The door opens.
"Filius, do you know how many seventh years are left?" says Pomona, without preamble.
Filius looks around instinctively- he had been alone in the staff room, but this is not a conversation he wants a Carrow to overhear and it's better to be safe.
"Was there another raid?" he asks Pomona, standing up. He's full of restless, uneasy energy.
Pomona sits down on the ratty loveseat with a huff, plopping a stack of papers on the side table.
"Thirteen. Nine Slytherins, Zacharias Smith, Lisa Turpin, Terry Boot, Stephen Cornfoot."
Filius mentally runs through the list from that morning. There had been eighteen then- it was another one of his students and four from Hufflepuff that were gone, then. He swears under his breath.
The last of the seventh-year Gryffindors had disappeared days ago. He doesn't know which students are in hiding. He doesn't know which were taken to Azkaban. He doesn't know a damned thing but the tally he and Pomona have been updating each other on. The tally of how many are missing, and the tally of who had been tortured that week. Both lists are growing faster than he can stand.
"There's a raid, later," adds Pomona, her voice low and exhausted. "I overheard Nott and Goyle talking about it."
"Do you know which House?" asks Filius.
"All of them," says Pomona. Filius winces.
The whole year has been difficult but these last weeks have been impossible. Filius can't do anything but watch the students growing more and more rebellious. And then watch them endure the harsher and harsher consequences.
They endure and they get more rebellious and Filius walks through the halls with his head high and his face neutral and no idea how to deal with how fast it's getting worse.
When the worst the school had seen was Dolores Umbridge he'd done his best to incite that rebellion. He'd acted snide, and ignored the students he caught vandalising her office, and refused to lift a finger to help her manage the school.
He doesn't trust himself to do that now. He and the rest of the teachers have been as careful as they can- they let students get away with all manner of things, really. Before she'd disappeared, Hannah Abbott had started falling asleep in class and Filius just woke her when class is over. Before he'd disappeared, Anthony Goldstein hadn't turned in homework in two months. Before they'd disappeared, Parvati Patil and Seamus Finnigan had both failed the spring midterms.
They all still had Acceptable in the class. It was the least he could do really.
But this, this isn't a battle that teachers can get involved in. They have the slightest amount of protection, just in employment, and none of them are foolish enough to think they would be better off on the run. Not to mention what would happen to the students if more teachers disappeared and got replaced with Death Eaters.
"How does Minerva stand it?" asks Pomona.
Filius shakes his head. He can never say what it is that gives Minerva McGonagall her strength. Her resilience.
There are no seventh year Gryffindors. Harry and Ron and Hermione and Dean on the run, Lavender and Parvati and Seamus and Neville disappeared.
And a chunk of the sixth year gone too. Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley and Demelza Robins and Geoff Hooper and Jack Sloper. And the list kept going- almost all of Hufflepuff's seventh year, now. A good deal of Ravenclaw too.
They have tried to protect their students all year, him and Pomona. They are finally failing. Finally the students are disappearing from the school, maybe aware that there is nothing in Hogwarts that can save them now. Least of all Filius Flitwick.
He knows Ravenclaw is not in any dire trouble- it's Hufflepuff and Gryffindor that rebel openly, it's Hufflepuff and Gryffindor that are missing the most students. All year it had been Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors that got the worst of everything.
But it had been a Ravenclaw who was nearly tortured to death in the Great Hall. A Ravenclaw who had been taken off the Hogwarts Express. Those were just two students that Filius had abjectly failed.
"They Cruciated Terry Boot in the hallway for making a rude noise," says Pomona. "And Ritchie Coote for dropping his books."
This doesn't make Filius feel better. He shakes his head and sits down again. Pomona takes the top paper from her stack, then replaces it. Her hands are shaking.
"Pomona," says Filius, but can't think how to continue. "They're stronger than I think we give them credit for," he says, a feeble reassurance.
"They're too strong," Pomona mutters. "They're going to get themselves killed."
It's the first time either of them vocalise that to each other- it's only a matter of time before there's a death toll for the year. Filius can't speak for a moment, everything so much more real suddenly. He thinks about Michael Corner bleeding out in the Great Hall.
"Filius," says Pomona, probably worried she'd said something wrong.
"There's nothing we can do for them, is there," he says. It's not a real question, it's an observation and they both know it. Pomona puts her hand on his shoulder.
"There's always something we can do," she says.
The door opens; they both swivel guiltily, but it's Septima Vector, who gives them a tired nod and says in a low voice, "They took Andrew Kirke to the dungeon."
Pomona gets up to put an arm around her, but Septima shakes her head and moves to the coffee. "Take care," she says, then pours a cup of lukewarm black coffee, drinks half the mug in one gulp, then leaves.
"Andrew Kirke," says Pomona. She shakes her head and takes off her hat. "That's Gryffindor down to three sixth years."
"What can we do?" Filius says, suddenly exhausted. He tilts his head back into the cushions, closes his eyes. "How can we possibly fight this?"
He's the Ravenclaw, but he's had a harder time every day trusting his own brain. He knows he's clever- he's always been smart- but it doesn't make him wise and he's too aware of that.
He wants Pomona to respond the way she always does. A practical and sensible solution, or something kind of meaningless but comforting anyway. Something to help. He's grown reliant on that, especially now.
He can't very well rely on himself- all he can see is where he's failed to advise his students, where he's failed to protect them. He thinks again of Michael Corner, of Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein who have done all their duties as Prefects, who have done a better job helping Ravenclaw than he has. He thinks of Luna Lovegood who was the first to vanish, and everyone who's disappeared since.
He thinks of Pomona, with her quiet, assured faith that everything would work out. He and Pomona had gone through so much together- Hogwarts and bullies and isolation and their twenties and the seventies and the first war and the eighties and nineties and now this. He can't think of anyone he trusts more, not even Albus or Minerva.
But Pomona just shakes her head, gives him a bleak, sad look. "I don't know," she says, and that admission feels more like defeat than anything else.