The Long Wait (Harry Potter book 7, from Neville's perspective)

[mrsfizzle]

Neville took a seat next to Seamus, who was looking a bit lost without Dean. Seventh year Gryffindors had Dark Arts first thing in the morning, along with the Slytherins. The Slytherins and Gryffindors always tended to naturally separate from each other in the classroom, regardless of whether a teacher gave them a seating chart—and none of the teachers had been naive enough to force them to intermingle.

For years, Neville had been the last one picked in class when students were asked to choose partners, or the odd one out. He wouldn't be last anymore, since they were down to exactly four Gryffindors in their year. He knew it was a small thing, but it made him feel a bit less alone, and he had to be thankful for small blessings.

"New subject in our last year," Seamus said. "Wasn't expecting that."

"Been a long time since we started a new subject. Remember our first week of charms, when you set that feather on fire?"

"That might be the goal in this class." Seamus smiled wryly.

"You'll do great, then."

It was quiet for a moment.

"Not sure how this is going to be fair for House points," Seamus said, gesturing around at the difference between the number of Gryffindors and the number of Slytherins.

"That's the last thing on my mind," Neville muttered.

"Would be for me too, mate, but the Slytherins are insufferable enough without holding one more thing over our heads. This morning, Malfoy—"

But he was cut off by the doors slamming open.

Amycus Carrow had apparently learned a few things from Snape about how to enter a room. He stalked down the center and to the front of the classroom, his robes billowing behind himself impressively. He wrote "Dark Arts" on the chalkboard and took roll. He sneered after reading Neville's name, and Neville felt his blood chill. Carrow must have known about his parents.

When he finished taking roll, Carrow stepped out in front of the table. "I've been tasked with explaining to you all how the new discipline system will work at Hogwarts."

Neville swallowed hard. Most years, this talk would scare him because he knew he'd make mistakes no matter how hard he tried to stay out of trouble. This was the first year he intended to misbehave, which meant these would be the consequences if he were caught.

"First thing you need to know is that we won't be taking House points. Won't be awarding them, either. In our experience, it's not an effective system."

"Small mercies," Seamus whispered.

Neville wasn't sure whether to agree. In his first year, after McGonagall had taken fifty points from him for being out of bed after curfew, he'd cried himself to sleep. Part of it was his fear of the scolding and smacking he knew he'd take from his Gran when he got home, but most of it was the shame at having let Gryffindor down. As much as it had hurt, that camaraderie had been a powerful thing. It stood to reason that Death Eaters wouldn't be counting on that.

"The usual punishments will be replaced by detentions, most of which will be served with myself or my sister, your Muggle Studies professor. Do not expect us to assign you lines, essays, or other menial tasks. Punishment is meant to put a stop to rebellious behavior. I'll make this very simple and clear: if you should find yourself serving detention with either of us, expect pain."

Hot chills spread through Neville's limbs. He glanced over at Seamus, whose face had gone pale. Lavender Brown, who sat in front of him beside Parvati, had gripped the edge of her chair, and her knuckles were now turning white.

"Enough of that. Let's talk Dark Arts."

Somehow, the change of subject wasn't comforting.

Carrow began to pace. "You're here to push the boundaries, to learn new heights and depths of what magic is and can do. Your education in this vital subject is critically lacking, and I only have one year to get you up to speed, so you'll all have to work hard in this class. You're seventh years, most of you adults, and none of you have ever had a single lesson in reaching your full potential as wizards. That's a crying shame, and one I intend to rectify."

It was dead silent in the classroom.

"The first thing you need to understand about the Dark Arts is that they're . . . let's say misunderstood. You've been told a lot about them that isn't true. Scare tactics, meant to discourage practice of some of the most powerful forms of magic. This is a crime against everything we as wizards stand for. Anyone seeking to limit the practice of the Dark Arts is simply trying to limit your power as a wizard. You are only as strong as the magic you master."

And only as good, Neville wanted to add.

"Now, I understand some of you might have—what do you call it—a moral objection to using Dark Arts, and I'm here to tell you you'll always be given a choice. As in the real world, you always have a choice."

Neville held his breath, not daring to hope.

"A choice between performing the Dark Arts, and being their victim."

Applause broke out on the Slytherin side of the classroom. Neville's fist clenched.

"This is the reason Hogwarts will no longer be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. It is unnecessary. If you know the Dark Arts themselves, you'll know how to defend yourself against them if the need should arise."

Carrow sounded sincere about that part, but Neville didn't believe he meant it. He couldn't imagine Death Eaters teaching anything that might be effective in fighting against the likes of Lord Voldemort.

"Now some of you may merely lack the skills and talents needed to command such powerful magic. This is a different problem entirely, and one with which I cannot help you. For those of you who find yourself in this position, this class will serve merely to teach you your place. The sooner you make peace with your inferior status, the sooner you can find a stronger wizard to help you rise above it."

Neville suddenly knew where he was going with this. He tensed his jaw to keep himself from protesting.

"One last idea to consider before we begin our lesson for today. Our Dark Lord is not without mercy. Many a weak, talentless wizards has found protection and elevated status through humble, loyal service. As his power grows, those who wish to survive must seek his favor."

"Never."

The word was out of Neville's mouth before he had a chance to think. His heart dropped into his stomach as soon as he said it.

Carrow had descended on him in a moment. "You think you're brave, Gryffindor?"

"No, sir." Neville sat up straight. He kept his eyes on the blackboard at the front of the class, avoiding Carrow's eyes.

"No. You're that Longbottom kid. You want to end up like your parents, boy?"

He took a deep breath that he hoped didn't sound as shaky as it felt. "If I have to."

"Oh, you will."

Neville turned to look Carrow in the eyes. "Better like them than like you."

The response was immediate. Carrow backhanded him across the right cheek.

Neville's head whipped back. He managed to keep from crying out when the vicious sting settled in a half-second later, but one fingernail had struck him just beneath the eye, and his eyes watered.

"That was a warning, boy." Carrow lowered his hand. "Anything else clever to say?"

Neville nearly shrank back. But Seamus was staring at him, eyes wide with anticipation; Lavender and Parvati were turned all the way back in their seats, their expressions a mix of fear and awe. It struck Neville that they were looking to him for guidance, and for hope.

So Neville blinked back the tears and set his jaw. "Not today, sir."

To his surprise, Carrow grinned. "Ah, see, that was clever. Oh, I look forward to having you in my class this year, Longbottom. And I look forward to assigning you detention." He leaned against Neville's desk, bringing his face close. "But not today, eh?"

Carrow walked back to the front of the classroom and began to lecture about dark artifacts, and Neville let his breath out.

He could feel his hands shaking. Part of him wanted to take the lesson and heed the warning—to stay silent. But he knew it wasn't practical. For one thing, if their professors kept egging them on, he wouldn't be able to keep silent even if he wanted to. For another, they couldn't let the voices of Death Eaters be the final word. It had to be known and vocalized among the students that there were still those who stood for what was right.

Seamus gave him a discreet, gentle clap on the back when Carrow was facing the blackboard. Parvati and Lavender each took one last worried glance at Neville, at separate times—Neville made himself give each of them a small smile, and was rewarded with a smile in return.

Neville wasn't convinced he had won the battle against Amycus Carrow, but somehow, by showing that rebellion was possible and that the consequences were endurable, he'd taken a huge stride in the fight against fear.

It was both terrifying and sobering to have had a taste of what the price of hope would be. The price was steep, but affordable. And it was worth it. Anything they could do to spark hope within the DA would give them strength while they waited for Harry to return and save them all.

The sooner they could steal the sword of Gryffindor, the better.

 

[mrsfizzle]

Ginny usually separated from her older friends upon reaching the Great Hall, but today she ended up taking a place at the Gryffindor table with Neville, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender. It felt wrong for Luna to leave them to rejoin the Ravenclaws, and for a moment it frustrated her that the houses should exist to divide the school at all. If they were going to survive, they'd all have to be brave like Gryffindors, smart like Ravenclaws, and loyal like Hufflepuffs.

Then there were the Slytherins.

Ginny had had enough mentors in her life, family friends she respected, who had chided her that Merlin himself was a Slytherin, and that Slytherin wasn't about darkness, but about cunning, ambition, and strategy. If that was true, Dumbledore's Army would need a healthy dose of Slytherin values as well. But based on most of the Slytherins she'd met, things just weren't working out that way. Too many of the Slytherins had joined leagues with Voldemort. If there were any remaining that might have liked to stand against the coming darkness, they'd have been too outnumbered among their own friends and family to say anything.

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding among the DA that Neville, Ginny, and Luna would be taking up leadership—like how Harry had been in charge before, but Ron and Hermione had always supported him. The task seemed daunting at best, but she wouldn't let her friends down.

Ginny's heart ached at Harry's absence, and if she was honest with herself, knowing Ron was around had been a security blanket for her as well. Thinking of Harry and Ron made her miss Hermione all the more as well. A few of Ginny's friends seemed to think Hermione should have been placed in Ravenclaw, but Ginny knew better than anyone that that the Sorting Hat hadn't made a mistake. Hermione had supported Ginny through more than Harry knew—she was one of the bravest people Ginny had ever met.

There was no point in focusing on the people who had left them. Ginny needed to take stock of who was still around, know who to trust, who to avoid, and who to fight.

McGonagall was still there, of course, along with Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn, Hagrid, and a few others. She wasn't sure about Slughorn—he'd been a Slytherin, after all—but she was pretty sure she could trust the others. If Madame Pomfrey was still around, she would probably be trustworthy as well. She was great about healing students without asking too many questions, and with Snape in charge of school discipline, that might be more necessary than ever.

Snape.

Ginny felt like she'd known for years that Snape was untrustworthy. It seemed like they all had, all of her friends and everyone in the Order, deep down inside, but they'd all trusted Dumbledore's judgement—and as it turned out, Snape was Dumbledore's blind spot. If only someone had managed to get Dumbledore to listen! Maybe he would still be alive, and Hogwarts would still be safe.

But it wasn't worth lamenting if-only's. She continued scanning the staff table. There were a couple of new faces—a short, pale, heavyset man with tiny, narrowed eyes, and a woman who looked a lot like him. They could have been related. Since they'd been appointed since Snape took up his position, she had to assume they couldn't be trusted.

For a split second, it occurred to her to wonder why Snape had allowed the other staff members to keep their teaching positions at all, but she was distracted from her curiosity when Snape took his place at the center podium, where Dumbledore used to stand. Her blood boiled, and she clenched her teeth. She wanted to say something. To shout, to protest, to do anything . . .

A warm hand took her shoulder, and she looked over to see Neville shaking his head. "It's okay," he whispered. "We'll be okay."

She felt her cheeks grow hot, and she shrugged his hand away. Neville was terrified of Snape, and he of all people was trying to reassure her.

Snape cleared his throat. "Greetings, Hogwarts students."

Ginny's eyes snapped back up to Snape, and she noticed for the first time that the sleeves of his robe were rolled back, so that his dark mark was exposed, standing in stark contrast to his pale skin. The two newer professors wore their sleeves the same way, showing off the same marks. So that answered that question.

"We will begin the Sorting of first-year students."

Snape didn't let the Sorting Hat sing, nor did he allow McGonagall to perform the ceremony. He rushed through the few first years whose families had been brave or desperate enough to allow their children to attend school, but it was a pitifully tiny class, and they weren't split evenly across the houses like they usually were. There were only three new Gryffindors; over half of the children went into Slytherin.

Children—that's what they were. Eleven-year-olds. Children Ginny and her friends would have to protect.

Snape didn't bother with much of a speech like Dumbledore always had. He didn't mention Dumbledore at all. He simply reminded students of a few school rules—mostly banning joke shop products—then said, "At this time, may I introduce to you, your new Muggle Studies professor, Alecto Carrow—" Snape gestured to the woman and paused to allow students to applaud, though most of the applause came from the Slytherin table— "and your new Dark Arts professor, Amycus Carrow."

This time, all applause was drowned out by murmurs. Dark Arts. Not Defense Against the Dark Arts, but truly Dark Arts.

"Our two newest professors are loyal servants of the Dark Lord himself, as many of you will undoubtedly become. They have also been assigned additional duties in the form of disciplinary authority. Students caught misbehaving will answer to them."

Ginny swallowed hard. Death Eaters in charge of discipline. She'd heard about what Umbridge did to the students who crossed her; Ginny had a feeling that that had only been a taste of how terrifying school punishments could be.

"I must warn you all," Snape went on, "under my authority, you will enjoy none of the lenience to which you all have become accustomed. Times have changed, and Hogwarts is no exception. I have been made aware that some of you intend to rebel against these new changes. I would implore you not to allow myself or any of our staff here at Hogwarts to catch you involved in any actions that might be considered rebellious. The consequences of such actions would be . . . unpleasant."

His eyes seem to narrow directly on Ginny and the few people around her. Ginny and Neville exchanged a glance. He kept his jaw set and his head high, but there was a flicker of panic in his eyes.

Snape didn't say anything to wrap up his speech—no words of encouragement, not even a command to eat or enjoy. The food merely appeared, and Snape sat back down at the table.

The house elves always pulled out all the stops for the start-of-term feast, and this year was the same, but Ginny had a hard time enjoying the food or even eating at all. Still, she made herself. She needed to keep up her strength.

"You must miss your brother."

Ginny looked up at Lavender. She hadn't talked to her much, especially in the wake of Lavender's awkward relationship with Ron the year before. "Yeah," Ginny said. "Do you?"

Lavender's cheeks turned pink. "Oh, you don't have to worry about . . . Ron's nice. But a lot's changed since last year, and . . ." Lavender looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry."

Ginny smiled gently. Lavender's blush wasn't that of a girl with a crush; it was that of a person called out on an embarrassing moment. "It's okay," Ginny said. "We've all learned a few things about what's important."

Lavender nodded. "I'm looking forward to defense."

"Didn't you hear Snape? It's just Dark Arts now."

Her voice lowered. "You know what I mean."

Ginny allowed herself a very slight smile. "You have a Galleon?"

"Keep it with me all the time," Lavender said.

"Me too," Parvati chimed in.

She looked over at Seamus and Neville, and they nodded and smiled as well.

There were so many things Ginny wanted to say and hear. She wanted to ask if anyone knew or had heard about the new professors, the Carrows. She wanted to tell them about the ideas she'd gotten from Fred and George about new ways of making distractions so they wouldn't be noticed sneaking off to meetings. She wanted to hear from them that they were as afraid as she was, but she also wanted them to tell her there was no reason to be afraid—that they'd make it through this year just like they'd made it through every other. And more than anything, she wanted to thank them—for what they'd already done, and what they would do in the coming weeks and months.

But none of them dared say any more. Not while in the same room as their enemies. There would be time for talk when they gathered in the Room of Requirement, which they would do easily with the Galleons. For now, their silence would have to speak the volumes they couldn't about how grateful they were just to have a few people who they could still trust.

 

[mrsfizzle]

Seventh year Gryffindors had Dark Arts first thing the next morning, along with the Slytherins. The Slytherins and Gryffindors always tended to naturally separate from each other in the classroom, regardless of whether a teacher gave them a seating chart—and none of the teachers had been naive enough to force them to intermingle.

Neville took a seat next to Seamus, who was looking a bit lost without Dean. For years, Neville had been the last one picked in class when students were asked to choose partners, or the odd one out. He wouldn't be last anymore, since they were down to exactly four Gryffindors in their year. He knew it was a small thing, but it made him feel a bit less alone, and he had to be thankful for small blessings.

"New subject in our last year," Seamus said. "Wasn't expecting that."

"Been a long time since we started a new subject. Remember our first week of charms, when you set that feather on fire?"

"That might be the goal in this class." Seamus smiled wryly.

"You'll do great, then."

It was quiet for a moment.

"Not sure how this is going to be fair for House points," Seamus said, gesturing around at the difference between the number of Gryffindors and the number of Slytherins.

"That's the last thing on my mind," Neville muttered.

"Would be for me too, mate, but the Slytherins are insufferable enough without holding one more thing over our heads. This morning, Malfoy—"

But he was cut off by the doors slamming open.

Amycus Carrow had apparently learned a few things from Snape about how to enter a room. He stalked down the center and to the front of the classroom, his robes billowing behind himself impressively. He wrote "Dark Arts" on the chalkboard and took roll. He sneered after reading Neville's name, and Neville felt his blood chill. Carrow must have known about his parents.

When he finished taking roll, Carrow stepped out in front of the table. "I've been tasked with explaining to you all how the new discipline system will work at Hogwarts."

Neville swallowed hard. Most years, this talk would scare him because he knew he'd make mistakes no matter how hard he tried to stay out of trouble. This was the first year he intended to misbehave, which meant these would be the consequences if he were caught.

"First thing you need to know is that we won't be taking House points. Won't be awarding them, either. In our experience, it's not an effective system."

"Small mercies," Seamus whispered.

Neville wasn't sure whether to agree. In his first year, after McGonagall had taken fifty points from him for being out of bed after curfew, he'd cried himself to sleep. Part of it was his fear of the scolding and smacking he knew he'd take from his Gran when he got home, but most of it was the shame at having let Gryffindor down. As much as it had hurt, that camaraderie had been a powerful thing. It stood to reason that Death Eaters wouldn't be counting on that.

"The usual punishments will be replaced by detentions, most of which will be served with myself or my sister, your Muggle Studies professor. Do not expect us to assign you lines, essays, or other menial tasks. Punishment is meant to put a stop to rebellious behavior. I'll make this very simple and clear: if you should find yourself serving detention with either of us, expect pain."

Hot chills spread through Neville's limbs. He glanced over at Seamus, whose face had gone pale. Lavender Brown, who sat in front of him beside Parvati, had gripped the edge of her chair, and her knuckles were now turning white.

"Enough of that. Let's talk Dark Arts."

Somehow, the change of subject wasn't comforting.

Carrow began to pace. "You're here to push the boundaries, to learn new heights and depths of what magic is and can do. Your education in this vital subject is critically lacking, and I only have one year to get you up to speed, so you'll all have to work hard in this class. You're seventh years, most of you adults, and none of you have ever had a single lesson in reaching your full potential as wizards. That's a crying shame, and one I intend to rectify."

It was dead silent in the classroom.

"The first thing you need to understand about the Dark Arts is that they're . . . let's say misunderstood. You've been told a lot about them that isn't true. Scare tactics, meant to discourage practice of some of the most powerful forms of magic. This is a crime against everything we as wizards stand for. Anyone seeking to limit the practice of the Dark Arts is simply trying to limit your power as a wizard. You are only as strong as the magic you master."

And only as good, Neville wanted to add.

"Now, I understand some of you might have—what do you call it—a moral objection to using Dark Arts, and I'm here to tell you you'll always be given a choice. As in the real world, you always have a choice."

Neville held his breath, not daring to hope.

"A choice between performing the Dark Arts, and being their victim."

Applause broke out on the Slytherin side of the classroom. Neville's fist clenched.

"This is the reason Hogwarts will no longer be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. It is unnecessary. If you know the Dark Arts themselves, you'll know how to defend yourself against them if the need should arise."

Carrow sounded sincere about that part, but Neville didn't believe he meant it. He couldn't imagine Death Eaters teaching anything that might be effective in fighting against the likes of Lord Voldemort.

"Now some of you may merely lack the skills and talents needed to command such powerful magic. This is a different problem entirely, and one with which I cannot help you. For those of you who find yourself in this position, this class will serve merely to teach you your place. The sooner you make peace with your inferior status, the sooner you can find a stronger wizard to help you rise above it."

Neville suddenly knew where he was going with this. He tensed his jaw to keep himself from protesting.

"One last idea to consider before we begin our lesson for today. Our Dark Lord is not without mercy. Many a weak, talentless wizards has found protection and elevated status through humble, loyal service. As his power grows, those who wish to survive must seek his favor."

"Never."

The word was out of Neville's mouth before he had a chance to think. His heart dropped into his stomach as soon as he said it.

Carrow had descended on him in a moment. "You think you're brave, Gryffindor?"

"No, sir." Neville sat up straight. He kept his eyes on the blackboard at the front of the class, avoiding Carrow's eyes.

"No. You're that Longbottom kid. You want to end up like your parents, boy?"

He took a deep breath that he hoped didn't sound as shaky as it felt. "If I have to."

"Oh, you will."

Neville turned to look Carrow in the eyes. "Better like them than like you."

The response was immediate. Carrow backhanded him across the right cheek.

Neville's head whipped back. He managed to keep from crying out when the vicious sting settled in a half-second later, but one fingernail had struck him just beneath the eye, and his eyes watered.

"That was a warning, boy." Carrow lowered his hand. "Anything else clever to say?"

Neville nearly shrank back. But Seamus was staring at him, eyes wide with anticipation; Lavender and Parvati were turned all the way back in their seats, their expressions a mix of fear and awe. It struck Neville that they were looking to him for guidance, and for hope.

So Neville blinked back the tears and set his jaw. "Not today, sir."

To his surprise, Carrow grinned. "Ah, see, that was clever. Oh, I look forward to having you in my class this year, Longbottom. And I look forward to assigning you detention." He leaned against Neville's desk, bringing his face close. "But not today, eh?"

Carrow walked back to the front of the classroom and began to lecture about dark artifacts, and Neville let his breath out.

He could feel his hands shaking. Part of him wanted to take the lesson and heed the warning—to stay silent. But he knew it wasn't practical. For one thing, if their professors kept egging them on, he wouldn't be able to keep silent even if he wanted to. For another, they couldn't let the voices of Death Eaters be the final word. It had to be known and vocalized among the students that there were still those who stood for what was right.

Seamus gave him a discreet, gentle clap on the back when Carrow was facing the blackboard. Parvati and Lavender each took one last worried glance at Neville, at separate times—Neville made himself give each of them a small smile, and was rewarded with a smile in return.

Neville wasn't convinced he had won the battle against Amycus Carrow, but somehow, by showing that rebellion was possible and that the consequences were endurable, he'd taken a huge stride in the fight against fear.

It was both terrifying and sobering to have had a taste of what the price of hope would be. The price was steep, but affordable. And it was worth it. Anything they could do to spark hope within the DA would give them strength while they waited for Harry to return and save them all.

The sooner they could steal the sword of Gryffindor, the better.

 

[mrsfizzle]

Luna knew this was a hard year for a lot of people, and with the Carrows running school discipline, she knew she had reason to be afraid. She wasn't a Gryffindor, and she wasn't going to be able to hold up to the Carrows' punishment the way a Gryffindor could.

But in some ways, this was the best year she'd ever had at Hogwarts. She had never been so secure in her friendships.

Not only did she have friends; she had best friends. Neville and Ginny sat with her in the Room of Requirement, gathered around a piece of parchment that Luna had charmed to display a simple but precise scale map of the castle. She'd have liked to add features, maybe even people, but the spell work was trickier than she had been expecting, and it had taken her a fair amount of time just to get the castle itself, especially the changing staircases.

There were no other DA members with them today. The first official DA meeting would be this weekend, and the three of them were supposed to be meeting to plan the defense lessons, but the planning for DA meetings had taken a backseat to planning to steal the Sword of Gryffindor.

That was fine with Luna. It would be nice to have the Sword of Gryffindor by the time of the first meeting. Luna knew how much it would mean to many of the members. She knew that in the eyes of many, Gryffindor symbolized nobility in the same way that Slytherin symbolized darkness.

Luna was just as happy to be in neither. It seemed a terrible amount of pressure for an old hat to be placing on an eleven-year-old's shoulders—or head, as the case may be. Ravenclaw only asked for cleverness. And cleverness was a neutral weapon.

Ginny traced her finger along the map. "There are two passageways leading directly to the Headmaster's office."

"But only two." Neville smiled. "That's perfect, since there's three of us. One to guard each passageway and one to steal the sword."

"Guard might be the wrong word. We can't really fight a professor." Ginny reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of flameless fireworks. "Fred and George gave me these. They'll make a distraction."

"They'll also make a lot of noise," Neville said. "We'll use those, Ginny, but not for this. Today, we should try to avoid being caught if we can."

Ginny shrugged. "Okay, but I still think whoever's guarding should be causing some kind of mischief. That way, if anyone comes toward the Headmaster's office, they'll be forced to deal with us first. Then whoever gets caught can send a signal. That buys whoever's in the office some time to get the sword and get out."

"How do we send a signal?" Luna asked.

"We won't be far from the office," Ginny said. "Just protest loud enough to be heard."

Luna took a deep breath as discreetly as she could. Given Carrow's warning about punishments, that probably wouldn't be a problem.

"I've got a less magical solution." Neville reached into his bag and pulled out a couple of cans of paint. "More constructive, too. We're going to graffiti."

"Awesome." Ginny grinned while Luna's heart rate picked up.

Neville smiled, not seeming to notice Luna's fear—she was thankful for that, at least. "We're going to use this as an opportunity to get the message out," he said. "Post, Dumbledore's Army, still recruiting."

"Yes!" Ginny grabbed a can of paint.

"So who's going to graffiti, and who's going into Snape's office?"

"There's a bigger problem." Ginny shook her head. "The only way we can get into the office is to know the password."

"Oh, that's easy," Luna said.

Both pairs of eyes turned toward Luna.

"You know the password?" Ginny asked.

"No. But I don't know the password to the Ravenclaw common room, either." The eagle knocker wasn't as picky about the answers as Luna had feared when she'd arrived as a first year. It would often open just as willingly for a clever, well-thought out answer as it would for the correct one.

Neville grimaced. "You're not going to be able to guess it, Luna, it's not a riddle."

"Yes, it is." Luna knew the gargoyle outside of Snape's office wouldn't literally ask her to solve a riddle, but in a way, it would. What would Snape choose as his password? If she asked it questions, might it give her a hint, even accidentally? Was there anything she could say to it, besides the password, that would convince it to open?

"Luna, this is dangerous." Neville shook his head. "You can't just—"

"Are you sure about this?" Ginny cut him off.

Luna nodded. "I'm positive." Years of impossible stand-downs with that eagle knocker had increased her confidence. She knew how to persuade a door to open; she wouldn't let her friends down.

Ginny looked at Neville. "I trust her."

Luna felt like she was floating. Those weren't words she heard very often, in reference to herself.

Neville rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay." He stood, picking up a can of paint. "Let's go now, before I lose my nerve."

"We can't go now if he's in his office," Luna said.

"It's still technically breakfast time. He should be in the Great Hall, shouldn't he?"

Luna took out her wand, pointed at the map, and muttered a few spells under her breath. Adding tracking spells to every person in the castle for the purposes of a map was too much for her, but using the skills she'd learned after quite a lot of practice and extra study of Neville's Charms textbook, she managed to locate Snape. Neville was right—he was still in the Great Hall.

"Yes," she said. "And I don't think he'd let other people stay in there without him. So now is a good time, I think."

They left the safety of the Room of Requirement, Luna a few feet behind the others. Maintaining her usual aloof, airy disposition did quite a lot toward hiding what she was feeling on the inside, but she could feel it breaking, and she didn't want them to see her shaking. They both seemed to be fine, which meant they were either better at hiding their fear than she was, or they really weren't afraid. She'd have settled for the strength to hide it.

Neville took his position partway down the hall to the office; Ginny passed it to get to the other hall, leaving Luna behind with one last encouraging smile.

Luna approached the stone gargoyle. Her first idea was to see if she could establish a rapport with it. "Hello."

It did not respond.

"What's your name?"

Still nothing. So starting a conversation wouldn't help.

A strategy she'd tried a couple of times with the eagle knocker was to start guessing wildly until she either stumbled upon an answer or it grew tired of her guesses and provided a clue.

There was always a slight possibility that Snape hadn't changed the password since Dumbledore's death. She'd heard Dumbledore liked to use the names of sweets as his passwords.

"Lemon drops. Pumpkin pasties. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. Acid pops. Chocolate Frogs. Um . . . treacle fudge?"

No response at all. She wasn't sure the gargoyle would respond if she was getting close, but the more sweets she listed, the less she could imagine Snape actually allowing any of them to remain as his password.

"V-Voldemort," she stammered, before remembering that even his followers didn't always necessarily use his name. "The Dark Lord. Death Eaters. Dark arts. You-know-who."

That stream of guesses actually got a reaction from the gargoyle. Ever so subtly, it narrowed its eyes, just for a moment, before relaxing.

Luna shifted her weight, considering. Something had irritated it. Either it was annoyed by her repeated guessing, or it didn't like the actual words she was saying.

She tried guessing randomly again: "Severus Snape. Harry Potter. Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore."

It didn't react at all. It wasn't upset with her for guessing. It was upset by the mention of Voldemort and his followers. Which meant maybe, maybe . . . the gargoyle was still loyal to Dumbledore.

She took a chance. "Please, I need to get in," she said. "I need to steal the sword of Gryffindor. Snape shouldn't have it."

A slight pause, and Luna was about to try something else when the door opened.

"Brave girl," the gargoyle said.

She didn't bother to correct it. She ascended the staircase.

She was only halfway there before she heard a voice behind her.

"Going somewhere, Lovegood?"

She whirled around, and the sight made her want to be sick with fear. Snape stood a few steps down on the staircase, and Amycus Carrow behind him, one hand gripping Ginny's arm, the other gripping Neville's. Neville sported a split lip. Ginny's mouth was moving, her eyes on Luna, but no noise came out. That explained why Luna hadn't heard anything—they'd been Silenced.

"Amycus, leave us. I plan to take care of their punishment myself."

Carrow sneered, but let go of Neville and Ginny. All three followed Snape into his office. He went to stand behind his desk, and they stood in front of it.

"Idiots! All three of you! Dunderheaded fools!"

Luna swallowed, trying hard not to cower. She glanced over at Neville and Ginny—there was no fear or guilt in their expressions.

He raised his wand, and Luna flinched, but he merely removed the silencing spells from Neville and Ginny, then lowered his wand. "You are about to learn what happens when you dare to defy me."

Luna held back her tears. She had never wished she were in Gryffindor, but right now, she wished she deserved to be.

"Let's go through your list of offenses, shall we?" Snape began to pace. "Carrow was alerted to the graffiti as soon as it began—you're not the first to attempt to mark these walls, but you're the first to do so with such senseless words. Dumbledore's Army? Mark my words, if I ever discover where and when you are meeting and plotting, you will not be spared from the Cruciatus."

A slight motion caught Luna's eye. Neville had flinched.

"And mark my words, if the three of you weren't pureblooded, no amount of blood spilled for this offense would be considered too great by the Dark Lord."

Luna shuddered, and Snape's eyes turned to her.

"You, Lovegood, triggered every thievery artifact in my office. We staff members are quite fond of them. What were you trying to steal?"

Luna didn't say anything, but her eyes unconsciously flicked to where he'd stored the Sword of Gryffindor, under a glass case.

"Stupid girl." He slammed his hands on the table and leaning forward. "You never would have gotten past the first layer of wards."

Yet she had. She'd gotten past the gargoyle.

Snape straightened up. "Most detentions will be served with one of the Carrows, but since the three of you are so convinced of your own bravery, the punishment should stand accordingly. You'll join Hagrid tonight in the Forbidden Forest. See if you feel as brave then."

Luna had never been into the Forbidden Forest at night, but she could still feel her shoulders relax a little when he sentenced them to their punishment. Although Luna was sure Snape was trying to be intimidating, she'd have rather served detention with Hagrid in hell itself than with the Carrows anywhere else.

"Get out of my sight," Snape said, and all three of them hurried down the stairs.

Only Luna glanced back over her shoulder to see the look on Snape's face. He seemed neither angry nor triumphant. He merely looked tired.

While she couldn't exactly sympathize with him, she wondered how exhausting it must have been to serve a sadistic dark lord. She wondered if he knew he'd let them off easy. She wondered if he cared.

She knew Snape was clever, but he'd slipped a couple of things. One, the fact that the walls were warded to alert a professor if a student attempted to graffiti them. Another, that staff offices would be difficult to steal from—they were warded specifically against thieves. Also, that they'd have to keep their half-blooded DA members safe—Voldemort didn't want his Death Eaters to spill too much pure blood, regardless of the offense.

And most importantly: Snape knew about Dumbledore's Army, but he didn't know where they met.

 

[mrsfizzle]

Neville, Ginny, and Luna made their way out to Hagrid's hut at seven. There was just enough light out that they didn't have to light their wands, though Neville held his at the ready. It had become a habit.

Neville couldn't believe their luck. When Carrow had caught him putting up the graffiti, he was sure he'd be in for a long torture session. He was willing to take it—as much as he didn't want to admit it, torture would likely be inevitable in the long run—but he was thankful for every bit of pain they could avoid.

Snape wasn't wrong about the dangers of the forbidden forest. But in his conviction that Hagrid was incompetent, he'd apparently forgotten one thing: that Dumbledore had trusted him completely, which meant that many Gryffindors did as well. Neville couldn't have said he was looking forward to detention, but he wasn't afraid.

Hagrid hurried them into his hut when they arrived. "Don' want yeh to freeze ter death ou' there," he said, and passed them each a thicker cloak. "Leave yer bags, yeh won' need 'em."

"What are we going to be doing tonight?" Neville asked.

"Gatherin' herbs fer Professor Sprout," Hagrid said, gesturing for Fang to lead the way back out into the night.

"And that has to be done at night?" Herbology was Neville's strong suit. He knew there were some plants that were easier to find at night, but they were few and far between. Generally, being able to see well was too big an advantage, and even aside from that, plants liked the sunlight. "Are you sure—"

Hagrid smiled and put a finger to his lips, then left the hut, beckoning them to follow him. "Tha's what Snape thinks we're doin'."

They walked for what felt like a long time. Neville was thankful for the cloak. It was too dark for him to make out much of his surroundings, especially since he didn't know his way around the forest, but Hagrid carried the lantern, and he clearly knew where he was going. They stayed close behind him,

Finally, he could make out something in the distance. It looked like a campfire.

Neville froze for a second. He didn't want to encounter anyone in "Um . . . Hagrid . . ."

He turned back and grinned at them. "Yeh'll like this."

They approached a clearing in the trees, where four figures sat around a crackling campfire. They stood as Hagrid approached.

"Wait," Ginny said. "Professors?"

McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn stood around the campfire.

Ginny shook her head. "I don't understand."

"This might be our only chance to meet this year," McGonagall told her. "This could be the last help the three of you receive for a very long time."

"Won't Snape notice you're missing?" Luna asked.

"Death Eater meeting tonight," Slughorn told them. "I overheard the Carrows discussing it."

Luna nodded and went to sit on one of the wooden benches beside the fire. Neville sat beside her, and Ginny beside him.

"Do attempt to listen well." McGonagall gave them a stern look that was impossible to refuse. "We know what the three of you were trying to do today. But you must be more careful. The Carrows will not hesitate to harm you."

Neville's jaw stiffened. "My parents didn't care about that."

McGonagall's eyes pierced his. "If your parents had been given the choice, I am certain they would have been with you. And if they were here, they would tell you the same thing."

"All we're trying to tell you," Sprout said, "is that the year will be long, and we're only in the first week."

Neville shook his head. "Harry will come back for us."

"You don't know that," Slughorn said.

"He will! I know he will."

"Yeh're righ', o' course," Hagrid told him. "But it coul' be a long time, Neville."

"In the meantime, you need to focus on the DA."

Neville blinked. "You're okay with the DA?"

McGonagall sighed. "Under normal circumstances, we'd never condone our students fighting such battles. But we won't always be there to help you. These aren't normal circumstances. We have Death Eaters running classes and detentions, and we don't know what Voldemort's plans are. We can't protect you, but we can equip you. First, by saying this—I expect all of you to take as few risks as you can possibly take."

Neville felt his heartbeat rising. "We're not trying to get into trouble, Professor."

"Then save your foolhardy schemes for the day when Professor Snape has something worth risking your blood to steal."

Neville's breath caught in his throat. "What could be more worth saving than the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Think, Longbottom. If one of your classmates were imprisoned in Professor Snape's office, you'll wish you hadn't given them reason to increase their security."

It was quiet for a moment after that. Neville had been so focused on bringing symbols of hope to the DA, he had failed to grasp the immensity of the situation. McGonagall was right, of course. They needed to be smarter.

"I don't have the courage you do," Slughorn said. "And I agree with your other professors—you need to take caution. But you should know something. For the time being, you students are in less danger than we are."

"Don't tell them that, Horace," McGonagall hissed.

"They need to know the truth, Minerva." He sighed. "A different kind of danger, then. The three of you are pureblooded, and you're children. Neville, I believe you are of age, but you're still young enough they'll think there's hope of turning you. When we professors rebel, we'll be killed. But you won't be killed, because Death Eaters are hesitant to spill pure blood, especially when they believe they might be able to bring you to their side."

"They will torture you," Sprout said.

"Respectfully, professors . . ." Neville swallowed hard. He wasn't used to confronting authority in this way—it was one thing to stand up to Carrow, and quite another to speak in this way to professors whose opinion mattered to him. "This isn't advice. Most of this is information we already knew."

"We know that, Longbottom," McGonagall said. "We didn't come to give advice. We came to give help. We know the three of you have taken over leadership of Dumbledore's Army."

"I—but—"

"Everyone knows, and we're not here to tell you that you shouldn't fight. But Merlin knows we're not going to let you fight unaided." She smiled. "Filius?"

Flitwick stood and walked over to Luna. "As a fellow Ravenclaw, I could not be prouder, my dear girl." He stepped back and looked to all three of them. "I do wonder how you've been communicating with your classmates."

"About the DA?" Luna took her Galleon out of her pocket. "Hermione enchanted these."

"Brilliant! May I?" He held out his tiny hand, and Luna placed the Gallon inside. "Ah, I knew it must be something like this, but I had no idea . . . Most magnificent! I hope you won't mind if I make a minor modification? It should affect them all."

Luna nodded her permission, and he took out his wand and tapped it, then handed it back to her.

"Now both undetectable by others and impossible to lose," he squeaked.

"Thank you." Luna pocketed the Galleon. "Can you teach me that charm?"

"It's quite tricky. But when this is over, I'd be delighted to try."

Neville took his Galleon out of his pocket. It didn't look any different to him, but if Flitwick said it was impossible to lose . . . He tried tossing it into the air clumsily, and it landed cleanly in his hand. He grinned.

Slughorn stood and came to stand in front of Ginny. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, young lady. I'm putting a lot of trust in you with this." He took out a large glistening golden flask. "Felix Felicis."

Her eyes widened. "Liquid luck."

"Very good." He placed the flask in her hands. "You know how it works, then?"

"My great uncle used to tell me stories . . ."

"Then you know how dangerous it can be."

She nodded. "We'll save it for the life-and-death battles. Thank you, sir."

"No, thank you. All of you. We're counting on you to change things, here and going forward." He hung his head. "I look forward to the day when I do not have to be ashamed to say I was a Slytherin."

Neville's eyes fell closed. He had been so quick to dismiss all Slytherins. Meanwhile, Slughorn's potion could easily save any one of their lives.

Sprout was next to step forward, and she came straight to Neville. "I'm the luckiest of the professors at Hogwarts to have seen you at your best, Neville. It's my joy to hand this over to you."

She gave him a leather case, which he opened to find an assortment of dried plants. Dittany, murtlap, mandrake leaves, fennel, arka, and a few he didn't recognize. "Healing herbs."

"Mostly pain relief." She lowered her head. "Madame Pomfrey will only be able to help you so much. You'll need to be able to look after each other. I couldn't possibly have chosen someone more worthy."

His eyes stung. "Th-thank you."

"I, er, I got summat fer yeh, too." Hagrid reached into one of the many deep pockets of his cloak. "Remus Lupin sent it. Says it helped him, when he firs' started teachin' defense. Thought it migh' be helpful for the DA."

He took out a worn set of books—apparently teachers' aides for Defense Against the Dark Arts—and handed them to Luna, who tucked them under her arm.

"Fer what i's worth," he said, "I've got faith in yeh. All three of yeh."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Last gift before you go." stepped forward and tapped Neville on the head with her wand. He flinched, but she did the same to Ginny and Luna as well. "This is a glamor spell. You'll return to the castle with the appearance of having had a long, difficult detention. The dirt will fade when you next shower, and the cuts will appear to heal over the next few days."

Neville looked down at his hands. His fingers and knuckles appeared to be scraped up, like they always were when he'd been wrestling with the more vicious plants in the greenhouse. He looked over to Ginny and Luna—their faces were streaked with dirt, their hair disheveled.

"Brilliant." Ginny laughed.

"A word of advice." McGonagall straightened up even further than usual, looking from Neville, to Ginny, to Luna. "Bravery means doing the right thing. It means being willing to suffer for what is good. It does not mean suffering silently. Tears are not weakness. Fear is not weakness. We will not always be able to help you, but you must be open with each other."

Neville nodded solemnly. Honesty about his own fear and pain would be tremendously difficult, but he knew he would be livid if Luna or Ginny or any of his other friends tried to hide their suffering when he could have helped.

"We need ter be gettin' back, it's gettin' late." Hagrid said.

"Thank you all," Neville said, holding the case of herbs to his chest. "This all means so much."

"Neville," McGonagall said as he stood to go, "if I've been hard on you in the past, it's because I've seen your potential, and watched you fail time and again to reach it. Your lack of confidence has always been your greatest enemy. It has no place in this battle, or in your life after this is over." She looked at him over the upper rim of her glasses. "Do not disappoint me, young man."

He took a deep breath. "I hope we make you proud."

"You already have."

 

[mrsfizzle]

Neville went over his notes at least a dozen times before leaving his dorm room to head to the Room of Requirement. He'd thought he had considered every possibility.

An empty room—he and Ginny and Luna would take the time to work on stepping up their advertising.

An overcrowded room—he could work on convincing the space to grow. He knew and loved the Room of Requirement.

Traitors—they'd already been working on enchantments to avoid allowing anyone to give away their location or meeting time.

Getting caught on the way—he had excuses lined up in his mind, and he'd practiced telling lies in the mirror.

He had lesson plans that branched out to many different possible paths depending on what his "students" had already mastered. He had materials ready for object lessons, books ready for quick reference—the ones Hagrid had given them had been immensely helpful—and alternate spells ready in case the ones he was trying to teach proved to be too difficult.

What he saw when he entered the room wasn't on his list of possibilities.

For one thing, he was one of the last to arrive. Too much effort spent checking his notes and not enough keeping track of the time. But that was the least of it.

Most of the members were spread throughout the room, in little groups of twos and threes. A slightly larger group were all congregated in a single corner. Neville gently pushed his way through the crowd to find Ginny sitting on a chair in the corner, face red and sweaty, right hand clutching her left arm.

"What happened?"

"I think it's dislocated," she said.

"Carrow?"

Ginny nodded. "Caught me muttering about how Lockhart was a slightly better DADA teacher than he is. He twisted my arm until I took it back."

"Did you?"

"Kind of." She smiled. "I said, 'I take it back,' and he let go, then I said, 'He was much better than you.' Then he grabbed it again and twisted it harder. Then something popped, and . . ."

Luna patted her good shoulder. "You shouldn't have done it, Ginny."

Neville couldn't see how bad it was, since she was still wearing long sleeves, but he knew what a dislocated shoulder looked like. He'd even seen how it was dealt with—by muggles, anyway. He didn't know a spell to fix it. "Why didn't you go to Madame Pomfrey?"

Ginny gave a short laugh. "Carrow mentioned that. Said we're not allowed to go to the hospital wing for injuries from punishments. They told her the rule, too."

"But that's ridiculous. You know she'll help you anyway. Go now, I'll walk you there. We can start the meeting later."

She looked him deep in the eyes. "They'll send her away and replace her with one of their own."

He swallowed hard. He knew how dangerous Hogwarts could be even without Death Eaters running the classes. The last thing they wanted to do was lose Madame Pomfrey. "Okay, well, I don't know the spell for a dislocated shoulder."

"We can look it up," Luna said. "If we read enough about the theory, and practice the pronunciation and wrist movement—"

"Next time," Ginny said. She winced, and shouted out to the room, "Anyone know how to do this the muggle way?"

Seamus took a step forward. "Ah . . . yeah. But it's gonna hurt."

"Let's get it over with."

He sighed. "Okay. Lie down on the floor."

Ginny got up from the chair, still clutching her shoulder, and lay on her back. Seamus took her arm and spread it out to the side. He gave it a sudden jerk.

Ginny let out a stream of cursing, tears rolling down her cheeks. Neville felt eyes on him. He turned around—everyone in the room was staring at them.

He stood and took a step back, and glanced around at the room. Not at the people in the room, but the room itself. "Help us out?" he whispered.

Another glance around revealed an ice box on one of the shelves, and a box of tissues on another. He hurried over to it, and picked up a cold pack and the tissues, bringing them back to Ginny, who was now sitting up. He knelt beside her and held the cold pack to her shoulder for long enough to let her clean the tears from her face, before letting her take the ice herself.

Then Neville stood back up and looked, not at the room itself, but at the people in it. Some of them looked scared, but it occurred to him that even they looked more like they were worried about Ginny than like they were really concerned for themselves. And most didn't even look scared or worried at all. Most just looked curious. He also noticed that just as many people were looking at him as at Ginny.

That's when it hit him. They were waiting to see how he would respond. And his response would be a model for theirs.

Doing his best to swallow the overwhelming lack of confidence he felt, Neville smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you—Ginny Weasley!"

Most of the applause was quiet and hesitant. But just enough of the members were genuine and enthusiastic that the overall effect was cheering rather than dismal. Ginny raised one hand, smiling wryly. He wouldn't have liked the spotlight he was giving to Ginny if he were the one who was hurt, but she was more like Fred and George—ready to put on a good face in front of a crowd when it was needed.

Neville had heard about muggle leaders used common suffering to increase camaraderie in a group of soldiers. It was a risk, but he decided to give it a try.

"I don't want any of you to make any mistake about what's going to be happening this year. We're not dealing with schoolyard bullies anymore. We called ourselves Dumbledore's Army as a slap in the face to the ministry, but that's not what that is anymore. This is a real army. This is war. There will be injuries. There will be pain."

The room had gone silent. All eyes were on him.

"She—" he pointed to Ginny— "is what heroism looks like. And so is he." He pointed to Seamus. "Staying with us is dangerous. But it also gives you the greatest protection you could ever have. Leave now, and you might avoid punishment this year. We'll never judge you."

Slight shuffling and murmurs spread throughout the crowd.

He took a deep breath. "But stay with us, and we'll never abandon you. Every time you stand up to the Carrows, we will cheer you on. Every time you speak out against the Dark Arts, we will back you up. And if you ever get hurt, we will be here with healing herbs and cold packs. Every. Time."

Ginny stood and stepped out beside him. "We'll teach you how to fight and defend yourselves. You'll need it now, and you'll need it when Voldemort comes for us. Because he will come."

"But more than how to fight," Neville said, "we'll talk about when to fight and when to stand down. We'll work on knowing when to speak and when to be silent."

Ginny gave him a look, and he shrugged. He knew he was going to be worse at that than anyone else, and based on her expression, she knew as well. That didn't mean other people had to suffer needlessly. They could still talk about choosing battles wisely, even if Neville ended up choosing them all.

For a moment, Neville wanted to throw out all of his lesson plans and teach healing instead. But there were problems with that plan. For one, he knew very little in the way of healing spells, and he didn't know how to safely practice anything he learned. He knew there must be methods, since there were entire schools dedicated to helping witches and wizards become Healers, but he didn't know what they were.

But it was more than that. As it was, Ginny would either be a little stiff or wearing a sling for a few days. She'd be sore, and the Carrows would notice she was sore. That was important. If the Carrows inflicted an injury only to find it had been healed completely by the next day, they would suspect. They would step up their game in a way Neville didn't want to be responsible for. Up until this point, as far as he knew, none of the students had been subjected to the Cruciatus yet. And there was no healing or comfort for that.

They would have to make do with what they had—with what the Carrows could believe they might have had in their dorm rooms. Ice was safe, because it took away pain without changing the appearance of the injury. Bandages were safe, because everyone had access to them. Healing herbs were a risk, but one they would take in case of emergency. Healing spells were too risky. They'd be disastrous whether they got them right or wrong.

They'd have to stick to what they did best. And that was defense.

"Okay," Neville said. "Let's go ahead and start the meeting. Since many of us haven't been able to practice any magic over the summer, we're going to take some time to review before we go on to new material. Let's start with our Patronus charms . . ."

 

[mrsfizzle]

The following few weeks were surprisingly uneventful.

Neville, Ginny, and Luna followed McGonagall's advice about being careful about which battles they chose, and Neville found himself staying quiet a lot more than he thought he would during classes. They also didn't need to do much in the way of advertising for Dumbledore's Army, because their membership grew every week without anyone having to put up graffiti.

Meanwhile, the DA meetings were going better than ever, even without Harry around. Being taught by Death Eaters gave everyone firsthand knowledge the reality of the situation, and it motivated everyone to study and practice harder than ever. Neville had never seen them make so much progress in so little time. For that matter, he'd never seen himself make so much progress so quickly.

Most of the time, classes weren't as bad as he had been expecting, either. In Dark Arts class, much of the first month was theory rather than practice, and it was surprisingly useful. Since the class had both Gryffindors and Slytherins, Carrow didn't seem to feel any need to hold back in giving them information about the types of artifacts and other items the Death Eaters liked to use, and Neville took careful notes in case any of the information became useful later on.

It became clear to Neville that the Carrows enjoyed physically punishing students whether it had to do with actual rebellion or not. Seamus got his palm slapped with a ruler for trying to pass a note to Parvati during Dark Arts class, Michael Corner got his ear twisted painfully for not turning in a Muggle Studies assignment, and Neville ended up getting his mouth Scourgified for talking out of turn. As awful as it was, none of the injuries required any medical attention, and Neville thought he'd actually rather have any of those punishments than a detention with Snape or Filch. At least they were over quickly.

Neville settled into his seat beside Seamus in Muggle Studies class. He could tell Seamus was uncomfortable. Carrow always said awful things about muggles during this class. It bothered Neville, but he couldn't imagine how it made Seamus feel, given that his father's whole side of the family were all muggles.

There was nothing he could say to comfort Seamus. A couple of times, he'd stepped on his toe under the desk to keep him from speaking up at a time when it wouldn't have been worth it. In Neville's opinion, it never would have been important enough for Seamus to speak out. He was amazed that Seamus had come to school at all, given his half-blood status.

"Let's pick up where we left off." Alecto Carrow strode into the room, picked up a piece of chalk. She began to write on the board. "Today we continue our unit on muggle technology. We'll be discussing the reasons why allowing muggles to flourish unchecked causes a threat to the wizarding world."

Out of the corner of his eye, Neville saw Seamus stiffen. He'd said his father was something called an electrician, which apparently had a lot to do with what Carrow was talking about.

"Electricity," she said, "is, of course, the primary means by which muggles make their pathetic attempts to emulate magic. Needless to say, these methods are extremely crude, unreliable, and often dangerous to their own kind."

Neville put a gentle foot on Seamus's to remind him to stay silent.

"In general, electricity is not dangerous to wizards, but the vast expansion and development of their technology implies that they may attempt to use it to threaten us in the future."

Seamus's foot jerked under Neville's, and Neville pressed his shoe in harder.

"Of course, electric systems also tend to break down in the presence of strong magic, further proving the barbarism of such inventions. However, it is not typical for the electricity to fail in a—" she cleared her throat— "mixed home. Blood traitors and their children typically do not possess strong enough magic to cause this effect."

Neville heard Seamus's knuckles crack.

Carrow looked up from the board. "Something to say, Finnigan?"

"No, professor," Seamus said through his teeth.

She smirked. "Good."

Neville glanced over at Seamus. His jaw was tensed, his face red.

Seamus wasn't going to last the entire class. Not when the topic was so close to his father's profession. If Neville wanted to stop him, he'd need to either remove him from the room, or speak on his behalf.

There was no way of getting him to leave, though. Neville stood up. "I have something to say."

Carrow turned back to face the class, then leaned forward, her hands against the front desk. "Did I ask you?"

"Have you ever seen a lightbulb?" He used one of the only examples of muggle electricity he knew a lot about.

"Of course I have, foolish boy."

"Have you seen one work?"

Her eyes narrowed. She seemed to know she was cornered. If she said she hadn't, it would make her seem incompetent at her job, but if she said she had, it would imply her magic hadn't been strong enough to keep it from doing so. Neville knew a little about this—she could weasel her way out by saying it usually took the presence of many wizards—but that would require taking back her insult about mixed families. "Up to the front of the classroom. Now."

Neville obeyed, though his knees shook slightly—he hoped no one could tell. He could feel all eyes in the classroom on him, and his ears burned, but it wasn't exactly from the embarrassment of being shamed. It was mostly the fear of knowing he was about to have to take pain in front of others. McGonagall had told them not to be afraid of expressing pain to each other, but it was different with Slytherins watching. Slytherins who would be enjoying the show.

He stood across from Carrow in front of the desk. Her eyes met his, though her voice was loud enough that he suspected that she was really talking to the whole class. "This is for speaking out of turn in my class." She raised her hand and struck his left cheek with her palm.

He flinched, but didn't make a noise. Sting tingled across his skin, and he let his breath out. It hurt more than he had expected for a single slap, but at least it was over.

"This is for disrespecting me." Another slap in the exact same place, much harder than the first.

He shouted. He couldn't help it. The impact was like a small explosion, and a second later, the whole left side of his face felt like it was on fire.

"And this is for treason." She pulled back her hand twice as far as she had the other two times, then let it fly.

It was a reflex. He caught her hand. He let it go immediately after catching it, but it was too late.

Her eyes widened, and she broke into a laugh that chilled Neville's insides. "Detention, Longbottom. Tonight in my office, seven sharp." She grinned. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to say that."

Neville swallowed.

"Sit."

He went to sit down at his desk, breathing hard, running his fingers gently over his left cheek, which was hot to the touch.

"Thanks, man," Seamus whispered. "But I'm not sure it was worth it."

"It was." Neville made himself smile, even though he was sure the detention was going to be a lot worse than that. His pain tolerance wasn't where it needed to be, if he couldn't take two slaps without crying out and deflecting the third, but he supposed it didn't matter—he'd have done it again if he thought it would comfort one of his classmates. "It was."

"Alright," Carrow continued with her lesson. "A few corrections to the beginning of the lecture . . ."

 

[mrsfizzle]

Neville's face didn't sting at all by the time he got back to his dorm room. It did distract him for the majority of the class, but Carrow seemed a bit distracted as well, and her lecture was nowhere near as vehement as it had been at the start. Seamus settled down considerably after Neville had defended his family, and Lavender and Parvati each gave Neville a smile.

Seven rolled around far too quickly. Neville didn't know exactly what to expect from the detention. He thought about skipping out entirely, but he knew that would probably be worse for him in the long run. His knees shook just enough to slow him down a little on the way, so he arrived at Carrow's office a couple of minutes late. He knocked on the door, and she gestured him inside without saying anything about his tardiness.

He'd never been inside the Muggle studies office before, and he'd actually had to ask some of the other students in Gryffindor where to find it. It was a plain brown office with a large desk and bookshelf, along with a smaller desk in the corner. Most staff offices had them, and used them for students who had detention.

Carrow hadn't done a lot of decorating, other than a couple of dark marks on the walls. It was hard to believe that this was the place where he would be tortured.

Neville waited for her to invite him to sit at the table, but she didn't. She simply reached into the holder on her side and took out her wand.

"This won't take long. You'll be back in your dorm room before seven thirty."

He swallowed hard. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved that the torture would be short. He'd had the Cruciatus before, from Bellatrix, and that had only taken seconds. For the most part, though, his mind had blocked out the memory. It had been such an intense day already. He remembered pain, but he couldn't truly remember what the sensation had been like, and he didn't want to.

"Make no mistake," Carrow went on. "This one will be short, but every time we have to go over this again, it will get longer."

"What do you think you're going to do? Break me?" He knew there was no one to be brave for, but he held up his head anyway.

She grinned. "I have no intention of breaking you tonight, Longbottom. No, that would be most disappointing. I intend—" she gently tapped his forehead with her wand— "to break you slowly."

A shiver ran through Neville's limbs, and his heart beat slow and hard.

"See? Like that." She raised her wand.

Neville squeezed his eyes shut. His blood pounded in his ears so hard that he barely heard her speak the curse.

He dropped to the floor, all his muscles clenching at once. It was like every inch of his skin had been set on fire, slashed with knives, and bathed in acid at once. He could hear himself screaming, but he couldn't feel it in his throat, not over the impossible pain.

It stopped. And yet it didn't. Physically, the pain disappeared in an instant, but the panic he'd felt while the curse was running its course didn't settle in the slightest. His muscles tensed just as much as they had, and he realized he was sobbing uncontrollably.

She knelt down beside him, lifting her wand again. "One more, Neville, just one more."

He sat up and looked her in the eyes. "Please no. I'll do anything, I'll—"

"Now, now, don't make promises you'll forget. You'll be fine and back to your traitorous self in a few minutes." She grinned. "By all means, though, beg for mercy. It does make this much more enjoyable for me."

He pulled aside one hand, and saw through blurry eyes that Carrow was staring at him, taking in his tears. He'd known she was a sadist. But he hadn't truly seen it until now, nor had he fully understood what it meant. She didn't just enjoy his pain. It fed her. It drove her.

He spat in her face.

She gasped, and performed a quick wordless cleaning spell on her own face before pointing the wand back at him. "Crucio."

And he was back on the floor, screaming, the white hot sharpness piercing through his flesh and to the core of his bones. He couldn't have said whether it was longer or shorter than the first one, or whether it was better or worse. Time and scale had no meaning to him. There was only the agony.

She stopped suddenly, and again, he felt pain stop but there was no true relief. He tucked his knees into his chest and wrapped his face up in his arms, his whole body shaking.

"Go to hell," he said. A muggle phrase—fitting. He meant to shout it with confidence, but it came out as more of a croak.

"Get out of my sight."

He scrambled to all fours, then tried to pull himself to his feet, but he lost his balance and fell on his first attempt. She grabbed his arm, half dragged him to just outside her door, then dropped him and closed the door behind herself.

He laid on his side for a moment, wiping away his tears and rubbing his elbow, which he'd landed on—it was the only part of him that hurt physically, but the rest of him felt so weak that his bones might as well have all been broken.

It would be a long walk to the common room. He scooted himself closer to the wall and braced both hands against it, pulling himself to his feet. His legs were still shaking too much—he couldn't even stand for more than a few seconds.

Part of him wished he'd asked one of his friends to meet him here to help him, though he wasn't sure if they would have known the detention would last less than fifteen minutes. He thankful no one was going to see him like this, but at the same time, he really didn't know how he was going to get back to the dormitory.

Footsteps from around the hall. Neville let himself drop to his knees, releasing the wall in favor of wiping away the last remaining tear tracks.

Seamus came around the corner and hurried toward him. "That was quick."

Neville swallowed hard, his cheeks feeling a little warm. "How did you know?"

"I figured it'd be the Cruciatus. That or a beating. Neither takes long, but still, I thought you'd be a few more minutes, talking or something. Sorry I'm late."

Neville winced as he tried and failed to stand. "I didn't ask you to come."

Seamus knelt down in front of Neville, shaking his head. "You didn't have to, mate."

He held out a hand and helped Neville to his feet, then put an arm under his shoulders and began to slowly walk with him, no more than two steps every three seconds. Neville's legs still shook, but he could walk with Seamus's support.

Seamus cleared his throat. "How bad?"

Neville's eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly. "She cast it twice. Said she didn't want to break me today, but that it would be worse every time I came in."

"Does—does it still hurt?"

He didn't know how to describe it, not without Seamus ever having experienced the Cruciatus. "No," he said, but it didn't seem like a complete answer. "It's like my mind keeps expecting it to."

Seamus took a shaky breath. "You're a braver man than I am."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, you were. You walked here. Alone."

"I thought it'd be worse if I didn't." Not showing up would have been braver.

For a fleeting moment, Neville wanted to confess everything. The way he'd screamed and curled into fetal position; how he'd promised Carrow he'd do anything if she would just stop; his sobbing on the floor of her office. But he didn't say anything.

They'd reached the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. "Dumbledore," Seamus said, and the door swung open.

Neville half expected them to have done for him what they did for Ginny, and he braced himself for a crowd of people to applaud him or some other nonsense. Ginny seemed to have taken that well at the DA meeting, and it made sense for her, but it wasn't the type of greeting he wanted.

To his relief, though, the common room was almost empty. Only Ginny and Luna sat beside the fire.

"Luna, what are you doing here?" He'd never heard any specific rules about it, but he was pretty sure students weren't supposed to be in common rooms that weren't their own.

"I invited her," Ginny said. She hurried over and put an arm around Neville's other side. Seamus let go, and Ginny walked him the rest of the way to the fireplace. "And we asked everyone else if this space could be clear. We knew you'd want the space."

"And they just . . . did it?" He eased himself down on the couch, and Ginny sat down on the couch across from him.

"Of course." She shrugged. "They were all worried about you."

Neville relaxed back into the soft cushions as much as his nerves would allow, still being on edge. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll let one of us be the one to get stuck in detention next time," Ginny said.

"I—I don't think I'm going to be able to avoid detention for the rest of the year."

"Not for the rest of the year. Just for the next time."

He sighed and nodded slowly.

Luna stood from her place beside the fire and sat down next to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "How is it?"

Neville shook his head. "I'm not in any pain, if that's what you're asking."

"Yes, you are."

His eyes stung, and he started to turn away from her, but Luna reached out and wrapped both arms around him, effectively turning his torso toward herself. He clung to her, shaking.

Luna didn't try to tell him it was okay, or that things would be alright. She didn't try to provide him with comforting words or reassurances. She didn't ask him to loosen his grip, either. She just held on, and he knew she wouldn't let go until he was ready.

When he had some measure of control over himself again, he relaxed his hold, and she let go. Seamus came over to sit on the other side of Ginny

He remembered what McGonagall had said about being honest and open with each other. He took a deep breath. "I'm doing better now," he said. "

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Ginny said.

"You're all going to face this sooner or later. You should know what's coming." He swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. "I'm not going to try to describe the curse. You should know that after it's over, it doesn't hurt anymore, but while it's being cast, your muscles tense enough that the exertion wipes you out. If Seamus hadn't come for me, I don't know if I could have made it back to the dorm room."

It was silent for a moment.

"But I'm alive," he said. "And I'm not . . . damaged." He'd almost said he wasn't hurt.

Seamus reached forward and picked up a chocolate frog from a pile on the table in front of them, then held it out to Neville. "Eat. Lupin says it helps with everything."

Neville half laughed and accepted the chocolate. "Thanks."

It was quiet for a few minutes, save the crinkling of wrappers, as the four of them worked their way through the chocolate frogs. Neville appreciated the quiet. It was like his friends understood that there was nothing they could say to make it better, so they didn't try to say anything at all.

Try though he might, Neville could never have imagined having better friends to comfort him in his darkest moments. He could only hope he would be able to provide them with as much comfort when the time came that they needed him.