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The Monday after the trial, Harry gathered with his new betrothed and his friends, and waited for the man who would be giving them some training in combat which Harry was certain he would end up needing sooner, rather than later.
Their group had expanded more than Harry and Fleur had expected. Looking around the room, Harry considered each one of his companions and thought about his relationship with them and their reasons for being there. Hermione and Ron were obvious of course, their friendship forged through four years of almost constant companionship. Though Harry's relationship with Ron had been strained by his friend's actions at the outset of the Triwizard Tournament, he knew Ron would be there when it most counted. Ron was a little flaky at times, but he was loyal. Hermione was not even a question—in one way or another, he had been the center of her world—and he of hers—since they had met on the train. She would never be left out where he was involved.
Fleur was, of course, a given in this endeavor. Not only was she now his intended, but in the few days in which they had had to become better acquainted, he had come to know her as a fierce defender of those who she considered family—clearly, Harry now fit into that group. It was humbling and overwhelming to be considered part of a real family—something he had never had before—but Harry was grateful for her caring and concern.
Likewise, Ginny's motivations were no secret—or at least they were not now that Hermione had explained her actions. What surprised Harry about Ginny was the change that appeared to have come over her since they had met again only two days prior. Upon arriving at the ambassador's manor, Ginny had visibly screwed up her courage and approached him, greeting him with none of the embarrassment and shyness he had expected from her in the past. The annoying squeak was gone, and for that Harry could only be pleased—he hoped to get to know her better, as he suspected she could turn out to be a close friend.
The twins lounged in the corner of the room, speaking quietly with one another, no doubt planning their pranks for the coming year. Not only were they fun to hang out with, but Harry also trusted them—at least he trusted them to have his back when it mattered. In the matter of their pranking, no one was safe from their attentions, but at least Harry knew none of their jokes were meant in a malicious manner. Their presence was also a given, as they had always supported him.
The difficult ones to place were the last two in the room. Neville Longbottom stood speaking with Hermione in quiet tones, his manner as shy and self-effacing as ever, as had been his appearance that morning. Hermione had suggested including him, and with Harry's agreement she made the overture. Harry had been surprised when Neville agreed. While he had not yet had a chance to talk to Neville, he knew the boy considered himself to be a failure—his confidence could only be helped by this undertaking, and Harry figured that was at least part of the reason for his presence.
Finally, his eyes rested upon the final member of their little group—Luna Lovegood. Not knowing her in the slightest, Harry was uncertain as to her presence. He understood that she was a childhood friend of Ginny's—who had invited her to become a member of the little group—but beyond that, his contact with her had been limited to a few words of greeting spoken that very morning. She was sitting by herself, a slight smile on her face while she looked off into the distance at something which only she could see. Hermione told him she was very intelligent, but her ways were somewhat fanciful and odd. Deciding to reserve judgment for himself, Harry had greeted her in a friendly manner, which she had returned with a like sentiment.
Together, Harry was hoping they would make a potent force in the fight against Voldemort. They were all, he suspected—with the exception of Neville, who could not seem to get anything right, and Luna, who he did not know anything about—among the most powerful of their age group, something which would only continue to develop as they matured.
After a few minutes of waiting, the sound of the professor's approach—the characteristic thud-stomp of his gait—was heard through the door, and the man entered, his eye rotating wildly, presumably searching for enemies. He stopped inside the door and regarded the assembled youths with an unreadable expression.
"So you're the recruits I'm to be saddled with," he ground out grumpily.
From behind him, Jean-Sebastian slipped into the room, a wry smile on his face as he watched the showdown between teacher and students. He took a seat in a chair at the back of the room and settled in to watch.
"All right then, let's all get in a line side-to-side, facing me," Moody barked out, turning his back to close the door, clearly expecting his orders to be followed.
A few moments later, the young students were arranged to his liking, he turned back to them with an unreadable expression. The man stumped around the room inspecting his charges for several moments, correcting posture where he found it lacking, admonishing the lack of care of a wand, or an expression lacking the appropriate gravity—the Weasley twins, specifically, were reproved for their irrepressible humor and lightheartedness.
At length he trudged back to the front of the group and once again observed them with a critical eye.
"First, you will all understand that this is no lark," he snapped, peering at each of them in turn. "Anyone who does not treat this with the appropriate level of seriousness will be asked to leave—no exceptions."
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