermione, who was practically glowing with excitement, and at Ron, who was grinning like this might finally make the term interesting…

He couldn’t help but smile a little.

For the first time all year, maybe he wasn't alone.

---

Kakashi trusted Hermione’s intelligence. Her organizational skills were impeccable, her attention to detail borderline terrifying — the girl could probably plan a covert operation with color-coded parchment and a cup of tea.

But this?

“This,” Kakashi muttered under his breath, eye narrowing as he looked up at the cracked, grimy sign swaying in the wind above them, “is definitely off the beaten track.”

The Hogs Head smelled faintly of goats, sour ale, and bad decisions. The windows were so grimy he could barely see through them, and the wooden sign above the door creaked with every gust of wind, like it might give up and fall at any moment.

Hermione, standing just ahead of him with her scarf pulled tight against the chill, looked far too pleased with herself. “No one from the castle ever comes here. It’s perfect.”

Kakashi tilted his head, considering the peeling paint and the suspicious-looking puddle by the doorway. “Perfect,” he echoed dryly. “If we wanted to catch tetanus.”

Harry, beside him, snorted, trying to hide his grin behind his hand. “You have to admit, though — it’s clever. No one would ever think to look for us here.”

“Because no one wants to,” Kakashi replied, voice deadpan.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, you two. It’s quiet, it’s private, and the bartender doesn’t ask questions. It’s exactly what we need.”

Kakashi sighed, brushing a few snowflakes from his hair as they approached the door. “Remind me next time to clarify that I trusted your sense, Hermione — not your sense of comfort.”

The door groaned open, and the smell hit them like a solid wall.

Harry coughed. “Blimey, what is that?”

Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed in faint dismay. “…regret.”

Hermione ignored them both and marched forward with the kind of conviction only Gryffindors had.

Kakashi followed, pulling his hood up. He prayed no termites jumped at him.

---

Hermione stood at the front of the dingy room, clutching her notes like she was about to give a lecture at a Ministry hearing instead of a meeting in what looked like a glorified goat shed.

Around twenty students had squeezed into the mismatched tables and rickety chairs — mostly Gryffindors, with a few curious Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws scattered through the crowd. Luna Lovegood sat serenely near the front, her bright blue eyes fixed on Hermione as if she were watching the stars align. Cho Chang, more composed but equally earnest, leaned in to whisper something to her friend Marietta Edgecombe.

Hermione cleared her throat, trying to be heard over the faint sound of clinking glasses from the bar. “Alright, everyone, thank you for coming! We— well, I— wanted to discuss forming a group to learn real defensive magic. Things we’re not being taught in class.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. A few heads nodded; others glanced toward the door, clearly nervous about being caught.

Kakashi watched from the back, leaning casually against a beam that looked like it could collapse under the weight of a strong breeze. His expression was unreadable — though Harry swore he saw faint amusement in the curve of his visible eye.

She’s really doing it, he thought, almost impressed. Hermione Granger: rule-abiding, professor-pleasing, top-of-the-class Hermione — organizing a student rebellion.

Hermione pressed on, finding her rhythm. “Professor Umbridge’s methods aren’t preparing us for anything. We all know that. And… we need to be ready. If You-Know-Who really is back—”

A ripple of unease ran through the group.

Harry glanced around, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes turn toward him.

Hermione met his gaze — her silent encouragement unmistakable.

He swallowed hard and stood. “Hermione’s right,” he said, voice steadier than he felt. “We’ve all seen what happens when we can’t defend ourselves. And I’m not saying I know everything — but I’ve learned a few things that might help us survive if we ever need to fight back.”

Luna tilted her head dreamily. “You’ve fought You-Know-Who twice,” she said, matter-of-fact. “That seems like good credentials.”

That earned a few nervous laughs, and even Kakashi’s lips twitched under his mask of calm.

Hermione nodded. “Exactly. Harry’s agreed to teach us. We’ll train together — safely — and quietly. No one from the Ministry or Umbridge will know.”

Cho smiled softly at Harry, eyes bright. “We’re with you.”

As the group murmured their agreement, Kakashi’s gaze swept the room — twenty young faces lit by determination and fear in equal measure.

The murmurs of agreement faded when a hand went up at the back of the room. A boy Harry didn’t know very well — Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff — straightened in his seat, his expression skeptical.

“Hang on,” he said, loud enough to cut through the buzz of conversation. “We’re all just supposed to take your word for it, Potter? That You-Know-Who’s back?”

The room went still.

Harry felt the familiar anger flare in his chest — hot and sharp. “I was there,” he said tightly. “I saw him.”

Zacharias didn’t back down. “Yeah, but you say that. You say he killed Diggory. People are saying it was some kind of— accident, or—”

“Enough.”

The word came from the back — low, flat, and carrying more weight than a shout.

Every head turned.

Kakashi stepped forward from the shadows, his posture relaxed but his tone icy. His visible eye was sharp — the calm, cutting sort of focus that made every student in the room sit a little straighter.

“Cedric Diggory was murdered,” Kakashi said evenly. “By Lord Voldemort.”

Zacharias flinched at the name.

“I was there too,” Kakashi continued, voice calm but threaded with steel. “I carried Harry out of that graveyard. I saw what was left of Cedric, and I watched the creature that killed him crawl back into a man’s skin.”

A heavy silence settled.

Kakashi’s gaze stayed fixed on Zacharias — not unkind, but unyielding. The boy seemed to shrink in on himself.

Kakashi shifted his stance slightly, a faint grimace of pain flickering across his features before he straightened again. “If you came here to argue, then leave. But if you came to learn, then listen.”

Zacharias swallowed hard, color draining from his face. He muttered something under his breath and looked down at his lap.

The silence lingered a few heartbeats longer — until Hermione, eyes wide but steady, cleared her throat. “Right then,” she said softly. “Shall we take names for who’s joining?”

There was a chorus of murmured yeses, and the atmosphere lightened again.

Kakashi stepped back toward the wall, folding his arms. His gaze softened as Harry caught his eye.

Harry didn’t say anything — he didn’t need to. The gratitude was written all over his face.

---

Harry was honestly surprised that it had gone that well. No one had stormed out. No one had hexed Zacharias. And, somehow, Hermione hadn’t been arrested for orchestrating a miniature rebellion.
All in all, a successful evening.

As they made their way back up toward the castle, the group walked in a loose cluster — their breath fogging in the chilly night air. The lamps from Hogsmeade flickered behind them, small and warm in the distance.

Kakashi walked near the back, hands in his pockets, the faintest limp in his step. Harry glanced over his shoulder once or twice to make sure he was keeping up, but the older teen looked… calm. Quietly alert, as always.

“So,” Fred began, his voice breaking the silence. “What’s next, then? We’ve got a cause, we’ve got a name—”

“Do we?” George interjected. “Because if we don’t, I vote for Voldy-Moldies Terror's.”

Harry groaned. “We are not calling it that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We’re not calling it anything yet. First, we need a place to meet.”

“A secret place,” Ginny added thoughtfully. “Somewhere Umbridge won’t find us. Or Filch. Or… anyone.”

“Preferably somewhere that doesn’t smell like goats,” Kakashi said dryly, glancing sidelong at Hermione.

Hermione looked both indignant and sheepish. “Oh, hush. The location was fine.”

“Sure,” Kakashi said. “If we were trying to recruit dementors.”

Neville, surprisingly, was the one who piped up next. “What about somewhere in the castle? There’s got to be a place that’s empty enough. Maybe something from the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t remember seeing any place that would stay hidden for long…”

Hermione bit her lip, eyes darting upward like she was running through the castle’s blueprints in her head. “We’ll figure it out. There has to be something.”

Kakashi slowed as they neared the castle’s gates, glancing up at the looming spires of Hogwarts against the night sky. “Places like this,” he murmured, half to himself, “always have secrets. You just need to listen for them.”

Harry didn’t fully understand what he meant, but there was a weight in the way he said it — something quietly certain.

Hermione smiled, determined. “Then we’ll find it.”

---

No meetings happened for two weeks.

Between homework, prefect duties, and Umbridge breathing down everyone’s neck, it was nearly impossible to organize anything. Every time Harry, Hermione, or Ron even looked like they were talking in private, that horrible pink woman would suddenly appear — smiling too wide, pretending it was all coincidence.

And then came the newest decree.

It appeared one morning on the notice board, the edges trimmed with fussy gold ink and stamped with the bright red seal of the Ministry:

Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four
All student organizations, societies, teams, and clubs are hereby disbanded. No student groups of three or more may meet for any reason without the express approval of the High Inquisitor.

Harry stared at it, barely believing his eyes.

“No groups over three people?” Hermione said in horror. “That means no study groups, no clubs, not even Quidditch—”

“No Quidditch?” Ron’s voice cracked. “She can’t ban Quidditch!”

Harry was gripping the edge of the notice board so tightly his knuckles turned white. “She just did,” he muttered darkly.

Across the room, Kakashi was leaning against the wall, reading the decree with that same unreadable calm he always had — though the faint tightening around his visible eye betrayed what he thought of the new rule.

“She’s isolating you,” Kakashi said finally, his voice quiet but sharp. “Break the lines of communication. Divide, control, and silence. Classic authoritarian tactic.”

Hermione blinked at him. “You make it sound like a military strategy.”

“It is,” Kakashi replied simply. “The Ministry’s afraid. Fear makes people stupid.”

Harry tore his gaze from the parchment, glaring across the room. “Well, they can’t stop us forever. We’ll just… find a way around it.”

Kakashi’s visible eye curved faintly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Good answer.”

Hermione sighed, looking both nervous and determined. “We’ll have to be extremely careful. No paper lists, no names, no public meetings.”

Harry nodded, fire sparking in his chest. “Fine. If they want to stop us from learning to defend ourselves, then we’ll just make it harder for them to catch us.”

Ron muttered under his breath, “Reckon this is the part where it all starts getting dangerous.”

Kakashi chuckled softly. “You’re in a resistance now, Ron. It was never going to be safe.”

---

It was a few days later when Kakashi ran into Neville near the dungeons, just as he was leaving his “health check-up” with Snape. The faint smell of potions still clung to him, his sleeve rolled up where the professor had drawn yet another sample of blood.

Neville looked like he’d just sprinted halfway across the castle, his face red and hair sticking up even worse than usual.

“Kakashi!” he gasped, clutching the strap of his bag. “I— I think I found it!”

Kakashi blinked, the exhaustion in his expression softening into curiosity. “Found what?”

“The place!” Neville said, practically bouncing on his heels. “For the meetings — you know, for that thing we’re not supposed to talk about where people might hear!”

Kakashi tilted his head. “Subtle as always, Neville.”

Neville flushed but pressed on. “I was trying to hide from Filch — I dropped one of my Herbology books, and when I ducked into a corridor on the seventh floor, I walked past this blank wall three times, thinking really hard about somewhere safe to hide… and then a door appeared!”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. “A door.”

“Yeah! And inside, there were cushions, lamps, and even bookshelves! Like the room knew what I needed!” Neville was practically glowing now, his nervous energy replaced by awe. “It’s perfect, Kakashi. No one would ever find us there.”

Kakashi’s eye curved in quiet amusement. “A room that appears when you need it… Hogwarts never stops surprising me.”

Neville hesitated. “Do you think it’s really okay to use?”

Kakashi clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Neville, that’s better intelligence work than probably half the Auror office."

Neville blinked, then grinned shyly.

“Go tell Harry and Hermione,” Kakashi said. “You’ve just found the safest base in the castle.”

As Neville hurried off, practically glowing with pride, Kakashi watched him go — the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

He’d always believed there was more to Neville Longbottom than anyone else gave him credit for.

---

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kakashi followed Neville up to the seventh floor, their footsteps echoing against the quiet corridor.

“This had better not be one of your Herbology experiments gone wrong,” Ron muttered, eyeing the stretch of empty wall Neville had stopped in front of.

“It’s not!” Neville insisted. “Just—watch.”

He turned and began to pace, walking past the wall three times, muttering to himself, “A place to practice… a place to train… a place to learn how to defend ourselves.”

And on his third pass, the stones shimmered—rippling like water—and a door appeared out of thin air.

Hermione gasped. “Incredible… it’s exactly how you described it, Neville!”

Harry stepped forward, pushing the heavy bronze handle. The door swung open to reveal a room that made him stop dead in his tracks.

Inside was a wide, airy space filled with soft, golden light. The stone floor was covered in thick mats, the walls lined with bookshelves and racks of practice equipment. At the far end, there were benches and a small raised platform that looked suspiciously like a dueling stage.

Hermione clapped her hands together in delight. “It’s perfect! Absolutely perfect!”

Ron whistled. “Blimey. It’s even better than the old Defense classroom.”

Harry took a slow step inside—and then he realized what it reminded him of. The layout, the open space, the smell of parchment and chalk and faint traces of ozone from spell residue—

He turned to Kakashi, whose visible eye had widened slightly.

“This looks exactly like…” Harry began.

“Minato-sensei’s classroom,” Kakashi finished softly.

Everyone turned to look at him.

He stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his usually unreadable face. “Down to the mats by the window,” he murmured.

Hermione smiled gently. “Then it seems Hogwarts remembered him, too.”

Kakashi let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. “Guess so. The castle must’ve thought his set up was perfect.”

Harry looked around again, that familiar warmth in his chest—the kind that came when he remembered Minato’s calm voice and Kakashi’s steady presence.

“It’s perfect,” he said. “Minato would’ve liked this.”

Kakashi’s visible eye curved in quiet agreement. “He would have,” he said softly.

---