Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

The back-and-forth exchange between the three came to an abrupt halt. Harry and Ron's mouths fell open simultaneously, their expressions turning ashen as if someone had soaked them with a bucket of icy water from the Black Lake.

"Oh, of course!" Seeing their reactions, Hermione actually became a bit flustered. After all, her words were tantamount to accusing a Hogwarts professor of secretly training an army of young wizards as soldiers to fight in a war.

The seriousness of this matter was dozens of times more concerning than him simply suggesting students could break the law in appropriate times and covert circumstances!

"This is just my nonsensical rambling, pretend you didn't hear it!" Hermione said hurriedly.

Pretending not to have heard was completely impossible. The words were too significant to ignore. Harry's eyes gradually narrowed, the initial chill in his blood now turning to a searing heat that spread through his veins like Fiendfyre. He still hadn't fully grasped all the implications of Hermione's speculative accusation, but his heart was pounding.

"Are you saying, Hermione—" Harry leaned in lowering his voice. "Professor Watson may have realized, like Professor Dumbledore, that Voldemort will inevitably return sooner or later. So...so he wants to train us to fight Voldemort and those Death Eaters!"

"Don't say that name here, Harry!" Hermione shuddered visibly, her shoulders tensing as she glanced nervously around the common room to see if anyone else had heard.

She glared at Harry in annoyance, her eyebrows knitting together. Now, she somewhat regretted telling them this wild speculation that had absolutely no concrete evidence to support it. It was unlike her to share theories without thorough research and validation.

"This can't be possible, right?" Ron gave a forced laugh that sounded hollow and unnatural. From his stiff expression it was clear how anxious he was inside. "Even the Minister of Magic doesn't have the right to make a group of underage wizards fight Death Eaters and You-Know-Who. We...we should be studying at Hogwarts, learning proper spells, brewing potions, not preparing for war. Dealing with dark wizards is the job of the Ministry's Hit-wizard Squad!"

'Hmm—'

Harry shrank back into the cushions of the sofa. It had to be said, Ron's words made a lot of sense and highlighted the absurdity of the idea.

Professor Watson indeed couldn't possibly send them to the battlefield against fully trained Dark wizards. No parent, no official, no sane person would support that idea. First and foremost, Professor Dumbledore would firmly oppose it.

But...Harry leaned back deeper into the sofa, biting his lower lip thoughtfully...why did he feel a strange twinge of disappointment spreading through his chest?

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry—" Looking at Harry's reaction, Ron gasped a few times, his breathing became shallow and quick while his pale face made the freckles across his nose even more obviously visible.

"Think about what we saw at the orphanage during the break. Professor Watson is privately taking care of a group of homeless Muggle children, for Merlin's sake. So, he wouldn't possibly send Hogwarts' young wizards to the battlefield...to fight You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. Oh, I'm telling you, that would be completely suicidal!"

Harry wrinkled his nose without speaking, his fingers were now drumming softly against his knee, but from his expression he seemed more than a bit unconvinced by Ron's reasoning.

He knew Voldemort's minions were a bunch of ruthless and extremely vicious fellows. He definitely wouldn't be a match for them alone. But Ron hadn't witnessed the power of their teamwork. If he had seen what they could accomplish together, he wouldn't belittle them so much.

"Oh, speaking of the orphanage, I almost forgot—" Hermione suddenly cried out, her voice cutting through Harry's contemplation.

Then, under Harry and Ron's confused gazes, she started gathering up the numerous books scattered across the sofa cushions, seemingly intending to leave their fireside discussion.

"Oh—" Ron rolled his eyes dramatically, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Can't you at least make one thing clear before rushing off to the library again? You can't just drop a bombshell about Professor Watson potentially training us for war and then leave!"

"It's like this—" Hermione raised an eyebrow, balancing her towering stack of books.

Her expression softened. "I have some clothes that are still fairly new, I just outgrew them rather quickly over the summer. I'm planning to mail them to that orphanage we visited. I also wrote to my mom and dad about the conditions at that orphanage. Oh, of course, I didn't mention Professor Watson's connection to it—that would violate his privacy and potentially the Statute of Secrecy—just said it was the place a friend from school grew up.

I asked them to pack up the unused clothes at home too and send them the Muggle way, through proper postal channels. Mom and Dad agreed immediately and it seems they're also planning to donate some money to help support the orphanage's operations. Dad was particularly moved by the story I made up."

Harry and Ron looked at each other in surprise, their previous concerns were momentarily forgotten, replaced by a shared admiration for Hermione's thoughtfulness.

"But Professor Watson doesn't allow that sort of interference!" Harry's green eyes flashed with inspiration, thinking Hermione's idea was brilliant. But simultaneously, his expression clouded with doubt, remembering previous discussions. "Sirius and Remus planned to do something similar at the time, but Professor Watson firmly refused their help. He was also quite adamant about it—"

Hermione seemed to have anticipated their question, as she often did. A small, knowing smile spread across her face, revealing a hint of cunning in her expression.

"Oh, Professor Watson refused Sirius and Remus because they were going to donate Galleons to a Muggle orphanage. That's certainly not allowed under wizarding law. But my mom and dad are Muggles too, dentists with perfectly legitimate Muggle money. They're just making a donation through normal Muggle society channels, the proper charities and organizations. That's quite reasonable, isn't it? Nothing suspicious about that at all."

Hermione picked up the stack of books with difficulty that seemed ready to topple at any moment and continued smiling as she said,

"And I'm just donating some old clothes, nothing magical. There's nothing wrong with that either by any standard, magical or Muggle. I'm afraid the school owls can't handle such a big package. Tomorrow is a Hogsmeade visit day, perfect timing really. I can use the Hogsmeade post office, which handles larger parcels. I just received a notice that there are some parcels waiting for me there anyway—"

Until Hermione's trembling figure, nearly buried by the tower of books she carried, disappeared up the stone stairs to the girls' dormitory, Harry and Ron kept staring after her, then looked at each other, identical expressions of realization appearing on their faces.

Whoosh—

The silence lasted for a beat longer, broken only by the crackling of the common room fire. The two boys suddenly leaped off the couch at the same time, nearly knocking over a small table in their swiftness, and charged toward their dormitory in perfect synchronization as if they shared a single thought!

"I really don't understand, how is her brain so good!" Ron said resentfully as they took the stairs two at a time. "I didn't think of it at all!"

"Whew, you should be used to it by now, Ron, she's Hermione—" Harry panted as he climbed the spiral staircase. "Most of my old clothes are Dudley's hand-me-downs, massively oversized and barely wearable. I only have some proper fitting ones here at Hogwarts. But no matter, I can buy some new ones in Hogsmeade tomorrow. I'll buy some candy at Honeydukes while I'm at it, of course I mean the normal ones—"

"I'm afraid I don't have much money to buy candy for those kids, Harry—" Ron sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping slightly as they reached the landing stage.

"But when it comes to old clothes, I have a ton, all left behind by Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George. They're practically a historical record of Weasley fashion through the ages. They're all stored at home in the Burrow though. I'll need to write to Mom immediately.

The only clothes I have in the dorms are the sweaters Mom knitted for me.

Oh, and that dreadful old dress robe with those moldy-looking lace cuffs. I'd be very happy to donate it, if there's a second fool in all of Britain willing to wear it..."

On the first weekend of the term, the howling wind that had been slashing between the black mountains and waters surrounding Hogwarts finally settled down, as if nature itself had finally exhausted its fury.

For the first time in nearly half a month, pale golden sunlight broke through the layered clouds to shine upon the grounds. The light refracted off the soggy, partially melted snow, created a dazzling display that made everything in sight appear somewhat pale and ethereal, like a landscape from a dream.

Although there was no sharp cold wind slicing through clothing, the melting snow released a bone-deep chill that made the air temperature even lower than before.

However, this bad weather did not dampen the enthusiasm of the young wizards eager for their Hogsmeade visit. A long queue had formed at the iron gate with students bundled in scarves and cloaks as they waited impatiently for Filch to verify the list of those qualified to leave the school.

Filch didn't have the nerve to make the two deputy headmasters (according to him), two heads of houses, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor queue up with the students like common visitors. When he saw them approaching, he immediately greeted them fawningly, an unusually flattering smile stretched across his usually sour face as he checked the list with unusual efficiency.

The melting snow had transformed the path to Hogsmeade into a obstacle course, making the road slippery and extraordinarily difficult to cross safely.

By the time Bryan and the others finally entered the outskirts of Hogsmeade village, Professor Flitwick's entire pair of pants was practically soaked through with muddy water. Professor Sprout, who had been kindly supporting him the whole way with her arm, was also panting heavily from the exertion.

"Merlin's beard—" Professor Flitwick exclaimed in frustration, taking out his wand and pointing it at his mud-spattered pants. His high-pitched voice carried a note of indignation as he prepared to cast a cleaning charm. "Does no one manage this road at all? It's absolutely medieval! In all my years at Hogwarts, you'd think someone would have thought to improve the path to the only wizarding village in Britain!"

"This is precisely where we fall short compared to Muggles—" Bryan observed thoughtfully, letting go of Professor Moody's arm.

For Moody, with his condition, walking on such a road while leaning on a cane was even more challenging and potentially dangerous than it was for the already struggling Professor Flitwick.

"A few decades is enough time for Muggles to build a magnificent city on a wasteland—"

Pushing open the door to the Three Broomsticks, Bryan casually said as he politely dismissed the alluring pub owner Madam Rosmerta, who was staring at him eagerly from behind the bar counter.

"But for centuries, no one in wizarding Britain ever thought to improve the basic infrastructure so closely related to wizards' daily lives. Honestly, wizards really need to seek change—"

The Three Broomsticks was already bustling, the warm air inside was filled with the rich aroma of butterbeer and hearty food. There were quite a few young wizards sitting at various tables while their excited chatter filled the cozy space.

Bryan's gaze swept over the crowded room and quickly found Harry, Hermione, and Ron together at a small round table by the window.

As soon as these three noticed his eyes upon them, they immediately hunched their shoulders and lowered their heads with suspicious synchronicity, pretending to study with great fascination an ordinary package on the table between them.

'What trouble did they get into now?'

Bryan raised an eyebrow, suddenly feeling an all-too-familiar bad premonition settling in his gut.

However, he immediately tossed the doubt aside and smiled knowingly to himself, deliberately turning his gaze away to give them their privacy.

Hoping these few 'protagonists' wouldn't stir up trouble was about as realistic as expecting Peeves to behave appropriately during an important ceremony. Even if they didn't cause trouble, trouble would actively find them.

Thinking this, Bryan followed Professor McGonagall's figure into a private room at the back of the pub.

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