The longest chapter yet, to make up for the short one I posted last. It's still slightly filler-y, but hey, gotta set up the canon before getting to the rest, right?
As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.
- Karo
Defence Against the Dark Arts, or just Dark Arts as it was generally called now with varying degrees of admiration or disgust, saw the seventh-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs grit their teeth through a vile lesson on how to create Inferi and the advantages in using such Dark magicks. The public punishment of Zacharias Smith had, however, caused quite a stir within the castle, and though the Hufflepuffs were rarely ones to speak out against Amycus' teachings, the situation seemed to keep even the bolder students in check. Ernie sat at the front, his chin held high and his eyes sparking with defiance, but he said nothing, and Neville was still feeling the effects of his last detention. So they sat, and dutifully took notes, though Seamus saw Lavender quite literally gag with disgust at some points and Susan's shuddering had returned with force. Seamus himself felt like retching at at certain moments, but Parvati surprised him the most – she seemed, for lack of a better word, indifferent toward it all, barely moving when the others winced and gasped and shook, and he resolved to ask her how she did it later.
"The best Inferi are the ones that have been violently killed," Amycus said at one point, with such relish you would have sworn he had been talking about going to the circus and eating cotton candy, "because then they're deliciously bloodthirsty, and you can get them to do anything for you."
Ernie's chin dropped an inch and Lavender closed her eyes. Seamus bit his tongue so hard it bled, and the metallic tang permeated his mouth.
Mercifully, the class wasn't a double, and when it let out, the students all but ran, parchment and quills in their hands, having not even bothered to take the time to stuff them in their bags. Hannah was rubbing Susan's back soothingly when Seamus pushed past them, making his way to the nearest bathroom where he could take a breath and rinse out his mouth.
He was breathing hard in front of the mirror, his head hanging from his neck and his arms braced against the sink when he heard someone walk in behind him.
"Shay?" It was Neville, and Seamus lifted his eyes to meet the other man's in the mirror. "Can I have a word?"
Seamus turned and leaned against the sink, somewhat apprehensive. He had barely spoken to Neville lately and had waved him off with terse Laters everytime his dormmate had approached him. He hadn't even told him about Zabini, and that seemed quite old news to Seamus by now, as a week had passed since their first clandestine meeting.
"Of course." Neville fiddled with the strap of his bag nervously while Seamus spoke. "About last night, I assume," he said.
"Yeah, and… Well, all right, last night. Care to explain yourself?" Neville straightened himself, his voice taking on the tone usually reserved for DA meetings.
"Wait," said Seamus, and strode over to the stalls, poking his head down to see if there was anyone in the bathroom with them. He then turned to the door, closed it and whispered Colloportus, then, pausing for a second, added a Muffliato. He turned back to face Neville, who reddened.
"Should have thought of that," he mumbled, but Seamus waved his hand in dismissal.
"You'll remember next time," he said. "Last night, I walked in on Smith in the corridor, completely visible, blathering on to Hannah and Susan. He was a liability, and he didn't want to be with us anymore, so I told him not to come back." Seamus shrugged, trying to keep his words casual and nonchalant.
"First of all, that's not what I was asking, and you know it. Secondly… secondly, it's not up to you to decide who stays and who goes."
Seamus lifted an eyebrow. "I took an executive decision, General. I feel like you would have done the same." He hadn't quite expected Neville to pull rank on him for this. Not that they even had an overly formal hierarchy– they'd voted on Neville as leader and Ginny as his second, but that had been the extent of it. Of course, order had fallen naturally, as most of the newer recruits looked to the original members for guidance, advice and knowledge. But they'd never even enforced the two positions they did have. They sat in circles at meetings, and Neville felt as much like a student most days as a leader.
"Maybe, but that's besides the point, Seamus."
Seamus stared blankly at Neville for a beat. He was still unaccustomed to the man taking charge like this, and it didn't fit the image of the stumbling, stuttering, plump boy he had in his head. Neville was leaner now, his jaw jutted out sharply, and his nose was crooked from being broken so many time - he had, at times, and almost feral glint in his eyes.
"All right. I'm sorry. Next time—"
"Let's just hope no one else defects so there is no next time. As for the other bit… You've been avoiding my questions. You haven't spoken to me about Zabini since before your meeting, and you've been holed up in your bed the past few days, and then suddenly last night you call a meeting at one in the morning after I know for a fact you've been out of the dorm. Where were you? How did you run into Smith? They're eight floors down from us."
Seamus took a long breath, unsure how to begin answering, and of how much to divulge. A faucet dripped in the background. "I can't tell you everything," he said carefully, gauging Neville's reaction. The other man blinked. He opened and closed his mouth three times before speaking.
"Then tell me what I need to know."
"Zabini and I have made a deal."
"A deal?" Neville looked stunned.
"Of sorts. I mean, I still don't quite understand what he's getting out of it, but…"
"What are you getting out of it?"
Seamus weighed his words carefully. "Not me specifically, but all of us. The DA. Zabini is going to be—" he paused, trying to find the proper term, "—an informant."
"He's the one who told you about the prefects?"
Seamus nodded. "He lives with Nott."
Neville was speechless again for a few seconds.
"Do you trust him?"
At that, Seamus smiled. "Not in the least. I've set Dobby to spy on him."
"You've set Dobby to spy on him," repeated Neville, incredulous.
"Aye. And I think I've got an idea on how we can gather more information around the castle." Seamus thought of Mo, the rudest brushstrokes he'd ever come across. "With the paintings. Come to think of it, maybe I'll talk to the ghosts too. Ideally, I'd like to have a network of informants throughout the castle." It was something he'd thought of last night after slipping back into Gryffindor Tower (the Fat Lady protesting loudly), and he'd almost forgotten the thought until now, what with Smith and all.
"Blimey, Seamus. You're… Why were you not sorted in Slytherin?"
Seamus laughed. "As much as I like the colour green, the Irish love gold more."
It was something he didn't speak of much, the Sorting Hat's offering of Slytherin, citing Seamus' slyness as a reason, but he had told Dean and Neville once in fifth year, amidst his falling out with Harry and Ron, that sometimes he thought he would have made a good Slytherin, in the truest sense. Ambition and cunning, not cruelty and archaic notions of blood-purity.
Neville passed a hand over his tired face. "Anything else?"
He thought of the codes and ciphers stowed in his bag (he had refused to leave the remaining pages in the dorm, preferring to keep them close to his body), his strange mission, and of X.
"No," he said simply.
Neville seemed satisfied. "All right. I trust you," he said. "But please, tell me everything you learn. You're our spymaster now."
"Spymaster," Seamus echoed quietly. It had a nice ring to it.
"Lunch? I've got to eat, then meet with Vati about scheduling, Professor Sprout about the garden, then Tony about strategies and such, I suspect." Neville pulled his back up higher on his shoulder and pointed his wand at the door. "Alohomora." The lock clicked open and he pushed it wide with his left hand.
"Don't forget we've got a Transfiguration essay, and we've got to practice our concealment charms for Flitwick. I've got Potions to do too."
They walked through to the corridor, passing small groups of students talking quietly.
"Yeah," said Neville. "Wish we didn't have to worry about NEWTs on top of all this."
Chuckling, Seamus nodded surreptitiously to Mandy Brocklehurst, a new DA recruit, and Terry Boot, who winked, walking the opposite direction. "You're right, it's crap," he said. "I told Dean before he left that he was lucky to skip out on them."
He'd seen Dean all too briefly before the man had gone into hiding, as he'd Apparated to Seamus' Ireland home to give his farewells and his sketchbooks, and to borrow the Finnigans' magical tent. They'd both cried.
"Heard from him at all?" asked Neville, his voice low.
"Who?" said the voice of Ginny suddenly from behind them. She fell in step between the two men, her red hair swaying behind her back, and Seamus threw an arm around her shoulders jovially.
"Dean," Neville said, and she nodded solemnly. Seamus often forgot, in his worry and fear for his best friend, that Ginny had dated Dean before Harry, and that they'd stayed friends after that. Seamus wasn't the only one missing his mate.
"No, not a word. Better that way really, wouldn't want him to get caught."
They simultaneously jumped onto the first step of a staircase that had been about to move away from them, Neville teetering awkwardly.
"I wish there was a way we could find out who his father is," Ginny said, audible only to her two friends. "That way we'd know for sure."
It was a mystery, and a frustrating one, who Dean's real father was. The man had left unceremoniously only two weeks after Dean was born, and the baby had been raised as a Muggle by his mother Aïsha and then four years after his birth, his stepfather David Thomas, a kind and jolly man whom Dean loved deeply. Aïsha and David had given Dean three younger sisters, the whole family had taken the Thomas name (Dean and his mother having been previously Gueyes), and they had known nothing of magic until Dean's letter from Hogwarts had arrived. But the question it all begged had become rather important as of late, as Muggle-borns were being rounded up and stripped of their wands and homes. However, the fact was that Dean had no way of knowing if his father had been a wizard or not, and so he'd gone on the run to avoid the Muggle-born Registration Commission.
Dean and Seamus had fought about this decision before Dean left, even though they both knew it was the smartest move. Seamus had wanted to go with his friend, or contact the Order to find a safehouse for him, but there hadn't been time to spare, and Dean had gone, leaving Seamus with tears streaked on his face and a stack of books filled with charcoal memories.
They went on to the Great Hall and sat with the Gryffindors, and Seamus avoided Zacharias Smith's eyes the whole time he ate.
::
"About time you do something for the rodent growing on your face!"
Seamus swore at the mirror in Irish, earning him a disdainful huff from the object as he carefully shaved away the last of his beard. He wouldn't mind having facial hair, if his didn't grow in red and patchy, unlike Dean's, who had been able to grow a full beard by fourteen, and Ron, whose beard was even redder than his, but nice and thick. Neville and Harry were lost causes in the realm of beard-growing, so at least Seamus had some advantage over them, but it still wasn't exactly worthy of boasting.
He'd spent the time between Arithmancy and supper working on the final code in the workbook, a tricky bugger that involved numbers, symbols and letters, and working on the twenty-four inches he needed to write for Transfiguration. Potions he'd tackle tonight with Michael's help. It wasn't his favourite subject by any stretch of imagination, and he wasn't very good at it, but he needed the NEWT to get into curse-breaking. Well, at least it wasn't Snape anymore, and Slughorn was an all right enough sort, if you complimented him regularly and did the work.
"Smooth as a baby's bottom," the mirror chimed when he put down his razor and splashed water on his face.
"There's a disturbing thought," he muttered, quickly pulling off his shirt and stepping into a shower stall where he undressed fully. The water came on and he braced himself for the impact of the undoubtedly too-hot spray – it seemed, to the Gryffindor boys' neverending frustration, that all that magic in the world was unable to find the right temperature balance, probably due the fact that they were in a draughty ancient thousand-year-old castle built long before the age of indoor plumbing.
Seamus stood under the water, feeling the heat seep into his weary muscles for a minute before soaping himself up. He went over codes and ciphers in his mind, not wanting to forget – it was something he'd been doing almost constantly since beginning the workbook, and now that the pages had gone fully blank, he was feeling a terrifying sense of responsibility and pressure. He had to remember it all. This was for the Order, for the war, for the resistance, for Dumbledore's Army, for his widowed mother alone in Ireland with only a few cheap wards to protect the rickety old house, for Dean hiding somewhere in the UK… Seamus sighed. It had begun to snow today. He didn't even want to think about how Dean might fare in the snow.
"Christ," he whispered. He was too young for this. They were all too young for this.
He took his soap in his hand and began smoothing it down his skin, giving extra attention to a certain neglected body part that had twitched when he first touched it. Why not, he thought. As long as he had the time…
::
"As you can see, we've formed squadrons based on special talents and skill levels. You'll each have a primary squadron, like we've listed here—" Neville pointed to one section of the chalkboard with names listed in groups of five and six "—and a secondary squadron, here." He pointed to the second section, which had mostly the same layout, though the squadrons were divided by age group.
"Why two?" asked Jack Sloper from the back. For tonight's meeting, they'd decided against Luna's preferred circle, setting up the chairs in an almost classroom-style, with Ginny, Neville and Anthony at the front, explaining their new plans.
"And why are we divided by year in the secondary squadrons?" said fourth-year Orla Quirke, nodding at Jack's question.
Anthony stepped forward. "Truthfully, it's because there's a possibility that the youngest of us won't be allowed to stay and fight if it comes to it."
There were small cries of protest and angry mutterings, mostly from the youngest Gryffindors, but Neville held up his hand to silence them. Seamus sat back in his chair, mulling this decision over.
"Look, I know. I myself am underage," Ginny said when the tittering had quieted down, "my birthday's only in August. We just want to keep you all safest as possible."
"But you've fought before," Sloper said, almost accusingly. "I've signed up for this and we've been training. It's wartime, we know nothing is safe, and you're assuming this fight is going to be in Hogwarts."
"And you'll need as many wands as you can have," Hortense Cooper added.
"That's why it's only secondary. Our Plan A is to have you all somewhere in the castle helping out," Anthony said, a tinge of frustration tainting his tone. "We're assuming it's Hogwarts because that the only place we can plan for."
"But—" Jack began, but Neville cut him off.
"Let's move on. Sloper, if you've got questions, we'll talk about it after this. Now, as you'll see, there are two squadrons here, and here, which have stars next to them. This is our airforce." Neville gestured to the squadron, helpfully labelled Air, and which had Ginny Weasley, Kevin Whitby, Ritchie Coote, Lisa Turpin, and Demelza Robbins written underneath. "They'll have extra training time, led by Ginny, in which they'll be learning to fight from their brooms."
Seamus thought this was a good group. Of course, there were other flyers among them, and Seamus himself wasn't too bad on a broom, but Kevin and Ritchie were especially good at offensive spells, and Lisa had one of the strongest Protegos in the DA. Ginny and Demelza were quick, able to dodge bludgers, and probably jinxes and curses, with ease.
"And these," he pointed to a group with Lavender Brown at the top, "are our Healers." There were three other names aside from Lavender's: Mandy Brocklehurst, Hannah Abbott and Andrew Kirke. They'd been training with Lavender for a month already, as the idea had been to have someone capable of healing in each house.
"They'll be staying out of the fighting as much as possible, though they'll still be training with us. We can't take any chances," Anthony said, and Lavender nodded at him. "We protect them at all costs."
"Pomfrey doesn't know I've been teaching them, but I'll talk to her about training the whole squadron. It's risky, but maybe I could get her to come to the Room with us."
"Good plan, let me know what she says. Tomorrow we begin training in primary squadrons. Best to get to know your team in the next few weeks before holidays, I need you all to understand each others' fighting styles and strengths. The name at the top of your group is your squadron leader—" Ernie, one of the said leaders, puffed up his chest at Neville's statement "—and you should all try to think of a name together. Easier for us to remember."
Seamus scanned his team's list again, his own name at the top. Su Li, Jimmy Peakes, Parvati Patil, Jack Sloper and Leanne Cooper. He found them with his eyes in the small crowd, gazing at them each in turn. He liked Su – she was quiet, but had a wry sense of humour when she did speak, and he'd seen her bring down Terry in an informal wrestling match the other week after their regular training session. She nodded at him as he looked her over. Peakes had been a Beater on the Gryffindor team before Quidditch had been banned by the Carrows, and was strong and bold, though he tended to repeat the same spells over and over, lacking creativity in his duelling. Parvati was quick, and what she lacked in offensive strength, she made up for in an uncanny ability to predict what her opponent was going to fire before it happened. He'd have to ask her to explain to them how she did it. Sloper, well, he was stubborn to a fault, but he did work hard, and took direction and criticism well enough despite his headstrong tendencies. Cooper was a wild card; Seamus didn't know her at all and couldn't comment on her fighting style, but if Anthony thought she'd do well with Seamus, he'd have to trust him. All in all, not a bad group, though they all needed work, Seamus included. There was a good mix of talents, and they were almost all older students, which Seamus hoped meant more mature.
Anthony sat down and Neville continued to speak.
"Next order of business, we've got some bad news." He proceeded to solemnly explain about the prefects, and there were more angry cries and questions.
"What the fuck," said Sloper, who'd come to stand near Seamus.
"I'm sorry but it is what it is, and we've got to work around it." Neville spread out his hands in a wordless apology, and Sloper huffed. "Here's our plan for now. Each night, we'll have a prefect or seventh-year on duty in each house for any of you to contact in case of emergencies. We've got a schedule made for the next couple of weeks – Parvati's passing it around now – but we'll send along messages on the coins every night as a reminder."
Kevin Whitby had the schedule in his hands as Neville explained, and looked up, confusion etched on his angular features. "There are no names, how are we supposed to know what this means?"
"Oh yeah, I forgot. We've picked out codenames – I encourage you all to do the same." Neville pulled out another rolling chalkboard from behind the first, and brandished a piece of chalk. "After this, you'll write down your real names, your house and chosen codenames on this board, and we'll practice using them tonight. If we speak about the DA outside of here, use the codenames as much as you can."
Kevin nodded and passed on the schedule to Luna. "So who's on for tonight?"
"There's General, that's me, and uh, Sapphire in Ravenclaw, who is Padma, and Barbie, so Hannah for the Hufflepuffs. Hey Han, why Barbie?"
She blushed as the entire group swiveled to look at where she was sitting in the left corner. Tugging at her braid, she said "oh, just something my dad used to call me when I was little."
Neville smiled almost indulgently at her before turning back to his troops. "Don't choose anything too obvious like your Patronus if you can avoid it, but something easy enough to remember."
"What's yours?" Jack whispered to Seamus. "I can't even cast a Patronus yet." He looked stricken.
"Foxtail, and neither can I, so don't worry about it," he answered. And he'd been trying for a year and a half, with no luck. It was embarrassing, at this point. Ginny had first cast hers, a gorgeous silver mare, in her fourth year, and Luna too. Jack, at least, seemed comforted by Seamus' inability, and smiled.
"Right. Arrow, that's Michael, is going to explain to you all a new safety measure he came up with this morning, and he's going to go over again how to send messages to specific coins. Listen up."
Neville ducked his head, reddening, when Michael said "Thank you, General," and stood to face the group.
::
When Seamus and Neville finally found their way back into Gryffindor Tower after all the others, it was late, and a fire was blazing in their dormroom's stove. The men fell into their beds to the sound of flickering flames, cosily wrapped up in the heat and their blankets, too tired to even speak. Seamus had spoken to his squadron, and they'd settled on the name Phoenix's Revenge (which Seamus and Su had thought was a bit much, but they'd privately agreed to shorten it to Phoenix whenever possible). He was happy with the group and was confident they'd work well together. He'd finished his Potions essay too – all in all, a productive day, and Seamus felt light when he slipped into a dreamless sleep.
He felt like he hadn't been sleeping very long at all when a sudden thump! startled him awake. Disoriented, he scrabbled for his wand, casting a soft light when he found it. He couldn't see at all what the noise had been, though it seemed to have awoken Neville too, who poked his head out from his curtains with a bleary "What?"
Thump thump!
"Shay, the window!" Neville said, eyes wider now. There was an owl, flapping his mottled brown wings against the pane. And not just any owl—
"Shit, Sullivan!" Seamus bounded up to open the window, and his mother's owl flew in, promptly settling itself by the stove and shaking off a few snowflakes. He hooted as Neville stared dumbly.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Sully?"
The owl hooted again and ruffled its feathers in disdain. The bird lifted its leg so Seamus could untie the letter attached to it, clearly impatient.
"It's cold!" Neville said, pointing to the window. Sullivan turned his head to stare at the man who spoke, who hunched his shoulders under the owl's pointed gaze.
"Sully, go to the owlery. It'll be warm there, and then tomorrow at breakfast you can come see me in the Great Hall with the other owls," Seamus said, but the bird just pulled his wings in closer, perfectly happy near the fire. "Still stubborn as ever, I see. Go on, go. I'll get you some treats tomorrow!"
With one last grumbling, low hoot, the bird flew away, leaving a little grey crap pellet where it had been sitting.
"Fucking bastard," Seamus mumbled, closing the window tightly behind said bastard. "He's a terror."
Neville spelled away the mess with a flick. "Who's it from?"
"Sullivan's Mam's, dunno why she'd be sending a letter this… late…" Seamus had unfurled the parchment and his sentence had faded off as he began reading, his mouth hanging open.
"Seamus? Everything all right?"
The Irishman didn't answer, indeed, it seemed he hadn't even heard the question, so engrossed in the letter he was. His eyes scanned quickly, once, twice, then slower once more.
"Shay! Is it your mum? She okay?"
Seamus blinked at Neville.
"It's not from Mam," he croaked. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, dry from having sat agape for two minutes.
"Who is it?"
He swallowed.
"Dean. It's from Dean."
