In the two-bedroomed flat above number ninety-three, Diagon Alley, home to the esteemed haven for magical trickery Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, Fred Weasley was going through his old school robes.
Yes, as much as their mother would probably have a fit if she knew, Fred and George had not touched their old school robes since their dramatic, triumphant exit from an Umbridge-controlled Hogwarts one and a half years ago. Not even to clean them. Hence why Fred was sure that his spare quill would still be in the pockets somewhere.
“You’re lucky you haven’t got a nest of Doxies in there!!” he could imagine his mother shrieking if she could see the state of his wardrobe. Which was precisely the reason why Fred and George had still not invited her up to see the flat, in spite of her repeated hints that she would like to see it. Like to clean it, is more likely, thought Fred as he shook out another set of black robes, releasing a cloud of dust and a rather musty smell, before delving into the pocket and groping around. But instead of the soft strands or sharp nib of a quill, his fingers met the hard, cool metal of a Galleon. Fred pulled it out in delight.
Brilliant! This almost makes up for breaking my fifth- His train of thought was cut off as the Galleon suddenly glowed hot. Fred almost dropped it in surprise. His eyes widened as he realised two things: this was the fake Galleon he had been given as part of Dumbledore’s Army at Hogwarts; and if it was glowing, that meant someone was using theirs.
His first thought was of Harry and whether he might be using the Galleon to send a message from wherever he, Ron and Hermione had disappeared off to. Fred ran his finger around the edge of the coin, trying to find the place where the serial number would normally be, replaced in this instance by a series of numbers giving the time and date of… Ah-ha.
“FRED!” his twin bellowed from downstairs where he was working in the shop. Fred moved towards the doorway, eyes still on the Galleon, reading the numbers around the edge. 8•00… time first… then date… 15•10•97… Wait, that’s tomorrow! He descended the stairs and almost collided with George.
“Did we sell out of Nosebleed Nougat or do we have another case in the back?” George asked. Fred didn’t reply, still trying to work out who could have changed the message on their Galleon that caused all the others to follow suit. It looked as if it was being used for Dumbledore’s Army meetings again. Could it be someone at Hogwarts “ Ginny?
“Earth to Fred?” said George. “Look, you’ve got two ears so there’s no excuse for not hearing me.”
“Hmm?” Fred looked up. “All right, Crater-Face, keep your lug on. Look what I found.” He held up the fake Galleon.
George looked at it blankly. “You found a Galleon,” he said. “What, did you lose a Knut?”
Fred shook his head and tossed it to him. “It’s a fake,” he said. “Remember? Dumbledore’s Army? And someone is still using theirs.”
George’s eyes widened in comprehension, in the exact same way that Fred’s had done ten minutes ago. He turned the Galleon over in his hands, running his thumb around the edge just as Fred had. “Blimey. Do you know who it is?”
“No, but they’re using it in the exact same way as before, communicating times and dates, so my guess is that it’s someone at Hogwarts and they’ve restarted the DA. It could even be Ginny.”
George broke into a grin. “Brilliant! I bet it is. She always was a girl after our own heart “ I bet she’s running circles round Snape right this very minute. We did train her rather well.”
“Exceedingly,” Fred agreed.
George was now reading the numbers on the side of the coin. “The 15th, that’s tomorrow. Reckon they’re still using the old Room of Requirement?”
“There’s nowhere better,” said Fred. A thought had just occurred to him. “George, you know that thing Lee’s doing, the wireless programme?”
“Potterwatch, yeah, what about it?”
“Isn’t the second transmission tomorrow evening?”
“Well, if it goes off according to plan and Death Eaters don’t come knocking at the door again, then yeah, it should be at eight.”
“Hmmmm.” Fred took the Galleon back from his twin and pocketed it. “And to answer your question, yes, we’re clean out of Nougat.”
Ginny set the date and time of the next DA meeting on her Galleon and pictured the fake Galleons belonging to the other members of Dumbledore’s Army glowing all across Hogwarts in pockets and on desks and inside bags as they changed to mimic hers. The DA had grown by a few members since its inception at the start of term, and Ginny regarded each new member as one less potential supporter for the Carrows, one more person to stand up against their brutal regime. Neville had persuaded Hannah Abbott to start coming again, who had in turn brought Susan Bones; Gryffindor Beaters Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote (who were back on the team this year after another impressive tryout) had also started coming to meetings; and last meeting Luna had brought a rather bemused Orla Quirke with her. It was another instance of Luna’s uncanny knack for reading people; Orla had been feeling extremely upset and betrayed after a friend performed the Cruciatus Curse on her during a detention, and Ginny thought they had all managed quite well to comfort her and give her something productive to focus her mind on.
It made Ginny shudder as she thought about the ways in which the Carrows were creating rifts between people, bringing out the worst in them “ blind obedience, cowardice, fear-driven cruelty. In a month and a half of the Carrows’ reign of terror, things had not improved one bit. Hogwarts was now a disciplinary nightmare: none of the teachers wanted to subject pupils to the Carrows’ preferred brand of punishment, but there were fewer and fewer loopholes for them to exploit. They couldn’t let students go unpunished, and hardly anyone cared about losing House Points any more. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Vector had each landed themselves in trouble for trying to surreptitiously hold ordinary detentions without involving the Carrows. Now, sometimes, the thin figure of Snape or hunched silhouette of one of the Carrows skulked at the back of the classroom, ensuring that teachers did not hand out punishments of their own accord.
You’d think they all had better things to do with their time, thought Ginny in disgust the first time it happened during a Charms lesson. It reminded her forcibly of Umbridge inspecting lessons in her role as ‘Hogwarts High Inquisitor’. Some teachers were unaffected by the extra scrutiny, but others were noticeably rattled. Lavender Brown reported that Trelawney had almost had a nervous breakdown whilst teaching under the beady eye of Amycus Carrow (no doubt remembering Umbridge herself), and even Slughorn was sweating slightly as Snape oversaw one of his Potions lessons. It was absurd given that Slughorn must have taught Snape himself when Snape was a student at Hogwarts; yet Ginny couldn’t find it in herself to laugh at the situation.
A few hours after setting the date and time of the meeting, Ginny was startled to feel the Galleon in her pocket glow hot. She immediately looked around for Neville and Seamus as she took it out “ had one of them decided to change the time or send a message? She located Neville, who was also in the act of pulling his coin out and looking around for her. Their eyes met and she shook her head in bewilderment. Then it occurred to her to look at the numbers around the edge and see what had changed. Her heart was thumping hard “ was one of the DA in serious trouble?
What she saw was not a plea for help, however, but a string of numbers which didn’t form a coherent date and time, and a single word “ Phoenix. Ginny looked from the numbers to the word and back again, trying to fathom the connection. ‘Phoenix’ seemed most obviously to signify the Order of the Phoenix, especially since this message had been sent by someone who’d been in the DA (though not every member of Dumbledore’s Army knew about the Order); was it some sort of a signature? A code name? Something to do with Dumbledore? And what were these numbers? Ginny tore off a scrap of parchment and copied them down: 106•2105•495•5. She tried dividing them up with slashes to make dates, but they didn’t make sense like that, either. Ginny frowned, chewing her lip. Was it a safe combination? A set of co-ordinates? And who on earth had sent it? She felt sure that discovering the answer to one of the two unknowns (the nature of the message and its sender) would immediately lead to an answer for the other, but as it was, she knew neither.
Just then, Seamus climbed through the portrait hole and looked around for Neville and Ginny. Spotting them, he strode in their general direction, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey! Everything all right?” Neville got to his feet, and the two boys sat down at Ginny’s table.
“Everything’s fine,” Ginny replied.
Seamus lowered his voice to an undertone. “So what gives? What’s with the new message?”
“I wish I knew,” Ginny replied. Seamus’ eyebrows rose and he looked at Neville.
“It wasn’t you either?” Neville shook his head. Seamus frowned thoughtfully.
“Could have been one of the others then… We’ll have to ask them, though that defeats the object a bit.”
“It might not be anyone currently at Hogwarts,” Ginny pointed out. “A lot of people who had the you-know-whats have now left. Maybe that’s why they need them to get in touch.”
“Maybe… So then what does it mean?” But none of them could come up with a theory that fitted, and in the end they decided to leave it until the next DA meeting, where they could ask around about it.
The next morning at breakfast, Ginny received a pleasant surprise when the owl post arrived: a letter from Bill. Her mother had been faithfully keeping to her promise of writing every week, and Ginny loved the regular contact with home and the knowledge that everyone was still all right, even if her mother couldn’t give any details “ but she hadn’t been expecting any of her brothers to write. Fred and George were busy running their joke shop (and had never been the best at keeping in contact in any case); Ron was off risking his life with Harry and Hermione; Charlie was busy with work for the Order; and Percy… well, the less said about Percy, the better. Ginny still felt the burn of anger and disillusionment every time she thought about him. But Bill, faithful in his role as the caring eldest brother, had found time to write to his little sister. Ginny eagerly broke the seal on the parchment.
“Oooh, you’ve got a letter! Who’s it from?” Niamh asked, peering over her shoulder at the scrawling handwriting.
“My brother Bill,” Ginny replied. The owl, a small and elegant grey bird that Ginny didn’t recognise (probably belonging to Fleur), pecked delicately at the cornflakes Niamh offered it. Ginny began to read Bill’s letter.
Hi Ginny, hope you’re keeping well and working hard. Mum told me about the subjects you’ve chosen for N.E.W.T level “ great choices all round! Charlie would be particularly proud of you for doing Care of Magical Creatures (he’s been busy, but I’ll let him know next time he pops round). I’m sure it must be nice for you to chat with Hagrid on a regular basis too. Herbology’s another great practical subject “ again following in Charlie’s footsteps! Potions, Charms and Transfiguration are all excellent choices; I took those three myself along with History of Magic and Arithmancy (I know, I know, but I found the goblin rebellions fascinating in spite of Binns’ best attempts to put me to sleep). McGonagall will work you like a slave driver in Transfiguration“ Ginny smiled as she read that “but it’ll be worth it in the end. She’s the kind of teacher you can count on both inside lessons and outside. I hope you’re getting along all right with the new professors, too.
Fleur and I moved into our new cottage the other week. It’s really beautiful and feels very safe. It’s remote, but not completely out of reach in case someone needs us at short notice. Dad visited the other day, and we’ve told the rest of our group of friends that they can drop by if they ever need to. Speaking of which, Dad told me to let you know that if you feel like a holiday from Hogwarts, your aunt has invited us all to stay at any time.
That’s it for the news from me, then. I’d ask you to write back but I’m sure you’ve got far too much homework to do! The family is all well. If I’m too busy to write again for a while then just remember the old adage, “No news is good news.” Enjoy yourself at Hogwarts, and look after your friends,
Bill
Ginny traced the familiar handwriting with her eyes, feeling warm and reassured by her brother’s words. Even though he had to be careful with what he put in the letter in case it was read, he’d managed to communicate what he needed to. “She’s the kind of teacher you can count on” “ in other words, don’t forget that McGonagall is a trusted member of the Order, and go to her if you need to. “Hope you’re getting along all right with the new professors” was as close at Bill could come to saying that he hoped Ginny hadn’t fallen foul of the two Death Eaters who were now in charge. “The rest of the group” must have referred to the other Order members, for whom Bill’s cottage probably acted as a safe haven. And the bit about needing a holiday from Hogwarts... Ginny was fairly sure Bill was trying to tell her that if the worst came to the worst and they needed to go into hiding, they could stay with Auntie Muriel. She tried not to feel too glum about that prospect.
“Ginny!”
Ginny looked up from the letter to see who had called her name. With a start, she saw it was her first boyfriend, Michael Corner. Their relationship hadn’t ended on the best of terms, but they still spoke occasionally, and Ginny could respect that Michael was a faithful member of Dumbledore’s Army. He just tended to take inter-house rivalries a bit too seriously.
“Hi Michael, how are you?” she asked in a friendly tone.
“I’m fine.” He looked her up and down. “Ginny, you look different! Has something changed?”
Ginny nearly frowned in confusion “ and then cottoned on to what he was referring to. “No, no, nothing’s changed,” she reassured him.
“Hmmm.” He nodded slowly. “Maybe I should ask Neville and Seamus for their opinion.”
“They’ll say the same thing,” Ginny told him. Niamh was looking between the two of them, utterly lost.
“Well, if you’re sure… I was having a discussion with Terry, Orla and Luna just now,” he said. “We were discussing a numerical problem, but none of us could come up with the answer. Can you help?”
Ginny shook her head. “Sorry, Michael. I don’t take Arithmancy. But isn’t there an Arithmancy Club meeting soon? You can take the problem to them. It’s always best to brainstorm these things as a group.”
Michael’s face cleared. “That’s a good idea, Ginny. I’ll see you in Charms, then…”
He walked off. Ginny hoped that she’d got her intended meaning across and that they hadn’t been talking at cross-purposes the entire time. Niamh was still staring at her.
“You two sounded… It was like you were talking in code!” she said in a hushed voice. Ginny smiled at her.
“Not really, it was just a bit of friendly chat. So, what lesson have we got first?”
She would know for sure whether he’d got the message that evening at the DA meeting, anyway.
Neville sat doodling numbers on a piece of parchment during yet another intolerable ‘Muggle Studies’ lesson. He wasn’t idly daydreaming, though; in fact it was taking all of his concentration to tune Alecto Carrow out and all of his willpower to keep from hexing her as she spewed forth another one of her venomous, bigoted diatribes. This lesson she was telling a twisted version of Hogwarts’ history and its founding, recasting Slytherin as the main player and the one who strove to maintain the purity of the next magical generation, whilst Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff consorted with “Muggles and Mudbloods”, diluting their bloodlines and their power.
It’s not even Muggle Studies any more, thought Neville, it’s Advanced Magical Prejudice. He could tell by the expressions on his classmates’ faces that they despised every word, but he did worry about the first-years and what effect a year of this sort of brainwashing would have on their view of the wizarding world. The sooner they could oust the Carrows from Hogwarts, the better.
To distract himself, he had been working on every possible permutation of the numbers that they’d all been sent, via the Galleons, by the unknown someone. He’d arranged them every which way, added them and divided them, looked for patterns and coded meanings; he came up with nothing every time. In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting to find anything. He had a feeling the answer was far more mundane. But it was giving him something to focus on.
A burst of colour out of the corner of his eye caught his attention “ Seamus had shot red sparks from the end of his wand “ a warning. Neville looked up in time to see Alecto Carrow advancing on him in fury.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” she shrieked. “ACCIO PARCHMENT!” Neville made a grab for the parchment but it slipped between his fingertips and flew into her hand.
The rest of the class looked on nervously as Alecto held the scrap of parchment up at eye level. Her eyes widened. Neville wondered what meaning, real or imagined, she could possibly find in a load of numbers and sums on a bit of parchment.
“You will stay behind after the lesson, Longbottom,” Alecto spat, “to do your punishment. She glared around at the class. “What are you gawking at?! FIVE POINTS EACH FROM GRYFFINDOR!!”
None of the Gryffindors so much as flinched. Every house except for Slytherin (who kept mysteriously gaining points) was already in negative numbers, and no-one was really focused on winning the House Cup this year.
After the lesson, Neville stayed sitting at his desk while the rest of the class filed out, shooting him sympathetic glances. Neville wondered why Alecto had chosen to wait for the end of the lesson to exact her ‘punishment’, instead of making an example of him there and then as she usually did.
“STAND UP!” she shrieked. Neville slowly got to his feet. Alecto’s spell hit him like a punch in the chest; unprepared, he fell backwards into a row of desks, which toppled like dominoes. Neville grabbed at an upturned wooden leg and managed not to fall onto his backside; the corner of a table dug painfully into the small of his back. Alecto strode across the room as he hauled himself back upright, brandishing the scrap of parchment. She looked deranged.
“What is this?!” she demanded. “Is it a code?! IS THIS HOW YOU’VE BEEN COMMUNICATING??”
“Protego!” Neville cried before she could get any closer. Alecto stopped short on the other side of his shield and glared malevolently. “Communicating with who?”
“Your little friends!” Alecto spat. “Dumbledore’s Army.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Neville said coolly from the other side of his Shield Charm. “Is this something to do with that graffiti someone-”
“YOU KNOW VERY WELL IT IS, BOY!” shrieked Alecto. “YOU WROTE IT!!”
“Do you have proof of that?” Neville countered. Since his and Ginny’s initial bout of vandalism, they hadn’t done anything else major like it, but the DA had been leaving small messages here and there “ on desks, mostly, or on bits of torn parchment left lying around in the Carrows’ classrooms. The faded remains of the original graffiti also lingered, defying Filch’s best attempts to erase them.
“Your reputation precedes you, boy,” Alecto replied. “I know you were at the Department of Mysteries.” Neville’s stomach turned over at the reminder of that weird, frightening place. “I also know you associate with Harry Potter.” She waved the parchment at him again. “Did he put you up to this?! Is this how you’re contacting him??”
Neville laughed. He knew he should be more afraid, but the conclusion she had just leapt to was so ridiculous that he couldn’t help but laugh. Plus Alecto’s evident fear of the DA gave him courage.
“You’re insane,” he stated. “I’m leaving.”
He moved towards the door, but Alecto was quicker. “IMPEDIMENTA!” The jinx slammed into Neville’s right side and he staggered. Alecto cackled wildly.
“Never turn your back on an armed opponent, idiot boy!”
Well, I won’t be making that mistake again, thought Neville. Admittedly, it had been sloppy of him; against another Death Eater it could have cost him his life. He still wasn’t sure whether or not Alecto might kill him in her mad quest for information. Neville raised his wand and scanned the classroom, looking for ways he could put their surroundings to use.
“Tell me what this means!” Alecto screeched. “CRUC-” Her spell was cut off as a desk rammed into her from behind. Neville seized his chance.
“Accio parchment!” he cried. Alecto clutched at it, but the force of Neville’s Summoning Charm tore the parchment, and only a small scrap remained in her grasp as the rest soared towards Neville’s outstretched hand. Though the numbers didn’t mean what Alecto thought they meant, Neville couldn’t risk her discovering their real purpose, whatever that might be. He knew it had something to do with resisting Voldemort, and that was enough to make him guard the information with his life.
“You little piece of blood traitor scum,” Alecto hissed. She flicked her wand, and Neville felt a sharp pain slash across his cheek, as though a knife had scored a line across it. He put up a hand to feel the cut; it was quite shallow.
“Is that the best you can do?” he asked. He still wasn’t sure where this new bravado was coming from. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, I suppose, he thought. He could remember all the times that Harry had stood up to Umbridge, even through weeks of detentions where he was forced to write lines in his own blood; even when he could so easily have kept his mouth shut and said nothing. It used to give people hope, and Neville wanted to be able to do the same, now that making a stand was even more crucial than it had been back then.
“Watch your tongue, boy,” snarled Alecto. “If you was a Mudblood I’d have spilled your filthy blood all over the floor by now.”
Neville wiped at the cut, smearing his hand with so-called ‘pure’ blood. So this was what was keeping him alive. Really, he should have known. He felt suddenly reckless with the assurance that she wasn’t about to kill him.
“Well, in any case,” he said, “I’m sure your master will be pleased to hear that you’ve been letting a bunch of school kids run rings around you. Really delighted.”
Alecto’s face twisted in utter fury.
“DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, BOY?!” she shrieked. Neville was a little more prepared this time, and jerked backwards to avoid the slash of her spell. It sliced his chin, and he realised it would have cut across his throat if he hadn’t dodged. Maybe he’d pushed things a little too far.
“CRUCIO!” Neville threw himself to the floor to avoid the curse, banging his shoulder on an overturned chair as he did so.
“Expelliarmus!” he shouted, aiming his wand as best he could from under the debris of furniture.
It worked, and Alecto’s wand went spinning away from her hand. She screamed with rage and grabbed at it, but it landed on top of a cupboard out of her reach.
Neville climbed to his feet, panting slightly.
“I think I can safely turn my back on you now,” he said, and left the room, victory pounding in his ears.
His confrontation with Alecto caused him to miss half of Herbology, but on the whole, Neville thought it had been worth it. He felt so defiant and powerful“ for the first time in his life, he’d stood up to someone who bullied him and actually won. He could still remember every single time that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had bullied and tormented him over the years, and the way it had made him feel so worthless, like he ought to just shrivel up and disappear. He’d often wished for an Invisibility Cloak or a Disillusionment Charm, something that would let him fade into the background so that they wouldn’t pick on him. And everything they said had only affirmed Snape’s insults about his lack of magical ability and general intelligence, and his grandmother’s unfavourable comparisons between himself and his dad. This felt like the time at a Quidditch match in first year when he’d turned around to Malfoy and said, “I’m worth twelve of you” and actually believed it.
Neville realised all of a sudden how much he missed Harry “ not just as a figurehead, the ‘Chosen One’ or even the leader of the DA, but as a friend who had always acted like Neville was worth something.
He hurried to Greenhouse Five and gave his apologies to Professor Sprout as he walked in. She looked aghast at the state of him.
“Mr. Longbottom “ Miss Patil told me you’d been kept back after Muggle Studies “ but you’ve been injured! You should have gone to Madam Pomfrey!”
Neville smiled slightly at Professor Sprout’s concern, wiping at his cheek again. It was still painful, especially when he moved his mouth and the skin pulled, but he thought the bleeding was lessening. The same could not be said for his chin, however.
“Thanks, Professor, but I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it!” Professor Sprout retorted. She pulled out her wand and pointed it first at his cheek, then at his chin, saying, “Tergeo.” Neville flinched as the cut smoked and stung, cleaning itself. He felt the skin around it; the dried blood had all gone.
“Thank you, Professor.”
“Now put your dragonhide gloves on and try not to get those cuts infected,” Professor Sprout ordered.
“Yes, Professor.”
Neville caught the anxious gaze of Hannah Abbott, who appeared to have been watching the whole exchange. He smiled at her, and went to share a table with her and Susan Bones.
“Neville, what did she do to you?” whispered Hannah, staring at him over the swaying fronds of a Devil’s Snare seedling.
“She just…” Neville hesitated. Hannah and Susan were both in the DA, but it still felt risky talking about it openly here. “She was just asking me some questions. Violently.”
Susan smiled wryly at his attempt at humour and poured a cascade of water onto her newly-repotted seedling, neatly avoiding its grasping tentacles, before sealing it back inside its protective bubble and waving her wand so that it turned opaque, creating the dark atmosphere that Devil’s Snare plants were so fond of.
Hannah, however, continued to look steadily at Neville, worry in her bright blue eyes. He gave her an awkward smile, and busied himself with filling up a pot of damp compost and shovelling fertiliser on top with a small trowel.
“I’ll, um, tell you later, anyway,” he said, avoiding her gaze.
“All right,” said Hannah softly. He looked up again to find her still watching him. Susan glanced over at her two friends and rolled her eyes.
The relationship between Neville and Hannah had been subtly different ever since he’d asked her if she was willing to rejoin Dumbledore’s Army. No “ actually, it went back to before that. Neville had started seeing Hannah in a different light during their membership of the DA in fifth year. One meeting he’d just noticed, suddenly, how pretty she looked when she was duelling: her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes intent with concentration, the light gleaming off her golden hair. It was just a fleeting moment where he’d looked across the Room of Requirement and seen her, but it was enough. In the next instant he’d had to quickly defend himself against a hex Hermione sent his way, using the Shield Charm they’d been practicing that session. There was a time when he’d had a crush on Hermione herself, but he realised now that it had been a very silly one, just a schoolboy infatuation with the kind and clever witch who had saved him from so many difficult situations. Besides, he didn’t really fancy getting on Ron’s bad side.
After that moment in the DA meeting, Neville’s affection for Hannah grew with every Herbology lesson they spent tending to plants side by side, and every DA meeting where they practiced spells a few metres apart; but he never dreamed of acting on it. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Hannah would give someone like him a second glance; and anyway, for a while he was sure there was something going on between her and fellow Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley. (Though if there had been, it didn’t appear to have come to anything). Instead he went pink when their hands brushed in Herbology as he passed her a pair of pruning shears; and during DA meetings he would sneak glances at her whenever he could, until that joyous meeting when Susan, her usual practice partner, was ill.
“Hi, Neville,” Hannah had said shyly. “Want to practice together?”
“Y-yeah, sure,” he’d replied, trying not to seem too eager.
Unfortunately, not long after that fantastic meeting (definitely his favourite of all time, if he was honest) came the mass breakout from Azkaban and the news that Bellatrix Lestrange was on the loose once again. From then on, frivolous things like crushes on pretty Hufflepuff girls went out the window. All Neville could think about was the possibility of a confrontation with his parents’ torturer. He’d wanted to do his parents proud if he faced off against her. He’d wanted to make Bellatrix pay for what she’d done.
Then came the Department of Mysteries and a desperate struggle against Death Eaters and being tortured by Bellatrix and the anguish at breaking his father’s wand and mixed with the failure, once again, to live up to his legacy… but there was the relief at having survived “ that they’d all survived, all of his friends “ followed by a joyful, shy, clumsy kiss with Luna that he didn’t quite know what to make of… She had never appeared to regard him, or anyone else for that matter, as anything more than friends; and so Neville had never thought of her in that way either, even though he’d always thought she was very pretty. Over the summer he’d fretted about what it might mean; they’d written to each other a couple of times, but she’d never mentioned it; and at the beginning of last year, when he’d finally worked up the courage to bring the topic up, she’d only smiled at him serenly and said it was all right for friends to kiss each other, wasn’t it?
Which left him feeling very confused and with an entire host of butterflies in his stomach.
After that he couldn’t quite forget about the kiss, which had been his first, and quite a nice one at that; but he still liked Hannah very much, even though he only saw her in Herbology now that there were no more DA meetings. He still couldn’t bring himself to ask her out, though; and then it was too late and Hannah had gone, and every time he thought about her it was with a stab of sadness, wondering if she was all right.
In the summer holidays, he’d written to her, but she hadn’t replied. It hadn’t been a very good letter anyway, mind you; he’d revised it about four times before he’d found the right words to say, and even then, it just sounded… inadequate.
Which is why he’d been nervous about approaching her this year to ask about the DA, wondering if maybe she, too, thought he was a bit pathetic. But he told herself that he just had to grit his teeth and talk to her, if not for his own sake, then for the sake of the budding resistance which she could very well want to be a part of.
“Hannah.” He’d caught up with her on the way out of the greenhouses after Herbology. “Can I, uh- I mean- I have a question for you.”
Hannah turned, and unexpectedly, her face lit up, her cheeks going slightly pink. “Neville! Hi! Yes, of course! Uh, Susan, do you mind if-”
“Yes, I’ll give you two some privacy,” Susan said, shaking her head. “Hi, Neville.”
“Hey, Susan. How was your summer?”
She shrugged. “It was all right.” To Hannah she added, “Don’t be too late for dinner. I’ll try and save you a seat.”
Hannah watched her go, looking sad. “She really hasn’t been the same, since her Auntie Amelia… She and her aunt were really, really close. I know Susan looked up to her so much. I only met her once, but I really liked her… It’s so unfair for their family to lose yet another person.” Her voice wobbled. “Yet even through all that, she’s been so supportive to me…”
Neville wasn’t sure what had prompted Hannah to talk about this to him, but he had a feeling it had been on her mind lately. Maybe she hadn’t been able to talk about it to anyone else.
“And… how are you doing?” he asked tentatively.
Hannah sighed and bit her lip. They were walking slowly in the direction of the castle, in no particular hurry to get there. It was a few minutes before she came up with a response.
“I… I never really know how to answer that, when someone asks me,” she said in a small voice. “People ask me how I’m coping, but I don’t even know whether I am. How do you define ‘coping’ anyway? Does ‘coping’ mean that you don’t constantly think of them and wish they were here with you? Does it mean you stop wanting to grab a Time Turner and go back and do anything to stop it happening?” Her eyes were brimming with tears. Neville looked at her, his heart pounding almost painfully as he searched for the right words to say. His parents weren’t dead, but he could empathise with all of those feelings all the same.
“No, I don’t think it means that,” he said. “When people say ‘coping’, I guess they just mean going on with your day-to-day life… Doing the things that they would want you to do, only… without them.”
Hannah nodded. Her shoulders were hunched, and he wanted so badly to put his arm around her, but he didn’t know how she would take it. They walked in silence together for some time.
“I got your letter,” Hannah suddenly said. “It was really nice of you to write… I’m sorry I didn’t reply.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” said Neville. “I didn’t really expect “ that is, um, it was up to you. Whether you wanted to or not. I know you must have had other things on your mind.”
“The truth is, I did try to write back,” Hannah confessed with a tiny laugh. “I wrote about five different versions and screwed them all up… None of them really sounded right.”
It was such an exact echo of Neville’s own experience in writing his letter that he was inclined to burst out laughing. He squashed it down so that it was only a chuckle. Hannah looked at him in surprise. “Sorry, it’s just, I did the exact same thing,” Neville explained. “Really, it’s a miracle it got sent to you at all.”
Hannah smiled up at him, a genuine smile, and he felt the horde of butterflies return to his stomach. He could feel himself blushing as he returned her smile. They were nearing the castle now.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I completely hijacked this conversation,” said Hannah, going pink again. “What question did you want to ask me?”
“Ah…” Neville looked around; he felt like they were too close to the castle for comfort, now. “Do you mind if we walk around a bit more?”
“Okay,” said Hannah, a little puzzled. They set off back the way they’d come. Once they were a safe distance from the castle, Neville began,
“It’s about the DA… Even though Harry’s not here any more, we “ that is, me, Ginny, Luna and Seamus “ thought that we should start it back up. Well, we sort of already have.” He suddenly worried that she would be angry with him for not asking her sooner. “I’ve been looking for the right moment to ask you… if you want to be a part of it?”
He glanced at her sidelong. Hannah’s expression was thoughtful. Then her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. That graffiti “ that was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, that was me and Ginny,” Neville admitted.
“The DA’s been at the back of my mind since I read the messages,” said Hannah. “But I didn’t know who’d actually written it… I should have known, really, though. Who else would it have been?” She gave him another small smile.
“It made me wonder whether I would join the DA again if it re-formed. I even discussed it with Susan a bit. She said she’d be all for it, but I thought it might be really dangerous…” Her expression hardened. “It only took one more lesson with those Carrows to make my mind up, though. To think that this is just a little bit of what Hogwarts would be like with You-Know-Who in charge “ to say nothing of the rest of the country. I’d do anything not to let that happen.”
Hannah’s fists were clenched. Without really planning it, they’d come to a halt somewhere in the middle of the grounds. Hannah stared at the grass. Neville watched her, wondering what she was thinking. Finally she took a deep breath and lifted her head to look him in the eye.
“So yes, I want to be a part of Dumbledore’s Army again,” she said firmly.
Neville grinned. “It’ll be great to have you back.”
Since then, Neville and Hannah had taken to walking to DA meetings together. It wasn’t intentional at first, but somehow they always seemed to run into each other in the corridor a few minutes before the meeting, sometimes with Susan or Seamus. After it had happened a few times, Neville started making a habit of leaving at the exact same time and ensuring that he met up with Hannah along the way.
The evening after they’d been sent the mysterious numbers, he and Hannah reached the Room on the dot of eight o’clock. Ginny and Luna were already there, but no-one else; however, the others all turned up in short order. The last to arrive was Ernie MacMillan.
“So sorry I’m late,” he apologised, pulling the door shut behind him. “I, er, fell asleep in the library.”
A few people laughed. Ernie rubbed his hands together. “So, what do we think of those numbers, eh? Cracked them yet? I must say it was a bit of a puzzle, but the answer occurred to me in short order.”
Everyone looked at him blankly.
“You mean, you know what they are?” Ginny asked, breaking the dumbfounded silence.
“Of course! Well, that is to say, I have a theory which seems to fit rather well. I wouldn’t presume to say that I am right, necessarily, but we could test it out rather easily, in any case.”
“What is your theory, then?” asked Seamus, when it became clear he wasn’t going to elaborate further.
“Why, radio stations, of course!” said Ernie. A general groan of realisation went up, with a few cries of “Of course!” Ginny’s forehead met the palm of her hand with quite a loud smack.
“But what kind of radio stations, I can’t say,” Ernie continued. “Do we have a wireless in here?”
I need a radio, thought Neville, and in the next instant he spotted one sitting on a small table in the corner. He was positive neither the wireless nor the table had been there before.
“Yeah, here’s one,” he said. He got up and carried the table to the centre of the room. Everyone shuffled around, rearranging themselves so that they were sitting in a circle around the wireless.
“Now, what were the numbers?”
“The first one was 106.2,” said Lavender. Neville nodded and took out his wand.
“Well, shall I do the honours?”
There was general agreement, and so Neville began tapping on the top of the radio with his wand. One… he tapped the radio once. Zero… He waited a few seconds. Six… He tapped on the radio six times. The others watched as Neville finished tapping out the station number; they all listened, but all that issued from the radio was static.
“Maybe this is why we were given three station numbers. We should try one of the others,” said Ginny.
“Wait a minute,” said Susan. “Wasn’t there a word as well?”
“Of course!” said Neville, and wanted to kick himself. “Phoenix.” Nothing happened, but undeterred, Neville tapped out the rhythm again, a little quicker this time, saying, “Phoenix.”
They all jumped as a voice suddenly spoke out of nowhere. “…you’re listening to Potterwatch, a new radio programme which tells the truth that the Daily Prophet and the other WWN stations try to cover up. I’m your affable host, River.”
“Isn’t that Lee Jordan?!” exclaimed Parvati.
“Joining me in our undisclosed studio location are two guests who I hope will become regular contributors to this programme, Romulus-”
“Hello,” said a voice, a very familiar voice, but Neville couldn’t quite identify it from that one word. He saw a few others exchange glances; Ginny leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the radio.
“-and Rapscallion.”
“Hi there!” This time it was a woman’s voice, and completely unfamiliar, but youthful and upbeat.
“Many thanks, you two, for making time to take part in this evening’s programme. First, let’s kick things off with some key news items the Prophet isn’t reporting. Well-known Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt has managed to escape after being confronted by a group of Death Eaters in his London home. Mr. Shacklebolt succeeded in fighting off his numerous opponents and is now in hiding.
“Meanwhile, there has been no new information on the whereabouts of Charity Burbage, former Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, who was reported missing some months ago following an impassioned defense of Muggle-borns in the Daily Prophet. The official position from ‘headmaster’ Severus Snape is that Professor Burbage has retired, but her friends and relatives assert that this is not the case. Due to the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, it is strongly suspected that she was abducted by Death Eaters.” A few people exchanged agonised glances at the news.
“Increased numbers of Dementors congregating around urban areas are taking their toll on Muggles and wizards alike, and reports indicate that the elderly and infirm are especially at risk from these soul-draining creatures. Folks, if at all possible when venturing outside, take a friend who knows the Patronus charm along with you, or better still, try to learn how to do one yourself.
“And now let’s hand it over to our first guest, Rapscallion, for an update on the welfare of the many Muggle-borns in hiding or on the run from the many Ministry of Magic officials attempting to incarcerate, interrogate or eradicate them. Rapscallion.”
“Thanks, River,” said ‘Rapscallion’ cheerfully. “For those among our listeners who might not know this, the new Ministry of Magic has been systematically targeting anyone of Muggle birth and forcing them to prove their wizarding heritage. If they can’t, they’re deemed to have stolen their magical ability and labelled as criminals. Muggle-born children have also been banned from attending Hogwarts School.” Her voice was bitter. “The new policy has prompted an outbreak of workers all over the country attempting to discredit their colleagues’ Blood Status and steal their positions. Neighbourhoods and even families have fractured as people are informing on each other left, right and centre. At the same time there is a flourishing black market for forged identity documents, particularly birth certificates and family trees “ anything that can help a Muggle-born to prove that they do indeed have a wizard or witch in the family.”
Her tone became humorous again. “In particular, it seems like a lot of dead witches and wizards have found they are now closely related to a living Muggle-born whom they’d probably never met while they were alive. The families of other living witches and wizards have begun to expand rapidly as they acquire Muggle-born cousins, half-siblings, nieces and nephews, grandchildren… And all with the appropriate documentation to prove it. Now, while I don’t officially condone the forging of identity documents, I can commend anyone who does take it upon themselves to protect a Muggle-born friend in this way. We’re all of equal magical ability, no matter what the Ministry wants us to believe.”
“Nicely put, Rapscallion,” said Lee. “Now we turn to Romulus, our other guest, who is going to bring us a feature we like to call ‘Pals of Potter’, which gives information on the friends and supporters of the ‘Chosen One’, the ‘Boy Who Lived’, the man with the lightning scar, a.k.a. Harry Potter. Over to you, Romulus.”
“Thank you, River,” said ‘Romulus’ pleasantly, and Neville realised with a jolt that he knew who the voice belonged to.
“Lupin! It’s Professor Lupin!”
Ginny smiled and nodded. Parvati and Lavender both gasped with realisation. The only person who looked confused was Laura, who had never been taught by Lupin.
“You mean our old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?” exclaimed Hannah. “Oh, wow! It’s so great to know he’s okay! I liked him.”
Terry Boot put a finger to his lips as they listened to what Lupin was saying on the radio.
“-even if I hadn’t seen him with my own two eyes a little over a month ago, I would be convinced that Harry Potter is still alive,” Lupin said firmly. “There is no doubt in my mind about that.”
“Well, that’s a great encouragement to everyone out there who’s giving it their all in the belief that he is alive and will be able to take down the Chief Death Eater in the near future,” said Lee. “Can you tell us a bit about those people?”
“Perhaps the most outspoken of the Harry Potter’s supporters is the editor of the Quibbler magazine, Xenophilius Lovegood,” said Lupin.
At this, everyone immediately turned to look at Luna, who appeared to have been staring into space and didn’t look as if she was paying attention at all. However, she smiled broadly at the mention of her father’s name.
“The Quibbler has recently departed from its usual… niche subject matter and turned itself into the only publication which is printing the truth about goings-on in the wizarding world, much like what we aim to do here. Recent issues have included some very practical defence tips, along with some more unorthodox suggestions; but the point is, if it comes down to choosing whether to subscribe to the Daily Prophet or the Quibbler, these days the Quibbler is a far more worthwhile choice. Our kudos go out to Mr. Lovegood for being the only one brave enough to speak out on these extremely important matters.”
“Kudos indeed,” said Lee. “Right, that about wraps things up for tonight. We hope to be back on the air sometime soon; next programme’s password is ‘Auror’. Keep each other safe: keep faith. Goodnight.”
The Resistance by enchantedsleeper
Chapter Notes: Here is another update, in super-quick time! (Well, compared to my usual). Hope you enjoy this MONSTER of a chapter, and lots of love to everyone who reviewed :D
(P.S. Neville/Hannah fluff alert!)