Against the Tide

A few weeks into term, in the middle of September, Ron found himself in the Astronomy Tower late one night, studying the paths of Jupiter and Saturn. The effects of those two planets were really very interesting on Astrology, both playing important roles on the world spirit at the time. He tried very hard to concentrate, imagining that he held the power to change their message, to change the future.

Of course, he did have that power, he reminded himself stupidly, just not the courage. All he had to do was say something. But images of a chessboard kept popping into his head, and he knew that if he spoke now, he'd place the world in checkmate forever. Better to stay silent and let the future come- and see everything destroyed. He slammed his telescope closed and tossed it onto a bench.

"Ron?" a voice came from the stairs, as a person came through to the Tower. "Hi," Morag said.

"Morag," he acknowledge, really in no mood to speak to anyone. He needed to soak his head. In something corrosive, preferably. "Can't sleep?"

"Er- no. I've been having difficulties lately," she admitted. "Anything in the sky to help me? You're the expert, yeah?"

Ron hesitated. Morag had never before acknowledged that she knew he was a Prophet. It didn't seem particularly dangerous, so he nodded. "Taurus, right?" He set about finding her chart out of the hundreds he had filed into his brain. He muttered a few times as he found different planets in the sky. "What's his name, then?" He asked as he came to the crux of it.

"Not important. He's not important, either," Morag said defiantly, wearing her heart on her sleeve.

"You wish. He's more important than you'll admit, and you should admit it, Morag. You're miserable," Ron sighed.

"You are too. You just don't let on," Morag accused, trying to deflect. "What's her name?" she taunted.

"While her name is important, it's none of your business, Morag."

Morag sighed and sat gracefully on a bench. "You know, Ron, I'm tired. I'm really tired and I want to sleep. Just that."

"I know."

"How bad is it?" She asked, pointing to the sky. When Ron didn't answer, she pulled her arm around his shoulder. "Ah, well. We'll get through it."

"Maybe not, Morag," Ron admitted. She was the only one he'd tell, he resolved, though not the one he should tell, but he knew she wouldn't say anything. Morag wouldn't break a trust. Even if the world was about to explode. "What's his sign, then?" He asked, returning to the stars, hoping maybe there'd be some good news for her.

"Scorpio," she replied. "What's that mean?"

"Good bloody luck." They sat together for a few minutes, and Ron realized the absurdity of the situation. He'd just admitted to Morag that he was a Prophet, and that the future wasn't very bright. He couldn't possibly tell her that he fancied her best mate?

But what if she laughed, and said that Blaise specifically told her she'd never date him. Hermione had. Morag herself had. It seemed to be in fashion with the smart girls to treat him as a simpleton, although he knew that wasn't why Hermione and Morag wouldn't date him.

"Morag, do you ever wonder if there's someone were supposed to be with?" Ron asked.

"Didn't use to. Now, though, its all I think about," she admitted. "Why?"

"Er- well, there's a girl I like, and-" Morag snorted at this. "No, I really, really like her. I can't help it, and I tried. But she wouldn't think of me, so maybe I should just let it over."

Morag turned towards him, sitting cross-legged on the bench, all ears now. "Ron Weasley! You've a crush!"

"No," Ron denied. "I've had crushes before. This is much, much different. But, like I said, I don't think the girl likes me."

"Every girl likes you, Ron," Morag laughed. "They all live for the day you'll smile and pull them into an abandoned classroom. They all hope one day they'll have Ron Weasley's stubble scrub them in naughty places."

"Stop, stop," Ron said blushing. "Its not that bad." Morag laughed. "But this girl..."

"Who?"

Ron hesitated. "Well, Blaise, actually." When Morag didn't respond- she didn't even sodding blink- Ron repeated himself.

"I heard you. I'm just trying to imagine the two of you together."

"I know! It's horrible, isn't it? I'm such a clown, and she's graceful and elegant and delicate."

Morag laughed heartily at that. "You've never seen her trip over her own robes or drop an armful of books onto her foot or fall off a chair, apparently."

"That's not the point, Morag! She's out of my league- I know it. She'd laugh at me if she knew," he said morosely.

"No she wouldn't," Morag swore. "She'd be so flattered she wouldn't be able to speak. She's timid, Ron, not frosty! She'd probably think you were putting her on."

"See, I haven't a chance. My reputation precedes me," Ron muttered.

"Ron! Chin up," Morag barked. "If you want Blaise to know you're serious, you'll have to make her feel special before you chat her up. Just start seeking her out and saying nice things, and she'll know you're sincere," Morag said, and then turned serious. "You are sincere, right? Because if not, I'll rip your-"

"Don't threaten me, Morag. I am serious," Ron sighed. "Not that it matters. She's been dating Cornfoot since fifth-year."

**

Hermione was chilled, but not shocked, when Ron handed her an article on the latest outburst of attacks... moments after they had received word of them. Of course Ron had known about them ahead of time- he was a Prophet who'd been taciturn and withdrawn all week. From now on, she was paying much more attention to his moods.

Nearly seventeen hundred people died in two hours of pure terror. There had been attacks on all continents, in almost every nation, and no quarter given to the victims. The entire Hornblower staff was scurrying about, trying to get the students message out; new government was needed to control the Death Eaters, and it was needed now.

Ministries the world over had been totally overwhelmed. There weren't enough Auror's to go around, and the Death Eaters had made them choose between undefended Muggles or political and tactical targets in the wizarding community. It probably hadn't mattered, either which way.

The worst atrocities had been dealt within the Muggle community. They were horrified, claiming terrorists had blown buildings up and murdered hundreds around the globe. But few massacres had taken place within wizarding Britain. The British had been setting up defenses for over a year now. Most other nations had thought they could wait; now they knew they couldn't.

The most despicable attack was on Codswallop Academy, a school for the Scottish Muggle-born. Four students had died, several teachers died, and the entire school was destroyed. It would take months to rebuild, and there was no reason to think the Death Eaters would let it be rebuilt at all.

The younger students would arrive at Hogwarts later that night to be Sorted into Houses, and hopefully would soon assimilate into the school. There was hope that they would be at the school only until the end of the year, but there could be no promises.

Some of Codswallops older students had opted to come to Hogwarts or Lemon Grass College, an all-girls school in Lancaster, but most had chosen a different path. The Ministry had, during the summer, lowered their requirements for the Auror's College. Now, a knowledge test and a loyalty test were all that were required to become an Auror trainee. It took one month of training to become a fully-fledged Auror.

Most of these new Auror's lasted only a few weeks after graduating. Most of the older Codswallop students had chosen to join the College.

"We've got the death lists!" Dean shouted out. The Press Room, just moments before a beehive of nervous activity, noise and chatter, had ground to a halt. Several students grasped each other's hands, and mouths worked in silent prayer. Dean's hands shook as he began to read the list. "Abernathy, Jerome..." he began, and kept his voice loud enough to be heard but soft enough that you could hear the tremble. Every few names, someone gave a chocked sob. "Gryffindor-" Dean gasped out, "Maximus! Gryffindor, Maximus!"

Hermione wondered what Professor Gryffindor would think if she had heard the collective release of breathe that followed the news that her brother had died. Dean continued his dirge, and in the end, nearly forty names were given.

"I can't believe it," Hermione whispered to Ginny. Ginny was sitting stiffly in her seat, her eyes deadened. "Gin? Not you, surely?"

"The Fawcetts were our neighbours," she said flatly. "Mum and Mrs. Fawcett used to play that Ron and Sylvia would get married one day. Sylvia goes to Lemon Grass..." she burst into tears. Hermione leaned into her, giving her a shoulder to cry on, but in truth, she was feeling overwhelmed.

This level of tragedy was completely unheard of. There had been names on the list that she'd known, as well. She wanted to cry, but she had someone crying on her shoulder and no one's shoulder for herself. She really needed to cry, but no one offered a shoulder to her and that wasn't fair. An Aunt of hers was on the list, and maybe she'd like a good cry, but she really wasn't allowed to cry, was she? She was Hermione- Hermione the Murderer.

A whimper escaped her chest and soon, she and Ginny were grasping each other's shoulders and sobbing. Hermione's fingers were dug so far into Ginny's shoulders she expected them to snap, just like a Grindylow's. She pushed herself away.

"Ginny?"

"Yes. Back to work?" Ginny replied, straightening in her chair and wiping tears away from her cheeks. "I- I don't suppose this is the last of it?" Ginny asked her.

Hermione felt her eyes slide towards Ron before answering. "No, it won't be the last," she replied. Ron was sitting alone in the corner, staring out at the mass grief before him, and he had a grim frown on his face. Glancing at her watch, she motioned to Luna that she was in charge and collected Ron.

They went to the Entrance Hall, where the House Heads and Dumbledore met them. Together, the group traveled into Hogsmeade to meet the train carrying the Codswallop students who were to become Hogwarts students.

The children, fifty of them, stepped off the train looking scared, bedraggled, exhausted, and anguished. They'd lost friends, professors, and their school. Hermione wasn't too happy being Head Girl at that moment; she didn't particularly want to be a member of this welcoming party.

After briefly introducing themselves to the students and the two professors who had come to see them settled, the group turned and marched towards the school. The sky had turned to darkness since they had left, and a full moon had risen. While most were watching the forest around them, and the road ahead and behind them, Ron walked staring straight up at the stars.

"Ron," Hermione hissed. "What is it?"

"Hmm?" Ron asked, looking down at her. "Nothing, just double-checking was all."

"You knew," she said, trying not to accuse him. He must have had his reasons for not saying anything.

"Not everything," he whispered back, "but yes. I knew."

They had reached the school and ushered the children into the Great Hall. They looked odd in their green school uniforms, when set next to the black of the Hogwarts students seated already. The Sorting Ceremony was quiet, no cheering welcomed the students to their new Houses. The entire Hall seemed withdrawn, taut with nerves and tears and fright.

Dumbledore explained new security measures that were to be taken- no one was to think of entering the Forest. All Hogsmeade visits were off, no fourth-years and below out of their dormitories after eight, and no one was to walk the halls alone. Ambush training had unfortunately been cancelled, but Dueling Club would continue, and would try to cover all the theories and movements of an ambush. Every student was now required to attend Dueling Club.

Madam Hooch or Charlie Weasley, who'd only just settled in to his position as Care of Magical Creatures professor, would supervise all Quidditch practices. Ron, being the good- and very prepared- Head Boy that he was, had already set up an inter-House, intramural Quidditch tournament. Which would allow all students to play Quidditch should they want. The players could serve as House Team Reserves, should they be needed.

During dinner, Hermione asked about the newspaper. It had been sent out, students would receive their copies when they returned to their Common Rooms and subscribers would have their copies by midnight.

Desert had just appeared when a single owl flew into the Hall. Several Ravenclaws let out anxious cries as it swooped towards their table. It held a black envelope in its beak. The owl didn't land on Ravenclaw table though; it flew past the students and landed on the High Table, just in front of a professor.

In front of Charlie. Weasley... Charlie Weasley. No! Hermione shouted in her mind, her fingernails drawing blood from Harry's arm, which she was tearing apart.

Charlie didn't move. He watched the owl soar out of the Hall, as fast as its wings could take it, and then peered back at the envelope, as if it bewildered him. O'Neill, who sat beside him, whispered into his ear, and several members of the High Table were half-standing, ready to remove the offending article from the Hall. Slowly, Charlie reached out and opened the envelope, drawing the parchment out and reading it quickly.

It fell from his grasp.

Ron and Ginny, and she realized Harry and herself, had risen and rushed to the front of the High Table, barely a foot away from Charlie as he looked up at them, his eyes watery with tears.

"The twins-" Sobs broke out all over the Hall. "Relax!" Charlie called to the horrified students. "The twins write to say all is well. Bastards..."

Later, after dinner had ended and her heart had began pumping blood again, Hermione sat in the Common Room with the others. Everyone was silent; the only noise came from the crackling fire and the Chess pieces, cracking and snapping as they destroyed each other. Ron and Harry were playing, but they were both preoccupied. Ron kept glancing at the fire, as if expecting it to speak, while Harry was reading the Prophet's evening edition.

By unspoken agreement, the three of them stayed in the Common Room until it was emptied of everyone else. Once the others had left for bed, Ron and Harry came to sit by the fire with her.

"Do you think it'll settle down?" Harry asked.

"No," Ron bit out. "Welcome to the future."

"Well, it can't be like this for ever. I'm just happy for today to be over," Hermione moaned.

"Then why are you still up?" Ron asked.

"Because-" Hermione paused before she said something angry. So infuriating! But she knew he had been in torment all day. All week, really, and if this was a portent of things to come, he might be like this for a long time. Or forever. "Because I thought we should talk about this," Hermione said, laying an arm around his shoulders.

"What's to talk about? It happened, and it isn't exactly over yet," he answered coolly. He had stiffened at her touch, though wasn't shrugging her off.

"Ron, you knew about this! You knew it'd happen!"

"What?" Harry demanded.

"Sure, so I did."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harry asked, horrified.

Ron hesitated. "Last Christmas, I told Dumbledore that Voldemort would try to kill your relatives. Dumbledore sent you home, and Voldemort decided to kill dozens of people instead. It sparked off months of heavy casualties," Ron answered. "I didn't know what would happen if I spoke up about this. It could have been much, much worse."

"Ron, Christmas wasn't your fault," Hermione insisted. "You did nothing wrong! Death Eaters, not you, killed those people!"

"And Pansy, not you, killed Lucius Malfoy," Ron bit back. "But you blame yourself, right? What if you knew, through your kindness or compassion or whatever, you could cause thousands of deaths?"

"Ron," Harry began, "this is not your fault. You can't think it is..."

Ron didn't seem interested in listening though. His eyes, still trained on the fire, burned with anger directed towards his own self. When flames danced or sparks exploded, Ron's eyes would narrow. "Right now it's telling me that there will be increased attacks once the first snow falls," he said, nodding towards the fire. "Nothing more. Just that many more will die once the snow starts to fall. But I can't stop the snow, of course. I can't stop any of it. And if I could, what would be the consequence? There would be drought next year.

"I can't stop this, Harry, and I can't control it, Hermione. I just have to try not to cause any more damage, any more deaths, than I already have."

Harry threw a nervous glance at Hermione, who tightened her arm around Ron. "Well, Ron, at the very least, you've got us."

**

October began on a drizzly morning. Draco knew this because he hadn't slept at all that night, and he watched the sun dance against the clouds. Mist covered the grounds of the school and still he sat in the Common Room, rubbing his eyes and praying for it to end.

He was beginning to see what they meant, when they said all actions have consequences. He'd supported democracy, and his employees had listened. He'd suggested that the people protest Fudge's government that week, and his employees had listened.

But he hadn't meant his employees! Didn't they realize the damage done to his industries when they left the job? And now- now!- they wanted him to pay them for the work they missed! Pay them for not working! They were bloody insane.

But, the rational side of his brain asked which was more important; the short-term money or the long-term money. So he lost a few thousand Galleons, precious though they were. When democracy came through, which it would, and free trade was pushed passed it, he'd be making much, much more.

And so he swallowed the demands, but asked that his employees return to work. Their leader (these people had a leader?) had just promised they'd all be at work come Monday, and said that he hoped they could continue to do business together. Draco had recoiled at that. He did not do business with warlocks and hags and Squibs. Certainly not.

And really, why were they protesting? That made little sense, as even under the framework Draco had helped to create, people who hadn't passed their OWL's would not gain the vote. The liberal half of the group working on the framework had been that the requirement would force parents to have their children get the very most basic education.

Draco had agreed to it because he didn't think warlocks and hags and Squibs should be able to vote. Wasn't it asking enough that Mudbloods and Halfbloods and Halfbreeds could vote? So why weren't his workers protesting that no matter what, they were screwed?

He knew this answer. Because the media (him) had told them everything would be fine. But weeks ago, when Fudge just continued to ignore the mounting calls for his resignation, Draco had stopped believing that anything good would come from polite protestations. And so, through the Prophet and the Hornblower, the people had been told to protest outside Gringotts- they couldn't amass on a Muggle street.

The massive attacks of only a week ago had pushed those who hadn't supported democracy in the beginning to support it now. The movement was galvanizing, and while it hadn't forced Fudge into total retreat, it was beginning to.

The pressure had caused Fudge to crack a bit- he'd appointed new advisors who were firmly on Dumbledore's side. The protesters hadn't cared, really. They didn't understand that advisors were the policy-makers. Without the advisors, he'd have to deal with every Department Head, every Wizengamot elder and every other important person, personally. Advisors managed to forge policy after consultations. Without advisors popular with the Department Heads, Wizengamot elders and others, Fudge would be deadlocked.

So he'd cracked, and the protests had been called off. Percy Weasley had been re-routed back to International Cooperation. Several others had been let go of, all together. The new financial advisor was Bill Weasley.

It must have been a tense night at the Weasley home.

Draco's brain felt it might boil over. Little over a year ago, he'd been ready to accept his father's path for him. Then his father had done the worst thing imaginable- he'd escaped from prison. Suddenly, Draco had been cut loose, everything being possible. At that time, he hadn't known anything about governments, finances, business or life, really. He'd been a spoilt, rich Slytherin with a deplorable attitude.

But that morning, sitting by himself in his pajamas, the sun rising behind him and the fire turning to coals in front of him, wishing someone sat beside him, he felt lonely. And that was a hard thing to admit for someone raised to never feel any deficiency.

He'd wanted to be better, to be with Hermione and happy. To be friends with her friends, but with them as his friends, not as an extension of the pre-existing group. He'd wanted to make good choices and to do well in school for someone other than himself. He'd wanted to work hard for something other than money.

But that was impossible, quite obviously. He hadn't figured on Hermione's guilt- she was the only one loyal to Lucius in death. It was so ironic; the last thing his father would have approved of was a match between him and the daughter of two Squibs, pureblooded or not. Hermione was the only one who could let the chance to piss on Lucius's grave slip through her fingers.

And all because of morals? If morals meant not getting revenge, never really winning or knowing victory, morals could leave Draco's life now, because he had a lot to avenge. He didn't know everything he'd have to avenge, once he was done the 'climbing' stage of his life, but he figured it'd take a few years to even the score.

"Draco?" a soft voice came from the girl's dormitory. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No, but today is Saturday. I only have Quidditch and some Hornblower work. Then I can sleep, I hope," Draco said to Blaise. He and Blaise had ended the war between them since they had teamed with others to block the Dark Lord's influence in Slytherin. Draco was glad; there wasn't anything quite like the best friend of the girl you've broken up with. "Why are you up so early?"

"Need to study for Herbology," she said, indicating her books. "I'm testing Ron later this afternoon, so I thought I'd brush up." She went to sit opposite him, but tripped on the edge of the rug, banged her shin against the table and fell over the side of the couch.

"Alright then?" Draco asked, not too concerned. This was a common occurrence with Blaise, and she was really quite tough. She surfaced a moment later, looking regal in spite of herself, as if she were about to be crowned. Draco almost understood what Weasley found so attractive.

"Of course. When you go to your dormitory, can you tell Tobias I need his notes from the class I missed? And tell Rufus I'm studying right now if he wants any help."

"Blaise, its five in the morning. They wouldn't wake if you told them you'd service them." But all the same Draco obediently pushed Tobias around until he grumbled the location of his notes and warned Rufus that he'd fail Herbology if he didn't get up right now. It kind of felt good, really. Like a team effort.

After he'd roused Rufus and Tobias and changed, he left the Common Room, taking the backstairs and hidden passages to the Kitchens. The path he took was drafty and narrow, uneven and low. They were rumoured to have been built by Hogwarts' only Goblin-Headmaster. There were doors at odd places, promising that at one time there had been other paths around the school. Flickering sconces, not sunlight, lit the way for those who knew these passages.

Also, by the sound of a shutting door ahead of him, it appeared to Draco that someone else was walking the path that morning. He couldn't think of whom, though, but wasn't particularly worried. He wasn't doing anything wrong, and maybe he was about to catch a younger student out-of-bed! He could give a detention!

So he hid.

He hid at a funny intersection of three different tunnels. Waiting for the sound of footsteps getting closer (only one person), he jumped from his spot suddenly, using all the Ambush training Professor Gryffindor had taught him.

From the quick shout of fright she gave, Professor Gryffindor regretted very much teaching, any student, anything. "Jesus, Mary and Merlin, Malfoy!" she cried, holding her wand in one hand, trained at him, and her other hand against her bulging belly. She had retreated so quickly she had bumped into the opposite wall. "You idiot! What are you doing out of your dormitory so late?"

But Draco didn't really have to answer. Gryffindor was an adult, yes, but not a teacher anymore. While to Draco she'd always be in charge, he was more interested in getting answers to his own questions.

"Professor! Hi! When did you get back? Are you feeling alright? Have you seen Dumbledore?" he asked, taking a hand and pulling her away from the wall. The stones were slimy and cold- not the type of resting place Draco would recommend for pregnant women.

"I'm fine, Draco," Gryffindor growled. "I wish people'd stop asking. And I got in just over an hour ago, with the specific goal to speak with Dumbledore. Now, I've got to leave." With that, she waved him adieu and began to nearly-waddle in the direction he had come.

"Wait! Stop!" Draco demanded only to be rewarded with the bird. "Professor," he called as he jogged to catch her, "Do you mean your not staying? You can't be serious, Professor. You're pregnant. You can't keep out there," he insisted. "Nobody's this much of a Gryffindor."

The professor smiled at that. "Do you know, Draco, you are nothing like your brother. He feeds me potions to keep me strong. He doesn't question things he couldn't understand," she said bitingly. "And, he would never, ever keep me about by listing my deficiencies and weaknesses. What could you possibly know about what I'm capable of while I'm pregnant?"

"Professor?" Draco asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure now if this were Professor Gryffindor or a vampire pretending to be her to gain access away from the scene of the crime. "Uh, Professor, can't you stay for a while? Professor O'Neill is really worried about you, and so are the students."

Gryffindor had winced at O'Neill's name. "Draco, please don't tell anyone you saw me. It won't do any good for them to get their hopes up. I'm off to do something stupid, and I might not- uh, might not..." she petered to a stop. "You understand?"

He did. "Professor, your pregnant, a brilliant teacher, invaluable to the War, a popular figure and a household name, and now you say your about to risk all that on a dodgy mission?"

She nodded, smiling weakly.

"Professor, aren't you supposed to be the adult here?" he demanded. He felt like screaming. What utter foolishness this was!

She advanced on him until he was pushing against the wall. "Draco, no one can know I've been here. I can't have that leaking out and getting to the Death Eaters. I was spotted not forty minutes from here, and I could be spotted forty minutes after leaving. I can't have them establish a pattern, all right? Don't tell a single soul," she warned. She whirled away from him, but reconsidering turned back. "By the way, Draco, you look like crap. Get some sleep, right? You should always be rested."

With that, she was gone. Magnanimous as always, Draco thought with a grim smile.

He dazedly continued on to the Kitchens for an early breakfast. His appetite, however, was not what it had been a few minutes earlier. Could this sick feeling in his stomach, which twisted unhealthily, be worry? Not entirely sure what to do, he began to walk towards the Press Room, down in the dungeons. Maybe he could vet his article on democratizing the Board of Governors- the Head Boy and Head Girl really should have a seat, as they were the student representatives.

In the Entrance Hall, however, he encountered Potter.

"Early breakfast, Malfoy?" he asked drowsily.

"Yeah," Draco replied. "Quidditch?" Potter nodded and began towards the Great Hall. "Wait, Potter! Come here," he said, ushering him towards the room where first-years await to be Sorted. "I've just seen Professor Gryffindor!"

"What? Where? When? Is she alright?"

"Just now, in a passageway, and she was pretty surly. So she's probably fine. She all but admitted to attempting a suicide mission!" If anyone could go to Dumbledore and pressure for him to recall Gryffindor, it was Potter. He was the Golden Boy, after all. "Dumbledore is letting her, too. She just stopped in to speak with him, and now she's out there!"

"No!" Harry gasped. "But she's pregnant, yeah? Why would he let her go?"

"Yeah. Listen, Potter, you can talk to Dumbledore. Go to him now, ask him to call her back. She can't do something stupid, not now."

"Dumbledore isn't going to listen to me," Harry sighed, and then straightened. "But it can't hurt, I suppose..."

"Exactly," Draco said, pushing him out the room. "I'll tell your team where you are."

"You aren't coming with me? You saw her," Harry said.

"Yes, well..." Draco began. How did he tell Potter he couldn't look Dumbledore in the eye while he had the Dark Mark burned into his arm? "One Potter is worth a thousand Malfoy's, when it comes to Dumbledore," Draco said blithely, although he knew it was a lie- and a lie that really hurt to say. Potter's better than Malfoy's? The sick feeling in his stomach must be worry.

Once Harry had taken the stairs two at a time, Draco entered the Great Hall. His appetite had returned, and he glanced longingly at the food the Gryffindor Quidditch team was inhaling.

"Potter's gone to see Dumbledore," he told Weasley.

"Why?" Weasley grunted through a mouth of egg and toast.

"Ask him." Draco grabbed a stack of toast and left the Hall, going up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, to await Potters return.

He waited about fifteen minutes until the gargoyle jumped aside, suggesting someone was about to appear. Potter stepped out from the staircase.

"Well?"

Potter looked at him crossly. "We shouldn't interfere with that which we don't understand."

Bugger! He did recognize whom he was talking too, right, Potter? "Have you ever not interfered?"

Potter sighed. "I won't be interfering this time, Malfoy."

**

Harry's time in Dumbledore's office had not been pleasant. The Headmaster had spent the greater portion of the time telling him, kindly and politely, to mind his own business. Gryffindor would do as Gryffindor would do, and there was no point trying to stop her. She had come to Hogwarts to brief him on intelligence she had gathered about future attacks, and had explained that her next mission would be risky.

But she was not actually under Dumbledore's jurisdiction, as such. She was a free agent, running around with a wand and a license to do as she pleased, within reason. Since after she had nearly choked a superior to death, the superior and not her had been transferred, it was apparent the Ministry valued her services.

Dumbledore assured Harry that while Gryffindor's mission was risky, the risk was warranted. Gryffindor, if successful in her venture- he had given no details- would hit a strong blow against the Death Eaters. One that would take them a long while to recover from. But Harry, his mind on what Ron had said about more and more deaths once the snow began, wasn't convinced that Gryffindor would be successful.

Of course, he couldn't say this without Dumbledore asking how he knew, and then he'd have to say about Ron's vision, and then Ron would never trust him again. So, in that pinch, he had said a quiet prayer for Professor Gryffindor, and backed off. If anyone could pull off a suicide mission, it was she.

Now he was flying around the Quidditch Pitch, trying to spot the Snitch so Ron and he could call the practice finished. The team had come together rather well in such a short time, and the side was going to be very competitive this season. If, of course, they could keep their spirits up. Recently they had been playing with a wild abandon that caused them to take unnecessary risks in their practices. Madam Hooch had actually cited Ginny with several violations after a rather sensational bit of flying. Harry had read her the riot act. Ron had just screamed at her for a half hour.

Still searching for the Snitch, Harry was the first to notice Hermione running towards the Pitch. She was waving her arms about and shouting something. Harry sailed smoothly into a soft landing just in front of her.

"What is it, Hermione?" he demanded, his heart in his throat. The rest of the Gryffindor team fell in beside him.

"Several Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seventh-years are leaving to join the Auror's College!" she told them, promptly turning and running back towards the castle.

Emotions ranging for horrified to curious, the team hurriedly followed behind Hermione, leaving Madam Hooch to clear up after them. When they reached the castle they followed the noise of the students to the Great Hall. The Hall was literally buzzing with voices. Hermione was front and center with a group of prefects, trying to keep order.

"Everyone, quiet down, please. Please!" Hermione was shouting. "The Headmaster and professors will be here soon."

"Who?" Harry asked Neville as he sat at the Gryffindor table, Ginny beside him. They tried to keep the noise down as Ron left to join Hermione.

"We're not really sure," Neville said. "All the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students in our year have been called into a meeting with Dumbledore. We think he's trying to talk them out of it."

Rumours flew wildly around the Hall. Parvati was crying, sure that Padma was going to join up without telling her. Several Gryffindor sixth-years were boasting that they'd join, because they couldn't have the others besmirching the brave and courageous reputation of Gryffindor. The seventh-years, though they understood the lower-classmen's feelings, tried to convince them it was folly to join.

"You can't be serious?" Seamus shouted at a fellow Irish student. "That's all we need is for Irishmen to fall defending Britain. Think what O'Neill would say!"

The outburst surprised Harry, because while he'd heard grumbling about the number of Irish deaths- within the Auror's and within the general community- he'd never thought Professor O'Neill would be counseling against joining up. After all, he was in the Order.

"Well, the Auror College is a British Ministry thing, while the Order is an international effort to rid the world of Dark Lord's," Ginny said when he'd commented on the issue. "Besides," she'd continued in a hush whisper, "do you want to tell the Irish that they're wrong?"

Before Harry could answer, the doors to the Great Hall opened and Dumbledore came through, shepherding the professors and the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seventh-years. Several seventh-years returned to their House tables, but a few did not. Some followed Dumbledore and the professors to stand before the High Table. Among them were several people Harry did not want to see leave Hogwarts and most probably die.

From Hufflepuff, Ernie MacMillan was there- pompous, opinionated Ernie, who had accused him of being Slytherin's heir in second-year and who had been an ally ever since. Stephen Cornfoot, who was Blaise's boyfriend and hadn't ever said a single word to Harry, was also there. Megan Jones, the schools most notorious gossip, stood there, along with her friend, Hannah Abbott, the prettiest girl in their year.

From Ravenclaw, the group was devastating. Padma was indeed standing among those who would leave. With her stood Mandy Brocklehurst, one of Ron's ex-girlfriends and one of the better Dueler's in the year, as well as Michael Corner, Ginny's ex-boyfriend (and maybe Harry wasn't to sore to see him gone), who was devastating in Defense. Henry Bradley, the House's Keeper, was going, as was Lisa Turpin.

"This is a sad day for Hogwarts," Dumbledore began. "One that sees the exodus of so many bright students before they had a chance to reach their full potential. While they will leave immediately, I would like to remind you all of what they sacrifice- their education, their freedom, and possibly their lives- with the hope that you will remember them well. Brave though they are, I would advise all of you to follow your own path, not one that has been glorified by those gone before you.

"Now, if you will raise your glasses," Dumbledore said, lifting his in example, "we will toast these young soldiers for good luck and long life."

Wordlessly, numbly, the students of Hogwarts toasting the nine of them whom were no longer of Hogwarts.