1. Chapter 1 by Ashwinder
2. Chapter 2 by Ashwinder
3. Chapter 3 by Ashwinder
4. Chapter 4 by Ashwinder
5. Chapter 5 by Ashwinder
Ginny couldn’t remember a time that she didn’t want to attend Hogwarts. Ever since she was old enough to be aware of such things, she’d wanted to follow in her older brothers’ footsteps. Stepping onto Platform 9 ¾ to embark on her sixth year of wizarding education, she realised that this year, for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to go. The scarlet engine stood in its usual spot, puffing steam, but the white clouds it sent forth felt more to Ginny like a Dementor’s fog.
Looking about her, she got the feeling she wasn’t the only person who felt this way. The usual chatter of friends greeting each other after the summer holiday was much subdued. In fact, the number of friends themselves seemed greatly reduced. There appeared to be twice the normal amount of adults on the platform accompanying half the usual number of students.
Ginny had wondered why both her parents, along with Bill, Charlie and the twins had insisted on seeing her off, but it looked like most of the other families had had the same idea. Sombre-faced parents were kissing their sons and daughters goodbye, hugging them just a moment too long, as if this were the last time they expected to see their children. And not all of the adults were parents, either. There were a number of strangers wearing official-looking robes stationed about the place at regular intervals.
“Where is everyone?” she wondered aloud.
Her mother remained tight-lipped as she pulled Ginny into a hug. “Have a good year, dear” was all she could say.
As Ginny’s father kissed her on the cheek, she saw her mother’s glance dart around the platform. She was looking for Harry, Ron and Hermione, Ginny realised. In spite of herself, she looked, as well, but there was no shock of messy black hair in sight.
“There’s still a chance,” Ginny told herself, but she didn’t really believe it.
“You stay out of trouble,” Fred was telling her solemnly.
Ginny’s mouth quirked. “You’re one to talk.”
“But this time we mean it,” George put in, and there was no hint of sarcasm in his tone.
Ginny was about to ask them what they were on about “ they had to know something “ when her mother broke in. “Best get on the train now. You don’t want to be left behind.”
But she did. What good was school when Voldemort had taken over the Ministry of Magic? She wanted to fight. That was what Harry was off doing, she was sure of it. He wasn’t going to waste any more time going to school. He was going to do something; he was going to act. Ginny wished fervently that she could do the same, and she cursed the fate that dictated she be born a year too late.
She climbed aboard the train, and chose the first vacant compartment she came to. She didn’t feel like asking people empty questions about how their summer had been. Theirs had probably been just as bad as hers. Getting out from under her mother’s watchful eye was the only positive aspect Ginny could see in returning to school. In the month since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, she’d been practically confined to the house. Her mother had barely let her out of her sight, as if she’d been afraid that Ginny would simply disappear the way Harry, Ron and Hermione had. The idea had been tempting enough when Remus Lupin had informed her family that Harry, Ron and Hermione had found a hiding place at the Order of the Phoenix’s old headquarters. Ginny knew where it was; she’d been in on the secret, after all. If only she could Apparate…. No amount of begging Fred and George to teach her how had produced any results.
She knew there was something Harry had to do. She’d understood that about him long before he’d ever kissed her in front of the entire Gryffindor common room. But there had been no chance for them to say so much as a goodbye to each other. She’d been hoping for that much, at least. If she were honest with herself, she’d been hoping for more than that. She’d been hoping they could come to an understanding that, once all this Voldemort business was over with, they could be together again. She wanted him to know she was willing to wait….
“You mind if I sit here?”
Ginny looked up to see Neville standing in the door to her compartment. He looked older, somehow; he stood taller with his shoulders more squared. From his expression, she could tell that he wasn’t planning on bothering with small talk.
“Not at all,” she replied.
Neville took the seat facing her. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen….” He broke off, looking uncomfortable.
“Harry?” Ginny supplied. “No. To be honest, I don’t think he’s coming back to school this year. Not when the Ministry’s put a price on his head.”
“I know, but somehow I thought…. I guess I thought he’d find a way around that. What are Ron and Hermione doing then?”
“They’re off with Harry… wherever he is. We’re telling everyone Ron can’t come back to school because he’s come down with spattergroit. Hermione’s hoping it’ll just look like she’s gone into hiding with her parents, since she can’t come back to school anyway.”
Neville looked disappointed. “I was hoping…. Well, I was hoping he’d come back and reform the DA.”
Ginny tamped down the first hopeful feeling she’d had for a month. “The DA? What for? What could we possibly do while we’re all shut up at school and most of us underage?”
“You haven’t heard the news then? It was in today’s Daily Prophet ““
Neville broke off abruptly as the door to their compartment opened again, and Luna drifted in. Her blonde hair was covered with a colourful head scarf and she was sporting her radish earrings. “The Daily Prophet? Why would anyone want to read what they have to say? They don’t even think there’s anything to the Rotfang conspiracy.”
Ginny didn’t feel very well disposed towards the Prophet herself. Her mother wouldn’t allow it in the house since they’d run Harry’s picture on the front page beneath a headline proclaiming that he was wanted for questioning about the death of Albus Dumbledore.
“Maybe not,” said Neville darkly as Luna sat beside Ginny, “but they do think there’s something to this.”
He pulled a copy of that morning’s Daily Prophet out of his jacket. Ginny’s eyes widened with horror at the picture of their former Potions master staring from behind his curtain of greasy black hair.
“How can they print stories about this and ignore the Rotfang conspiracy?” Luna wondered aloud.
It was on the tip of Ginny’s tongue to point out that the story about Snape was most likely true, but she preferred not to offend Luna. Instead she snatched up the paper and read the accompanying article.
“Our finest wizarding traditions and values,” Ginny snorted. “Oh, that’s a good one! You’re right, Neville. As soon as we get to school, we need to start recruiting.
“Oh yes, wouldn’t that be lovely!” exclaimed Luna.
Neville looked as if he was going to say something more, but at that moment the door to their compartment opened again. It was Draco Malfoy, looking self-important, his Head Boy’s badge shining obscenely on his chest. With him was a man whom Ginny had never seen before, but he was tall, bearded and powerfully built, with a distinctly official air about him. He dropped a few pink leaflets on the empty seat beside Neville.
“Albert Runcorn, Muggle-born Registration Commission,” he announced curtly. “I’m here to check on your blood status. Names?”
Ginny wasn’t inclined to cooperate, and neither, it seemed, were Neville and Luna, as they all maintained a stony silence, in spite of Runcorn’s menacing appearance.
“Don’t be stupid about this now,” warned Runcorn. “If you’re not willing to cooperate, I can take you all off this train and into the Ministry for questioning. I’m sure Undersecretary Umbridge would be delighted to see you all.”
Malfoy smirked. “I can tell you their names if they don’t want to talk. That one,” he said indicating Neville, “is Dean Thomas. No wizarding blood to speak of ““
All three of them were on their feet, their wands pointing at Malfoy. Runcorn intervened before anything could happen, casting a Shield Charm between Malfoy and his attackers.
“Now, there’s no call for any of that,” he growled. “I suggest you all cooperate now, or else I’ll have no choice but to bring you all into the Ministry for questioning.”
Ginny, Neville and Luna had no other option but to take their seats and comply, while Runcorn checked their names against a list. His eyebrows lifted when Ginny gave her name, but beyond that, he made no further comment.
“Too bad,” Malfoy commented from behind his protective shield. “They’re Purebloods, after all. Pity you couldn’t‘ve come down with something nasty like your brother,” he added to Ginny.
Ginny felt a restraining hand on her wrist. Luna was preventing her from raising her wand once more. She’d have given anything for an excuse to curse Malfoy, Shield Charm or no.
“I’ll just have to get him later,” Ginny said when they’d gone.
“Yes,” agreed Neville, “but maybe we’d better not talk about it on the train. Too many interruptions.”
Since they could no longer discuss the DA safely, Luna disappeared behind a copy of The Quibbler, which featured a picture of Harry on the front page beneath a supportive headline. Ginny was tempted to ask for it, but staring at Harry’s photo would only make her miss him all the more. To distract herself from these thoughts, she picked up one of the leaflets that Runcorn had left.
read the title in gold lettering. Ginny gave vent to some of her feelings by shredding it into mulch. Once that avenue of distraction was gone, she thought about tearing into the Daily Prophet, but her eyes kept returning to the article about Snape.
How was it possible for the man who had murdered the previous headmaster to be named headmaster in his place? She knew it all went back to Voldemort’s influence, but it was still wrong. How could Professor McGonagall and the other Heads of House stand for it?
Then two other names caught her attention. Amycus and Alecto Carrow. Why did those names sound familiar to her? The names hovered in her mind like ghosts, maddeningly refusing to cross the threshold of recognition. Memory came flooding back as she turned to the inside page. There, grinning cruelly at her were a lumpy sort of man and a stout, slope-shouldered woman. They looked enough alike to be siblings, and the caption below the picture only confirmed the matter. These were the Carrows. The last time she’d seen these two was at the end of the previous year.
“I can’t believe it!” she cried out.
“Oh, Daddy says you can believe anything if you just open your mind,” commented Luna, looking up from The Quibbler.
“Look! Just look!”
She turned the newspaper around so that Luna and Neville could see. Neville did not react. He’d obviously already read the news.
“They look as if they’ve been attacked by Wrackspurts,” commented Luna.
“They’re Death Eaters!” said Ginny perhaps more harshly than she’d meant to. “They were among the attackers last year when Dumbledore died!”
“Oh, I know. I remember. But why are they in the paper?” Her brow furrowed. “Have they had their brains replaced by Aquavirius Maggots?” she added, sounding worried.
“No, they’ve been hired to teach Muggle Studies and Defence Against the Dark Arts!”
“That doesn’t sound like a very good idea. Whatever was Professor Snape thinking?”
The frustration did little to improve Ginny’s mood by the time they arrived at Hogwarts. It didn’t help matters when Professor McGonagall accosted her and Neville in the entrance hall.
“Weasley, Longbottom, if you’ll come with me, please,” their Transfiguration teacher said sharply.
Ginny and Neville exchanged glances.
“I expect Professor Flitwick will want to have a word with you, too, Miss Lovegood,” she added to Luna, as she headed up the marble staircase. Ginny and Neville had no choice but to follow in her wake.
When they’d reached her first floor office and closed the door, McGonagall rounded on them.
“What is this I hear about an incident on the Hogwarts Express?” she demanded.
“Some Ministry official checking our blood status,” said Neville. “It’s never happened before. When has that ever mattered?”
“I bet he was doing more than that!” added Ginny. “I bet he was looking for Harry!”
“Be that as it may, things have changed in recent weeks. You can’t have failed to see the latest Ministry decrees which make attendance at Hogwarts compulsory for all but Muggle-borns. It would behove you to comply with such requests in the future without making any trouble.”
Ginny could no longer curb her tempter. “Making trouble! That’s exactly what we should be doing! We shouldn’t just lie down and take this!”
“Miss Weasley, as admirable as I find your sentiments to be, there is a time and a place. When you go back down to the Great Hall, you will find that things have changed significantly about this school. For the moment, it would be most advisable for you to keep your head down and your mouth closed.”
“But…”
McGonagall’s mouth thinned along with her patience. “There are no buts about it. Now is not the time. My main concern is the safety of all of my students. I cannot allow them to rush rashly into danger.”
Her tone brooked no further argument, but inwardly Ginny was seething. How could Professor McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor, hold such an attitude?
She stomped back down the marble staircase ahead of Neville and into the Great Hall. The Sorting was over already, and it looked as if Snape (headmaster or no, Ginny refused to think of him as deserving a title) was getting ready to make the start-of-term speech.
He cleared his throat, as Ginny marched to a seat at the Gryffindor table. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for lateness. Each,” he added as Neville came in behind her.
Ginny crossed her arms and stared straight ahead, refusing to listen to anything that traitor had to say. After a moment, she realised that she was staring at empty space. The entire end of the Gryffindor table was vacant. In addition to Harry, Ron and Hermione, Dean Thomas was also conspicuously absent, as were the Creevey brothers and others that she knew, all of them Muggle-born. Glancing a bit further, she saw that the ends of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were equally devoid of students. Only the Slytherin table at the opposite end of the hall looked as if it were full.
A smattering of half-hearted applause drew Ginny’s attention to the staff table. The Carrows were sitting on either side of Snape. Her stomach turned over. She hadn’t needed Snape’s introduction to know that these were the new Defence Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies instructors announced in the Daily Prophet article.
When food appeared on the table, she wasn’t able to touch a bite.
A/N: It’s been a while, hasn’t it, but book seven inspired me to write again. Please review and let me know what you think. Thanks to Carissa for the beta.
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Hogwarts castle had always been especially draughty in the winter. This year, it felt as if the chill and dankness of the darker months had settled in already “ with September barely a week old. An icy current of air glanced over Ginny's robes, causing them to swirl around her ankles.
The corridors were eerily quiet this early in the morning, and her footsteps sounded unnervingly loud to her ears. Any moment, she expected Filch to accost her and demand what she was doing out of bed. Not that she was doing anything wrong. She wasn't out of bounds, not technically. The atmosphere in the school this year might be palpably different, but it still wasn't against the rules to borrow an owl to contact her family.
She paused for a moment; a prickling sensation crawled unpleasantly up and down her spine. Was there a second set of footsteps following after her, or was it simply an echo of her own feet in the empty corridors?
She waited a bit longer, wondering if it might be a better idea to send her owl during the break between classes. Her breathing sounded unnaturally loud, but it was not enough to drown out the ghostly hissing of the wind. Ginny's eye fell on a high window, barely wider than an arrow slit. Its pane was broken and the chill pre-dawn air was rushing in. That had to be what she'd heard, and yet….
She still felt as if she was being watched. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. "Stop being stupid," she told herself. "You're not doing anything wrong!"
There was only one corridor to go, but she still put a hand in her pocket and gripped her wand.
"And just where are you off to so early, missy?"
Heart pounding, Ginny snapped around to face her challenger. It wasn't Filch; it was Amycus Carrow. His face was level with hers, leering unpleasantly and revealing mossy teeth.
He took a step closer. Too close.
"Answer me, girl!"
The whiff of sour breath that accompanied this command made Ginny take a step back in spite of herself. She raised her chin. It helped that she could feel she was looking down on him somewhat.
"I didn't know it was a crime to post a letter," she said.
"Depends on the letter. Hand it over!"
Ginny placed a protective hand over her school bag, clutching the sides together. "That's none of your business! It's private!"
Before she could react, Carrow raised his wand. "Accio!"
His spell forced her hand from her bag, and the folded square of parchment flew into Carrow's possession. His brow furrowed as he began to read.
"Patented Daydream Charms? Fainting Fancies? Puking Pastilles? Magic Markers? All banned! Don't look private to me. Looks more like an order form for that joke shop. What's the name? Weasel something?"
"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," Ginny grated.
"That's it!" Carrow looked her up and down. "And you'd be one of ‘em, wouldn't yeh, with the red hair and freckles. A much prettier version, I must say. Too bad yer whole family's full of blood traitors. Might be hope for yeh, though if the right Pureblood showed”"
A loud cackle interrupted him. A little man with a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie was floating just above them, his arms laden with library books. Ginny had never in her life been so happy to see Peeves.
"Oho!" cried Peeves, smiling broadly. "What do we have here? Early lessons? I've got something to help out with that, I do!"
He threw a book at Carrow's head; Carrow had to duck quickly to avoid the tome, which hit the wall with a heavy thud. Ginny took advantage of the distraction to snatch the letter out of Carrow's hands. Ducking herself, to avoid flying library books, she streaked off down the corridor.
Ginny waited until she was two floors and a secret passage away from Carrow before she slipped behind a suit of armour to catch her breath. She was extremely thankful that he'd only seen the order she'd been planning on sending her brothers. She couldn't imagine that Carrow would have been very happy of he'd seen the other side of the parchment where she'd described what actual lessons with the Carrows were like.
The encounter with Carrow brought yesterday's Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson to Ginny's mind. It had been one of the oddest lessons she'd ever experienced; its focus was certainly something she'd never expected to cover in a class that was supposed to be about defence. For Carrow had asked the class to focus on their hate….
"Hate," he said. "It's the strongest feeling there is. If yeh get to know yer hate, yeh can use it. It can help yeh. So I want yeh all to stop and think about who you hate. How does it make yeh feel? And what can yeh do with that?"
But whom did Ginny hate? Zacharias Smith? No, he was just an annoying git. The same went for people like Draco Malfoy or Romilda Vane. They were simply thorns in her side at times. While she might not want them near her and there had been times when she wanted to hex them into next week, she certainly didn't wish them in pain (at least not great pain) or dead or Kissed by a Dementor.
Professor Umbridge was another story, however, but Ginny didn't stop to consider her very long, because there was someone she hated more “ someone she did wish those things on, she realised with a chill. Preferably all three at once and with as much pain as possible.
Tom Riddle. Voldemort. Whatever he called himself she did hate him. Deeply and with a passion.
She hated him for taking advantage of her when she was only eleven and innocently told all her secrets to him. She hated him for what he'd forced her to do. It was sheer luck that had saved her from being responsible for the deaths of her peers, her classmates, her friends.
Harry.
He might have won that battle, but he could just as easily have lost. How close to dying had he actually come? And she'd been the bait. She'd been the entire reason Tom had gone after Harry in the first place “ because she'd been the one to tell him about Harry.
But she hated Voldemort for more than just that. He had been ultimately responsible for taking her mother's brothers “ uncles she had never known “ from her. And how many other families had he and his followers torn apart? There were the Boneses, the McKinnons; Hannah Abbot whose mother had died just last year. Neville, whose parents had been tortured to the point of insanity in Voldemort's name.
And then there was Harry. It always came back to him. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, Harry would have grown up knowing a loving family, rather than being raised by relatives who would rather pretend he didn't exist at the very best of times. Harry had had his childhood stolen from him, and he was still paying the price. He was off facing Merlin only knew what sort of danger in order to fight Voldemort. In order to kill him, if what Harry had let slip the day of his birthday was true, and Ginny knew in her heart that it was.
She tightened her fist around her quill to stop her hand from shaking. It wasn't fair. Not to Harry. Not to her. If it wasn't for Voldemort, Harry wouldn't have felt obligated to end their relationship. He would still be here at school, waiting to meet her in the courtyards for a few minutes' stolen kisses at break time, seeing how much they could get away with before they were both late to their next lesson….
Yes, she hated Voldemort for everything he had taken from Harry and from her. She would gladly see him rot in hell herself if it was within her power. Voldemort and anyone who did his bidding “ and that included the little man teaching this lesson.
Her breakfast began to roil in her stomach, and she wasn't sure why. She thought about asking to be excused, but one look at Amycus Carrow told her the attempt would be futile. He wanted them all there, a captive audience of sixteen-year-olds, so that he could pass this darkness along to them, as if they were receptacles he could fill to the brim. It didn't matter if it was he that they hated “ just as long as they hated. That was when they would be most vulnerable. She shivered. The classroom had suddenly gone cold.
She folded the parchment up and returned it to her bag, hoping she'd told her brothers enough, but not so much that they'd worry. There was no way she'd be able to send it from school now “ Carrow would see to it that her post was watched. If she waited for a Hogsmeade weekend, she could use the post office there.
But what was everyone going to do in the meantime? There probably wouldn't be a Hogsmeade weekend for two months. She wasn't going to be able to sit through two months of the Carrows' lessons and not land herself in trouble the same way Seamus had. She doubted any of her classmates could stand it, either.
They needed a way to block their hearing, a sort of anti-Extendable Ear. Not a Silencing Charm “ that would be too obvious. Then a memory from last year struck her. She thought she remembered the wand movement well enough. It just might work, at least until she had a chance to place an order with her brothers.
A noise somewhere ahead alerted her to the fact that she was still out of bounds. The last thing she wanted was for Carrow to run into her again. She doubted she could trust to luck “ or Peeves “ a second time. It had to be almost time for breakfast, in any case. With that thought in mind, she moved off towards the Great Hall.
*
Neville was worried. The first thing he noticed when he awoke that morning was Seamus' bed, which looked as if it hadn't been slept in. Seamus had gone to serve his detention the previous evening. What had the Muggle Studies professor made Seamus do that lasted all night? Neville shuddered to think. He had served very few detentions in his tenure at Hogwarts, and only one that had kept him out past midnight. That had been back in his first year when he'd gone into the Forbidden Forest with Harry, Hermione, Draco and Hagrid. Whatever Seamus was being forced to do, it had to be worse.
Neville dressed hurriedly and headed down to the Great Hall. Perhaps Seamus had gone directly to breakfast. Scanning the Gryffindor table, Neville immediately saw that this was not the case. Neville was the only seventh-year present. Ginny was already seated and halfway through a plate of bacon and eggs.
"You're up early," he commented as he sat across from her. "You haven't seen Seamus, have you?"
"No," she replied. "Listen, we have a problem."
"What?" said Neville, taking a piece of toast from the rack and beginning to spread butter over it.
Ginny glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. "I tried to send out an order for supplies this morning," she replied, lowering her voice and leaning across the table, "but I got caught."
"Filch?"
"No, worse. Carrow."
Neville paused, the slice of toast halfway to his mouth. "You didn't get a detention, did you?"
"No, but it was close. Anyway, he saw what I was up to. He got hold of the order form. He's going to be on the lookout from now on…."
She broke off as Lavender and Parvati joined them at the table. Nodding to them, she continued in an undertone, "We'll have to find some way around that. I think”"
"Oh my God!"
Lavender's horrified exclamation cut Ginny off. Turning, Neville followed the line of Lavender's gaze. Seamus had just stumbled into the Great Hall. One of his eyes was blackened and swelling shut, his lower lip was split and puffy, and an inch-long gash on the side of his face looked as if it was still oozing blood.
There was a burst of laughter from the Slytherin table as Seamus staggered towards his own house table. "Rough night, Finnigan?" shrieked Pansy Parkinson, while Draco Malfoy reeled drunkenly in his seat. "You might want to leave off the Firewhisky next time!"
Ginny, glowering over at the spectacle, put down her fork and began to rummage through her bag.
"Why aren't you in the Hospital Wing?" Neville hissed to Seamus as he sat down heavily.
"Oooh, what happened to you?" asked Lavender at the same time.
"It's nothing," Seamus replied to both questions at once.
"It is not!" Neville protested.
"Just drop it," Seamus insisted.
Neville stared at him for a moment, and the he looked up at the staff table. The teachers couldn't have failed to notice Seamus' condition. Judging by the expressions on Professors McGonagall's, Sprout's and Flitwick's faces, they, at least, hadn't. McGonagall's mouth was pressed into a thin line, while the other two simply looked appalled. Professor Snape's face was impassive; the Carrows were wolfing down their breakfast as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Neville's hand closed convulsively on the piece of toast he was holding, reducing it to crumbs. Before he could reach for his napkin, however, another shriek from the Slytherin table caught his attention. Turning, he saw Draco Malfoy jump to his feet. His hair was falling out in clumps. Several of his housemates were glaring suspiciously in the Gryffindors' direction. Neville looked around for the culprit. He immediately caught a smirk on Ginny's face.
"I didn't know it was going to do that," she muttered, sounding satisfied.
"What was that?" asked Neville.
"Just something I nicked from the twins." She giggled. "They said it was experimental."
"And you gave it to Malfoy not knowing what it would do?"
Ginny nodded. "Between the stunt he tried to pull on the train and just now, I'd say he deserved it."
"But how did you…"
"Just Transfigured it to look like a piece of bacon and Banished it to his plate. I wonder how long he'll have to wait for his hair to grow back." She stole a glance over at Seamus, who was having a great deal of difficulty chewing his toast. "Reckon we ought to have a meeting tonight?"
Neville nodded. "Listen, you lot," he said a bit louder so the other seventh-years could hear him. "DA tonight, usual place. Make sure you bring your Galleons and pass the message along to the other members if you can."
*
"Stupefy!"
Ginny watched as Luna fell neatly onto the silk cushions. They'd been practising all the basic spells Harry had taught them two years ago for over an hour now, and she was getting frustrated. This was all old hat to them, and she couldn't see how practising Stunning spells was going to undermine Snape's regime or help people get through the Carrows' lessons unscathed. Not unless someone Stunned the Carrows themselves, but that would hardly keep the person who did it out of trouble.
She revived Luna and put up a hand to catch Neville's eye. "I think we ought to try something new," she called.
"What did you have in mind?" Neville asked. The rest of the DA members turned their attention to Ginny as well.
"It's a spell that we could actually use in lessons," she explained, "and if we're careful, it shouldn't get us into trouble."
"What does it do?" asked Anthony Goldstein.
"Let me show you." Ginny waved her wand. "Muffliato!"
A look of surprise came over Anthony's features. "My ears are ringing!" he said in a voice louder than normal, as if he were speaking over a din.
"Finite incantatem! That's what it's supposed to do. If we can cast it on each other, we won't have to listen to the Carrows' rubbish. We can look as if we're model students without actually having to hear any of it."
"Where'd you pick that one up?" asked Michael Corner.
Ginny looked her ex-boyfriend straight in the eye. "Harry showed it to me."
"Of course he did," said a dreamy voice. "I imagine it was useful if you wanted a little privacy."
Ginny felt a blush begin to creep up her cheeks, as some of the other girls began to giggle. How had Luna known? How did she always know?
"Why don't we divide up and practise?" Ginny said quickly to cover the moment.
She couldn't help but notice the smirks on the other members' faces as they complied with her suggestion. Before long the Room of Requirement sounded as if it had been invaded by a swarm of angry bees. Neville was obliged to shoot sparks from the end of his wand to catch everyone's attention when it was time to go back to their dormitories.
"It's almost curfew," he announced with the last of the buzzing had subsided. "We'd best split up and go back to our dormitories before Filch has a chance to catch us."
"When's the next meeting?" asked Hannah Abbot.
"Keep your Galleons in your pockets," Neville advised. "I'll set a time and let you know that way."
"What if we've lost ours?" asked Susan Bones, going rather red.
"You'll just have to rely on your friends," said Luna.
"Yeah, and we'll see if we can't work something out," added Ginny. "We're going to need more Galleons in any case. Don't say anything to anyone for now, but there ought to be more of us, don't you think?"
The rumble of general agreement from the rest of the members was broken by a single dissenting voice.
"Unless someone decides to rat us out," said Zacharias Smith.
Ginny drew her wand. "I wouldn't advise that."
Neville, Ginny and Luna lingered behind as the other DA members began to wander into the corridor.
"I think that went very well," Luna commented, as the polished door disappeared behind them, leaving only a blank expanse of stone wall in its place.
"I do, too," said Neville.
Ginny was silent as she walked back towards Gryffindor Tower with Neville. It wasn't that she disagreed with him and Luna. The meeting had gone well. It was just… There had to be something more. Finding ways of not having to listen in class was all well and good, but that wouldn't help Harry. She wished there was something she could do to help him on his quest.
And then she had a brainwave. It was the evening of Harry's birthday and dinner had been interrupted even before it had started with the arrival of the Minister for Magic. He'd brought Dumbledore's will and bequests for Hermione, Ron and Harry. Only one was missing “ Gryffindor's sword.
Ginny had no idea why Dumbledore would have left Harry the sword, but there had to be a reason for it. The only reason that made any sense at all was because the sword would play a vital role in whatever Harry had to do.
She knew where that sword was. It was hanging in the headmaster's office, encased in glass just behind the desk. She'd seen it when she was called to his office to hear the terrible news about her father just before Christmas of her fourth year. Retrieving it would be tricky; it would take a lot of planning.
"Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve," she reminded herself, as she followed Neville through the portrait hole.
A/N: Thanks to Lizzie and Carissa for looking this over for me!
Chapter 4
“Geminio!”
To the casual observer, it might look as if Neville had been given extra Charms homework. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time Professor Flitwick had ordered him to practise more. Neville ran a rueful hand through the pile of gold he’d created. The coins clinked together, sounding just as real Galleons would. No one but the other DA members would know that he was actually trying to increase their supply of message-sending coins.
The only problem was they didn’t work. They lay there on the table, maddeningly exact copies of the Galleon Hermione had given him two years ago, but no matter what he did, they would not grow warm and no message would appear on them.
At first he thought he was simply performing the Gemino spell wrong, and so he’d kept at it, hoping his subsequent duplicates would retain all of the properties of the original. Now he wondered if things weren’t more complicated than that.
He thought back to his fifth year when Hermione had first handed out the Galleons. She’d put a spell on them. What had she called it? Neville wracked his brains, searching for the name, but it didn’t come to him. All he could remember were some of the Ravenclaws being impressed that she could perform the spell at all. Hadn’t one of them said it was NEWT standard? It probably didn’t matter that Neville couldn’t recall the spell’s name. Whatever it was, he doubted he’d be able to do it properly. Luna and Ginny were going to be so disappointed in him.
A loud bang broke in on his thoughts. Looking across the common room, Neville could see that a circle of younger students had formed in a far corner. There were shouts and a few dull thuds.
Neville leapt out of his seat and rushed over. At the circle’s centre two boys were rolling on the floor, doing their best to knock the stuffing out of each other. They looked so small, Neville was sure they could only be first-years.
“My mother is not. A. Mudblood!” one was shouting in a high-pitched voice, punctuating each word with a blow, while the other aimed wild kicks at his adversary.
Neville didn’t even stop to wonder where the Gryffindor prefects, who should have been taking care of this, were. He simply drew his wand.
“Petrificus totalus!”
By some miracle the spell managed to hit both boys at once, and their bodies froze instantly, their arms snapping to their sides as one toppled onto the other. Neville glared around at the circle of onlookers, and they melted away, their eyes averted.
A sudden memory flashed through Neville’s brain. Once upon a time he had been a tiny first-year and the seventh-year students had seemed to tower over him. Now that the tables were turned, he wasn’t sure that he felt all that powerful. He bent down and rolled the frozen body of the top boy over so that both of the first-years lay side by side.
“I’m going to take the spell off of you,” said Neville, “but only if you don’t start fighting again.”
Neither of the first-years could do more than stare at him in terror. The expressions on their faces were almost enough to make Neville want to laugh. Apparently, he was an imposing authority figure to eleven-year-olds. One side of his mouth quirked upwards in spite of himself. He raised his wand, confident that the two boys would listen to him.
“Finite incantatem!”
The first-years immediately sat up and shrank away. Neville knelt down so that he was on their level. “Wait,” he said quietly. “What are your names?”
“Why? You going to report us?” asked one, his voice a bit louder than necessary.
“No, of course not,” said Neville. “I’m not a prefect. I just want to know what that was all about.”
“He called my mum a Mudblood!” said the smaller of the two, pointing an accusing finger.
“Yeah?” replied the other. “Well, you said there wasn’t enough magical blood in my family, and by rights I shouldn’t even be at school!”
They were glaring at each other, and a renewal of hostilities seemed imminent. Neville trained his wand on the pair of them.
“Boys!”
Sheepishly, they turned their attention back to Neville. “What does it matter?” he asked them. “No one is any better than anyone else just because their blood is purer. One of the best students in the school couldn’t even come back this year, because she’s Muggle-born.”
“But Professor Carrow says…”
“Whatever Professor Carrow says is wrong! Don’t listen to her! And don’t fight with your house-mates over stupid things that don’t make a difference anyway. You’re both Gryffindors. You’re going to be together for seven years here. You’d better learn to get along and be on each other’s side.”
Neville got up and went back to his table, leaving the two first-year boys dumbstruck. He repressed an uncharacteristic urge to sweep his pile of useless Galleons onto the floor. For all any of the first-years knew, what the Carrows were teaching them was part of the regular Hogwarts curriculum. How were they to know any better?
Indeed, how were most of the older students supposed to know that the Carrows had been present the night Dumbledore had died? He and the DA might know, just as they might know who was really behind the new Minister for Magic. Both Ginny and Luna could attest to that “ they’d both spoken of a message received at Ginny’s oldest brother’s wedding just before it had been attacked. The Ministry had fallen, and it wasn’t difficult to work out that You-Know-Who was managing things now.
But that wasn’t a subject anyone dared talk about openly. And that meant it was hard to know who, exactly, knew the truth. Not knowing what else to do, Neville took out a quill, and scratched a message onto the table beside his pile of Galleons: Dumbledore’s Army: still recruiting.
*
“Nonverbal spells… nonverbal spells…”
Ginny kept muttering the words under her breath as if their repetition would conjure up the information she was seeking. She’d spent the last hour in the library trying to find a book that would help her do the extra homework she’d been assigned in both Charms and Transfiguration, but it looked as if the rest of the sixth-years had got there first. She muttered several choice words under her breath.
From both Professor Flitwick’s and Professor McGonagall’s exasperated explanations, Ginny deduced that they were supposed to be learning how to perform nonverbal spells in their Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been doing in your Defence classes,” Professor McGonagall had admonished them in today’s lesson, “but the required curriculum for NEWT level includes the mastery of nonverbal spellwork. As things stand, I have quite enough ground to cover without going over what you’re supposed to be learning in another class.”
She refused to listen to anyone’s protest that Carrow had not been teaching them the required curriculum. His classes had all been about hate and fear and every negative emotion imaginable. Ginny was certain that this sort of emphasis couldn’t be leading anywhere good. In spite of herself, hatred rose in her like a serpent, uncoiling slowly, trying to take her over.
No, she couldn’t give in, she told herself firmly. It was what he wanted. But it wasn’t helping matters that his lessons were putting her behind in her other classes. Why couldn’t he teach what he was supposed to?
The answer came to her immediately. He was too stupid, too corrupted, too evil….
A pointed cough broke in on her thoughts. Madam Pince was glaring in Ginny’s direction; the library was about to close for the evening. Grabbing the first book her hand landed on and hoping it would help her learn to cast the required nonverbal spells in class, Ginny hurried back towards Gryffindor Tower.
The last thing she wanted was to be caught out of bounds again. Ever since her near miss the other morning, she knew Carrow was watching her every move, looking for the slightest excuse to give her detention. Every time she looked up in Defence Against the Dark Arts class, his pig-like eyes were on her, just waiting for her to put a toe out of line. He was crossing her path with alarming frequency between classes, as well. She’d taken to finding roundabout ways of getting to her lessons and sitting at the very back of the Great Hall at meals simply to avoid his scrutiny.
She went straight through the noisy common room and up to her dormitory, where she hoped to work on her nonverbal spells in peace. A loud squeak from the middle of her four-poster bed greeted. Arnold. She’d completely forgotten “ she’d meant to bring some food back from the supper table for him. She was never going to get her homework done at this rate.
Swearing to herself, she turned on her heel and headed back down the dormitory stairs. Once through the portrait hole, she began to move with stealth, flitting from shadow to shadow. She was definitely out of bounds now, and she couldn’t afford any unfortunate run-ins.
She made it as far as the third floor without any incident, when a noise in the corridor behind her caused her to duck behind the statue of a humpbacked witch. The sound was growing louder and more distinct “ footsteps.
Without thinking, she jumped behind the statue. This certainly wasn’t the first time she’d wandered the halls of Hogwarts at night. She had come to expect the flickering light cast by the occasional torches, a wavering contrast to the deeper shadows of the corners and alcoves. There was something different about that light this time. She’d just noticed it. Its glare carried a spectral, ineffectual quality now, as if, in actuality, it illuminated nothing at all. A chill in the air that reminded her of Dementors crept beneath her robes, penetrating to the bone.
Shivering, she lurked in the shadow of the statue, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth and holding her breath until Filch had turned a corner. He was carrying some old rags and a large bottle of Mrs Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover and muttering something about students and torture, intermingled with swear words. A grim smile spread over Ginny’s features, as she realised that her current predicament was one of her own making. She’d written Dumbledore’s Army: Better than a dumb arse in DADA any day! on the wall using a Magic Marker from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes the previous day, and if she wasn’t mistaken, Filch had spent the past several hours trying to scrub it clean. She’d seen him at it on her way to and from Charms class today, and he could probably keep at it for the next week to no avail, if she knew her brothers. She had no doubts that this latest creation of theirs was far better than Everlasting Ink.
As soon as Filch’s footsteps had faded to echoes in the empty corridor, Ginny leapt from her hiding place. She instantly felt warmer. Hoping Mrs Norris wasn’t anywhere near, she doubled back the way she’d come, taking the long way towards the lower levels of the castle. Once on the marble staircase, she felt extremely conspicuous. If anyone caught her here, she would have no place to hide, but there was nothing else for it. If there was another way to access the Hogwarts kitchens, Fred and George had never told her about it. Fortune seemed to be on her side at the moment, however, and she managed to race down the steps and through the entrance hall undetected. In no time she was tickling the pear in the portrait that concealed the door to the kitchens.
As Ginny entered, about a hundred elves turned and stared at her. All but two of them were dressed in tea towels bearing the Hogwarts crest. One of the oddly dressed elves was a very strange assortment of clothes “ including a sweater exactly like she and her brothers received every year at Christmas. This elf was looking at her curiously, almost as if he somehow recognised her.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you Dobby?”
“Yes,” he squeaked, putting down the silver kitchen knife he’d been drying.
“My name is Ginny.”
“You’re a Wheezy!” he cried happily
“A what?”
“A Wheezy “ like Harry Potter’s friend. He gave me his jumper, he did.”
“Well, yes, that would be my brother Ron.”
Dobby suddenly stopped smiling. “Harry Potter didn’t come back to school this year.”
“It’s not safe for him here this year,” Ginny told him, while mentally adding that it wasn’t really safe for Harry anywhere.
“No, there are bad wizards in the school this year,” Dobby said, nodding sagely.
An idea was quickly forming in Ginny’s mind. She’d heard enough about Dobby from Harry and Ron to know what he might be capable of.
“Listen, maybe you can help me. I need to send a message to my brothers, but I don’t want the bad wizards to find out. They wouldn’t like what it said, you see.”
“What kind of message, Miss?”
“It’s an order, really. Something that will make the bad wizards’ lives a little more difficult. Do you think you could take it to my brothers?” She rummaged through her school bag until she found the order form, now rather crumpled, that she’d written out days ago. “Just take this to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley. Tell them to send my things to the post office in Hogsmeade. I’ll arrange to pick it up somehow.”
Dobby accepted the parchment from her and Disapparated with a crack. The other Hogwarts elves had all gone back to their business -- all but the other oddly dressed elf who was staring into the fire while sipping at a bottle of Butterbeer.
After a few moments, some of the other elves noticed Ginny was watching them. Several came over; one of them tried to press several biscuits into her hand. “Thanks,” she said with a smile, “but what I’d really like is some salad.”
The elves looked at her as if she’d asked them to bring her a Crumple Horned Snorkack.
“What about some chocolate éclairs?” asked one, thrusting the pastries towards her.
“No, really. Just some salad or some fruit would be fine.”
Another of the elves was looking her up and down. “You is looking as if you is needing some feeding up. Is you wanting some nice butter tarts?”
They kept pressing various sweets on her until she felt obliged to accept at least some of it. She managed to get something for Arnold while she was at it, but soon her school bag was bursting with enough food for a Quidditch Cup victory party. When there was nothing more the house-elves could offer her, they went back, one by one, to their regular kitchen duties, leaving Ginny to wait.
And wait. And wait.
She was getting worried now. She didn’t have a watch, but it seemed like it had to be nearly midnight, and Dobby hadn’t reappeared yet. There seemed to be miles of corridor, staircases and secret passages between her and her dormitory. She would to sneak through it all undetected. She wondered whether the Carrows had managed to catch Dobby somehow and were even now torturing information out of him. They might come through the door to the kitchen at any moment. Perhaps it was time to abandon her plan and get back to her dormitory.
An unexpected crack made her jump out of her skin. Dobby had reappeared, one hand clenched around a tiny box. He held it out to Ginny.
“Here is Miss’s order. It’s been shrunk, but it’s all there.”
“Thanks, Dobby!” she said, both surprised and relieved. “But how…”
“That’s why it took so long. The Wheezys made me wait while they put everything together and shrunk it.”
Ginny stuffed the box into her school bag, which groaned under the pressure. She turned to go.
“There’s more!” said Dobby. “The Wheezys said to give you this.”
He was holding out a folded sheet of parchment. Ginny unfolded it and read it quickly, her eyes widening in surprise. Here were explicit directions on how to sneak out of the school and go all the way to Hogsmeade without getting caught. She could place any further orders herself through the village post office. All she had to do was tap the statue of…
“The humpbacked witch,” she said aloud. The very one she’d used to hide from Filch earlier. “If only I’d known! Thanks, Dobby! This is perfect!”
She was too excited to be careful on the way back to the third floor. She rushed up the marble staircase and took the nearest shortcut to the Charms corridor. She was nearly back to the witch’s niche when she ran headlong into something very big and solid.
A/N: Sorry this took forever for me to post. I had trouble with this chapter, and I'm still not convinced about it. However, I feel like it's time to move on. Thanks to Lizzie, Celestine and Carissa for looking this over for me.
Chapter Five
Heart in her throat, Ginny staggered backwards and looked up… and up. She let out her breath, relieved. It was only Hagrid.
“And jus’ where d’yeh think yer goin’ this time o’ night?” he thundered.
“Keep your voice down,” Ginny hissed. “Do you want Filch to catch me?”
“There’s worse n’ Filch about. There’s the Carrows.”
Hagrid had lowered his voice, but not nearly enough in Ginny’s opinion. It still seemed certain to attract unwanted attention.
“Well, I don’t want them to catch me, either.” She kept her own voice low, hoping Hagrid would catch the hint. The volume of his reply, however, made it clear that he hadn’t.
“That’s why yer not supposed to be out wanderin’ in the first place. Look, they’re making the teachers patrol all year. We’re supposed to turn anyone we find over to the Carrows for punishment.”
Ginny’s eyes widened in alarm. “Are you going to turn me in then?”
“’Course not. But Snape’s about. He will turn yeh in if he sees yeh. Go on, get back to yer dormitory.”
Ginny started to move off, but she paused mid-step.
“Hagrid.”
She hesitated. Should she ask?
“Yeah?”
“You…. You haven’t heard anything from Harry, have you?”
She half turned, looking up into his beetle black eyes. Hagrid was looking back at her, his expression softening into sadness. “Nope. Can’t say that I have.”
“If you do hear anything, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”
“’Course. As long as you do the same for me.” He stopped and gave a visible shudder. “Now, get goin’.”
Ginny made her way back to Gryffindor Tower with considerably less bounce in her step. All the excitement that had previously been bursting from her had completely drained away, leaving nothing but a cold, empty feeling.
As the week passed that space began to fill. The only problem was, it was filling with frustration as one thing after another went wrong. The book she’d taken at random from the library shelf held nothing that would help her learn to cast non-verbal spells, which resulted in her earning a pile of extra homework. Arnold had managed to make a meal out of her Potions essay, and she had to write it over. Amycus Carrow was still keeping a very close watch on her.
But worse than all of these were the other DA members’ complaints, which they voiced loudly at the next meeting. It seemed as if the Muffliato spell she’d taught them wasn’t working as expected. She had expected that this might be the case. When she’d got Fidelia Bonham to cast the spell on her, she’d still had to sit through an interminable lesson on the horrors perpetrated on the medieval wizarding community by Muggles. She’d hoped it had only been a case of Fidelia not performing the spell properly “ something that a little practise might rectify. Apparently the problem lay elsewhere.
“I don’t understand why it’s not working,” she said for what felt like the thousandth time. “It always worked when Harry cast it.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” said Anthony Goldstein, looking thoughtful.
“What? Harry has to be the one who casts it?” asked Luna. “I’ve heard of spells like that. Spells only one person can do.”
“Well, that’s just great, since Potter isn’t even here,” said Zachariah Smith, smirking.
“That’s not quite what I meant,” said Anthony. “Only that the person who doesn’t want to be heard has to be the one who casts the spell.”
“Oh wonderful!” said Smith, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you think the Carrows would do us all a favour then if we asked nicely enough?”
Michael Corner told him to shut up and Ginny threw Michael a look of gratitude. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she said quickly. “I’ve got something else.”
Reaching into her bag, she began to pull out two-coloured sweets by the fistful. The rest of the DA members recognised them immediately, and held out their hand to receive a good supply of Fainting Fancies, Nosebleed Nougats, Fever Fudge and Puking Pastilles.
But the Skiving Snackboxes didn’t have the desired effect, either, as Ginny found out at her next Muggle Studies lesson. Five minutes into class, as soon as Alecto Carrow turned to the backboard, Ginny put a hand into her pocket and withdrew a Nosebleed Nougat. Keeping her eyes fixed on Carrow’s back, she raised the orange end of the chew to her mouth and bit into it.
A warm stream of blood immediately began to dribble over her lips and chin, covering the parchment on which she’d been pretending to take notes with red splotches. Carrow turned back to face the class, obliviously jabbering on about Muggle atrocities. Ginny put up her hand, but Carrow ignored her.
The parchment in front of her was completely red now, and the front of her robes was shiny with blood. There was no way Carrow could have failed to notice Ginny’s predicament. “Excuse me, Professor Carrow,” she called out at last, “I think I need to go see Madam Pomfrey.”
A malicious smile spread over Carrow’s features. “Yeh can stay right where yeh are.”
“But…” Red splotches were beginning to appear on the floor at Ginny’s feet.
“Stay put, or it’ll be detention,” Carrow replied with a leer. “A little blood ain’t no reason to miss class.”
Ginny was painfully aware of an uncomfortable stickiness all down her face and neck, penetrating her robes. She got the distinct feeling that Carrow would let her bleed to death before she allowed Ginny to leave her class. With a sigh of resignation, she waited until Carrow’s attention was focussed elsewhere and ate the purple end of the sweet. She did the best she could to clean up the mess with her handkerchief but only succeeded in smearing the blood across her face.
When the bell rang signalling the end of class, Carrow addressed Ginny once again. “Looks like yeh’ve got over your little problem, and no harm done. Yeh can stay behind and clean up the mess yeh’ve made now.”
Ginny, sighed and pulled out her wand.
Carrow tittered. “No magic!”
Ginny was quite thankful she hadn’t chosen to take a Puking Pastille.
*
Neville felt as if he should have known, on some level, that the Skiving Snackboxes wouldn’t work on someone like Amycus Carrow. The principle behind the Snackbox depended on one’s teacher being human, after all. At the beginning of today’s Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson he had spotted Parvati slipping something orange into her mouth. When, seconds later, she had slumped forwards onto her desk, Carrow didn’t even seem to take notice.
Parvati was still sprawled across her desk now, halfway through the lesson. At least she wasn’t having to listen to Carrow expound on the theory behind the Cruciatus Curse. He was going about it in all too loving detail for Neville’s taste. He felt sick to his stomach as Carrow explained to the class how channelling their hatred would cause the victim more pain.
Neville concentrated hard on tuning him out. He didn’t need to be reminded of Bellatrix Lestrange and how much hatred she had been able to dredge up when she’d gone after his mother and father. Just thinking about Bellatrix caused anger and hatred to boil up in Neville’s own veins. He felt that, if faced with Bellatrix at this very moment, he’d be able to cast a very successful Cruciatus Curse on her, and that idea bothered him. Performing this particular spell was something he’d never imagined himself doing.
“Longbottom!”
Carrow’s voice jerked Neville back to the present.
“Could yeh repeat to the class what I just said?”
“No,” Neville mumbled.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear yeh.”
“No!” repeated Neville defiantly.
“Malfoy, tell Longbottom here what I was just saying.”
Across the room, several of the Slytherins sniggered as a smirk spread over Malfoy’s face. “I believe you were asking for a volunteer, sir,” he drawled.
“That I was, that I was. And since yeh were listening, how would yeh like to volunteer someone?” crowed Carrow with the air of offering Malfoy an extra large Christmas present.
Malfoy made a great show of considering his options; then he grinned. “I think Longbottom should be the volunteer, sir.”
“Excellent choice!”
Carrow fixed his beady eyes on Neville. “Longbottom, get up here.”
Neville knew he had no choice but to obey. Carrow would not hesitate to resort to the Imperius Curse if Neville decided to be recalcitrant. He walked to the front of the classroom, knowing full well what was coming. Carrow was going to demonstrate the Cruciatus Curse for the class, but instead of using a spider like Mad-Eye Moody had back in their fourth year, Neville was going to be the guinea pig.
Except the expected curse didn’t come. Carrow stared at Neville, his tiny eyes narrowing even further. He seemed to be considering something. Neville could almost imagine he saw steam issuing from Carrow’s ears, he was thinking so hard.
“Pick someone.”
“What?”
“Yeh heard me. Pick someone!”
So it was going to be a torture of a different sort. Instead of being subjected to intense physical pain, Neville was being forced to choose the victim instead. Whoever was to experience the curse in his stead, Neville would know just what that person was going through and know that it was all his fault.
He looked over towards the Slytherins who were sitting as a group, watching him eagerly. As tempting as it was to remember their past transgressions against him, Neville wasn’t sure he could put even Malfoy, Crabbe or Goyle in his place. Besides, he was sure that Carrow would simply tell any of them to choose another victim. He swallowed hard, knowing what was coming.
“I choose… me.”
His voice was surprisingly steady. Carrow’s smile faltered and his eye glinted evilly. “Yeh can’t do that.”
“Yes, I can. You told me to pick someone. I’m someone. I pick myself.”
“On yer own head be it,” Carrow said, raising his wand. “Crucio!”
The curse hit Neville before he could brace himself, and he dropped, writhing and screaming, to the floor. He’d been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus once before at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange herself. He didn’t know if he’d blocked the memory or not, but this seemed to hurt more. It was pain unlike anything he could ever remember experiencing. Was Carrow’s anger at being thwarted channelling itself into the curse?
Suddenly the pain stopped, and Neville found himself face down on the cold flagstones, shaking and sweating. Carrow yanked him to his feet by his hair. Neville’s knees felt wobbly, and he was afraid they would buckle, but after another moment, he was able to stand on his own.
“Now,” said Carrow, “who wants to have a go?”
None of the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs met his gaze. They were staring, either at the blackboard ahead of them or down at their desks “ anywhere but at their teacher. The only movement in the room came from the Slytherin’s corner, where Vincent Crabbe was rising to his feet, a stupid grin spreading over his features.
“You can’t do this!”
Everyone turned and stared at Hannah Abbott, who was now going scarlet.
Carrow narrowed his eyes at her and moved until he was standing right in front of her desk, glaring at her menacingly. “And why can’t I?”
“B-because it’s unforgivable. I-t’s a life sentence in Azkaban. W-we learned that back in f-fourth year!”
“Not anymore, it ain’t. And in my class, yeh’ll do as I say! Looks like we’ve got another volunteer for next time. Anyone else want to volunteer?”
He stared around the classroom. No one dared make a sound. Crabbe lurched to the front of the room, leering at Neville, as he drew out his wand.
“Crucio!”
Neville did not drop this time. Crabbe’s curse hurt him, but not anything like Carrow’s had. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out. He was able to maintain enough awareness to notice when Carrow called Crabbe off.
“That weren’t bad for a first try. Yeh need to think about really wanting to hurt yer victim though. Think about something yeh hate. Now let’s try again.”
Neville couldn’t ever recall a time when a teacher had said anything that could be term laudatory in regards to Crabbe’s performance in any subject. Not even Snape, who demonstrated unfair bias towards his own House on a regular basis, had ever found anything the slightest bit praiseworthy about anything Crabbe had ever done in Potions class. For Crabbe, Carrow’s pronouncements were like winning the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting. He seemed to swell under this teacher’s gaze.
Carrow may have emphasised a focus on hatred as beneficial in the casting of a successful Cruciatus Curse, but obviously receiving a pat on the back was helpful as well, or at least it was in Crabbe’s case. His second attempt left Neville panting on the flagstones. As he got shakily to his feet, Crabbe was grinning broadly.
“Very good! Very, very good!” Carrow shouted. “Now who’s next?”
Neville stole a glance at his fellow Gryffindors. Lavender looked as if she was going to be sick, but Neville was sure she hadn’t ingested a Puking Pastille.
Pansy Parkinson was getting to her feet and stepping forward. Suddenly Hannah Abbot jumped out of her seat, blocking Pansy’s progress.
“No, let me try!”
The words were meant to sound defiant, perhaps, but they didn’t quite come out that way.
Carrow cackled. “You? Ain’t yeh worried about going to Azkaban?”
Hannah’s face went pale but she didn’t sit down. “No, I’ll do it.”
“Don’t think this’ll get you out of being volunteer next time, missy.”
Neville saw her swallow. Perhaps she’d been counting on clemency if she cooperated. However, she still approached him, her eyes round with fear. She seemed to be having difficulty holding her wand steady.
Neville had no idea what to think. She was in the DA with him. She’d always supported Harry for the most part. She’d always seemed like such a nice, decent girl. Neville couldn’t imagine why she was playing along with this game now, and a feeling of betrayal began to spread throughout his body, burning almost as badly as the Cruciatus Curse had.
Hannah was staring at him fixedly, and he wondered if she was having trouble summoning up the courage to curse him. He raised his chin, and she shook her head almost imperceptibly. Was she trying to communicate something to him without words?
And then, when she’d brought up her wand and said “Crucio” he understood. There was no conviction in her voice. She was simply going through the motions. But why? The answer came to him in the next moment. She was buying him time. If she could waste enough of it pretending to work on a spell she had no intention of ever learning, she would get him that much closer to the end of the lesson without being tortured any more than necessary.
Neville closed his eyes, hoping that Carrow was too thick to cotton on to what Hannah was doing. She was already in trouble for daring to speak up.
“Sit down and stop wasting my time!” Carrow barked at her. “Who can do this and mean it?”
Half the class stood up. They seemed to have worked out Hannah’s ruse. Ernie MacMillan moved to the front of the classroom, cutting in front of Gregory Goyle, and went through the motions in his turn. Padma Patil followed him. Before another of the Slytherins had a chance at Neville, the bell rang, signalling the end of class. Carrow was livid, but there wasn’t anything he could do besides set them all extra homework.
“I want two feet of parchment on the right way to cast the Cruciatus curse due next lesson,” screeched Carrow after their retreating backs. “’Cept for Crabbe here. He’s the only one as done it right.”
Neville ignored him. He had no intention of doing the assignment, and he didn’t think he’d have any trouble convincing the other DA members to do the same. For the moment, however, he had something more pressing on his mind.
“Hannah! Hey, Hannah! Wait up!”
In the press of black-robed students, a blonde head turned. It looked to Neville as if her face was growing pinker as he approached.
“I just wanted to say thanks for just now. That was a brilliant idea you had.”
Hannah smiled at him but looked away rather quickly. “It was the least I could do, really.”
“Well, I’m glad you thought of it. It saved me a fair amount of pain, I’m sure.”
“Yes, well…”
Hannah had gone pale and Neville was sure she was thinking with dread of their next lesson with Carrow.
“We’ll do something before next lesson,” Neville reassured her. We’ll make sure he doesn’t put you through that. If anything, we can all pretend again.”
“I don’t know… The Slytherins won’t pretend. Besides, don’t you think he’ll see through it?”
“I don’t think he’s that clever.”
Hannah grinned. “He doesn’t give you that impression, does he?”
“We’ll come up with something. The DA stands together.”
“Yeah.”
Hannah seemed to realise she was going to be late for her next lesson at the same time Neville did. The corridors were now deserted. With shy smiles at each other they each went their separate ways.
*
“Neville!”
“Ginny!”
Neville’s heart was still racing. He’d been on his way back to Gryffindor Tower after supper when Ginny had hailed him, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin. She’d been lurking in a niche that housed a suit of armour.
“Hi, Neville.”
Luna’s disembodied voice floated out from behind the suit of armour. Neville looked past Ginny but saw nothing behind her. “How did you do that?” he asked. “Where’s Luna?”
“Oh good, it’s working,” came Luna’s voice again.
Ginny was looking extremely pleased with herself.
Neville was still lost. “What’s working?”
“My Disillusionment Charm,” Ginny informed him. “You can move now, Luna. See if Neville can see you.”
There was some sort of disturbance in the air behind Ginny, something that looked like a summer heat shimmer.
“That’s very good, Ginny,” said Neville. “Where did you learn to do that? Flitwick didn’t show us that last year.”
“I got it out of a library book. I had extra homework, and I pulled something out at random. It didn’t help me with my homework, but it did teach me how to do this.”
She rapped Neville over the head with her wand.
“Ouch!”
Neville felt as if something cold and viscous was trickling down his head and over his body.
“Ooh, lovely,” said Luna, and Neville reckoned that he’d just blended into the background.
“Now you try it on me, Luna,” said Ginny.
There was another shimmer of movement behind her, and she winced. Then she began to change colour before Neville’s eyes, starting with her vivid hair and ending with the hem of her worn school robes, until she perfectly matched the rough hewn stone of the walls.
Another shimmer of movement, and then Ginny’s voice said, “Muffliato! There. Now we don’t have to worry about being overheard. I think we’ll be okay to talk here for a bit.”
“What’s going on?” Neville asked, intrigued. “Just an idea I had,” said Ginny. It was strange standing and having a conversation when Neville couldn’t see the other participants. “I think it would be useful to teach the rest of the DA how to do this.”
“But why? What we really need to work out is a way to get people out of class. The Skiving Snackboxes ““
“”aren’t working. I know.”
“We need to find a way to get Hannah Abbott out of the next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson,” Neville insisted. “Carrow’s going to make us practise the Cruciatus Curse on her.”
“No!”
“He can’t do that!” Luna’s normally dreamy voice sounded all the sharper in her indignation.
“Well, he’s going to, whether we like it or not,” said Neville grimly. He didn’t particularly want to tell the girls that he’d been the guinea pig in today’s lesson.
“When’s your next class?” asked Luna.
“Friday, right after lunch.”
“Then a bit of Puking Pastille ought to do it,” said Ginny. “If she gets sick in front of everyone in the Great Hall, one of the other teachers will send her to see Madam Pomfrey and she won’t have to go to class.”
“Yes, that should work,” Neville agreed. “Now what about the Disillusionment Charm?”
“I thought if we were all able to cast it on each other we could get away with doing loads of graffiti and we’d be harder to catch. I thought we could do a massive raid”“
Neville cut her off. “Graffiti? What good is graffiti going to do? Carrow is torturing students in his lessons and you want to write slogans on the walls?”
He wasn’t quite sure where this anger was coming from. It had erupted within him without warning.
“Well, if you think it’s a bad idea, we’ll just forget the whole thing,” Ginny said, sounding offended. “Only the whole graffiti thing was your idea in the first place.”
Before Neville could reply, Luna’s quiet voice cut through the pair of them. “Who did Carrow do the Cruciatus on last time?”
“No one.”
“Really?” Luna persisted. “It wasn’t you then? I was sure it was the way you’re yelling at Ginny.”
Neville’s mouth dropped open, but of course Luna and Ginny couldn’t see it. He suddenly felt contrite. He wasn’t being fair “ Ginny had no way of knowing what Carrow had put him through.
“All right,” he admitted. “It was me.”
“All the more reason to do this then.” Ginny still sounded angry, but Neville didn’t think her fury was directed at him any longer. There was a new note of underlying determination in her tone. “It’ll be a diversion, you see. If the lot of us are spread out all over the school writing graffiti, then a few of us can stake out the headmaster’s office.”
“And why would we want to do that?” asked Neville, certain that by “a few of us” Ginny had meant the three of them.
“To get the password, silly!” said Luna, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Yes, you need to know the password to get past the gargoyle,” said Ginny.
“And why do we want to get into Snape’s office?”
“Graffiti is all well and good, but we need to do something more. You’re right about that. We can do something to help Harry. We can steal Gryffindor’s sword for him!”
“How is the sword supposed to help Harry?”
“Dunno. All I know is that Professor Dumbledore left Harry the sword in his will. The Minister for Magic came to our house last summer and told him that, but he couldn’t give Harry the actual sword. He claimed it belonged to the school and wasn’t Dumbledore’s to give away.”
“But what’s Harry going to do with it?”
“Maybe use the sword to cut off You-Know-Who’s head,” suggested Luna.
“Maybe,” said Ginny. “I don’t know, but Dumbledore must’ve had a reason for leaving it to Harry.”
“All right,” said Neville. “Say we manage to steal it. How do we get it to Harry? No one knows where he is.”
“Maybe we can use the Uzbeki Underground,” said Luna. “Daddy says they helped the goblin Ukbar the Ugly get his magical ukulele back.”
Ginny gave an audible sigh. “Maybe Dobby can find him. He helped me before.”
“Miaow?”
Neville froze. He assumed the others had too, even though he couldn’t see them. No one spoke. Mrs Norris was sniffing suspiciously at the suit of armour’s sabaton. She moved closer so that she was mere inches from Neville’s left foot. Would a Disillusionment Charm work on a cat? Even if it did, Neville didn’t think the charm would mask their scents.
If Mrs Norris went for Filch, they’d have a chance to run for it, but Mrs Norris didn’t seem inclined to do that. She’d hunkered down, looking as if she was about to pounce, her lamp-like eyes alert and her tail thrashing. She let out a loud yowl that echoed down the corridor. She wasn’t going to go for Filch, Neville realised; she was going to call Filch to her.
Neville had no idea what the others were thinking “ since they couldn’t see each other, they couldn’t communicate by any means other than vocal.
“D’you think the Muffliato thing works on cats?” Neville ventured in a whisper, hoping Mrs Norris’ continued yowling would cover his words in case she could overhear him.
“I don’t suppose it matters,” said Ginny. “She obviously knows someone’s here. She’s going to keep that up until someone comes and we get into trouble.”
“But no one can see us,” said Neville.
“There’s a spell they can do,” Ginny replied. “Even if we’re Disillusioned, they’ll know we’re here.”
“Then let’s run for it before anyone gets here. If we split up, she can’t follow all of us.”
But it was already too late. Filch was wheezing his way along the corridor, and by the sound of things he wasn’t alone. There was another pair of footsteps accompanying the caretaker’s.
“I’ve got an idea,” whispered Luna. “Take the spell off of Neville and me, and then you run for it. We’ll distract them.”
“But “ no!” Ginny protested.
“Just do it, Ginny.”
Neville had no idea what Luna had in mind. A voice in his head was asking quite forcefully if it was really a good idea to go along with any scheme Luna had cooked up. It hardly mattered, though. They were caught either way. They may as well try to get out of a detention as best they could.
Neville felt another sharp rap on his head, which was followed by a warm, liquid feeling flowing over him. Luna was visible now as well. There was a shimmer, and he felt Ginny brush past him “ no doubt she was now streaking down the corridor away from trouble. Luna moved so that she was standing next to him. This was probably as close as he’d ever been to her since his fifth year when they’d all piled into the phone box that was the visitors’ entrance to the Ministry of Magic.
Mrs Norris gave a triumphant yowl. Filch and whoever it was accompanying him were almost upon them. Without warning, Luna leaned in and kissed him.