Nobody hears from Ginny, Neville, or Luna for three long days. Anthony spends a full hour sitting on a desk in an empty classroom conjuring little birds and shooting them down with Reducto curses.

Terry watches Anthony aiming at another of the little bastards and says dryly, "I bet that helps."

Anthony shoots another bird down.

By now they've given up on trying to contact their missing leaders, and there is nothing for the DA to do but lie restlessly in wait. Anthony explodes birds. Terry plays chess with himself and stays up late. Michael lies in bed with his homework strewn around him, slacking off.

"It's no use asking the Carrows," says Seamus glumly, holding a rag to his bloody nose. "Just said they were being punished."

"For three days?" says Hannah. She's the one who called this meeting, an impromptu gathering of the old DA.

"Pinch it and lean your head back," Terry says. Seamus follows directions.

"For what it's worth," says Padma, "They're all tough. They'll be fine. The Carrows can't kill students."

"Just because they haven't yet doesn't mean they can't," says Michael.


It's not among the enumerated responsibilities of Prefects, but the Carrows have decided that Prefects ought to oversee detentions with them. It's to teach them a lesson about authority or something. Consequently, Anthony is sitting on a stool between Andrew Kirke and Pansy Parkinson with his feet propped on an empty chair in front of him, trying to do his homework on his lap. He volunteers for all the detentions lately. They make Ernie squeamish and Anthony's a good friend.

The students are writing lines with Umbridge's quills, various anti-Muggle sentiments and propagandist slogans. The Carrows are still useless dictators.

Anthony has served six detentions, almost a full week's worth, and by now he is very good at it. All he has to do is sit. He is bent awkwardly over his lap, his inkwell balanced on his knee, when Carrow speaks for the first time.

"You're writing too slow."

"No I'm not," says Seamus Finnigan. "I'm writing as fast as I ever have." Anthony cranes his neck; Finnigan has filled at least three feet of parchment.

"She's got more done than you," says Carrow, gesturing towards Romilda Vane. Finnigan leans over to look and Anthony cranes his neck. Vane has managed four feet.

"Her writing's bigger," Finnigan points out. "It's bad enough I've been in here long enough it isn't fading—" He brandishes one hand at her and Anthony winces; the back of his hand is a mess of blood.

"That's how it's s'posed to happen," snarls Carrow. "You'll write as much as I tell you to in my detentions, so long as you keep landing yourself in them—"

Finnigan scowls. "I don't land myself in them. You're looking for a fight every time I—"

"Detention!" snaps Carrow.

"What, another one?" Finnigan snaps back. Anthony's quill is dripping ink on his knee but he doesn't care enough to move it; the whole room is gaping at the confrontation now. Anthony has a very good idea of where this is going: either Finnigan backs down or Carrow snaps.

It doesn't take a genius to know which one is going to come first.

They snap back and forth until Carrow slights Finnigan's mother. Finnigan smacks his desk and springs to his feet. Carrow shoves him so violently that he falls over his desk and hits his head on Romilda Vane's. Then she shouts "Crucio!" and then Finnigan is screaming and Vane is screaming and Anthony spills his ink everywhere and the curse stops, as though Carrow's just remembered that she's a professor.

"Go on," says Amycus. "Finish it, Alecto. Snape put us in charge."


Ginny, Luna, and Neville are back the next morning. They stump into the Great Hall, exhausted and filthy, and sit at the long tables and devour their meals.

Ginny and Neville are quickly surrounded by their housemates, Seamus hovering at Neville's side, Lavender and Colin by Ginny, other Gryffindors buzzing around. It's quieter around Luna, at first, but then Anthony gets up and plops himself next to her, and then Padma follows.

"So what happened?" asks Anthony.

"Oh, Professor Snape sent us to the Forest," says Luna, nonchalantly. "No wands. We had to gather potions ingredients. Ran into some centaurs and some spiders, but on the whole it was rather uneventful."

"Spiders?" says Michael, leaning over Anthony's shoulder.

"Yes, as big as a car," she says.

"A car?" says Michael, paling. He is afraid of bugs.

"Damn," says Terry appreciatively. He is not.

"And centaurs," adds Luna. "They wanted to kill us, but I explained that our current government, which was the same one oppressing them, had sent us in, probably in the hopes that we'd die in the Forest-"

"Merlin's hat," says Morag MacDougal, leaning over Padma's shoulder.

"And after that they seemed very eager to help us find Snape's potion ingredients, even though they said it was a wizard's war that they didn't care to get caught up in, and they said they won't do it again."

"Hopefully we won't get caught sneaking into the Headmaster's office again," says Michael.

There is a pause as Luna spreads jam on her toast, her hands steady. Anthony gives Michael and Terry a funny look. The Forest isn't ideal but it could have been so much worse, and that's become clear to him since last night.

"We were Cruciated," says Luna after another moment, to Padma, and Anthony silently marks himself wrong, puts his chin in his hands unhappily. Terry flushes red and shakes his head vigourously.

"You— they— you what?" says Michael.


As expected, they hadn't gotten the sword. Ginny says, the next week, that they could try again, but she is voted down resoundingly.

"It's no go," says Jimmy Peakes. "I heard from my sister that Snape told Amycus who told Crabbe who told Nott who-"

"What?" interrupts Ginny.

"They moved the Sword, took it to Gringotts."

"Well, fine then," says Terry in an undertone. "We'll have to break in there." Anthony snorts.

Michael thinks this is ignoring the very obvious reason they shouldn't go doing anything as stupid as that. Luna had been Cruciated. If the Carrows are happy using illegal spells then they are all in deep, deep shit.

The DA gives up on the Sword, but, Ginny says, it doesn't mean they're beaten. Just means that they clearly can't get the Sword and can focus their efforts elsewhere.


And they do. The month wears on and the DA's numbers start to grow slowly. Despite the increasing numbers of patrolling Prefects and staff members, graffiti keeps appearing randomly in the night. What was more, the graffiti that had coincided with the Headmaster's Office break-in had made it impossible for Snape to say that Ginny, Neville, and Luna were in the DA. After all, they couldn't have put up the graffiti, which had set off wards at the same time that Snape's office had.

While it's no secret among most students who belongs to the DA, the Carrows and Snape still seem to have no clue who's behind anything, and as day after day passes with nobody caught, they become increasingly frustrated.

The negative side of this is that the Carrows are more volatile, more likely to lash out. The Cruciatus leaks into more detentions, along with more other, more harmless spells. Diffindo and Impedimenta and, sometimes, sheer brutish violence.

It's in November that Amycus brings in rats for the seventh year classes to practice the Cruciatus on and Michael gives Anthony a horrified look. "This can't be legal," he says. "Not even on rats—"

Anthony grimaces—he hadn't told them about Seamus Finnigan's initial torture, and then he hadn't told them about the other three curses he'd seen. They both still think it'd been an isolated occasion, with the students who'd broken into the Head's office, and Anthony is still letting them think that. He doesn't know how to tell them, maybe, or he doesn't want to say it, or he's waited too long and it's too late now. He doesn't know.

In Dark Arts one day (by now, it has just become Dark Arts class to them; they have no interest in labeling it as something it's not), they wait for ten minutes for Professor Carrow, who is sitting at his desk reading the Daily Prophet, to begin the lesson, before there's a timid knock on the door and a fourth year and fifth year, both Gryffindor, walk in.

"There we go," says Amycus, setting the paper down. Terry wishes he were brave enough to go and look at it, see what the news is. It's halfway through November; the Death Eaters had come to his house in August. Months have passed. Surely there'd be no news on his parents, but there has to be good news somewhere.

"Mr. Creevey and Mr. Coote are here for detention," announces Amycus, standing up. "C'mere," he adds, waving them over to the front of the room.

Anthony glances at Michael, his fingers moving to his hair nervously. Carrow grabs Coote's shoulder and tries to grab Creevey's; Creevey squirms away. Carrow catches him and stands them side by side at the front of the classroom, a little bit away from anything else.

"There," says Carrow. "Any of you wanna volunteer?"

There are only the eight Ravenclaw seventh years in this class; they exchange confused glances but don't dare to reply.

Ravenclaws are not known for their unwillingness to volunteer in classes. Terry likes to volunteer for everything, even when he doesn't have the answer, and Professor McGonagall has stopped calling on him. The seventh years sit silently, Anthony fidgeting with his hair, Michael staring down at the top of the desk, Terry still sending furtive glances at the newspaper on Carrow's desk. (God, it's been forever since he's seen a newspaper. They don't come in the mail anymore.)

"Goldstein and Patil," says Carrow. "Since you're the high-and-mighty Prefects, eh?"

Anthony's hands go completely still; he shoots a furtive look at Padma. Padma's expression is guarded. Anthony is reminded that the Gryffindors have Dark Arts two hours before them; he wonders what happened then. Padma would have heard about it by now.

"Go on, stand up," says Amycus. Anthony stands up so slowly that his legs give out before he's fully upright and he has to stand up again. Terry wants to laugh at him. He doesn't.

"And like you've practiced," says Amycus. "You know the wand movements. Cruciate 'em."

"You're joking," says Anthony.

Amycus is not joking. He jerks his head towards Coote.

"You're joking," says Anthony again, almost hysterically. "All due respect, professor. No."

"Do it or kiss that badge goodbye," says Amycus, and calls Anthony a nasty word. Anthony clenches his fists in his pockets, then takes a deep breath and unclenches them.

"Take it," he says, grabbing for his badge and unclasping it, reclasping it with infinite care. Amycus catches it, to everyone's surprise, particularly Anthony, who hadn't even registered that he'd tossed it until it was too late.

Anthony is first Cruciated in the Dark Arts classroom, and his knees buckle and he hits his head so hard on the desk behind him that he is dizzy for the rest of the day. Padma is first Cruciated moments later, Dennis Creevey and Ritchie Coote immediately after.


For what had probably been twenty seconds of pain, it makes Anthony's thoughts skittish and disjointed for hours after, and the effect the curse had on his thought processes bothers Anthony more than the actual pain had.

"Not that the pain wasn't bad, of course," he says. He shakes his head and shudders. Terry is in the restroom washing his face; it's okay to say this if he's not here. Terry looks ill every time it's brought up. "It was definitely bad."

"Bad," repeats Michael, shaking his head. "You get tortured and you say it was bad."

"It was injurious," says Anthony, and Michael barely smiles. "It was bad. I... I can't explain any better. I'm sorry."

Just as the utter lack of control he's had over his brain had bothered him, this utter inability to explain the curse is bothering him very much. Anthony frowns, his face twisted in the memory of the pain, and Michael watches him nervously.

"Hard to say," he says, finally, and it's an answer that satisfies neither Anthony nor Michael.


It's November twenty-seventh, and Terry waits in the Room. The patrols around the castle have practically doubled, and Hannah and Ernie come back from Prefect meetings with maps covered with enough intimidating patrol routes marked that even Seamus agrees that missions should be pulled back. The DA is back to testing the waters: only a few small groups of the senior members are going out tonight, because they can't be sure that they'll avoid being caught.

Terry is responsible for keeping the Room open; he hates the job, because it's boring and he doesn't do anything, but as long as he's in the Room, it can't be used for anyone else's purposes, and so he sits in an armchair and does his Potions homework. Michael is grouped with Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnigan. Anthony is with Ginny and Padma.


"Sweet hell," hisses Seamus, struggling to extricate his foot from a trick stair.

"I told you that was there," whispers Lavender. She and Michael have taken up position guarding Seamus as he yanks on his foot.

"Twist your leg," suggests Michael.

"Already tried that," says Seamus, his voice ground out as if through gritted teeth. Michael can't see Seamus, only a very faint rippling in the air where he's still tugging at his foot, but he can see the area that the stair has sunk around his foot.

"Try and relax it and pull it out slow," suggests Lavender.

"Jesus Christ," mutters Seamus.

"Just try it, I might be right," says Lavender.

"Alright, alright-" There's a popping sound, and Seamus falls onto Michael. Michael is only a few inches taller than Seamus and it's a struggle to keep his balance. There are a few moments of grunting and grappling at walls, the banister, and what he suspects is Seamus's face before they both manage to stand up and continue to the Room, stepping carefully over the next trick stair Lavender warns them about.

"We lost too much time," whispers Seamus, as they're hurrying past the library. "We'll be lucky to-"

There's a flash of light, and Michael freezes in place, and then there's a voice. "Homenum Revelio. Ah, I thought so."

Michael can't move, and, from what he can tell, neither can the other two. Body-Bind Curse. There are footprints, and then something hits Michael on the top of the head; something very warm trickles down his back. He watches as Seamus and Lavender become visible too. They are fucked.

Snape speaks again. "I must admit I'm not surprised to see you two out after curfew-" he says, probably to Seamus and Lavender, "But I'm disappointed, Mr. Corner. I'd always thought you were smart. Now. I'd like an explanation-" He waves his wand, and the frozen stiffness disappears from Michael's neck and upwards.

"We were-" starts Michael.

"Not you," Snape cuts him off. "I'm asking Finnigan."

Michael looks at Seamus; Seamus swallows hard. "I was sneaking to the library," he says, "and Lavender and Michael tried to stop me."

"You were sneaking to the library," says Snape.

Seamus swallows again. "Yeah," he says.

"And Mr. Corner, all the way in Ravenclaw Tower, learned of your intention and bravely made his way here to defend it, I presume," says Snape.

"That sounds like something Corner would do," says Seamus, but it's a feeble attempt at humour and not a defense.

"And I assume the vandalism in the Great Hall behind my seat just materialized through an unknown and unrelated force," says Snape, and Michael closes his eyes.

"Oh," says Seamus.


I was in the darkness;
I could not see my words
Nor the wishes of my heart.


"I'm sorry," says Seamus.

Michael doesn't respond; Lavender says softly, "It's not your fault."

"You told me there was a trick stair," says Seamus glumly.

"It was just bad luck," says Lavender. "Everyone misses those stairs once in a while."

"Can't go forgetting those stairs when there's torture on the line," says Seamus. "Now I'm landing you two in trouble-"

"It was bound to happen," says Michael, his head bobbing oddly. His chin is resting on his knees; his arms are wrapped around his legs. "Didn't expect it to happen to me, but you know."

"Sorry," says Seamus again.

"It's alright," says Michael.

"You been Cruciated yet?" Seamus asks. "I know me and Lav have-"

"No," says Michael. He puts his head in his arms and closes his eyes. Not that it changes the view. It's pitch dark in the dungeon. And he's freezing his arse off and sitting on hard stone and somehow sweaty.

"It's bad at first," says Seamus. "I won't deny it. Hurts like the devil."

Perhaps it's the simple, quiet honesty that really sinks it in. Michael doesn't want to be tortured. He doesn't.

"I don't know what they're planning," admits Seamus. "If I had to guess? Cruciatus. But I swear after a few times. I mean, won't say you get used to it, you really can't. But you can kind of expect it."

"Expect it," repeats Michael, because he can't think of anything to say.

"You stop getting caught off guard," says Seamus, and it's almost wistful, like he misses being caught off guard. Lavender sighs, a soft breath.

"You scared?" asks Michael, and he's disgusted at the question. It's a personal question, firstly, and it's such a needy, desperate question.

There's a quiet pause, and Michael wonders if it would be better to take his question back or to keep talking and cover it up or to wait.

"Not really," says Seamus finally, and Michael can't think of anything to say to that.


[Poem: I was in the darkness, Stephen Crane. Thank you for reading.]