The Room of Requirement had transformed itself into a gym, but not just any gym. This wasn't the kind of place where you see people in neon spandex jogging on treadmills while admiring themselves in the mirror. No, this gym looked like something straight out of a superhero training montage. Punching bags were lined up against one wall, weights were neatly stacked in another corner, and platforms for sprints and jumps were scattered all over the place. Harry thought it was kind of like being in a Marvel movie, minus the constant explosions and heroic speeches. But as usual, some of his friends weren't quite as excited as he was.
"Alright, listen up," Harry said, his voice carrying a little more authority than he expected. He was still wearing his hoodie, which he thought made him look both serious and cool. But let's be honest, he probably just looked like he was about to go grab a pint with his mates after a long day of heroing. "We're going to stop whining about this, and we're going to start training. Like, for real. Superhero-level training. We're going to be an elite team, and that means we've got to get in shape."
"Why?" Ron groaned from the back of the group. His face was twisted in that familiar "why did I sign up for this?" expression, and he was tugging awkwardly at the hem of his muggle workout shirt, clearly regretting the choice. "I don't think we need to—"
"Do you really want to know how you're going to handle supervillains if you can't even handle running a mile?" Harry interrupted, raising an eyebrow in Ron's direction.
Ron scowled. "But I don't even know what 'cardio' is," he muttered under his breath.
Harry smirked, "Well, Ron, it's when you run for your life and hope you don't trip over your own feet. We've all got to be able to do that, or we're toast."
Hermione, looking uncomfortable in her workout gear (a muggle t-shirt and yoga pants that definitely weren't her usual style), rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "I understand the concept of getting stronger, Harry," she said, her voice sharp but nervous. "But I prefer to think with my brain, not just with my muscles."
"Yeah, we know, Hermione," Harry said, tossing a wink her way. "You've got the brains, I've got the brawn. Together, we make one really smart, really strong team."
Jean, standing next to Harry, gave him a look that could've melted steel. "You know," she said, in that amused voice she used when she knew she was in charge, "for some of you, getting stronger means not tripping over your own feet for five minutes straight. But don't worry, we'll get there."
Jean was clearly born for this moment. With her red hair and that intense energy she radiated, she made training look like something she did for fun. Susan, standing beside her, had already turned into an unofficial drill sergeant. The kind who didn't mind yelling at her friends while simultaneously offering encouraging words when needed.
Neville, looking less than thrilled and more than a little nervous, shuffled to the back of the group. "I thought this was going to be like... stretching and maybe doing some pushups," he said. "I didn't sign up for a full-on workout."
"You are stretching, Neville," Ginny said from the front. She was already moving through a warm-up, clearly more comfortable in her workout clothes than any of the others. "The question is whether you're going to stretch your muscles or your limits."
Cedric, who was already halfway through his own jump rope routine, threw Neville a grin. He looked completely unbothered, his athletic frame moving with practiced precision. "Quidditch training makes you pretty good with agility and reflexes. But, trust me, this kind of training? It's all about everything. Not just speed and strength." He gave a dramatic pause. "It's about the mind too. Can you think under pressure? When everything's moving at 100 miles an hour and your life is on the line? Think you can handle it?"
Cedric was the kind of guy who made even grueling physical challenges look easy. Harry raised an eyebrow in approval. "Exactly. That's what I'm talking about. You might be fast, but you've got to be cool when you're running for your life."
"And you," Harry added, turning to face the group, "you all need to stop complaining. Because if you think this is tough, wait until we're out there facing actual threats."
Fred and George, of course, were already in their usual sarcastic mode. "Alright, mate," Fred said, nudging George. "You know what they say—no pain, no gain."
George grinned. "Yeah, and I'm guessing 'gain' here means I'll finally be able to lift my body weight without needing a sherpa."
Hermione shot them a look. "This is serious, you two," she said, though her lips twitched. "People's lives could be at stake."
"Yeah, yeah," Fred waved her off, still grinning. "We're just building character, right?"
"Right," Harry said, now back to being the serious drill sergeant. "Alright, let's start with some basic agility drills."
There was a collective groan from the group. "Agility?" Tracey asked, narrowing her eyes like she was about to punch something. "I thought we were going to do something easy, like, you know, sitting down."
"Tracey, we don't have time for that," Susan said with a grin that was equal parts challenge and threat. "We need to get you all in shape. You can't just rely on your magic to get by. You need physical strength too."
Tracey's eyes narrowed further. "Okay, fine. But you owe me a really good snack afterward."
Luna, who had been silently stretching in a very... Luna-like fashion, suddenly bounced up and chirped, "I think I'll do my own version of this exercise. It involves wearing an invisible crown and pretending I'm leading a parade."
Everyone stared at her, blinking in confusion. Then, as usual, no one questioned it.
"Whatever works for you, Luna," Harry said, shaking his head but smiling.
"Alright," he said, clapping his hands. "Let's get started with some footwork drills. No one gets to sit out. Move!"
And despite the whining, the grumbling, and the occasional snide remark, everyone slowly began to get into the rhythm. Harry couldn't help but grin. They were a mess, but they were his mess. A bunch of awkward, superpowered wizards, mutants, and athletes who were somehow going to save the world one drill at a time.
And that was just the beginning.
—
The first sign that things were about to go terribly, horribly wrong was Ron's groan of existential dread.
"You know," he panted, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment, "I've faced giant spiders, a large chess set, and my mum's temper. But somehow, this—" he gestured vaguely at the Room of Requirement, nearly smacking Neville in the face in the process "—is worse."
"Ron, we haven't even started yet," Hermione pointed out, pulling her hair into a ponytail with the air of someone who actually enjoyed this kind of suffering.
"I'm mentally preparing!" Ron shot back. He turned to Harry, eyes pleading. "That's part of the process, isn't it, coach?"
Harry, who was already doing knee lifts like he was born for this (because, let's be honest, he kind of was), gave Ron a flat look. "Yeah, sure. And I'm mentally winning the Quidditch World Cup."
"Confidence is key, mate," Fred chimed in, stretching dramatically.
"Which is why we're confident that we're going to die," George added.
Jean, meanwhile, was stretching like a professional athlete—because, let's face it, she basically was one. Red hair tied up in a high ponytail, arms flexing like she was about to lead an Avengers mission instead of a warm-up, she clapped her hands together. "Alright, listen up, losers!"
"Rude," Daphne muttered.
"First," Jean continued, ignoring her, "we warm up. Then, we do sprints. Then, we hit resistance training. And finally, we finish with a fun little challenge!"
Fred leaned toward George. "You think she means fun-fun or 'you're-about-to-die' fun?"
"Judging by the way Susan is smiling," George murmured, eyeing the redhead who looked way too pleased about whatever was coming next, "I'm gonna guess the second one."
Susan, catching the conversation, smirked and cracked her knuckles. "Come on, you lot, let's move! You're training to be superheroes, not couch potatoes!"
Daphne, standing off to the side like a princess who had been dragged into this nonsense, crossed her arms. "I was under the impression we were training to survive, not to sweat like farm animals."
"Same thing, really," Harry said. "Now, let's get to it! Start with a light jog around the room!"
The Room of Requirement shifted, rearranging itself until a full-sized indoor track appeared. The group had mixed reactions: Cedric and Ginny immediately took off like they'd been training for this their whole lives, Luna started skipping instead of jogging, and Percy—dressed in a full tracksuit like he was about to run a ministry-sponsored marathon—took off with the energy of a man desperate to prove his efficiency.
Meanwhile, Ron, Neville, and Tracey trailed at the back, trudging along at a pace that could generously be described as "aggressively unimpressed."
"This is madness," Neville gasped, already slowing down. "I'd rather face a boggart."
"Same," Tracey muttered. "At least a boggart lets you fight back. This just feels like slow, painful death."
Hannah, running beside Neville with a disturbingly cheerful bounce, patted his back. "Come on, you can do this! Just think of it like running away from Professor Snape after you've spilled something on his robes!"
Neville's eyes widened in sheer terror at the memory. "That actually helps."
Jean floated effortlessly beside them—because, of course, she wasn't actually running. "You guys are thinking about this all wrong. Don't think of it as pain. Think of it as... building character."
Ron gave her a look that said he'd rather build literally anything else. "Jean, no offense, but you're telekinetic. You could be sitting in a chair right now and still beat us all."
Jean grinned. "True. But where's the fun in that?"
George, who was now barely jogging, turned to Fred. "You ever notice how Jean enjoys our suffering just a little too much?"
"Almost like she was born for it," Fred mused.
Up ahead, Cedric—glowing, handsome, and somehow barely sweating—was already lapping everyone. "Come on, guys! This is great training! Feel the burn!"
Daphne scowled. "I'm feeling something, all right. And I don't like it."
"Embrace it!" Cedric called back.
"I'd rather embrace a Dementor."
"Wow, you Slytherins are really bad at pep talks," Susan remarked, jogging backward just to show off.
Percy, running with perfect posture, huffed. "This is about discipline! We must all learn to—"
And that was when Luna, still skipping, suddenly jumped onto his back.
"Faster, steed!" she declared, like this was a totally normal thing to do.
Percy made a strangled noise, flailed wildly, and nearly tripped into Fred. "Lovegood, get off me this instant!"
"But we're supposed to build teamwork, aren't we?" Luna asked dreamily, making absolutely no move to dismount.
Fred and George lost it. Fred actually had to stop running because he was laughing too hard. "Luna wins training! We can all go home now!"
Jean, still floating effortlessly, gave them all a smug look. "Oh no, we're just getting started. That was the warm-up."
Ron made a noise like a dying cat. "I hate everything about this."
Susan smirked. "Good. That means it's working."
And with that, the real workout began.
—
If Ron had thought the warm-up was bad, the resistance training was straight-up medieval torture. The kind of thing that would've made a medieval executioner take notes.
Jean stood at the front of the Room of Requirement, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. The way her red hair caught the light, she looked like some kind of fitness cult leader about to convert them all to the church of pain.
"All right, team!" she announced, clapping her hands together. "Now that we're nice and warmed up—"
"Speak for yourself," Ron wheezed, flopped on the floor like a dying fish.
"—it's time for some strength training!" Jean continued, ignoring him. "You're all training to be superheroes, which means you need to be able to lift, push, and pull your own weight—and then some."
Neville groaned. "I can barely lift my own expectations."
"Good thing I didn't ask you to lift those," Jean said cheerfully. "All right, listen up! We'll start with push-ups, then move to squats, then finish with—"
"Let me guess," Fred interrupted. "Something fun?"
"You know me so well," Jean said, beaming. "Now, everyone on the ground! Push-ups first!"
Daphne eyed the floor like it had personally insulted her. "There has to be another way."
"Nope! Down you go!"
Jean, of course, wasn't actually doing push-ups. No, she was floating in a perfect plank position above the ground, arms folded, watching them suffer with the smugness of someone who could do push-ups but preferred to defy gravity instead.
"You could at least pretend to struggle," Ron grumbled as he lowered himself into position.
"But then I'd be lying," Jean said sweetly.
"You're lying right now," Tracey muttered. "Just… in the air."
Meanwhile, Susan had already dropped into perfect push-up form, knocking them out like she did this for fun. Probably because she did do this for fun. "Come on, people! Let's get moving!" she called, grinning like a drill sergeant who really enjoyed her job.
Fred and George exchanged a look before dramatically collapsing onto the floor.
"We're dead," George announced. "Tell our mum we died bravely."
"Tell her we died hilariously," Fred corrected.
"I'll tell her you died dramatically," Ginny deadpanned, effortlessly keeping pace with Cedric, who, because of course he was, had moved on to one-armed push-ups like some kind of Greek statue brought to life.
"You're all doing amazing!" Cedric said encouragingly, not even winded. His golden-boy energy was almost as exhausting as the workout. "Feel the burn!"
"I feel like I'm burning," Neville muttered.
"You are!" Susan grinned. "That means it's working!"
Hermione, to absolutely no one's surprise, was doing each push-up with military precision, though she still had enough energy to complain.
"You know, technically, we should have stretched again before switching to resistance training—"
"Hermione," Ron gasped, struggling through another rep, "I swear on Merlin's beard, if you try to cite a fitness study right now, I will find a way to haunt you in the afterlife."
"You're assuming you'll make it to the afterlife," Daphne muttered.
Luna, meanwhile, was lying flat on the ground, chin propped up on her hands. "Push-ups are a bit overrated, don't you think? You're just pushing the world away, but it always comes back."
Percy, already red-faced and sweating through his tracksuit, paused mid-push-up, looking vaguely disturbed. "That's… alarmingly profound, actually."
"Thanks!" Luna said brightly, before casually flipping into a handstand. "I prefer balance exercises anyway."
Percy groaned and pushed himself back up. "This is why we need structured fitness guidelines!"
"Percy," Jean called, "if you keep talking, I'm gonna make you do burpees."
Percy paled. "I'll be quiet."
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jean clapped her hands. "All right! Next up—squats!"
Ron whimpered. "Why does everything hurt?"
"Because that's how muscles work," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"Well, that's stupid," Ron muttered.
Jean didn't give them time to complain. "Feet shoulder-width apart! Back straight! Knees bent! And down!"
The squad descended into their first squat. Then another. And another.
By rep twenty, Tracey looked like she was about to quit life entirely. "This is cruel and unusual punishment."
Susan, grinning, clapped her hands together. "Feels great, doesn't it?"
"No, it does not," Daphne snapped. "If I wanted to feel like my legs were on fire, I'd have annoyed a dragon."
Cedric, still looking like this was a light warm-up, called out, "Mind over matter, everyone! Keep pushing!"
"Mind over matter doesn't work if your mind is also suffering!" Ron whined.
Finally, after what felt like a thousand years (but was probably only five minutes), Jean clapped her hands. "All right, shake it out! Time for our final challenge!"
Neville, barely standing, wheezed, "I don't like the way you said that."
"You shouldn't!" Jean said cheerfully. "Because now, we partner up!"
"Wait, what?" Fred blinked. "What kind of partner workout?"
Jean's grin turned almost evil. "Wall sits. While passing medicine balls."
The collective groan could probably be heard in Hogsmeade.
Percy, however, lit up. "Finally! A test of teamwork and endurance! This is exactly the kind of structured—"
"Percy, shut up," half the group chorused.
The Room of Requirement shifted again, forming a long stone wall for them to sit against. Jean held up a heavy-looking medicine ball. "Partner up, sit against the wall, and when I say go, start passing the ball between you. Drop it? You restart the time."
Ron looked at the medicine ball like it was a death sentence. "I hate this."
"Good!" Jean chirped. "That means it's working!"
And so, with shaking legs, burning arms, and a profound sense of regret, the group slid into position.
"Three… two… one… GO!"
It was chaos.
The moment the first ball was passed, Tracey nearly dropped hers on Neville's foot, Luna somehow managed to balance hers on her head, and Ron—predictably—yelped as he fumbled the pass from Hermione.
"RON!" Hermione snapped. "Catch it properly!"
"My arms are jelly!" Ron protested. "I am literally made of regret!"
Meanwhile, Susan and Daphne were in a fierce competition to see who could last longer, neither willing to blink first.
"You giving up yet?" Susan asked smugly.
Daphne, gritting her teeth, shot back, "Over my dead body."
"That can be arranged," Susan replied sweetly.
Percy and Ginny, being siblings, were engaged in a silent war over who could throw the ball harder.
Fred and George, naturally, were messing with each other.
"Think fast!" Fred said, tossing the ball without warning.
George, not even looking, caught it one-handed. "You'll have to try harder than that, dear brother."
And then there was Cedric, effortlessly passing the ball between both hands, alternating partners just to show off.
Finally, after what felt like another eternity, Jean clapped her hands. "And… time! You survived!"
"Define survived," Neville wheezed.
Jean, still hovering, beamed. "You'll thank me when you're superheroes!"
Ron flopped onto the floor. "I don't want to be a superhero anymore. I want a nap."
Jean grinned. "Too bad! Because next up—combat drills!"
Ron's groan could probably be heard in another country.
—
If Ron had thought cardio was hell and resistance training was some medieval torture method devised by sadists, then combat drills were the moment he realized he'd been blissfully naïve. Because this—this was worse. This was suffering refined to an art form.
Jean stood at the front like a deranged drill sergeant, her grin so wide it was borderline sinister. She looked like she was thriving. Which made sense, considering she was the one inflicting the pain.
"All right, team! Time to put those muscles to use!"
Neville, still feeling betrayed by his own legs after the last workout, groaned. "Joke's on you. I don't have muscles anymore. Just pain and regret."
Jean ignored him. "Pair up! One of you attacks, the other defends! Footwork, blocking, reacting under pressure—oh, and try not to die, but, y'know, if you do, that's a learning experience too!"
Fred nudged George, smirking. "Bet you a Galleon I can dodge everything you throw at me."
George raised an eyebrow. "Double or nothing, I make you eat dirt in the first five seconds."
Jean's eyes gleamed. "Oh, I love that confidence."
Ron groaned. "Why does she sound excited?"
Meanwhile, off to the side, Harry was casually lifting what had to be at least all of their body weights combined on a bench press, looking as relaxed as if he were flipping through a magazine.
Neville blinked. "Is he—?"
"Yes," Daphne deadpanned.
"But—?"
"Don't think about it," Tracey advised, looking vaguely disturbed.
Cedric turned and caught sight of Harry mid-rep. The golden-boy energy that usually surrounded him like an aura of wholesome athleticism cracked. His polite Hufflepuff brain visibly short-circuited. "What is he—?"
"Training," Jean said as if it were obvious.
"But—he's—?"
"Training harder than you," Jean finished sweetly.
Harry set the weight down with a boom that rattled the floor. He sat up, rolling his shoulders, and, just for fun, picked up a smaller weight—except it wasn't small. It was human-sized. And he started doing bicep curls.
Cedric looked personally attacked. "That's not a smaller weight. That's a human weight."
Fred, mid-swing in his fight with George, slowly lowered his fists. "That's… deeply unfair."
Ron, who was still half-dead from the last workout, wheezed, "What is he even made of?"
"Justice," Ginny muttered.
Susan squinted suspiciously at Jean. "You told him to do that, didn't you?"
Jean grinned. "Maybe. Gotta give you all something to aspire to."
"I aspire to not die," Neville muttered.
Jean clapped her hands. "Enough stalling! Time to spar!"
Chaos. Absolute, unfiltered chaos.
Fred and George fought like they were choreographing an overdramatic duel for a play.
"Have at thee, knave!" Fred declared, throwing a punch.
George dodged with a flourish. "You'll have to try harder, brother!"
Hermione, standing off to the side with her arms crossed, muttered, "Are they dueling or acting?"
Daphne and Tracey, meanwhile, fought like they had unresolved grievances. Which, honestly, they did.
"You stole my Potions notes!" Daphne snapped, dodging a jab.
"You took my last Chocolate Frog!" Tracey shot back, ducking under a kick.
"That's not the same!"
"It is!"
Neville, to his credit, was holding his own against Susan—until she feinted left, flipped him over her shoulder, and sent him sprawling onto the mat.
Susan winced. "Oh—sorry, Nev!"
Neville groaned. "I am one with the floor now."
Ginny and Percy were, predictably, having a sibling battle to the death.
"Stop fighting like a prefect!" Ginny complained, dodging a stiff jab.
"And you stop fighting like a feral goblin!" Percy snapped.
"You say that like it's an insult!"
Ron, meanwhile, had been forced to spar with Cedric—because Jean had a twisted sense of humor.
"Come on, Ron! You've got this!" Cedric encouraged.
"DO I?" Ron yelped, tripping over his own feet.
Cedric sighed. "Okay, let's start with the basics—"
"Let's start with me not dying!"
Jean smirked. "All right, let's pause for a second."
There was a collective groan of relief.
And then, because the universe had a sense of humor, Harry wandered over. Still looking completely untouched by the agony the rest of them had been through.
"You guys look like you're having fun," he said, grinning.
"Define fun," Ron muttered.
Harry cracked his knuckles. "Mind if I join?"
Silence.
Then Fred, very quietly, "Not it."
"Not it," George echoed immediately.
"Absolutely not it," Ron said, waving his hands frantically.
Jean smirked. "I think you should spar with Cedric."
Cedric blinked. "Wait—what?"
Harry grinned. "Oh, I love that idea."
"WAIT—NO—"
Cedric took one look at the literal superhuman standing in front of him, turned on his heel, and bolted.
"I VALUE MY LIFE!" he shouted over his shoulder.
Fred and George immediately burst into applause.
"Smartest decision he's ever made," George declared.
Jean groaned. "Come on, Cedric! Where's your Gryffindor bravery?"
"I'm a Hufflepuff! Bravery is for people who want to live in pain!"
Harry just laughed. "Fine, fine, I won't chase you. For now."
Cedric peeked out from behind a stack of training dummies. "Swear on Merlin's beard?"
Harry smirked. "Swear on Dumbledore's beard."
Cedric squinted. "Hmm. Good enough."
Jean clapped her hands again. "All right, everyone! Take five!"
Ron collapsed. "Oh, thank Merlin."
Daphne, sprawled dramatically on the floor, huffed. "I hate everything."
Neville, still lying flat on his back, simply muttered, "Same."
Ginny, grinning, elbowed Percy. "Admit it, this was kind of fun."
Percy, panting, glared at her. "No."
And off to the side, Harry picked up the insanely heavy weight again, smiling like he hadn't just watched everyone suffer.
"Not bad, guys," he said casually, as if they hadn't all just died inside. "Keep this up, and you might actually survive superhero training."
Ron groaned. "I don't want to survive it. I want it to stop."
Jean just smirked. "Oh, don't worry, Ron. Tomorrow's workout will be even harder."
Ron whimpered. "Why?"
"Because pain," Jean said cheerfully.
Ron closed his eyes. "I regret everything."
—
Meanwhile, Off to the Side…
Luna Lovegood was… well, doing something.
At first, nobody noticed. They were all too busy dodging Jean's gleefully sadistic coaching methods, blocking Susan's surprisingly effective "I promise I won't hit you" feints, or, in Ron's case, flailing wildly in what he swore was an advanced dueling technique but looked suspiciously like trying not to die.
But then, somewhere between Fred and George dramatically dueling each other with all the grace of hyperactive peacocks and Cedric's ongoing existential crisis about Harry's apparent super-strength, someone finally noticed what was happening on the far side of the training area.
Hannah Abbott, red-faced and looking like she was seriously reconsidering her life choices, stood in front of Luna. Unlike everyone else—who were bruised, panting, and questioning their survival chances—Luna looked annoyingly serene. Like she was about to start a ballet recital instead of a combat drill.
"What… is she doing?" Daphne asked, pausing mid-block as Tracey tried (and failed) to elbow her in the ribs.
Tracey, seeing what had caught Daphne's attention, completely abandoned the fight. "It kind of looks like… ballet?"
"I think it's a form of dodging," Hermione said, tilting her head. "At least, that's what it should be."
Luna, instead of blocking or countering Hannah's attacks, was twirling. Light on her feet, she stepped in graceful, fluid motions, as if she were dancing to music only she could hear. Then—without warning—she leaned backward, limbo-style, letting Hannah's punch whiff harmlessly over her face.
Hannah groaned. "Luna, hit me!"
"I am hitting you," Luna said, voice dreamy.
Hannah planted her hands on her hips. "No. No, you're not."
Luna smiled. "I'm attacking your aura."
Hannah inhaled sharply, counted to five, and then exhaled through gritted teeth. "Luna. That is not how this works."
"Violence isn't always physical, Hannah," Luna continued, twirling again, looking as blissful as someone who had never been forced into one of Jean's workouts. "It's also an energy. A presence."
Neville, still lying on the mat where Susan had betrayed him earlier, let out a weak chuckle. "That… actually kind of makes sense."
"It really doesn't," Ron muttered.
Luna, undeterred by logic, spun again. "Right now, you expect me to hit you, so your aura is tense. You're absorbing violent energy. But if I just…" She sidestepped gracefully as Hannah lunged at her, letting the Hufflepuff stumble forward with an indignant yelp. "…redirect it—"
Hannah barely caught herself before falling flat on her face.
"—you end up defeating yourself." Luna beamed as if she had just unlocked the meaning of the universe.
Hannah groaned, rubbing her face. "Jean, please let me get a new partner."
Jean—who had been watching the entire exchange with the biggest, most chaotic grin—shook her head. "Nope. This is fantastic."
Ginny, standing nearby, frowned. "Are we sure she's not just doing some weird dance?"
Fred, looking intrigued, said, "No."
"But I am sure," George added, equally serious, "that if we let her keep going, she's going to accidentally invent a new martial art."
"She'll call it Moon-Fu," Fred said solemnly.
Harry, watching with growing amusement, finally spoke up. "Actually… it's not as ridiculous as it looks. She's moving with the attack instead of resisting it. That's an actual technique."
Cedric, who had been lurking behind a training dummy like a man questioning his entire life, narrowed his eyes. "So… you're saying this actually works?"
"Well…" Harry hesitated, then shrugged. "Not if Hannah just grabs her and throws her."
"Hey!" Hannah snapped. "I could do that!"
Luna gave her a serene look. "But would you?"
Hannah hesitated.
Luna smiled like she had already won.
Jean clapped her hands together, looking way too entertained. "Oh, I love this."
Ron groaned. "Of course you do."
Luna did one last, slow spin before settling into a relaxed stance. "Combat should be beautiful, don't you think?"
Silence.
Percy—who had been too busy arguing with Ginny about proper dueling form to contribute until now—rubbed his temples. "I give up. Nothing in this training makes sense anymore."
"Welcome to our lives," Neville muttered from the floor.
Jean, still grinning, clapped her hands again. "Alright, enough distractions! Back to sparring!"
Hannah sighed in defeat. "Fine. But if Luna starts talking about auras again, I'm putting her in a headlock."
Luna just smiled, looking completely unbothered. Like she had already won the match without ever throwing a punch.
—
The workout was over. Finally.
The group collapsed into a sweaty, bruised mess on the floor. Some were trying to catch their breath, others just lay there, questioning their life choices. Ron Weasley, who looked like he'd been mauled by a herd of Hippogriffs, was already stretching in preparation for an epic nap. Fred and George, ever the optimists, were whispering furiously to each other about potential pranks they could pull using their newfound "combat skills" (Harry had no doubt it would involve some combination of enchanted itching powder and a lot of fireworks). But mostly, everyone just shared one thought:
What the hell just happened?
Jean stood there, arms crossed, surveying her work like a proud general—except she wasn't wearing a uniform, just the kind of training gear that made her look a little too much like she was planning on personally breaking every last one of them. If anyone could turn a "training" session into a boot camp from hell, it was Jean.
"Alright, you lot," she barked, cracking her knuckles ominously. It was the kind of sound that made even the bravest of them cringe. "Get up. We've got some important announcements."
The group groaned collectively but struggled to their feet, all trying to look like they weren't about to collapse again. It was a solid effort, but let's be real: no one was convincing.
"Good work today," Jean said with a smile that was almost too nice to be genuine. "Some of you didn't die, and that's a win in my book." She shot a pointed look at Ron, who had already gone limp, practically melting into the floor. "Yes, you, Weasley. You're not getting off that easy."
Ron raised a hand weakly, like he was trying to ward off an incoming curse. "Can't… move," he muttered. "Too... dead."
"Yep, sounds like you're right on track for next week," Jean said cheerfully, unbothered by his complaints.
Fred and George, standing shoulder to shoulder like a pair of wizards who had just been told they could create mischief legally, were grinning widely. "Next week, huh?" Fred said with that mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Let's just hope we get to use some of these skills for something more fun."
"Like prank warfare?" George added, nudging his brother.
Jean didn't even flinch. "Sure, why not? You'll get to use everything you've learned in a few battle simulations I'm setting up. You think you've had it bad so far? Oh, honey, next week's going to be a treat."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, like a bunch of deer who'd just been told a pack of wolves was arriving for lunch.
Susan Bones, standing beside Jean, looked far too calm for someone about to give out such terrifying news. Her expression was the exact opposite of Jean's manic energy, which only made it worse. Susan was cool, calculating, and very, very serious.
"Battle simulations," she said, her voice like the calm before a storm. "That means you'll be fighting against real situations. Not just me yelling at you or Jean throwing random spells at you for fun. Nope. You'll be facing everything from ambushes to rescue missions, and you'll have to work in teams. You'll make decisions on the fly… or you'll die."
A heavy silence followed. The words "or you'll die" hung in the air like a curse, which, to be honest, it probably was.
"Wait, wait, real combat?" Neville said, raising his hand like he was still in class. His voice was trembling just enough to give away the fact that he might have been having a mild panic attack. "Like… we're actually going to fight?"
"Yep," Jean confirmed with an eerie grin. "Except, of course, it'll be realistic combat. If you get injured, we'll just slap some bandages on you, give you a snack, and call it a day. But if you get killed, well… let's just say we don't have the budget for resurrections."
"Oh, I'm sure that's comforting," Daphne Greengrass said dryly, her eyebrows raised. She was the type of person who'd probably survive the apocalypse, but you could tell she wasn't thrilled about the whole "simulation" thing.
"What are we going to be fighting?" Ginny Weasley asked, rubbing her sore shoulder like she was going to cry if someone didn't give her a detailed list of acceptable threats.
"Anything," Jean said, grinning widely. "Ambushes, wild creatures, Death Eaters, giant snakes, dragons, angry house-elves—really, whatever I can think of. You'll get thrown into different scenarios, and you'll have to survive. Who knows what I'll throw at you?"
"Are we sure this isn't some sort of glorified torture?" Hermione Granger asked skeptically, brushing off some dirt from her sleeve as if that would make the whole thing less terrifying. "I mean, we're still in school! Isn't there some sort of line about not being allowed to get killed here?"
"Definitely a grey area," Jean said with a wink, crossing her arms. "But look, if you can't handle pretend combat, then good luck when the real deal comes around. You think the Death Eaters are going to go easy on you? Newsflash: they won't."
"Oh, brilliant," Ron muttered, his voice hoarse from all the yelling. "So we're basically signing up for death-by-simulation. And no one's going to make it out alive, right? That's the gist of it?"
"Not if you survive," Susan said, completely straight-faced. "Just don't die, and you'll be fine. Easy, right?"
"Yeah," Harry added, trying to sound casual, but inwardly wondering if this was the kind of thing they'd be testing on him before he became a pro hero. "Piece of cake."
"Alright," Jean said, clapping her hands. "Get cleaned up, everybody. We've got a lot of work to do next week. If you survive the first few rounds of real combat, you might just walk out of here with a few new tricks. Or, you know, in one piece. But no promises."
"Sure, we'll just casually dodge Death Eaters, giant snakes, and whatever else you throw at us. Easy," Ginny said, raising an eyebrow and folding her arms in skepticism.
"You got it!" Jean said, beaming. "You're gonna love it. Trust me."
"Yeah, sure," Percy Weasley muttered, clearly unconvinced. "Can't wait to be the living example of 'don't try this at home.'"
"Don't die," Jean added, with a wink that was almost too sinister to be friendly. "Next week, people. Get ready to survive."
And with that, the group slumped off to the showers, all of them feeling distinctly less heroic than they'd hoped, but also oddly excited to see just what kind of chaos Jean had in store for them. One thing was for sure: surviving this was going to be the real test.
---
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