Ron was relieved to be placed in Slytherin, but also filled with dread. He didn't want to sit with the seventh years–Malfoy wasn't there, but the rest of them were just as bad. He wondered idly how the power had shifted; before, Malfoy had been the ringleader of the seventh years, and most of Slytherin house, for that matter, but he was nervous enough already just being in Hogwarts, so he sat at the first seat he came upon, which happened to be next to a group of younger students.

"Hi," he said. The kids looked at him curiously, as if wondering why he had chosen to sit with them. "I'm Rob."

"Margaret," said the girl directly across from him. "Third year. This is Brian, Astoria, and Erina," she said, gesturing to each of the people around her. "And that's Kenny," she added, lowering her voice and glancing quickly at a boy down the table, who was sitting alone.

Kenny was so small and hunched over that Ron hadn't noticed him as he had walked to his seat. He looked like one of the Gryffindors–bruised and spent and hurting. But while the Gryffindors looked defiant and proud, Kenny seemed vulnerable and scared.

"Oi," Erina whispered. "Don't bother with him, anyone who stands up for him just gets beaten up, too."

"Why?" Ron asked, as food appeared and he began heaping up his plate. He felt only a little guilty as he thought of their meager meals on the run. He wasn't just sitting at Bill's anymore; he had a job to do at Hogwarts.

He looked up from his plate to find the rest of them looking at each other, communicating silently.

"What's it's like over in the states?" Astoria asked. "What do you know about the war here?"

"Not much," Ron said. They all exchanged glances again. Margaret took a sidelong glance up the table, then nodded to Erina, who was directly to Ron's left.

"Meet us in the common room at three tonight," she whispered. "Don't let the rest of your dorm know."

Ron frowned. He had never known of these students while he had been at Hogwarts. They were acting as if they didn't support Voldemort and the upper year Slytherins, but they were being secretive as well.

"I'm sure you can see what the status quo is in this school," Margaret hissed across the table. She hadn't even touched her food yet. "If you want to be on the right side, meet us tonight. They're going to try to rope in the new guy. Don't fall for it."

"I'm not here to pick a side," Ron said softly. Hadn't he already argued over this with the Sorting Hat, as well? "I'll be here for the term, and then I'm going back to the states."

"You're going to have to pick a side," Brian said matter of factly.

"Just pick the right one, okay?" Erina whispered in his ear. Astoria leaned in over her plate.

"Three o'clock."

After dinner, Ron followed the other Slytherins down to the dungeons, still taking care not to look too closely at the Gryffindors. The common room had not changed much since he had last visited in second year, but it still gave him chills. The furniture was dark green and sleek, and the fire, though it roared healthily in the grate, did not create a warm and inviting ambiance for the room as it had in Gryffindor tower. Instead, it cast dark shadows on the walls, much like the torches had in the Great Hall.

The other students began separating and heading for the dorms. Ron followed a group of older boys across the common room and down a short flight of stairs that led to a long corridor with four doors on each side. He walked slowly, knowing that he wasn't supposed to know which students to follow, exactly.

Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder roughly and turned him around.

"You're the new kid, right?" Blaise Zabini said.

"Y-yeah," Ron stuttered. "Rob. Nice to meet–"

"You know about the war?"

"Not really," Ron said.

"You a pureblood? Gotta be, if they let you in."

"Yeah," Ron said. "Why does it matter, though?"

"Why does it matter?" Zabini snarled, increasing his grip on Ron's shoulder. He leaned in closer to Ron and stared at him. Ron tried to keep his face passive, but really he was wondering whether there was a glitch in his Glamour charms. "We'll brief you on the war," Zabini said finally. "Don't get involved with the younger ones. They're just making trouble."

Ron nodded and Zabini finally let go of him.

"Zabini," he said, raising his hand. "Blaise Zabini."

Ron shook it.

"We're at the end, come on."

"Aren't there only seven years?" Ron asked. "Why's there an eighth door?"

"Head boy, if it's a Slytherin at the time," Zabini said. "But it's stupid MacMillan from Hufflepuff right now, so it's empty."

The Slytherin dormitory was arranged differently than the Gryffindor one. The room was a perfect square, with three beds on one side and two on the other. At the back side of room was an opening that led to the bathroom.

"Take Malfoy's bed," Zabini said, pointing to the bed closest to the door on the right side. "He didn't come back this year."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"He's doing more important things than school right now," Zabini said. "We'll tell you later. Oi! All of you! First meeting, tonight at eleven. No sixth years. They'll come to the second meeting."

The other boys nodded and went back to what they were doing. None of them made any notice of Ron, which suited him fine. It was enough that his bed turned out to be next to Crabbe's; he didn't want to have to speak with them, as well.

Ron unpacked slowly, wondering what to do between now and the first meeting at eleven. In the end, he decided that he could not stand to be this close to Crabbe for three straight hours. Instead, he stuffed some parchment and quills into his bag.

"Where are you going?"

Zabini's tone was almost accusatory.

"The library."

"Why? School hasn't even started." He frowned at Ron for a second, then shrugged.

"See you later."

There were no students in the library, not even Madam Pince, but the doors were open and the lights on, so Ron walked in and began perusing the shelves. He didn't know what he was looking for, or if he was even looking for something–he mainly had just wanted to be somewhere other than the dungeons. He supposed that there might be some useful information in the Restricted Section, but he didn't have a permission slip, and angering the librarian on his first day at Hogwarts did not seem like a very prudent thing to do.

"Oh! You gave me quite a fright! What are you doing here?"

Madam Pince had appeared at the end of the aisle.

"Just looking around," Ron said. "I'm a new student... I just wanted to get a feel for where everything was."

"Oh," Madam Pince said, taking her hand off her heart and nodding. "Well, alright, I'm just not used to having students in here so early in the term! Carry on!" And then she disappeared again. In the end, Ron found some advanced Transfiguration textbooks and read up on Glamour charms. He found himself to be surprisingly interested in the material, though he had never enjoyed any type of research in his past six years at Hogwarts.

Ron made sure he was back in the dorm by ten thirty. At exactly eleven, Zabini entered, tailed by the seventh year Slytherin girls.

"Alright," he said. "We have a lot to talk about." He looked excited, almost crazed. "First, though, we have to get Brown up to date." His eyes snaked over each person in the room, and settled on one of the girls: Ron had never had much interaction with her but knew that her name was Tracey Davis. "He knows nothing, Trace. You start."

Tracey looked perfectly agreeable to speak. Ron was interested to hear what she would say; did they really think that they could sway someone to their side so easily? All of the people in front of him had been brought up to revere Voldemort and hate muggleborns and even half-bloods. Their prejudice was rooted deep. Did they actually expect a transfer student from America to share their values after one meeting?

"There are two parties here," Tracey began, "and none in between. Obviously you're on our side. All Slytherins are."

"Not all–" Crabbe started.

"They all should be," Zabini said nastily.

Ron nodded slowly.

"After we leave Hogwarts, we'll be evaluated by the Dark Lord. The lucky ones go on to be Death Eaters–supporters of his. It's a great honor. You see, the others–from the other houses–they follow after Harry Potter. He's our age, but he dropped out of school."

"Why would they follow him if he's failed out?" Ron implored.

"He didn't fail out," Tracey said. "He's run away. He's trying to hide. It's the Dark Lord's number one goal to kill Harry Potter. He's the number one enemy."

"Why?" Ron said.

"Because he stands by the muggleborns," Tracey said. "He's their representative. There's something not right with muggleborns, don't you think?"

Her voice was slow, careful, and Ron had the distinct impression that they were testing him. Everyone's eyes were on him, not Tracey, and suddenly Ron felt very vulnerable.

"Er–"

Zabini leaned forward and Goyle's fingers curled into a fist on his lap.

"I'd say so, yeah," Ron said, trying to keep his breathing steady, though his heart was pounding. "Er–never really thought about it before, but there were a few that I knew... never felt like they fit in, really."

"It's more than that," Tracey said, as Zabini leaned back again, apparently appeased. "They're not real witches and wizards. They're friends with Muggles. Some of them want to limit the Statute of Secrecy. Let the Muggles know we exist."

Ron knew this was untrue, but he didn't say anything. Zabini was still watching him closely.

"Now that the Dark Lord is back, we can really put them in their place. We don't put up with them, that's most important."

"That one kid–at the end of the table at dinner–"

"Willis," Nott said, and his eyes seemed to spark.

"You said there were others who don't agree with the Pureblood ways. Why don't you hurt them, too?"

"Because then Slytherin would look weak," Zabini said, snarling. "I've wanted to rip them limb from limb ever since they were Sorted. But Slytherin protects its snakes. We don't want the other houses to know we're a house divided. They could team up. If a Gryffindor ever got into our common room... They're threatened, though. Willis is the example. If they let on to the other houses, they know what they'll get."

Ron nodded.

"What about the teachers? Don't you get in trouble?"

Zabini laughed.

"The teachers are in on it, Brown," he said. "Well, the important ones, anyway. Snape–the headmaster–he's in the Dark Lord's inner circle. And the Carrows–Dark Arts and Muggle Studies–they're ruthless. Creative. The other professors just let it go on. You'll see."

Ron felt slightly sick and thought that this must be a lie, too. Professor McGonagall, at least, wouldn't watch idly as her students got tortured.

After a bit more explanation of the events of the last few years–from a decidedly Slytherin point of view–Zabini declared the meeting finished. The girls went back to their dormitory and the boys settled into bed. There was brief chatter, laughs at the expense of some of the Gryffindors, and then Ron's room mates fell asleep. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He replayed the meeting over in his head, wondering how he had never before noticed how ruthless the Slytherins in his year were, having only really paid attention to Malfoy.

Ron almost didn't go to the meeting with the younger Slytherins. Lying in bed feigning sleep, Crabbe snoring loudly next to him, he considered the risks. If Zabini found out, Ron would automatically be put in the same category with the kid that got beat up and sat miserably at the end of the table in the Great Hall. It would draw attention to him and that was the last thing Ron wanted. But he was still wide awake at three a.m., and there was something–perhaps the simple fact that Margaret and her friends were on the right side, on his side–that made him push back the covers and tiptoe out of the dormitory.

The four of them looked relieved when Ron entered the common room, as if they had been doubting he would actually come. The four of them looked so young and vulnerable all huddled up in front of the fire, and Ron suddenly felt a sense of foreboding: what, really, did they want him for? Did they think he would be able to do something they could not accomplish themselves with his upper year status?

But as Ron drew closer, he saw their faces and recognized the same look of seriousness that Harry seemed to have adopted permanently from third year on. These kids were probably just as, if not more, mature than he, Harry and Hermione had been during their years–well, Harry and Hermione, Ron corrected himself. He had never quite shared their constant need to worry. It was just easier to laugh. Harry always could do with a laugh.

Ron shook himself as he sat down in the chair they had left open for him. He didn't like when he started wondering how Harry and Hermione were doing. He couldn't waste his time at Hogwarts feeling guilty.

The beat up one–Willis, Zabini had said–was not there, and it didn't appear that they were waiting for him, because Margaret began talking right away.

"Did they have a meeting with you?"

Ron nodded. "Look," he said quickly, "you don't have to go out of your way trying to convince me to side with you guys. I lied about America, the truth is, it's very progressive. No one would even think to question the authenticity of Muggle-borns over there." He was still lying; he had no idea what Americans thought of anything. But he needed to convince them he was on their side. "Davis gave me the run down. I acted like I agreed with them, but only because they would have done me in if I hadn't. If I can help you… I will, but I don't think it's a good idea for me to make it obvious. You know?"

"Why not?" the boy said–Brian, Ron remembered. "If we all pretended to be with Zabini, we wouldn't accomplish anything. If the Gryffindors all just laid down and took it, what would be the point of even having a different opinion?"

"I–you're right, but–"

"If you're really with us, you'd go up to Zabini right now and say so!" Brian hissed, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "Margaret does, and look what happens to her brother! You think she's happy about that? You think Astoria enjoys having to avoid her sister in the corridors every day, or that Erina–"

"Brian, enough!" Margaret said.

"Wait–your brother? Do you mean Willis?"

"Kenny," Erina said quietly, nodding. "Kenny Willis."

"I think we can use Rob to our advantage," Margaret said slowly, saying no more about her brother. "Zabini doesn't have to know his true loyalty. Maybe he could tell us things, head us off if they're planning something."

"Yeah!" Erina said, catching on. "We could warn the other houses when Zabini's going to pull something. Give the DA a bit of a break."

"Wait a minute," Ron said, feeling distinctly unsettled, "you want me to spy on Zabini's group? They'll find out, and all of us will be in trouble! And what's the DA?" he added, desperate for any information on Ginny and the other Gryffindors.

"Snape fooled Dumbledore for fifteen years, you can handle one semester!" Brian said, bouncing up and down a little on his seat in excitement.

"You've got to be joking," Ron said faintly. "I did tell you I came here for school, right?"

"Well, you make a pretty poor choice, coming here, then," Erina said challengingly. Fair point, Ron agreed in his head.

"Fine," he muttered. "What do you want me to do?"

"For now, just act like you're in with them," Margaret said. "We'll have to avoid each other during the day."

"Alright. What's the DA?" he asked again.

"It's a group formed by Harry Potter and his friends two years ago," Astoria said. "They told you about Harry Potter?'

Ron nodded. "Said he dropped out of school because You-Know-Who's after him."

"It's the other way around," Erina said, shaking her head. "He left school because he's after You-Know-Who."

"He is?" Ron said, trying to sound incredulous.

"Got to be," Brian said, nodding. "Never saw much of him myself, but Astoria reckons that he's not the cowardly sort."

"Harry wouldn't run away," she said firmly. "He's had a lot of chances to give up over the years. But he always does the right thing. I'd guess, and the Gryffindors seem to assume it, too–that he's working against You-Know-Who."

"Anyway," Margaret said, "Harry started the DA in his fifth year. It was underground, a bunch of Gyrffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs having secret meetings. Harry taught them defense. In that year we had a horrible defense professor–just read from the textbook all class. The DA went unnoticed for most of the year, but finally Umbridge–the professor–found out and they stopped meeting. Started up again this year, but it's more public now, and Snape and the Carrows know, obviously. They get extra punishments if they're caught, and sometimes for no reason at all."

"Blimey," Ron said. "The whole school must be in this club, aside from the Slytherins. Based on what I saw tonight at the feast."

"Nope," Astoria said, shaking her head sadly. "It's mainly the upper years. They let the younger ones come to meetings, but they're not allowed to do any of the dangerous stuff–provoking the Slytherins, recruiting, talking back to teachers. They get beat up enough in class… the Carrows find any reason to punish them."

"Why?" Ron said, horrified. He, Harry and Hermione had guessed things had worsened at Hogwarts, but not by this much.

"It's a scare tactic," Astoria said sadly. "They want to shock the kids into following them out of fear."

The group was silent for a few moments.

"We should get to bed," Margaret said quietly. They all nodded numbly and stood up. "We'll let you know when the next meeting is," she said.

"Okay," Ron said. "See you tomorrow."

He walked quietly back to his dormitory and found with relief that everyone was still asleep. He climbed into bed and tried to pretend that he was in his four-poster in Gryffindor tower. Crabbe's snores seemed like whispers in comparison with his reeling thoughts, and for the upteenth time that day, he wondered why he had ever believed that coming to Hogwarts would be a good idea.

Things couldn't get any riskier, could they?