Out of sight, out of mind was Harry's golden rule for Occlumency with Snape. As soon as he was out of the dungeons, he banished the lessons from his mind in order to dwell on more pleasant prospects. Tonight was Defense Association night, and Harry jogged up to the Room of Requirement; it was just on ten o'clock, and it wouldn't do for him to be late for his own lesson.
The moment he walked into the Room of Requirement, though, he knew something was very wrong.
The DA members weren't standing around chewing the fat waiting for the lesson to begin, as usual, but sitting in a circle on the floor, alternately shouting and gesticulating and listening to a tale being told by an unhappy-looking Hermione. The DA members who weren't red-faced and shouting looked horror-stricken. Tears stood in Hannah Abbott's eyes; Luna Lovegood looked as though she were going to be sick. Ginny Weasley was breathing hard, her freckles standing out against her pale face, but her jaw was set in a firm line. And where was Ron?
Hermione looked up as he walked in. "Harry," she said flatly, as though she had no fight left in her.
Harry had no patience with greetings, not with the DA looking like this. He'd trained these people; it would take quite a blow to reduce them to this state. "What's going on?" he snapped crisply. He looked around the room again. The face he most wanted to see was missing, and he suddenly felt unaccountably nervous. "Ron not here yet?"
A chorus of yells and disgusted exclamations broke out of the DA members at this, and Hermione felt a chill go through her. She'd hoped to put this question off for a few more minutes. She felt sick all over again at what had happened: despite her best efforts, Filch and Umbridge, beaming, had taken him down to the dungeons and left her locked out, calling out futilely and pounding on the magically sealed door.
"Harry," Hermione said, biting her lip, "You're not going to like this…"
And she told him.
The DA members weren't hearing the tale for the first time; Harry, cloistered with Snape, was probably the only one who hadn't heard it. Malfoy, Pansy, Millicent and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad hadn't wasted a moment in spreading the tale all around the school, complete with the attendant slanders about Ron's malicious, possibly unbalanced, schemes. But on hearing the details of the unjust accusation and subsequent confession under threat, all in payment for a Slytherin's slight, Dumbledore's Army were extremely vocal about their disapproval; it wasn't only Gryffindors who had been abused by Malfoy's Inquisitorial Squad. But if they were incensed, Harry was livid. "What!" he exploded. "They can't actually be going to whip him! What for! Possession of what! It's a joke!"
"I know!" Hermione finally exploded. "But Umbridge," she hesitated a second at the hated name, "I – I think she just wanted to punish him, you know, since she can't get at Fred and George now, and Malfoy just gave her the perfect excuse. And it's our word against hers, and the whole of the Inquisitorial Squad. Besides, the Ministry's given her so many powers now, it's like 1984…"
"What happened in 1984?" asked Susan Bones.
"Muggle thing," Colin Creevey said hurriedly.
"…so she doesn't have to prove anything. What the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts says goes."
"And they're really going to… to beat him?" Parvati gasped dramatically.
Hermione sighed, trying for reassuring. "It used to happen in Muggle schools, you know, until just a couple of years ago," she said, and the Muggle-borns nodded. Harry just rubbed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. To the wizarding students, she explained, "They used to give 'six of the best' – six strokes on your bottom with a cane. In the Wizarding world, they give it to you with a whip, but the person administering the punishment has a lot of discretion in how many strokes and where on the body. Don't worry, I'm sure they can't punish an underage wizard too badly."
"But… but they're really going to… When's it going to…?" stammered Neville. His round, good-natured face was very white; Harry looked as though he were on the verge of bolting, but didn't know where to go.
"They took him down to the …dungeons right after…dinner," Hermione choked out. As the room erupted into outraged cries and mutinous mutterings, she took a deep breath. When her memory had returned, she recalled all too clearly the Headmistress' vindictive torrent of words while she was under Imperius.
"Well, there's one thing we can do, anyway," Katie Bell announced firmly, "we can try and put a stop to the rubbish Malfoy and his lot are spreading. About Ron being a Dark wizard and so on."
The DA members seemed to swell with righteous indignation. "Ron Weasley, in league with You-Know-Who?" Alicia Spinnet snorted indignantly. "His whole family're blood-traitors! Who'd believe that rubbish?"
"We can't let people think that," said Neville, and his voice was pitched slightly high, but it rang with strength.
"Well. If anyone can get it sorted, we can," Katie said firmly. She turned to the others. "Right, let's plan a bit of a strategy…"
The DA formed a tight knot, looking for all the world like a council of war. Hermione was overwhelmingly grateful for their support; she had no strength left, and sat on the floor, happy to leave it to them. Glancing sideways, she saw that Harry hadn't joined the group either; he sat on the floor, trying to take it all in. "Harry, shall I tell them the lesson's cancelled for tonight?" she asked gently. When Harry didn't answer her, she dredged up the strength to quietly tell them that due to the circumstances, she would let them know when the next meeting would be. Eventually, the DA marched out, the light of battle in their eyes, complaining loudly about the injustice of it all, and vowing to spread the truth to anyone who would listen, and hex anyone who wouldn't into oblivion.
When the last of them had gone, she found Harry's eyes on her. He looked frozen with shock and indecision – which in itself showed how upset he was. Then the green eyes filled with rage. "I can't believe you didn't do anything!" Harry snapped.
"It's not that easy when you've been Imperiused!" Hermione snapped back, then instantly covered her mouth.
Harry looked at her incredulously.
"Imperiused?"
"Never mind that," Hermione muttered, flushing. "She was too quick. Should've seen it coming."
Harry fell silent, digesting it, feeling awful. His trepidation for Ron increased. If Umbridge could use an Unforgivable on a student… "Sorry I snapped at you," he said to Hermione distractedly.
"It's all right. We're both on edge. I'm sorry I snapped too."
"Who's … punishing him?" Harry's stomach clenched at what his words meant. "Umbridge?"
"Umbridge and Filch." Hermione's voice was flat, lifeless.
Filch. Harry's stomach churned as he remembered how the unpleasant caretaker had been positively salivating at the thought of physically punishing a student. He wondered for a moment why Umbridge hadn't made the whipping public. It was more the sort of thing she liked. But then he realized: she'd have had the entire student body up in arms against her, and the incident would likely have incited a riot. Even if they did think Harry was having delusions about Voldemort being back, the students did have some sense; they'd never believe such patent foolishness as Ron actually being with Voldemort or intending to poison anything bigger than a cockroach. Ron's well-liked, he thought; it's only by association with a 'delusional madman' like myself that he gets into trouble. He shook the thought off.
"Let's go down to the common room and wait for him," said Hermione. "You can help me make up a bowl of Murtlap essence. He should be coming up any moment now."
Well, that was a relief, or it would be if he could think about anything but Filch hitting Ron. "How long's it been?" Harry asked.
"It… all happened about half an hour after dinner," Hermione frowned in thought. "Must be about… two hours ago now."
Harry matched her expression, his concern boiling over into anger. Just how long did a … flogging… take, anyhow?
