Marietta-

By the lack of letters, I assume that you are still upset with me. Regardless of your feelings, what I have to say to you is important. The ministry has received reports from Dolores Umbridge regarding the state of Hogwarts, and they are not good. As you know, she has been serving as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, a position which has long been needed—look at all that has happened since you've been at Hogwarts! Standards are shockingly low.

Be angry if you will, Marietta, but the Ministry is taking these changes seriously, and they are making note of who works with them and of who works against them. It could impact your future. Don't throw everything away for a boy who tells shocking lies. I'm sorry that you lost your friend, I am. But the Ministry is taking steps to fix the problems that let it happen. The best thing you can do for his memory is to work with them.

There is a program underway which, when developed, will be a wonderful opportunity for you to begin to truly work towards Hogwarts' betterment. I can't tell you much yet—not least because not much has been decided—but you'll know it when it comes.

Think of yourself, Marietta, and think of us. We're your family, no matter what you wish was true.

Write back. We'll see you for Christmas.

Love always,

Mum

"Marietta? Are you even hearing what we're saying?" Cho looked concerned, and also a hint annoyed.

"Um…yeah. I agree with Kim on this one, sorry Cho. I've got nothing against Alannis, but she's got no poker face. We'd be found out if Umbridge so much as looked at her. Anyway, she'd see it as a conflict of interest with her prefect duties." The annoyance on Cho's face grew, but Kim looked vindicated. Marietta felt a bit bad—she knew it was a hard for Cho not to talk to their other friends about the DA—but she also knew she was right.

Kim and Cho went back at it, now discussing Eddie Carmichael ("Maybe, Cho, but you know him better than I do. Are you sure he'd do it without telling Justin? Because everyone knows Justin can't keep a secret. It's how everyone found our about Susanna and Hugo—"). Marietta thought back to her mother's letter. Again. She was furious, more than she'd even been over the summer. Her mother had used Cassius against her. She'd played the "we're family" card. And then, on top of all of the condescension, she'd ended by essentially commanding Marietta to come home for Christmas. And then there was the "Love always." Marietta had written a response, just for the release it offered.

I don't want your love. I want you to listen to me—to reason. Stop trying to manipulate me. I'll see you in the summer, if I can't find a friend to stay with. Goodbye, Marietta.

She'd stuffed it in her trunk, unable to send it. It was easier to just say nothing.

Cho and Kim had moved on to a discussion of the subjects of the DA meetings rather than the people in attendance. They'd practiced the shield charm the week before, combining it with the disarming charm at the end, and this week they were set to do the same with the stunning spell. They'd also be using the new entrances into the Room that they'd found, and which the Weasley twins had smugly unveiled to the rest of the DA the week before. They'd credited the others, but they were the showmen of the group. For the younger students, the spells were new; for the older students, it was a chance to practice them in ways they hadn't in the classroom. The DA was good, Marietta thought. Her mother didn't know what she was saying. She pulled out a parchment and began a new letter

Mum—

I won't be home for Christmas, or for Easter. I might see you in the summer. But the truth is that Voldemort—Potter says the name, and I reckon he's got more right than any of us to be scared, so I'm going to say it too—is back, and he killed my friend, and while you might be content with that, I'm not. I'm sorry that you can't see the truth, because I do want you to. But I won't do the wrong thing just because you're afraid, and I'm not sorry about that.

And when it comes to Umbridge, she isn't teaching us anything. I have no respect for her, and I certainly won't be joining her. If that means I won't join the ministry, that's fine. In my opinion, it's them that are in need of reform.

Sincerely,

Marietta

She cast a quick-dry spell on the parchment and placed it in the front cover of her Astronomy textbook. Maybe she'd send this one tonight.

Stranger things had happened.

/

"Oi! Fawley!" Andrew turned to see Jake jogging up to him. "Great job today—if Montague can learn to communicate we really might have a chance against Gryffindor, now they haven't got Wood. Do you think?"

"If we're counting on Montague communicating—" Urquhart snorted at this.

"Have some faith, Fawley. Anyway, it's Crabbe and Goyle who are really dragging us down. You're sure Pucey won't replace one of them?"

"No," Andrew said with positivity. "He's busy." Saying this, Andrew couldn't think of what Adrian was busy with, aside from class and the DA. He just knew he hadn't been around. Andrew frowned slightly at the realization, but Urquhart interrupted the thought.

"Shame. You busy now? Xander brought some Firewhiskey, and he, Liam, and I are going to celebrate the end of a week."

"It's Thursday," Andrew pointed out. Urquhart didn't look concerned about this. "And sorry, but I'm busy too." After the DA meeting the night before, Rissa had asked him to talk to Scarlett about joining. He'd agreed, not bothering to ask why she didn't do it herself. The Brodys were purebloods through and through, but they'd never been on one side. The Lympshams, though, had spent their years trying to ingratiate themselves with the wealthy, and as a result, they'd ended solidly on the side of Voldemort in the first war. Andrew understood where Scarlett was better than Rissa could.

"Ah well, your loss. See you around, Fawley." Andrew waved, resuming his walk to the library as Jack broke off to head to wherever his brother and friend were. Andrew wasn't particularly sad about having an excuse not to go with him. While Jake was okay, his brother was the closest person Andrew had ever met to outdoing Draco Malfoy in terms of entitlement, and Xander Lofthouse was all too happy to support Liam's ideas of himself. And that was when they were sober.

Scarlett was sitting at a table in the Herbology section, for reasons Andrew didn't understand, as she wasn't taking NEWTs in Herbology or Potions, the other reason the Herbology section was usually of interest.

"Interesting reading?" Scarlett looked up, unimpressed.

"Mandrakes. It's year two stuff, really, but I need that before I get into the more complex information."

"And you're clearly interested in Mandrakes because…"

"Because my term project for History of Magic is on the use of Mandrakes in Potions throughout history, and whether it's ethical to use living creatures who we raise from infancy for our own means. But I need to understand them for that—to know if it's different to use their leaves to become an Animagus than their roots for Restorative Draught."

"Mmm. Thrilling as that is—" she shot him a dirty look, but closed the book she'd been reading. "—I actually wanted to check in on how your year was going."

"And we couldn't do that in the common room, so you scheduled a meeting in the library." Andrew winced at that, but didn't have much choice at that point.

"Yeah, that's what I did. How are classes?"

"Fawley, I'm not an idiot, and neither are you. They're all fine except Defense, as you know because you also have Umbridge. What's this about?" Andrew considered Scarlett for a moment, and wondered if perhaps he and Rissa had sold her short.

"Voldemort. It's about Voldemort." Scarlett's face paled a bit, but she kept eye contact.

"And Cassius?"

"And Cassius," he agreed. "And it's about Umbridge, because we need to be ready to face Voldemort and she's not going to teach us how." Scarlett looked as though she was seeing him differently, too.

"And you want to do that. To face You-Know-Who." It wasn't a question. It was said more in a tone of wonder.

"Want…is a strong word. I'd rather I didn't have to." It felt freeing to admit that, which he never felt he could do with Jack, who wasn't a pureblood, or even with Adrian, who did want to fight, Andrew thought. The thought unsettled him, just as it had earlier when he'd realized how little he'd seen of his friend. He pushed the thought away. He didn't need it then, not with everything else—his father and Umbridge and NEWTs and the Hit Wizard application were enough. "But he killed Cassius."

"So this is about revenge."

"No! No. Not revenge. It's about…choice. About deciding what side is right instead of just listening to my parents. And it's about honoring his memory." Scarlett was quiet for a minute, and so was Andrew.

"Where do you all go?" Andrew looked at her, doing his best to feign confusion. "Please, Fawley. You're my friends. It hasn't escaped my notice that you've all gone somewhere the past two weeks, and that you stop whispering about it when Amy and I come over. I mean," here, some hurt crept into her voice, "even Zabini and Bletchley seem to know what it is you're doing."

"They—we—I didn't think this through."

"Clearly."

"Not helping."

"I'm not trying to." Andrew exhaled sharply, trying to arrange his thoughts. He hadn't been prepared for this direct a conversation. He'd expected to feel the waters, maybe gauge her interest in a study group. Not this.

"Okay. What we're doing—we have a study group we go to. All of us. A defense group, people who aren't happy with Umbridge, and who want to be ready for Voldemort."

"I'm guessing your club wasn't approved by Umbridge."

"No, I'd say not." Andrew paused, not sure where to go from there. "It's serious. I mean, we aren't just messing around. It's open, to anyone trustworthy. But it's not a game. And it's not neutral. You can come with is next week, if you want. But you have to be sure about it. Rissa wants you there—we all do. But it's your choice to make."

"And you're all…you're getting ready to stand against You-Know-Who?"

"All of us. We're…like I said, it's not a game. If you want to come, let one of us know. Think about it." Andrew stood from the table. "I'll let you get back to Mandrake ethics. If I remember from Jack, this project's a bad one."

"It is," Scarlett agreed, as though they hadn't just been talking about going against their family backgrounds and fighting one of the most evil people in the history of wizarding England. "See you around, Fawley. I'll—I'll think about it."

"See you around."

Andrew couldn't get Scarlett's face out of his head, his mind dwelling on her surprise and uncertainty about who he was. About how different he was. It was true. Only a few months ago, he'd been arguing with Adrian and Cassius about the very thing he'd just told Scarlett he was ready to fight for—only then, he'd been against it. He'd changed so much, and so quickly, that he barely recognized himself.

It was no wonder Scarlett didn't understand him anymore. It was no wonder his father expected him to follow in his footsteps—Andrew had never given him any indication otherwise.

It's only October, he told himself. Christmas is ages away.

Maybe, if he didn't think about what was coming, it wouldn't come.

/

Adrian planned to be an auror. He had for years—it was acceptable to his parents, would elevate his status, and would be a good use of his brains. He'd never doubted the choice, even when he'd found out that Alastor Moody—perhaps the most notorious auror in recent memory—had been captured and stored in a trunk for a year. He hadn't even doubted it over the summer, when Lucina Gamp had openly and often shared her opinion of the failings of the force.

Reading through Defensive Magical Theory, he felt like all those doubts were pressing in on him.

Adrian wanted to fight. He was angry—too angry, maybe. He wanted vengeance for Cassius' death, for the fact that they'd all been dragged into a war their parents had started over something as inconsequential as blood—Gryffindor and Slytherin alike.

And yet, he was learning more from a fifteen year old than a ministry approved—ministry sanctioned—teacher. The same ministry he would work for as an auror was actively working against him as he tried to learn the skills to do that job. He hated it, and yet he didn't know how else to join the fight. And not joining the fight was unthinkable. It wasn't an option.

He'd decided that the best solution was to just not think about it. It was too late to drop any of his NEWTs now, even if he'd been able to think of another option. He'd already filled out the first part of the auror application.

Tossing his useless textbook to the side, Adrian stood, grateful for the solitude of the Room of Requirement, where he'd taken to coming even outside of DA meetings. He focused on the memory of the room as it had been during the last meeting, and it obligingly expanded from a little corner nook to a larger room filled with practice dummies he suspected had come from the old dueling club room. Stretching briefly, Adrian called to mind all of the offensive spells he knew and set at the dummies.

For some time, he knew nothing but the feeling of magic coursing out of him, directed toward the dummies with stunners, disarmers, burning hexes, and anything else he could think of in the moment. Finally, sweating from exertion, he looked back over the dummies.

It had been a massacre. Arms and legs—and even a head—were strewn across the floor. Three dummies were on fire still, and another three were heavily charred. Only one dummy was still standing, looking perfectly untouched. For just a second, Adrian imagined his father's face looking back at him from the dummy, disdain on his face.

You can't even fight for the other side properly, he could almost hear him saying. And this horrible thought made way for another, as Adrian imagined the dummies as people, his housemates and their families, dead or injured because of him.

And then he threw up. The room sent a bin in front of him right as he did, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thought to be grateful that he wouldn't have to clean it up.

Take this away—take them away! He thought desperately, and the room was once more just a corner sitting room. Adrian closed his eyes, but only saw the horrible scene once more.

This was war: brutality. Death. Cost. This was what he was preparing for—what he wanted. Did he want it?

"He said—Voldemort said—to kill the spare," Potter's voice came back to him, the haunted look in his eyes far too heavy a burden for anyone his age to carry.

Kill the spare. They were all spares, to Voldemort. All people who could be tossed aside because they'd been in the wrong place. He wanted to fight that. He wanted to fight evil.

It wasn't wrong to want to fight evil, he told himself, shaking his head as though that could somehow rid him of the picture of death he'd painted in his mind.

/

"Terry Boot." Cedric paused, then repeated, louder, "Terry Boot."

"Michael, did you say something?" The voice that came through the mirror sounded a bit distant, but that could be because the mirror was in Terry's bag, where Cedric had put it to test his success—he'd been pretty confident in his work, and it was more fun to surprise (and confuse) Terry.

"Not Michael. Guess again." Cedric tried not to sound too smug, but it had been advanced magic, and he thought he deserved a little smugness.

"Diggory?" The guess was uncertain. "Where—" Cedric could suddenly see the faint outline of books, and then Terry's face, with a broad grin. "They work!"

"They work," Cedric agreed, feeling a matching grin start to form. "Haven't tested them with the other two yet, but even having two would help, especially if we gave one to Jack and the other to Harry. Their lot is the hardest to contact without being noticed."

"Brilliant," Terry looked in awe of the magic—and it really, really was a beautiful piece of work. Subtle, too. It hadn't been as blunt as a Protean charm, which could place many objects under the control of one original object. He'd had to trick the mirrors into thinking they were all one surface—which allowed their users to communicate—all while keeping them as four separate entities so that each person would be able to start a call. And it was hard to trick a non-sentient object. There had been lots of transfiguration involved—which he explained all of to Terry's enthusiastic ears.

"I thought we could present them Thursday, in the meeting."

"Before, probably," Terry countered, "so no one complains about not getting one."

"That's…a good call." Cedric nodded. "Before the meeting, then. Don't forget yours."

"Please." Terry rolled his eyes. "See you around, I'm sure."

"You too, Boot." Cedric sat back, and the image of Terry disappeared. He allowed himself one more satisfied look at his work before turning back to the list of prefect duties, which he'd offered to schedule for the next month—it would be better to get them done now, he knew, so that he could get it to them and get any complaints or issues out of the way. It wasn't fun work, but it was going well so far.

Really, the whole term was going better than expected. Enough that he even allowed himself to have some hope.

A shadow might be falling over the Wizarding World, but at Hogwarts, so far, things were looking up.