The Room of Requirement shimmered to life that evening, glowing faintly with torchlight that flickered off the walls and made the entire space feel alive. The mats from Professor Minato’s classroom still lay in perfect alignment — the same soft grey pattern, the faint scent of ink and chalk lingering as though his lessons had only just ended yesterday.

Harry stood near the front, heart hammering. Around him, the students gathered in clusters — whispering, laughing nervously. Hermione was organizing parchment for everyone to sign in, while Ron and the twins joked about how “Voldy-Moldy’s Terrors” would have been way better branding.

“Yeah, but then Umbridge would’ve had a fit at the name alone,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “Dumbledore’s Army it is. And if you lot are done branding it like a joke shop product—”

“Oi, we are joke shop producers,” George quipped, ducking Fred’s elbow.

Kakashi leaned casually against the far wall, wand loosely in hand, one eye drifting lazily toward the group. He looked almost amused, though Harry couldn’t quite tell whether it was the teasing or the chaos that entertained him.

“They’ve got good morale,” Kakashi said quietly when Harry passed him. “That’s half the battle.”

Harry glanced at him. “Yeah, well… I’d rather have morale and some aim. You sure you don’t want to help lead this one?”

Kakashi raised a brow — or at least, Harry thought he did beneath that forehead protector.

“You’re the commander here, Potter,” Kakashi replied. “I’m just here to watch and offer the occasional bit of… constructive chaos.”

The first spell practice went about as smoothly as anyone could expect. Half of the group still flinched at the word Expelliarmus, and one of the Creevey brothers accidentally disarmed himself and his shoes. But slowly, under Harry’s steady instruction, the energy shifted.

He was patient — more patient than he’d ever thought he could be. Watching the spells spark to life in nervous hands made him feel something he hadn’t felt in weeks: hope.

Kakashi only stepped in once, when Zacharias Smith got too mouthy about “proper dueling form.” The copy-nin appeared beside him in a blur that made the entire class jump.

“Form?” Kakashi said lightly, tilting his head. “Form is important. But so is instinct.”

He flicked his wand once — clean, precise — and murmured, “Expelliarmus.”

Zacharias’ wand flew from his hand and landed neatly in Kakashi’s other. The timing was flawless, the motion effortless.

The students gaped.

“Did he just—”
“That was perfect!”
“Blimey, he moves faster than Moody!”

Kakashi twirled Zacharias’ wand once before tossing it back. “Speed helps,” he said mildly. “But control is everything. Don’t focus on what your opponent’s doing — focus on what you can do next.”

By the end of the night, the DA had managed a few disarming spells, a shield or two, and an entire roomful of laughter after Seamus accidentally launched his own hat into orbit.

Harry grinned, chest aching in the best way.

As the group trickled out, tired and buzzing, Harry lingered behind with Kakashi, who was inspecting one of the mats as if judging its structural integrity.

“You did well,” Kakashi said softly. “Better than most full instructors I’ve seen.”

Harry looked at him, surprised. “You mean that?”

“Mm.” Kakashi gave a slow nod. “You care about your students. That’s something no spell can teach.”

Harry smiled. Then, catching the faint sag in Kakashi’s posture, he frowned. “You should rest. You still don’t look great.”

“I know my limits,” Kakashi replied, eye curving in a half-smile. “Don’t worry too much.”

Harry crossed his arms and huffed, but left Kakashi alone for now.

As they left, the Room quietly sealed itself behind them — a flicker of golden light before fading into solid stone once more.

Outside, the corridors were dim, and the air was thick with the hush of curfew. But for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like Hogwarts was fighting back — not through rebellion or rage, but through learning.

And somewhere down the hall, Kakashi sneezed once behind his mask.

“Told you you’re not invincible,” Harry whispered.

---

They had narrowed it down to two lessons a week — never on the same days, never at predictable hours. Hermione, clever as always, had come up with a plan for communication.

Each member of the group now carried what looked like an ordinary Galleon. But if you looked closely, the edges shimmered faintly, the numbers shifting to reveal the time and date of the next meeting.

Harry had been impressed. Most of the DA thought it was just clever charmwork, but Kakashi had recognized the brilliance in the simplicity.

“They’re efficient,” he’d said the first night Hermione showed him. “Coded information disguised as currency. We used something similar once — chakra tags that changed with encoded signals.”

Hermione had blinked, curious. “So, you used magical currency too?”

“Not quite,” Kakashi replied with a lazy shrug. “But close enough.”

It wasn’t just the coins. Hermione and Kakashi had worked together on a second layer of protection — the sign-in parchment.

Each meeting, every student wrote their name upon the enchanted scroll. The magic woven into it was subtle but absolute.

“If anyone betrays us,” Hermione explained once, her voice steady but fierce, “the parchment will make sure they regret it.”

Kakashi had raised an eyebrow at her tone, clearly amused. “You’ve got a ruthless streak, Miss Granger.”

“I learned from the best,” she’d said, glancing at him and Harry.

And so far, everything had gone smoothly.

No one had talked. No one had been caught.

The Room of Requirement remained their refuge — reshaping itself for every lesson. Sometimes it was lined with dueling mats and training dummies. Other times it resembled a proper classroom, complete with desks and floating candles.

Tonight, the air shimmered with the faint scent of spellfire, the walls humming softly with the protective wards Kakashi had helped strengthen once — just enough to keep them safe from eavesdropping.

Harry stood at the front, wand in hand, facing the eager faces of the DA.

“Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “Tonight we’re practicing counterspells and basic defense — shields first, then disarming.”

He moved through the motions slowly, showing the proper stance and how to flick the wand just right. The first few attempts were messy — spells went wide, some fizzled out, and one ricocheted off a mirror in the corner.

Kakashi, leaning quietly against the wall near the back, didn’t say a word. He watched, half-hidden in shadow, his lone visible eye tracking every movement. Every once in a while, someone would glance his way — maybe expecting him to step in — but he never did.

When Seamus’ shield charm sputtered out completely, Kakashi murmured just loud enough for Harry to hear, “He’s tensing his shoulders too much. His energy’s stuck.”

Harry gave a tiny nod. “Seamus, loosen up a bit. You’re holding too tight — magic needs flow, not force.”

Seamus tried again. This time, his Protego flared to life.

The class cheered.

Kakashi’s eye curved faintly, and he went back to silence.

By the end of the evening, everyone was sweating, laughing, and more confident than when they’d started. Even Neville had managed a clean disarming spell that sent Ron’s wand flying — though Ron swore it didn’t count because he’d been “distracted by the lighting.”

As the group packed up, Harry turned to Kakashi.

“You didn’t say much tonight,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t need to,” Kakashi replied. “You had it under control.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Still. You could’ve—”

Kakashi waved a hand dismissively. “You’re the teacher, Harry. I’m just the extra pair of eyes making sure no one explodes.”

Harry grinned. “So, a safety net, then?”

“Something like that,” Kakashi said, his voice light. “Though, between us, Hermione’s scarier than I am when someone breaks a rule.”

That earned a laugh from Harry — soft, but genuine.

---

However, the natural telltale signs of mischief were never perfect to hide.

Late nights. Whispered conversations that ended too quickly. The faint scent of spellfire clinging to robes. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed.

And someone did.

Dolores Umbridge might have been foolishly confident in her own authority, but she wasn’t blind. Her sugary smile was as polished as ever, yet her eyes had grown sharper.

She knew something was happening.

Unfortunately for her, Hogwarts was a castle of secrets — and even High Inquisitors had limits. She couldn’t punish what she couldn’t prove.

So she watched. And she waited.

Her detentions became longer, her questions more pointed. Students who lingered together after class found themselves cornered under her syrupy voice.

“And where might you be hurrying off to, Miss Brown?”

“Why, Mr. Thomas, you seem ever so busy these days.”

The pink-clad menace prowled the halls with a smile like poison honey.

Harry felt it first — the way the castle seemed to tighten under her gaze. Even Filch seemed to have new purpose, skulking through corridors at odd hours. The laughter that once filled Gryffindor Tower had grown quieter, more careful.

And yet, the DA continued.

The Room of Requirement was steadfast — appearing only when they truly needed it, sealing its entrance from even the most curious eyes. Every member had memorized the rules: never travel together, never speak of meetings in the open, and never use the same path twice.

Still, the unease grew.

One evening, after the latest DA session, Kakashi lingered by the doorway as the students slipped out one by one. His voice was soft when he finally spoke.

“Someone’s tightening the net,” he said quietly.

Harry nodded. “Umbridge.”

Kakashi tilted his head slightly. “She’s looking for pressure points — weak links. Be careful who you trust.”

“I already am,” Harry said. “We’re covered.”

Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed slightly. “Even the best plan breaks when someone gets scared.”

Harry frowned, but didn’t answer.

He knew Kakashi was right.

Because despite their precautions, the whispers had begun.
Small things, harmless-seeming things — words carried by portraits, rumors spread by prefects loyal to the Ministry.

And in her office, Umbridge sat beneath her wall of kitten plates, writing a new decree in looping, pink ink.

A squad of loyal students, trained to uphold her “disciplinary standards.”
Hand-picked, given authority to report and restrain.

The Inquisitorial Squad was born.

---

It was getting harder to keep the secret.

Every corridor seemed to hold a whisper, every shadow a pair of watching eyes. The Slytherin students — now members of the Inquisitorial Squad — had taken to following people openly, smirking as they lingered just close enough to be unnerving.

Malfoy, of course, made a show of it.

“Out for a late stroll, Potter?” he’d sneer, arms crossed, the silver badge on his chest catching the light. “You know, curfew applies to everyone — even the Chosen One.”

Harry had learned to ignore him, but it wasn’t easy. Umbridge had managed what even the Ministry couldn’t — she’d put the entire school under suspicion.

Students spoke in code now, glanced over their shoulders before whispering homework questions. The once-loud common rooms had grown quieter, replaced by a nervous tension that clung to the walls.

But despite the paranoia, the DA held strong.

It helped that Kakashi had given them a few suggestions. He never led, never instructed — but when Harry or Hermione brought him problems, he always had an answer.

One evening, as Harry and Hermione sat near the fireplace, Kakashi leaned back in his chair and said casually,

“You’re being tailed by amateurs. Don’t change your route — change your rhythm.”

Hermione blinked. “Our rhythm?”

Kakashi’s visible eye curved in amusement. “Yes. Predictability makes you easy to track. If they expect you to take the long hallway, cut through the staircase instead. If you always look over your shoulder, stop. Make them second-guess your awareness.”

Harry frowned. “So… confuse them?”

“Exactly,” Kakashi said, his tone as calm as ever. “People get careless when they think they’ve figured you out.”

That advice — along with the memory of Professor Minato’s lessons last year — made all the difference.

The DA started moving in patterns too subtle to trace. They changed their meeting routes, switched partners walking between classes, and even used small misdirection charms Hermione developed after Kakashi mentioned “smoke bombs.”

By the end of the week, Malfoy and his squad were utterly frustrated.

“They have to be meeting somewhere!” Pansy hissed. “They’re too quiet not to be!”

Malfoy glared down the corridor, but no one appeared. The footsteps he thought he heard a moment ago had already vanished.

Hogwarts had become a maze of shifting paths and hidden tricks — a battlefield of whispers and shadows.

And in the midst of it all, Dumbledore’s Army moved unseen, outwitting the watchful eyes of the Inquisitorial Squad with quiet defiance.

---

The Room of Requirement glowed with soft, silver light. Floating candles drifted lazily above the gathered students, their reflections rippling across the mirrored floor.

Harry stood in front of them, nervous but steady. “Alright,” he said, his voice echoing slightly. “We’ve practiced shields, disarming, and dodging. But tonight… we’re trying something more advanced.”

Hermione set down a board with careful handwriting across the top:

Expecto Patronum.

A low murmur rippled through the group.

Harry smiled faintly. “A Patronus isn’t just a charm. It’s a defense — against the worst things in the world. You need to focus on your happiest memory. The kind of happiness nothing can touch.”

He raised his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

Silver light burst forth, shaping itself into a stag that trotted a few steps before dissolving into mist. The DA gasped, enchanted.

“Blimey,” Dean whispered. “That’s brilliant.”

Harry lowered his wand. “It’s not easy. It takes focus and real emotion. You have to mean it.”

Students spread out across the room, trying their first attempts. Some sparks fizzled; others managed faint wisps of silver. Laughter mixed with frustration.

Kakashi stood near the back wall, his wand held loosely in one hand. He hadn’t meant to join — he just didn’t like standing idle.

He watched Harry for a moment, then turned his wand in his hand.
Happy thoughts, he thought dryly. That’s… simple enough.

But it wasn’t.

He tried to think of his father. The warmth in his voice, the soft calm of their home. But the memory twisted too quickly — that night, the silence, the unbearable weight of loss.

He tried again — his teammates. Obito’s grin, Rin’s laughter echoing under the sun. For a fleeting heartbeat, he felt something warm… before it, too, was swallowed by the memory of blood and smoke.

The faint glow at the tip of his wand flickered, then went out.

Kakashi’s shoulders tensed. He sighed quietly and lowered his wand, hiding the frustration that bubbled up.

Harry, moving between students, caught the motion. He paused and walked toward the corner.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re usually better at this kind of stuff.”

Kakashi glanced over. “Usually,” he said. His tone was calm, but there was a tired edge beneath it. “Guess this one’s different.”

Harry hesitated. “It’s not easy for anyone. Took me ages to get it right. Sometimes… happy memories hurt too much to use.”

Kakashi’s visible eye flicked toward him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That sounds about right.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Around them, spells fizzled and laughter broke out as Seamus’ attempt set his sleeve smoldering.

Harry leaned on his wand, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to pick something from the past. I used to try that — but for me, it’s more about what I want to protect now.”

Kakashi blinked. His gaze drifted back to his wand.

What he wanted to protect.

He thought of the people back home — Minato and Kushina, and the family they wanted to build. His friends, Gai, Asuma and Genma. Even here, with Harry, Ron and Hermione. How much they've grown.

He took a slow breath. The ache didn’t vanish, but something steadied beneath it.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Silver light bloomed — not bright, not strong, but steady. More than the pitiful whisps from earlier..

Harry grinned. “That’s it! You did it!”

Kakashi looked at the space where the light had been, then gave a small nod. “Almost.”

“Almost is better than nothing,” Harry said.

Kakashi smiled — barely there, but genuine. “Maybe next time.”

Harry laughed quietly and moved back toward the others, offering guidance and encouragement.

Kakashi leaned against the wall again, eyes following the swirl of silver mist that filled the room.

It wasn’t a perfect Patronus, not yet. But it was something.
A light that hadn’t been there before — faint, flickering, but his.

---

The castle was still.

Night had settled deep over Hogwarts, and even the portraits had gone quiet, their snores echoing faintly through the stone corridors.

In the Gryffindor common room, the fire had burned down to soft embers. Harry was already asleep, his glasses set carefully beside his bed, the faint trace of a smile on his face. The evening’s lesson had gone well — and for once, everyone had felt a little lighter.

Kakashi lay awake in the armchair near the window, the faint moonlight catching the edge of his wand. He watched the dying fire for a while, then quietly rose.

The portrait hole swung open with barely a creak as he slipped through, silent as shadow.

He made his way through the halls, footsteps muffled against the worn stone. The castle was strange at night — alive in ways most never noticed. The air shimmered with old enchantments, portraits whispered in their sleep, and somewhere far above, the wind sighed through the towers.

When he stopped before the blank wall on the seventh floor, the thought came easily.

A place to practice alone.

The door appeared at once.

Inside, the Room of Requirement was dimly lit, the air cool and still. The mats from the DA lesson remained, faint scorch marks where spells had struck. It felt safe here — and honest.

Kakashi stepped into the center and lifted his wand.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Silver light flickered, weak and uncertain, before fading again.

He exhaled, lowering the wand. “Figures.”

He tried again — thinking of his father, of the quiet mornings they’d shared before everything changed. But as always, the image darkened too quickly. The memory turned cold.

He clenched his jaw, frustration tightening his chest.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Another spark — gone just as fast.

He sat back on his heels, breathing hard. The silence pressed in.

Why can’t I hold onto it?

He thought of Obito. His grin, reckless and warm. The way he’d said, You’re my friend — so I’ll protect you no matter what.
The words echoed, and for the first time, Kakashi didn’t push them away.

He didn’t think about the cave, or the loss, or the blood.
He thought about the light in that grin — the hope, the belief that he’d never been alone.

Kakashi stood again. His fingers steadied.

“Expecto Patronum.”

This time, the light flared — strong, silver, alive. It poured from the tip of his wand, swirling into form until a wolf stood before him. Its fur shimmered like moonlight, its eyes bright and steady.

Kakashi froze, breath caught in his throat.

The wolf tilted its head, as if curious, then padded closer, brushing against his side before fading into silver mist.

A soft laugh escaped him — small, quiet, but real.

“A wolf,” he murmured. “How fitting.”

He glanced down at his wand, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mask.

“The White Fang… and now the wolf.”

He shook his head, amused at the irony. “Guess you and I aren’t so different, Potter.”

His father had left behind a legacy — one of strength, loyalty, and love buried beneath tragedy. And now, his Patronus carried it forward.

Just like Harry’s stag — a light born from his father’s memory.

Kakashi looked around the empty room one last time. The silence felt peaceful now, almost warm.

He tucked his wand away and whispered, “Thanks, Dad.”

Then he left, his footsteps quiet, the faint silver glow still fading gently in the air behind him.

---