“Harry, have you thought any more about the idea of you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts?”
Harry had. And after two weeks of thinking, he’d come to a conclusion Hermione absolutely wasn’t prepared for.
“A club isn’t the right move,” Harry said.
Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We’re in a war, Hermione. You think the Death Eaters have a club? ‘Welcome, everyone! Today we’ll be practising the Killing Curse, and refreshments will be served afterwards.’ No. We need something with weight. Power. Dedication.”
Ron slowly nodded. “What are you suggesting, mate?”
Harry leaned forward.
“We need a cult.”
Hermione stared at him. “A WHAT?”
“A cult,” Harry repeated. “A club is for people who want to practise spells and have biscuits afterwards. A cult is unwavering loyalty. Total commitment. Ride-or-die devotion.”
“Bloody hell,” Ron whispered. “That’s genius.”
Hermione looked between them like she was reconsidering every decision that had brought her to this table.
“YOU CANNOT START A CULT!”
“Why not?” Harry asked innocently.
“Because cults are BAD!”
“So is being at this school sometimes, but here we are,” Harry replied.
Ron leaned forward. “Think about it, Hermione. We’d have followers. People would worship Harry. It’s You-Know-Who’s thing, but with less murder and more educational benefits.”
“Exactly!” Harry said. “Secret meetings, sacred rites, matching robes—”
“A chant!” Ron added.
“THIS IS NOT A GOOD CULT!” Hermione shrieked.
Harry ignored her. “We need an icon. Something that represents freedom, loyalty and the determination to bite the hand of tyranny.”
“Hedwig,” Ron said immediately.
Harry nodded solemnly. “Hedwig.”
“She’s an OWL!”
“She has presence, Hermione. She delivers my messages. She stares into the abyss, and the abyss looks away first.”
“She also shat on Draco’s head once,” Ron added. “That’s a divine act if I’ve ever seen one.”
Hermione pressed her fingers to her temples. “I cannot believe I’m having this conversation.”
“Welcome to the Cult of Hedwig,” Harry announced. “Our followers shall be known as the Chosen Ones.”
“Harry’s the Supreme Owl Lord,” Ron declared.
Hermione let out a long, exhausted groan.
“Fine. I’m in. But I’m in charge of making sure this doesn’t descend into absolute chaos.”
Harry and Ron exchanged victorious looks.
“Welcome aboard, Hermione,” Harry said solemnly.
“You’re our first convert,” Ron added.
Hermione groaned again.
Honestly, she needed better friends.