Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness

Neville pressed back tightly against the cool stone wall, holding his breath as he listened for the sound of a footfall, the whisper of a cloak, anything but his own speeding heart. Every nerve was on edge, and he didn't dare let go of his wand long enough to wipe the sweat from his palms. They were out there, somewhere, hunting him, and a moment's distraction was all it would take. Allowing himself a deep, cautious breath, he eased silently around the corner, leading with his wand.

He could see a figure crumpled motionless on the floor ahead. The thick, glossy black plait told him the fallen was one of the Patil twins, but he spared no time to check whether the trim of her robes was crimson or blue. There would be time to tally their losses later. Now it was just the thin piece of wood in his hand and he didn't know how many Death Eaters somewhere out there. He had felled two already, his vivid green jets evening the odds against their own as much as he could.

A flash of motion caught the corner of his eye, and he spun, crouching low to reduce himself as a target as he steadied the wand in both hands. It was Michael, his handsome face shining with sweat over an ashen pallor, his eyes haunted. The Ravenclaw gasped as he snapped his own wand up to the ready, then let out a deep, shuddering breath as he recognized Neville. "Holy - Neville, I could have -"

"You could have nothing," Neville hissed in a furious whisper. "Keep your wand up, Corner! I could have killed you three times before you had it aimed!" His eyes flicked down the corridor. "Where's Terry?"

"They got him." He wiped one shaking hand across his forehead. "This is too much. We can't win ... they just come out of nowhere, and they're out to kill! You can't block it!"

"Then duck it, or get them first, or keep them dueling until you have a clear shot. This is a battle, not a skirmish. A battle is always too much, I've been in two. Just stop thinking and keep your wand up!" He'd been in one place too long, his instincts were beginning to scream an alarm, and he didn't spare a glance back as he slipped away down the hall, leaving Michael behind in the dark halls with his advice and the young man's own fear.

There was the sound of movement from the Charms classroom ahead, but before he could reach the door, the faint rustles and footsteps erupted into the sizzles, cracks, and screams of an outright duel. There were at least two Death Eaters, their voices muffled beneath the masks, but Ernie's Scots burr was unmistakable, and the witch's voice made his heart freeze. It was Hannah, her voice tight, strained, clearly in pain as she fired off spell after spell in increasing desperation.

Without another thought, Neville sprinted down the corridor and threw open the door to the classroom. Hannah was on the floor, her legs useless beneath her in the misshapen knot of a Jelly-Legs Jinx as she fought to hold a Shield Charm against the Death Eater who towered over her, firing jinxes and hexes down against the silvery barrier. Across the room, Ernie crouched behind Flitwick's desk. He was dueling two at once, one side of his face twisted in a dark, ugly-looking burn.

Neville did not hesitate. Green light shot out towards the Death Eater attacking Hannah, and before the black-robed figure had hit the floor, he was at her side, scooping her up in his arms to get her out of there, get her somewhere safe to find out what had put the pain in her voice. One of the Death Eaters fighting Ernie turned, and he realized in horror that his wand was trapped in the hand now wrapped under Hannah's knees. She twisted in his arms, raising hers, but it was too late.

The world flared green, everything spun cold for a split second, and then he knew nothing at all.

OOO

"That was a complete effing disaster!" Neville yanked off his sweat-soaked robes and flung them to the floor in disgust. Ginny, still in her Death Eater's robes, offered him a glass of water with a rueful, wordless smile, but he waved it away, stripping out of his shirt and tie to throw them down in a pile on top of the robes. Down to his undershirt now, he sank into a crouch, bracing his elbows against his knees and running his fingers through his hair as he looked out across his exhausted troops.

The Room of Requirement no longer looked anything like the halls and classrooms of the school beyond. Instead, it had transformed into an odd cross between a gymnasium and a meeting room. The floor was smooth golden wood, the walls were mirrored, except for the one Neville stood in front of, which sported a large blackboard in place of one of the mirrored panels. Large cushions on which most of the D.A. was now sprawled were scattered everywhere, a table beneath the blackboard set with water, tea, and various snacks being attentively presided over by Dobby.

Half the D.A. were wearing black robes the room had copied for them off of those provided by Runcorn, the other half still in their school uniforms, but all looked the worse for wear, dripping sweat and scattered with scrapes, burns, and the ghoulish effects of various spells. The initial flare of anger fading now, Neville sighed. "Just ... undo the jinxes, heal it up if you're hurt, and for goodness' sakes strip off, get some water, a bite to eat, whatever. It's no use yelling at you when everyone's still too beat to listen anyway."

There was a ripple of sighs, murmured thanks, and even a few chuckles as the floor became immediately littered with heaps of black cloth as robes and ties came off everywhere. Almost all of the boys stripped down to undershirts, if not completely shirtless, the girls primly contenting themselves with rolled-up sleeves and collars unbuttoned low enough that Dennis Creevey was not the only boy to accidentally make matters worse while trying to heal a minor wand scorch.

Neville took the opportunity to seek out Hannah, who was mending the bloody lip of Orla Quirke, a fourth-year Ravenclaw girl. She gave him a withering look as she saw him approach, and he offered what he hoped was an appeasing smile. "Look, Hannah," he started, "I didn't mean to get us -"

"We're going to have to be soldiers now, not just friends and classmates. I don't care who it is, I don't want to see anyone doing anything stupid because they feel like they have to play the hero, and that goes doubly for us Gryffindors." She was good, and Neville winced slightly to hear his own words flung back at him in precise imitation, down to the more pronounced than he would have liked Yorkshire edge of his accent. He spread his hands in helpless acknowledgement.

"Yeah, I know. But you were hurt, I couldn't just let you --"

"I hit my funny bone really hard when I went down with the Jelly-Legs, for your information, Neville. It hurt like dragon's teeth, sure, but I was fine. That's not the point. I don't mind you barging in to save me, in fact, I'm kind of grateful. But you should have stopped at the point you took out the one attacking me. Blocking your own wand hand with your white-knight heroics ... what were you thinking?" Red sparks shot out of Hannah's wand in anger as she snapped at him, and Orla ducked, doing her best to pretend she wasn't noticing anything.

"Okay!" Neville was surprised to find that he was shouting back at her. "So I wasn't thinking! I'm sorry. I thought you were hurt, and I didn't think beyond that, is that what you want me to say?"

"No, it's not!" Hannah whirled to face him fully now, and Orla slipped away quickly to join the other Ravenclaws, leaving her two commanding officers to battle it out. "This is what scares me about you, Neville! Not some prophecy, not you being in command of the D.A.. It's that you always put yourself last. It's not just that you made that mistake for me. I can forgive you that. Love messes with people's heads as much as their hearts. But you'd have done it for Fritz bloody Bagman just as fast!"

"And if I would?" Neville crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

"Don't you see?" Her voice had become shrill with anger and frustration. "Lose Bagman, lose me, lose Anthony, Vane ... lose any of us, really, and we're down numbers. Just numbers! Lose you, and we're out a lot more than another wand, we've lost our leader! You matter, Neville Longbottom, and not just to me, you matter to everyone, and if you want to be in command, you'd better start acting like you know that!"

"Ginny, Ernie, Luna -"

"There's three of them! That's three people to have to agree to get anything done! Can't you get it through that thick head of yours?" She shook her head fiercely, her pigtails whipping, then glared at him, her own arms crossed tightly to match his. "If you do it again, Neville, it's over between us. I love you, goodness knows I do, but I'm not going to have any part in this stupid self-destructive streak of yours. If you really care about the D.A., if you really care about me, you start watching your own back as well as you do everyone else's."

"I do!" he protested. "I watch my back as much as I can!"

Her eyes became bitter, and her voice dropped, trembling slightly as her gaze fell on his scarred shoulders. "If you did, Neville, it might be in one piece."

"Is that what this is about? The flogging?" Neville frowned, suddenly confused. "That doesn't have anything to do with the exercise tonight!"

"Oh, never mind!" She stomped her foot in frustration, then her face was suddenly inches from his, her chin thrust out stubbornly. "Don't look out for yourself, then. But if you care so much about the rest of us, you'd damn well better stay alive for us, because it would be a far sight more useful than dying for us!" Then she turned on her heel and stalked away, and he was left standing there, angry and confused and increasingly embarrassed as he realized how silent the room had fallen, how many people were looking at him. All of them, in fact.

There was a long, awkward silence, then Camellia Parkinson spoke. "She's right, you know, and I don't even like you."

"I'm not about to start snogging you either, old chum, though I am rather fond of you, and I was there on the wall with you, when it comes to it." Ernie shrugged, gesturing at his own scars. "But Lieutenant or not, I fancy the D.A. would miss you a lot more than it would me." He glanced around. "Show of hands, who thinks Longbottom needs to start watching the backside of which he does not appreciate the value a wee bit more closely so we can all sleep better at night?"

Hands went up all around the room, and Neville was stunned by the unanimous show of support. He did not know what to say, and it hung awkwardly in the air until Natalie MacDonald, a Gryffindor fourth-year, gave a cheeky little grin. "Well, if it's for the good of the D.A., I volunteer personally to watch Neville's backside. It's gotten rather nice."

A roar of laughter broke out at this, and Neville felt his face turn scarlet as he waved his hands to quiet them down. "Thank you, Ms. MacDonald," he cast her a reproachful look, only to be met with an utterly unashamed wink. "But that will not be necessary." He scanned the room again, satisfied that everyone was pretty much settled. "I guess everyone heard that I'm not immune from the fact that mistakes were made. A lot of them. But first, I want to point out that a lot of people did things well, too."

"Romilda, your aim has gotten loads better. Dennis, I'm starting to see some real confidence in your spell work, and that's the most important thing. Luna, that Vanishing Charm on the stairs was genius. Padma, your Shield Charms are at least twice as strong as last year. And Susan, that was a great Confundus." He pointed to each in turn as he praised them, then turned back to the blackboard, where two columns of names had appeared, one peppered with lines, the other completely stricken out.

Neville tapped the columns with his hand. "These should by all rights be even, people. We've all had the same training, practiced together, the teams were divided evenly. But our Death Eaters only lost a little less than half their number, while the D.A. was wiped out. Does anyone have any ideas why?"

Ritchie Coote raised his hand. "I know I hesitated on using the Killing Curse, even though I knew we were just doing green Stunners."

"A lot of us did, that was one of the biggest things. Ginny, our Chief Death Eater for tonight, told me that she felt a lot more comfortable doing it in those robes, because she doesn't feel like it's something 'good guys' should ever do." He took a deep breath. "It's not. It's an Unforgivable Curse for a reason, and it's a terrible, terrible thing to do; I will never, ever deny that. But in peace time, killing someone is murder. In war, it can be a duty. I think we're all hoping, for example, that Harry does not stun, jinx, or try to capture You-Know-Who. We're hoping he kills the snake-faced son of a hag."

Applause broke out at this, and he waited for it to subside before continuing, his face solemn. "Look, I'm being honest here. We all know that at the end of the year, or when Harry comes back, what we just did will be real, and they won't be our friends, they'll be You-Know-Who's elite, and they will be out to kill. Most of the people in this room will never see the summer. There's no use giving our lives if at the end of things, all of his get up again and none of ours do. Normally, even in a fight for your life, you take down the enemy and try to get out intact. For us, there is no getting out. So we can't take them down, we take them out. I want everyone here to choose someone they knew who's never coming back, and keep that person in your mind and heart when it's time to do it for real. Me, I think of my parents. You decide who matters the most to you."

He turned to the board again, and next to the list of names had appeared the number one and: Hesitation with Killing Curse. He tapped it with his wand, and a number two formed below. "Next?"

Lavender raised her hand. "The Death Eater outfits. They really do mess with your head." She shivered. "It's not like fighting a person. You can't see their faces, so it's like you're scared out of your mind, and they're always completely calm and nothing you does rattles that, and those robes make me think of the Dementors."

Psychological intimidation of Death Eaters appeared next to the second number.

"Luna has a good method with that, get the masks off as fast as you can if they bother you. Personally, they help me, because I don't have to think of them as people. They can all be the monster that hurt and killed people I care about, but everyone's different. If it helps you to assign a face under there, do that, if not, strip the mask, or tell yourself they're scared to death under it. Number three:" --he tapped the board again-- "Stupid mistakes."

"Adrenaline," Neville smiled dryly, "is your best friend and your worst enemy. On the one hand, you can be really badly hurt or tired or thirsty or whatever and it won't even slow you down. I nearly broke my shoulder earlier this year, and it took me about a half hour after everything calmed down to even care. I also discovered that with werewolves on our tail, Luna, Ginny, and I can outrun a Firebolt." More laughter at this. "On the other hand, it pumps you up so much you make stupid decisions. How many of us can honestly say we fell because we did something completely moronic?"

He raised his own hand, and gradually, reluctantly, with a lot of sidelong glances at each other, almost twenty more joined his. "You all know what I did," he shrugged, "let's hear some others. Colin?"

"I got myself trapped when I got all turned around and opened the door into a broom closet."

"Fritz?"

"Left myself open when I was firing."

"Lavender?"

"Didn't look before I went around a corner."

"Anthony?"

"Mixed up two different spells."

Neville nodded in satisfaction. "That's your second assignment. I did this just before Christmas break for a reason. This is our last D.A. meeting before we all go home on Saturday. I want everyone to really think about their own performance, and about what they saw other people do; good and bad. Decide what you can improve, learn from other people's successes and failures, and we'll do it again when everyone gets back, and we'll do a lot better, hopefully." He slipped his wand back into his belt, and the blackboard vanished.

"So that's it for the official stuff. We've still got half an hour, 'cause the Lieutenants and I wanted to make sure everyone gets a chance to say goodbye to their friends from other Houses ... I think we have a lot more of those now. So ... uh, meeting dismissed, but you don't have to leave yet."

Dobby began to scurry around the room, passing out little bundles to everyone as they got to their feet and a babble of conversation broke out. Everywhere Neville looked, people were hugging one another, exchanging owl addresses, Floo Network information, or reviewing their performances together. He also noticed that he and Hannah did not appear to be the only couple to have crossed House lines over the course of the autumn. Several other pairs were locked together in corners, not caring who saw as they took the last opportunity to hold each other before their time apart, and he thought of what Professor McGonagall had told him about war. It really did bring love and hate in equal measure.

"Neville Longbottom, sir ...." He looked down at the tug on his trouser leg to find Dobby staring up at him in unabashed adoration. "Dobby thinks you has been very nearly as brave as Harry Potter this year, so Dobby does not give you cookies like everyone else, no sir." The elf held up a lumpy, garishly ribboned parcel, and Neville took it bemusedly, pulling open the bright paper and rather uncomfortably aware of the huge eyes fixed on his every move. "Dobby gives you socks!"

They were indeed socks. Vividly knitted out of Gryffindor crimson and gold (but the colors reversed on each sock) they showed two hideously distorted shapes that he did not want to guess were faces, much less whom they belonged to. He smiled in genuine gratitude at the gift, having heard from Harry and Ron - not to mention nearly endlessly from Hermione when she was on her S.P.E.W. kicks - what that particular garment meant to Dobby. "Thanks, Dobby. These are really ... amazing."

"The Carrows, Neville Longbottom! On your feet, so you can stomp on them!" Dobby did a gleeful little stamping dance, and Neville laughed.

"Dobby, that's brilliant!" He sat down immediately and pulled off his shoes and socks, replacing them with the gaudy new gift. "My Gran will think these are fantastic." He turned, giving the elf a tight hug, but unlike Mimsy, who rolled her eyes at such unseemly displays from Master, Dobby appeared nearly overcome with joy. He wiped his eyes on the hem of his knobbly sweater. "Neville Longbottom will have a good Christmas and come back safe?"

"I will." A sudden idea came to him, and he leaned in close. "Dobby, I know you're great at keeping secrets ... Ernie and Susan are getting married over the break. Because of the war, they're going to have to do it as just a tiny little thing in the Muggle world, just at an office with me and Hannah to witness. If they make it, they're having a proper wedding later, but do you think you and H.E.L.P. could prepare a party for them when they get back? You know, a cake and all that?"

"Of course!" The huge eyes lit up with a conspiratorial gleam. "And it will be most secret!" He Disapparated with the customary loud crack, and Neville got to his feet, turning to find Terry a few feet behind him.

"What will be most secret?"

"Can't say, or it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?" Neville grinned. "But put that Ravenclaw brain of yours on that giant rock that appears on Susan's hand every time she's in here and you can take your best guess."

"Ah ..." Terry nodded in dawning understanding. "A Mrs. Macmillan in the near future then?"

"You didn't hear it from me." He slung an arm around the other youth's shoulders, leaning in close and dropping his voice low. "How are things with Luna?"

"We've got her on a twenty-four hour watch." Terry's eyes grew serious. "The girls are sleeping in shifts. You'll know the instant anything happens, and we're ready to whisk her in here at a moment's notice."

Neville nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I'm getting nervous that he hasn't done anything yet. There's only three days left before break. I'm convinced he's going to try and keep her here at the last minute."

"If he does, mate, he'll have all of Ravenclaw to deal with. Odd little thing, sure," he shrugged, "but she's really grown on us this year, you know?"

"She does that," Neville smiled. "Oh, and Terry ...?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. I know you guys really prefer the library to the battlefield, but Ravenclaw's been amazing this year. I wanted you to know I noticed, and I really understand that it's harder for you than for the rest of us, but we couldn't have gotten this far without you."

The cobalt blue eyes grew soft with gratitude, and he shook Neville's hand firmly. "That means a lot. It hasn't been easy, but we do understand that some things are more important than good marks. I guess there's all kinds of learning, though." He grimaced comically. "Mike and I, for example, have learned that we can do a hundred push-ups for Bagman if we give him a smart remark."

"Terry," Neville laughed, "we've all learned that." He hugged his friend. "Happy Christmas, and that's for Mike, too. I was kind of hard on him in the drill. Now, if you excuse me ..." He nodded his head towards Hannah. "There's someone I want to patch things up with before we have to go."

"You mean," Terry leered, "there's someone you want to snog madly for the next ten minutes."

Neville laughed again, shooting a look back over his shoulder as he crossed the room. "There's that brain again, always hits it right on."

"Our Fearless Leader." With a huge, dramatic sigh, Terry rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Merlin knows, if the Death Eaters don't get you, we're all going to lose you to profound exhaustion of the lips."

"Hasn't killed Ernie yet!"

"Give it time, my friend." Terry shook his head. "Give it time."

OOO

Snape made no move the following day, nor that night, nor the next day. Indeed, for all the notice he and the Carrows seemed to pay her, Luna might not have been attending the school at all. Neville paced the Gryffindor common room in frustration, tapping his wand against his palm in the staccato rhythm of jangled nerves. "It's got to be tonight. We're leaving tomorrow morning first thing, so it's got to be tonight. Parvati, I want you to get a message through to the Ravenclaws. Ginny, Hufflepuff ... everyone needs to be on the alert. Potions if they have to, but none of the D.A. sleeps tonight. I'm going to get to the Room of Requirement; someone needs to be ready to yank her in there when they strike."

Ginny's voice was soothing, with the maddening air of someone addressing the unhinged. "Neville, maybe he's not going to do anything to her."

"No!" He whirled, his expression tight and almost pleading. "I know the look he gets when we've bested him! He's won, Ginny. He's won, or he thinks he's won, and he's been gloating, and whatever that means for Luna, it's not good!"

"Maybe it's not Luna." Colin sat forward in one of the armchairs, a thoughtful frown across his cherubic features. "Maybe that's why he's gloating."

Neville shook his head. "No, it's Luna. He and the Carrows were looking right at her after the Quibblers, and that's when he got like this. He hasn't even glanced at the rest of us."

"That's not what I meant." Standing, Colin crossed over to where Neville was pacing and began to follow him, leaning in with an excitement that contained none of the usual puppyish enthusiasm, but rather a surprisingly mature intensity. "He knows we've got him outmaneuvered at everything he's tried, but he doesn't know how. He wants to strike back about the Quibblers, but he expects something like what we're doing now - not the Room of Requirement, necessarily, but that we'll have a plan - so he goes after something just as punishing, maybe even better than hitting Luna directly as far as stopping the leaflets, and something we can't stop him in."

Impressed, Neville stopped pacing and cocked his head at the younger boy. "Go on."

"I think he's had something done to her family, to Xenophilius. I think Luna's going to come home to an empty house, or at the very least, to a father who's been punished badly enough to make her think twice about staying with the D.A.."

Ginny gasped, and Lavender let out a little moan of dismay, even as Neville felt his heart sink. "You know, Colin," he sighed, "I think you might be right ... it makes an awful kind of sense."

Colin blushed, giving a tiny shrug, but there was something haunted in the wide blue eyes. "I've been thinking about it for months. I haven't said anything, 'cause I don't want it to get back to Dennis."

"You've been thinking about something happening to Mr. Lovegood for months?" Parvati asked.

"No, but we got our Blood Status just barely. My dad's a Muggle, had no idea the wizarding world even existed until we got our owls. Mom was pretty shocked, too. Dumbledore had to have a long talk with both of them. She was a Squib, you see, but she was born a LeStrange, and they're Pureblood way back."

Neville nearly choked. "Your mother is related to Bellatrix LeStrange?"

"By marriage!" Colin raised both hands in a defensive gesture. "They sent her off to live with the Muggle relatives of some half-blood friends when she was only six! She was told her childhood had seemed a little odd because her parents had been professional magicians, and that they'd left her with these people while they went to Australia to perform, and their plane had crashed. She really had no idea."

"Deep breath, Neville. You're turning purple. Try to remember we're pretty much all related, okay?" Ginny lay a hand on his arm with a wry smile. "Hell, Harry's related to You-Know-Who when it comes to it ... the Potters and the Gaunts both go back to the Peverells."

"Sorry." Neville sighed, shaking his head in embarrassment. "I don't ... I've got problems with Bellatrix."

Lavender gave a tense little laugh. "That's got to be the worst-kept secret in Gryffindor, unless you count that Harry's scar keeps hurting him, or that Ron's had a thing for Hermione since fourth year." She paused, then allowed a cheeky smile. "Although, if you want to toss in a couple of Sickles in the pool, I'm putting mine on within twenty-four hours of You-Know-Who going down."

"The pool?" asked Neville.

"The betting pool on how long it's going to take Ron and Hermione off alone out there to figure out that they're mad for each other. I've put in mine for New Years. It'd be sooner, but I've lived with both those guys, so I know just how dense Ron is and just how much of a wet blanket Harry's whole hero business can be," Ginny informed him calmly.

"Easter, eight Sickles." Neville answered without thinking, then shook himself. "Never mind - I'm sorry. Colin, please, go on ...."

The boy took a deep breath before continuing. "It's just ... well ... I know that her family is just barely enough to get me into Hogwarts. It's not enough to keep them safe. If anything, it probably makes them more at risk, because they'd hate people to know they had a Squib in the family who'd married a Muggle and raised her kids as Muggles. I've been pretty much expecting an empty house and a lot of blood, to be honest. I've already reserved a cab to take us home if no one meets us at the train, and I've got some Muggle money in my trunk to pay the cabbie to wait with Dennis while I go check."

His voice was calm, but his eyes showed the still-painful resignation of someone who had long accepted the diagnosis of a terminal illness. "There haven't been any answers to our letters since the first week of school. That's part of why I was okay with Secret-Keeper. I don't think I have anyone but Dennis to use against me, and I know he'd be just as willing to die for the cause as I am."

A long silence answered his words, then Lavender spoke. "But, Colin ... what will you do if they are gone?" she asked hesitantly.

"They wanted to give me the option of what world I'd live in when I grew up, so I still have a University fund, so does Dennis, and we both have all our Muggle papers. If we survive the end of the year, I'll get us a place, get a job, do the best I can." He shrugged. "What else? If I've got to go it alone, I know that world better than this one outside school."

The portrait hole opened, and they all turned as Seamus climbed through, struggling slightly to control what appeared to be a rather vicious-looking footstool with stubby, clawed legs and a white streak of bristly hair down the middle of the cushion. "It's supposed to be a badger," he explained, panting slightly, "McGonagall says I can still get partial marks if I can finish the transfiguration by tomorrow morn- what's goin' on?" He stopped, his forehead furrowing with worry as he saw all the solemn faces.

"Colin thinks they're going after Luna's dad, and we think he might be right," Parvati explained.

Seamus swore. "Do we have a plan?"

"No," admitted Neville, "but Ginny, you live in Ottery St. Catchpole, right?"

She nodded. "The Lovegoods are just over the hill."

"Then I want you to go home with her if nothing happens tonight or tomorrow morning. Word has it we're being split up by house on the train, but if Colin's right, I don't want her spending the next few weeks fending for herself in an empty house. Do you think she could stay at the Burrow?"

"Absolutely!" Ginny gave a warm little smile. "My parents would be thrilled, actually. Bill's spending Christmas with his wife at their new place, Charlie's in Romania, Percy's still being a twit, the twins are on the run, Merlin knows where Ron is ... it'll just be me and them, so we'd love a little more company."

"Okay, then." Neville flicked his wand, Stunning the footstool that had wandered away from Seamus and begun to chew the leg of a table. "I still want top security on Luna tonight, just in case, and I want everyone to sleep in robes, ready to go at a moment's notice, but we do need to pack. I've still got my stuff spread out over half the dorm. Although, Colin, can I have a word with you for a second?"

They split up, Seamus hefting the limp footstool over one shoulder as he started up the stairs, the girls hurrying off to their own dormitories while Neville took Colin over to the far corner of the common room. It was after eight, the firelight beginning to die in preparation for the nine-o-clock curfew, and the ruddy glow made Colin's flaxen hair seem almost as red as Ginny's. Despite only a year's difference in their ages, the other boy barely came up to Neville's chin, and he sat down on the window ledge, not wanting to seem like he was trying to tower over him.

"Colin, I had no idea about your parents. I mean, I knew what they were, but I didn't know you had reason to believe they'd been hurt. Why didn't you say something before?" he asked gently.

"I didn't want you to have more to worry about," he answered, a little fiercely. "I can take care of us."

"I'm sure you can. I think we've probably all underestimated you, and I'm sorry. You can be a little ..."

Colin laughed, and Neville winced to hear that it was still the laugh of a child. "Lavender says I'm sparkly."

"That's one way to put it." Neville smiled. "It seems like all of this just bounces off of you, all this darkness that's making me feel like I've aged about twenty years in the last three and a half months ... but I think you do understand it, don't you?"

"Of course I do. We're a lot less sheltered out there, you know." There was an almost patronizing tone that surprised him, and Colin seemed to see this. "The Muggle world is an ugly place a lot of the time. We grew up with Football gangs and muggings and double locks on the doors and newspapers full of rape and murder and wars every day. My Granny still has scars from a fire during the Blitz. Dennis was named after a friend's older brother who had been killed in the Falklands, and I bet you don't even know what I'm talking about with either one of those."

He thought of what Seamus had said about Belfast, and felt suddenly almost ashamed of his own quiet, pastoral country upbringing. "No," he confessed, "I don't know. But if it's like that, why aren't you hardened?"

"I don't think you can understand." Colin sat beside him, placing one hand firmly on Neville's knee. "I said something about it earlier, but I don't think you got it. All the fantasies came true when I was eleven. I've seen dragons. I have a wand, a real magic wand, and I cast spells with it. I've eaten dinner with ghosts under real fairies. And even when there's evil, it's grand, terrible evil that's clear and worth fighting, not some knotted mess of social problems when some hooligan shoots someone for drug money. I'm already living in a dream, Neville. I'm not afraid of never waking up."

"You're right, I don't think I can ever really understand, but I think I do as much as I can." He met the other boy's eyes directly, and with a new respect. "I was going to bring you over here to try and tell you that you can't take care of your brother by yourself, but I think I was wrong. Still ..." Neville held out a scrap of parchment, tapping it with his wand. "You can send an owl here, and if not, you can send Muggle post to the village and I'll check when we go down to do the shopping each Saturday. We're not the Malfoys by a long shot, but my Gran and I get along okay, and we've got a couple of spare rooms. If you think you're in danger, or if they've seized your vault or something, you let me know. Promise?"

"Promise." Colin took the parchment and stood, then turned back and flung his arms around Neville's neck in a hug that took the older boy completely by surprise.

"What was that for?" Neville laughed.

"If I don't see you again." There was no trace of regret or sorrow in his voice. "That's for letting me be part of the dream."

OOO

The Hogwarts Express had changed. The compartments were gone, and as Alecto Carrow marshaled the Gryffindors into their car in silent, straight lines, Neville saw that the interior had been stripped to bare, raw wood panels, the floor lined with an array of rough benches. Only the overhead compartments remained, and he stared at the benches in growing alarm as he wrestled his trunk into place. He shot a look at Seamus, who was securing his own trunk beside him. "Why have they -?"

"Silence! No talking!" Alecto's voice was shrill, and she jabbed him painfully in the back with her wand. "One more word, Longbottom, and it's the Cruciatus!"

He gave her a filthy glare over his shoulder, then tightened the straps holding his trunk in place and turned, waiting for her next command with hatred burning in his eyes as she finished prodding the others into the car. When she was finished, there were just over fifty students packed into the tight space, and most of the younger ones, who had been shoved in last, were forced to stand with their trunks at their feet as she surveyed them with a vicious grin. "Sit!"

Neville sat on the nearest bench, sliding over against the window as far as he could to allow Seamus, Parvati, Lavender, and Ginny room to squeeze in next to him. Carrow glared at the five of them and motioned with her wand again. "No, I don't want you lot together. Yer trouble. Finnigan, you switch with Frobisher. Patil, switch with Abercrombie. Brown ... Hooper. Weasley ... Coote."

When the changes had been made to her satisfaction, her smile widened, and she gave a little flick of her wand. Manacles burst from the floor at his feet, and before Neville could move, they had clamped tightly around his ankles, shackling him immovably in place. Several students screamed, and his fist tightened on his wand, his fingers aching to jinx the ugly grin from her pallid face, but he couldn't. There were too many innocent victims for her to use against him if he made a foolish strike, and as her narrow eyes found his, the triumphant gleam in them told him that she knew it too.

With a swirl of black robes, she strode out of the car, and he heard the door slam and bolt like the sound of a crypt sealing. Barely a second had passed before Seamus spoke, his lilting voice heavy with sarcasm. "They could have just told us they were sick of us runnin' in the corridors, you know."

A few weak giggles came in answer, and Neville wanted to say something back. A retort had been on the tip of his tongue, he was certain, but the air had suddenly taken on a sweet, cloying aroma like rotting fruit, and his lips had fallen numb. It was hard to think. Vaguely, he was aware that he should be panicking, that they were being drugged, but it just didn't matter. His eyelids grew unbearably heavy, and he slumped against the window, scarcely feeling the soft thud of the fifth-year girl, Victoria Frobisher, as she collapsed against his side, unconscious mere seconds before him.

He awoke to screams. Neville's head was spinning, he felt sick, dizzy, but the screams pierced through the fog like knives, and he fumbled for his wand, trying to force the numb, reluctant fingers to find the weapon in the folds of his robes. His hand closed over the thin, polished handle, and he tried to stagger to his feet, only to be tripped by the manacles still clamped on his legs and stumble hard back against the side of the car.

The train had stopped moving. Through the windows, Platform 9 ¾ of King's Cross Station was unmistakable, if as blurry and vague as everything else seemed to be, and he could see people waiting silently, a ring of dark-robed, silver-masked figures standing sentry, and all around him, students were stirring, coming slowly awake as the sweet scent faded from the air. And still the screams.

High and sharp and terrible, they pierced the air again and again, but as his head began to clear, he realized that the sense of distance had nothing to do with the lingering effects of the gas. They were coming from somewhere else, from another car, and they were words. He shook his head harshly, forcing himself to take deep breaths of the clearing air, and then he understood, and a horrible knot of defeat clenched his heart as he began to struggle so hard against the merciless bands that cloth tore and flesh chafed bloody against their sharp edges.

"LUNA! LUNA! She's GONE!"

With a loud clatter, the shackles all over the car retreated back into the floor, and Neville sprang to his feet, wand held tight as he shoved his way through the tangle of groggy students. Forcing a path to the front of the car, he pointed his wand at the latch on the door. "Alohomora!" Nothing happened.

Not wasting a moment, he yelled back over his shoulder, "Seamus!"

The young Irishman was already at his side, his blue eyes dark with understanding as he nodded. "We'll force it. On three. One, two -"

Before they could throw themselves against the door, the bolt vanished, and they exchanged a quick glance before throwing it open and leaping down onto the platform below. His legs were still uncertain, and he stumbled, skinning his knee, and then he was on his feet again, sprinting down the length of the train to where a river of pale-faced, panicked-looking students were pouring out of the Ravenclaw car.

Michael seized him as he came out of the car. He was almost unrecognizable, his handsome face beet red and contorted in helpless rage. "They chained us up and drugged us!" he spat. "We were treated like animals!"

Terry had appeared at his friend's side, nodding furiously. "When we woke up, she was gone, mate! Her trunk's still there, but Luna's just vanished!"

"Signal her with the Galleon, keep doing it until she responds. Even if they've taken her wand and she can't get a message out, she can make it heat up if she just has a hand free to squeeze it. Terry, I want you to get her trunk. Use Reducio, get it down as small as you can, then give it to Seamus." He turned to his fellow Gryffindor. "Seamus, you get Ginny. Give her the trunk, tell her to keep it safe, and I want her to keep an eye on the Lovegood place. I need a message the second there's news: about her father, about a ransom demand, about--"

An anguished, inhuman wail carried across the platform, and the young men turned. Two Death Eaters were holding the elbows of a wizard with bright turquoise robes and frizzy white hair and a beard the texture of candy floss. His face was twisted into a look of heartbroken pain and loss as he writhed in their grip. "Luna!" he howled. "My Luna! What have you done with my Luna?!"

"Your daughter is better off away from you, you crazy old liar!" growled the taller of the Death Eaters. "We'll take good care of her 'less you give us reason to do otherwise."

"Please ..." begged the wizard whom Neville now realized had to be Mr. Lovegood. "Give me back my Luna, she's all I have! I love her!"

"Touching," the other Death Eater sneered. They let go, flinging Mr. Lovegood harshly to the platform, where he lay; a crumpled, sobbing wreck of a man. "You come to your senses, take some time to think about the lying trash you print in that stupid rag of yours, and maybe we'll talk about your Luna later." Mr. Lovegood made no effort to rise. He lay on the platform, weeping convulsively, his thin hands opening and closing against the boards like the wings of a dying bird as he moaned his daughter's name over and over in a funereal chant.

"Disgraceful! Taking children hostage because you don't care for their parents' politics. Those are the actions of a coward, if you ask me." A tall, dignified elderly witch with an enormous stuffed vulture perched on her hat strode forward, looking down her nose at the Death Eaters with undisguised contempt as her voice rang out over the hushed crowd.

"Watch yer mouth, Granny. Best show some respect to the Dark Lord." The taller Death Eater turned to her, flexing his fingers menacingly. Neville's jaw clenched, and he took a step forward, but a single look from his grandmother stopped him dead in his tracks. She drew her wand and gave it an almost casual flick, and the silver mask fell with a clatter to reveal the scarred, shocked face of a middle-aged wizard with a patch over one eye.

"Walden MacNair." Her voice was arch, sharp with disdain. "You should be ashamed of yourself, torturing an old man and kidnapping a little girl. But if I remember correctly, I stopped letting you play with Frankie because you liked hurting anything weaker than you were. I see it's a nasty habit you haven't grown out of."

The single eye darted around, taking in the looks on the surrounding faces and darkening as he realized that he had utterly lost the advantage. He swore bitterly, then reached down and snatched up the mask before stalking away. She watched him go, then turned to face her grandson with a thin smile. "I do believe," she commented coolly, "that he may still be in a bit of a bad mood about what you did to his eye, Neville."

"Gran!" Neville ran forward and embraced her tightly. "I've missed you!"

She returned the hug, her eyebrows raising almost to the brim of her hat as she felt the newly-hardened lines of his body beneath his robes. Gran pushed him back to arm's length, studying him from head to toe. "Goodness ... what's happened to you?"

He chuckled darkly, hugging her again. "The whole term's been mental, Gran. I'll tell you later ... there's a lot to catch you up on."

Her shrewd eyes narrowed. "I would say so. You've changed a great deal more than losing a bit of weight, young man. I saw the way you came off that train. Other than ruining a perfectly good pair of trousers, you had those boys reacting to you like you were the General of some kind of army. I half expected them to snap you salutes! I think I would be foolish not to guess this has something to do with what you have to tell me ... as well as my little houseguest earlier, not to mention the letters from Professor Snape calling you a 'serious discipline problem' and threatening to have you expelled!"

Neville hesitated, smiling uncertainly. "You're not angry about those, are you?"

"Angry?" All the sternness melted away, and she drew herself up to her full height, her eyes glowing. "I don't think I've ever been prouder of you! A 'serious discipline problem' ... I should have it framed."

He felt himself blush, and he looked down at his feet, but Gran put a finger under his chin, lifting his face again. "No you don't. You keep your head up. You have nothing to be ashamed of unless you plan on telling me you're going to stop."

He shook his head fiercely. "They'd have to kill me first."

"That's what I want to hear from Frank and Alice's boy." Gran smiled, patting his cheek. She glanced across the platform to where Mr. Lovegood was still curled in a ball amid a knot of other parents and some of Luna's classmates, who were trying in vain to console him. Her expression was one of deep pity -- and for the merest moment, a flash of fear -- and he knew that in that second, she had imagined if the one to never get off the train had been him. The look was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and she took hold of his elbow, slinging her large red handbag over her arm. "Come along, Neville. Let's get home. We have a lot to talk about."

Pulling his arm away, he shook his head reluctantly.

"Gran, I can't. I'm sorry."

She nodded without any trace of the protest he had thought would come. Indeed, she seemed almost to have expected it. "Is this for what you're doing at the school?"

"Sort of," he answered honestly. "It's a personal promise, but it's to one of my Lieutenants."

"Your Lieutenants?" Gran exclaimed in a tone of mock scandal. "Will I be seeing anything of my young General this Christmas?"

"I'll be home in three days at the absolute most, I swear."

"You take care of your people, then," she said. "I think I can manage three more days without someone to see to the Fainting Fichus in the parlor."

Neville frowned. "Is it sick?"

"Oh no," she made a disapproving little huff, "poor thing's just been dreadfully high-strung since that young man was in the house. I pity his parents, and that's the truth. He must have been a handful!"

"Try giving it a good strong cup of chamomile tea with a little lavender oil just before bed, and make sure it's not in any drafts," he suggested. "That should help settle it down until I can take a good look at it."

"I'll do that." She nodded. "You just come back safe, and we'll go see your parents for Christmas."

He leaned down to let her kiss his cheek, then smiled. "I'd like that. I think I have a lot to tell them, too."

After his grandmother had left, Neville turned back towards the train, scanning the little clusters of families for the familiar faces of the D.A., and of his Lieutenants in particular. He spotted Ernie first. The Hufflepuff was standing next to his trunk at the far end of the platform, toe to toe with a red-faced man who could only be his father. The elder Macmillan looked exactly like his son, with the addition of a few strands of gray that dulled the sandy curls, and a rather impressive belly that stretched his robes over the same powerful build.

As he drew nearer, the distinct faint buzz of a Muffliato Charm filled his ears, but the topic of the oddly silent screaming match was easy enough to guess. Neville cringed. It had never occurred to him that Ernie would not have found a way to tell his parents - Susan, he knew, had already informed hers - but it was rather obvious that this was the first time Mr. Macmillan had heard of his son's intentions.

Neville turned, trying to slip away back to the train to retrieve his trunk and let things blow over a bit. Unfortunately, he had already been spotted. Ernie waved his wand, and the buzzing stopped, replaced by his friend's shout, the burr thicker than he had ever heard it before in his voice. "Neville, git yerself over here, ma Dad's bein' a fair dragon's arse!"

"Ernie, it's really not -"

The sudden deepening of Ernie's accent became clear the moment his father's voice boomed out across the platform. "Nae ye don', laddie!" Mr. Macmillan brought up his own wand, and Neville felt as though an invisible hand had grabbed the collar of his robes, hauling him unceremoniously backward. "If ye are keen enough tae git ma son flogged, ye can be man enough tae stand't it!"

"Then this isn't about Susan?" he blurted.

Mr. Macmillan's brow creased. "Susan?"

He had no idea Ernie knew so many remarkably fluent ways to swear. Within minutes, however, he learned that Ernie's father knew even more.

OOO

Half an hour later, Ernie was still rather pink in the face as he stood on the other side of the magical entrance to Platform 9 ¾ with Susan, Neville, and Hannah, their trunks piled at their feet and Hannah's barn owl, Orion, dozing placidly in his cage. All four were still dressed in their Hogwarts uniforms, complete with robes, and they were attracting quite a few stares and half-hidden giggles from passerby. One young man with vivid orange hair had even smirked at them and asked where the trial was, but Ernie had drawn up one sleeve and flexed a fist, and both the boy and his smirk had vanished as if he had Disapparated.

Susan had a handful of small, colorful cards in her hand, as well as several bundles of thin, flimsy parchment, which she passed out to each in turn. "These are from Ginny's dad," she explained. "Muggle identification. I had to promise Mr. Weasley that we won't try to use them to operate Muggle cars since we haven't taken the classes. I told him I probably wouldn't even know where to put them in, myself, but I gave my word for all of you, so please don't do anything silly."

Neville looked down at the ones he had been given. His own face looked back at him from the card, the photograph eerily still and frozen beside tiny black type listing his name, birthday, address, and a handful of other information, including a few sets of letters and numbers that he assumed were in some kind of governmental code. There was also a green booklet made of the oddly delicate parchment and covered in endless boxes and lines, but seemingly printed with the same information, and another scrap that stated at the top that it was a Birth Certificate, though nowhere did he see the customary picture of the newborn aging to his current self and back down again. There were just more words and boxes. Muggles seemed to really like boxes. And addresses. They were on everything!

"This stuff is really neat," he murmured. "Can I keep it?"

"Sure." Susan shrugged. "We just need them to show the people who're going to handle things. So ... we've got until four o'clock tomorrow afternoon to figure out what to do with ourselves, and we want to stay as far as possible from Diagon Alley and wizarding places considering what just happened to Luna. So I guess the question is, since we're all Purebloods: who's spent the most time in the Muggle world?"

The four young witches and wizards looked at one another, each clearly expecting someone else to come forward. Finally, Neville spoke. "I've gone down to the village with my Gran to shop, but we shop at a wizarding store; we just pass Muggles on the way and say hello sometimes."

Hannah fidgeted with the end of her pigtail. "I don't think I've ever come any closer than the Muggle-borns at Hogwarts. Unless you count that my family and I once looked after a Muggle neighbor's cat while she was in hospital."

A worried look passed between the intended bride and groom, and Ernie cleared his throat. "I do believe, my friends, that we may have a bit of a problem."