"Neville, take deep breaths," I said. "In and out, in and out -"

He shook his head, taking huge gulps of air but

"No, not like that, you ninny! You'll only suffocate!"

I was shoved aside by Hermione, whose expression said everything: I wasn't helping at all. But then again, she should know better than ask me for help when I was in one of my moods. Neville was smart enough to not bother me - still, I would have helped him quietly if Hermione hadn't interfered.

"Neville, would you like me to help you remove...?" she gestured at his hands.

As for the irritation, I wasn't the only one who displayed it - or tried to be discreet about it. Professor Snape had reached a new level of vindictiveness over the summer and his patience wore quickly than mine: he was the reason why Neville was in such a state to the point he returned to the common room, shaking, and looking like he was about to have a nervous collapse. The dungeon bat had made him disembowel a barrel full of horned toads, and though he said he tried, Neville failed to remove all the frog bits under his nails.

"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" Ron asked as I joined him and Harry.

"Yeah, Moody."

"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of Moody, you know," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Who in their right mind wouldn't be?" I muttered. Hermione was moving her wand over Neville's hands. "Last day he managed to scare a class full of first years with his yelling of 'constant vigilance'. Its okay to be wary but he seems to take that to a whole new level of paranoia."

"Yeah," said Ron. "But think of it! Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a toad and bounced him all around his dungeon..." his eyes misted. "Up and down, side to side..."

"That's sick, Ron," I said, scrunching my nose.

"Anne, don't ruin it!" he groaned.

I shook my head. He was not the only one who wished Snape was cursed by Moody, but I couldn't but remember the manic glee the ex-Auror expressed when he 'punished' Malfoy. The man liked to be in control, that was quite obvious, and something in my gut told me I had to be wary of him. Even Snape did the impossible to never be on his presence by more than a few seconds.

"Why couldn't Mary -"

"Mah - ri - eh," I corrected.

Ron waved his hand impatiently. "Yeah, well, why couldn't she tell us what Moody did on her class?"

I averted my eyes. "It probably was different from what he will teach us," I said, crossing my arms and leaned my hip on the table.

I didn't want to tell them about Marie's ability to feel emotions but it was proving to be a big deal than I imagined. The first year Ravenclaws had their DADA class on Wednesday, and the first thing he told them was about the dangers Death Eaters had brought upon the Wizarding World, giving a very exact description of their deeds and proceeded to explain about basic dark creatures like Imps. At first glance, it seemed she had exagerated but Marie was obviously disturbed. As much as I asked her what was wrong, she refused to answer and instead changed the subject.

In my opinion, it looked like Marie wasn't sure of what to make of Alastor Moody, and was scared that for once, her Empathy had failed.

The dull clung clung echoed in the room as Moody limped over his desk.

"You can put those away," he growled, sitting down, "those books, you won't need them."

Moody took out a register and began to call names, his blue eye swiveling on each student as she or he answered. When he finished, he stood and to my surprise, took a small piece of chalk.

"Alastor Moody," he wrote. He slammed the chalk down on his desk, turning back to stare down at us with his fake and regular eyes. "Ex-Auror. Ministry malcontent, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. End of story, goodbye, the end! Any questions?"

"Right then," he said, when no one spoke, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses," Moody said. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark -"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out.

Moody's fake eye fixed on Ron, and a slow smile twitched on his lips. I was tempted to ask when would he leave.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago… Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore… One year, and then back to my quiet retirement." He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

"So - straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a high opinion on your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender jumped and blushed. She hastily threw what looked like a copy of Witch Weekly inside her bag.

"No way!" Seamus Finnigan said. "The old codger can see out of the back of his head!"

"And hear across classrooms!" said Moody, throwing his piece of chalk across the room. "So! Do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye kept moving between Lavender and Seamus.

"Er, my dad told me about one..." said Ron, glancing furtively on my way. "Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

I tensed.

"Ah, yes," Moody said appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. I recoiled slightly - I have a strong dislike for spiders. Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that the class could see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!"

The spider leapt from his hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing back and forth as if it were a trapeze artist: it stretched out its legs, forcefully, then did a back flip, landing on the desk where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs, and began to tap dance.

Everyone around me was laughing - even Neville, on my right, was giving a few chuckles at the sight. I leaned back, swallowing, and looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the demonstration to end.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Moody growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The laughter died away almost instantly. I lowered my eyes. My hand was tightening against my side, a habit that I gained at the beginning of the third year, shortly after having met the Dementors.

"Total control," he continued quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats…"

I forced myself to look at Moody without disgust.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

As usual, Hermione's hand flew into the air, looking slightly paler. To my surprise, so did Neville's, who gave a small gasp at his own daring. Nonetheless, his hand stayed on the air.

"Yes?" said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

"There's one - the Cruciatus Curse," said Neville in a small but distinct voice.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Moody said. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Just as Moody pointed his wand at the spider, I pushed my chair backward.

"Crucio," he muttered and the spider began to twist, twitching horribly as it bent at odd angles.

"Oh, god," I gasped. For some reason I was unable to look away, as much as I wanted to. I remembered the nightmares, when I was running through a dark forest, and the mad cackle of Bellatrix rang in my ears, followed by the shouts of mercy from a woman... my father, falling down, the almost perfect copy of Tom Riddle's face staring at me through empty, lifeless eyes...

"STOP IT!" I screeched. "STOP IT!"

I kicked the desk, jumping to my feet and my hand tightened on my side. I bit my lip, hard, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I was breathing hard, I realized, and I had drawn attention to myself. My eyes traveled nervously from side to side: on my left, the trio stared at me, looking horrified; to my right, others were staring at the spider with morbid fascination. And Neville? He was staring in horror at the spider, wide eyed, his knuckles white from clenching his hands. I wasn't sure which of the two of us was taking it worse.

"Didn't you hear her? Stop it!" I heard Hermione yell shrilly. "Can't you see its bothering them?"

Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

"Reducio," Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

"Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse… That one was very popular once too. Right... anyone know any others?"

No one spoke nor move.

"Perhaps," Moody started, "perhaps you could give us the answer, Miss Barton."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. I mouthed several times until I finally managed to get the words without breaking down in tears.

"Av - Avada Kedabra," I said, blinking.

"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra… the Killing Curse."

I noticed that the students looked suddenly uneasy.

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Moody raised his wand and I closed my eyes -

"Avada Kedabra!" he roared, and there was a flash of green light behind my eyelids.

When I opened my eyes, I saw several students stifling their cries of shock: Ron had thrown himself away from the chair, as the spider had landed on his and Harry's desk.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."

He leaned forward, staring down at Harry, whose gaze remained fixed on the blackboard.

"Did you see it twitch?"

"- and when he killed it – just like that!"

I was the first one to get out of the classroom. Half-running, half-walking, I dodged past students, not offering apologies when I shoved someone unintentionally. At the moment it seemed to be a huge task I couldn't perform.

I stopped running at the turn. I slackened as I reached the stairs and grasped the railing with both hands,taking deep breaths as my head hung low, my chin touching my collarbone. Breathing through the nose hurt a lot but I couldn't stop it. A hand suddenly shot from my right and grasped my wrist.

"Holy," I started and looked up in shock at Neville. "Could've used a warning," I said, halfheartedly meaning it.

"You alright?"

I gave a short laugh. I was still giving labored breaths. "I - I should be - the one asking, not -"

"You're having a panic attack," he said. "Take my hand."

I quickly let go of the railing and his hand found mine, intertwining our fingers together. I wondered for a moment what was the use of this until I realized he was breathing hard too. Neville stared at the wall across from the railing with the same horrified look he had when Mad-Eye did the Cruciatus Curse. I did everything I could to slow down my beating heart an stared at him for a moment.

I had no right to ask him. I had secrets and so did he but at the moment, it looked like it was something much more - so obvious and yet, so far of reach. There was something familiar on Neville, something I didn't want to acknowledge. But the proof was back there, in that gloomy classroom with the spiders.

I braced myself for what I was about to do. I looked away and closed my eyes.

"You have your mother's face."

There was nothing but silence. I had finally relaxed enough to talk properly.

Then out of nowhere, Neville said, more quietly, "And those eyes are not yours."

I squelched the want to look at him. "Oh."

"Yeah," he repeated, monotonously. "Oh."

"Neville? Anya?"

I looked around. Hermione hasn't called me Anya since she met me. Even then, I only had introduced myself and she had taken the liberty of calling me Annie. But when I saw her, I kind of understood why she had called me rightly by name. She looked worried, and Harry and Ron were behind her, eyeing us like if they were waiting for us to jump at them.

"Hey," I said, breathily.

"Oh hello," said Neville, very much in the same way as I did. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm - I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Are you two alright?"

"Something like that," I muttered, looking over her shoulder. I didn't need a mirror to know I was probably scowling.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. "Very interesting dinner - I mean lesson - what's for eating?"

"Neville, what -?"

But then, Mad-Eye Moody spoke from behind them.

"Sonny, you all right?" he asked. Neville nodded. "What about you, lass?" his magical eye turned to me.

I nodded, pinching my hand to prevent from snapping at him.

"Alright then. Why don't you two come up to my office? Come on... we can have a cup of tea..."

The hell I won't, I thought viciously. However, it seemed there was no way out and I definitely wasn't going to leave Neville alone with him.

"You all right, are you, Potter?"

Harry surprisingly snapped, "Yes."

"You've got to know," Moody said. His fake eye surveyed Harry, up and down. "It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending… well… come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you. You too, Barton."

Gritting my teeth, I started after him. Neville caught up with us a few moments later, panting.

Students gaped openly as we walked behind Moody. I didn't blame them: I was downright furious with him, and Neville covering behind us didn't help much to the situation. I dreaded to think of the reason Moody was dragging us to his office, what if he asked us why we reacted like that? There was a good chance Dumbledore had told him of what happened the last two years, including my involvement with Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, after all, he'd been called as a security measure, I was sure.

But Neville, I couldn't find any way out for him. We were thoroughly screwed, I realized now.

With something akin to reluctance at the face Neville made, I was the first to enter after Mad-Eye.

The office had been occupied by three previous teachers: Quirinus Quirrell, Gilderoy Lockhart, and Remus Lupin. I never saw how Quirrell had decorated it on his time. My best guess? Garlic probably hung from the ceiling in hopes of continuing his charade as a cowardly stutterer. During Lockhart's time, the walls had been covered by self-portraits of magazines and paintings. And Lupin was far more humble than the last two, his office had been bare except for the desk and the occasional creature that awaited to be introduced for class.

But Mad-Eye made the office look like a war campaign. It was a mess, little things dinging on the floor and a Sneakoscope was spinning loudly on his desk. Across the room, there was a mirror, however, it didn't reflect anything more than moving shadows. In the corner on a small table was something that resembled a round golden mirror. It was humming slightly.

Mad-Eye gave a loud sigh and sat down behind his desk, and to my surprise, he started to pull off at his leg.

On the corner, was another big mirror. It extraordinarily caught every detail of the room.

"Foe-Glass," said Moddy gruffly. He put the wooden stick that replaced his leg on the desk. "Lets me keep an eye on my enemies; if I can see the whites of their eyes, they're right behind me." He laughed, but his normal eye kept shooting glances at it whilst he stared at us with his blue electric eye.

Then Neville jumped and latched onto my back, making me whirl and point my wand at what he was staring. It was a normal looking chest, rattling wildly. There was a loud scream and I realized it came from it.

"What the hell is in there?" I asked absently.

"If I told you two, you wouldn't believe me, so I won't bother," said Mad-Eye. Try me. "Take a seat and put that wand away, Barton. Better you don't blow something up."

Sighing loudly - yes, I wanted him to be aware of my discomfort-, I sat on a nearby barrel letting Neville take the chair. He was pale and hadn't spoken a word, I didn't want him to have another episode like the one with Snape.

"Here," Mad-Eye pushed two cups of something toward us. Neville took it with shaking hands and stared at it nervously; I took it with one hand and looked at it disdainfully, carefully placing the cup on the desk.

Moody didn't seem bothered by it; in fact, a smirk tugged at his lips. He surprised me again when he said something that had nothing to do from what I originally thought.

"Professor Sprout tells me you've an aptitude for Herbology, Longbottom," he said.

Neville mumbled something and lifted his cup to his mouth, but didn't clarify anything. The "Yes, sir," he threw sounded more like a question, and I honestly considered it barely covered his natural ability for Herbology. The conversation was already awkward without even having started.

"And what's your thing, Barton?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Little bit of everything. That's it, except Herbology," I said, smirking, "Neville here's been saving me from failing the class."

"I saw what you did with the Malfoy brat," he muttered, scratching his chin absently as he stared at me, "you handled it nicely. Bit flashy, but you handled it."

He looked between us.

"Huh," he said at last, after a long lapse of silence. "You two are like your old men. Except, your father was bonkers, Barton. The man nearly scared the socks out of me with his ideas." Moody smirked.

I bit my lip. Of course he knew my father, meaning he had been an Auror, though I wasn't quite sure if I'd heard this before.

The conversation then changed from there, and soon, I grudgingly found myself paying rapt attention as Mad-Eye spoke of a few of his experiences. But then I saw Neville's face - he was crying. Moody noticed too, but he didn't rat him out. Instead, he continued talking, but more calmly and made a hanky appear out of thin air. And as Neville tried to discretly clean his face and runny nose, I saw something on the ex-Auror's face twist, and it worried me a lot more than it should. Was it normal for a teacher to look so incredibly guilty when glancing at a student? Or most important, what exactly was the reason that Mad-Eye looked at Neville like if he had met him before... or why he kept shooting me these small glances, as if he was aware of my existence but was trying to ignore it?

"Is she alive?" I heard Ron murmur faintly.

Harry - 'cause wherever Ron was so did wonder boy - didn't respond. Instead, I felt the couch sink on my left and with opening my eyes, I knew Harry was looking at me carefully with his green eyes, so green and transfixing that they were like open windows. I dared not to look at him and remained silent. Maybe if I feigned that I was asleep, he would go away; I didn't want him nor Ron to ask me about today's DADA class.

Thankfully, my plan worked, and Harry stood with a sigh. It only lasted a few moments however, and the couch sank again with his weight.

Harry ignored Ron's meaningful glances as he awkwardly tried to adjust on the couch. He would have loved to work on the table where he was sure his homework wouldn't look like funny doodles except he couldn't help but want to make sure Anya was alright.

Despite what everyone thought, Harry knew Anya pretty well by now to know when she was trying to escape from uncomfortable situations. After all, he had spent two summers with her and had to learn something from her, like the little quirks that made her her. Like when she was angry, her left eye usually twitched, or when bored she taps two fingers against her leg, or even when worried, she tried to cover it with light sarcasm. Right now, she wasn't talking to them and, surprisingly, hadn't escaped as soon as she heard them.

He was sure whatever made her lose her control in Moody's lesson had to be shocking enough to make her show any kind of 'weakness'. Harry wasn't sure how that worked - whenever she was involved, he always ended with a small headache and was left frustrated -, but just as he had a hero complex - yes, he acknowledges he has one, but only to himself! - she was determined to act as if nothing affected her. He often wondered why she did that, and had been hurt in the beginning but Harry realized it was her way to deal with their lives, from their first time confronting Voldemort to dealing with Tom Riddle's diary and her apparent issues with the Dementors. She was coping in her odd way of thinking, the only one she knew about.

Their third year hadn't been the easiest, not only because they thought Sirius was after him and the Dementors were in Hogwarts, but because he and Ron and Hermione didn't know how to treat her. She was a very delicate person to deal with: if you did not approach with precaution there was a high chance of blowing up. And because of that, she drifted away from them, enough that they weren't as close as before. Still friends but lacking that certain spark that had united them on the first place. Harry often wished another teacher would set off a troll on Hogwarts to see if everything would return to normal.

And there was Neville too.

Harry would never admit it, never, but he was slightly annoyed with the plump boy's closeness to Anya. Really, since when were the two of them close? It shouldn't bother him this much but she was more open when Neville was around, so why couldn't she just easily be like that around them?

He looked over at her. She was leaning heavily on the couch's armrest and her head hung back tiredly. He could easily spot tear lines on her cheeks.

Maybe he should just give it time. She'd asked for it the last time they spoke privately and he'd agreed.

Ron threw a bean at him but Harry dodged it. The redhead shot at him a look and turned his pointed stare at Anya, wiggling his eyebrows in an almost comical way. Harry shook his head and looked down at his homework. He was nowhere close to finishing the problem.

For a while, I heard nothing but the frustrated sighs coming from across and the steady breaths on my left. But there was a small noise of wood hitting wood, and I heard Ron speak.

"You know, I think its back to the old Divination standby."

"What, make it up?"

"Yeah," there was some ruffle of notes. Ron cleared his throat, "Next Monday I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter. You know her - just put in loads of misery, she'll lap it up."

"Right," said Harry. "Okay… on Monday, I will be in danger of- er - burns."

"Yeah, you will be," said Ron darkly, "we're seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, I'll… erm…"

"Lose a treasured possession."

"Good one," said Ron. "Because of… erm… Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?"

"Yeah… cool…" said Harry, "because… Venus is in the twelfth house."

"And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worst in a fight."

"Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet."

"Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight…"

As time passed, the more ridiculous their predictions turned. At some point, Crookshanks joined us and jumped on my lap, purring contentedly when I slowly started to scratch his ears. The action went unnoticed by Harry and Ron as they argued whether should they mention a dragon on their notes or not.

Minutes later, I heard the portrait open.

"Hello," it was Hermione, "I've just finished!"

"So have I!" Ron exclaimed, and then, I felt something land on my forehead. Making a face, I opened my eyes and scowled.

"Little bit to the north and it would've been bullseye," I said.

Ron smiled nervously and shrugged. Crookshanks stretched from head to his bushy tail and bounced over to Hermione's lap.

"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" she said sardonically. She had Ron's predictions on her hands.

"Ah well, at least I'm forewarned," Ron said, yawning.

Her eyebrows arched. "You seem to be drowning twice," Hermione commented.

Ron peered down at his predictions. "Oh am I? I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff."

"Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?" Hermione said.

"How dare you!" Ron said in mock outrage. "We've been working like house-elves here!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"It's just an expression," Ron said quickly.

I looked at Harry's sheet, sighing loudly as I caught sight of his death by decapitation comment.

"You two are unbelievable," I muttered, glancing between the two.

Harry rolled his eyes before he looked at Hermione. He pointed at the box in her hands. "What's in the box?"

"Funny you should ask," Hermione said, throwing a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed us the contents.

I raised an eyebrow, "Badges?" and took one of them, noticing that all of them had the same letters: S.P.E.W. "What for?"

"Spew?" Harry said and picked one of the badges. "What's this about?"

Hermione scowled and said, impatient, "Not spew! It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

Automatically, I let out a frustrated groan. It wasn't the first time I'd deal with this: Hermione had been planning through the night, causing all the girls to get annoyed at her loudness, ways to free the House Elves from Hogwarts ever since the first day we returned. I thought the same as her, just to a certain point - they deserved to have a decent and fair treatment, but if they wanted to, they could still be working for their masters as long as they got paid in some way. I wasn't sure how the lot of them were like but according to Harry, they actually loved being submissive. Hermione was the smartest person I've ever met, but she had a thick skull when it came to this: the fact didn't seem to register on her.

"Never heard of it," Ron commented.

"Well, of course you haven't," Hermione said briskly, "I've only just started it."

"Yeah? And how many members have you got?"

"Well," she bit her lip, "if you three join, four."

Ron waved one of the badges. "And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying 'spew,' do you?"

"S-P-E-W!" Hermione said hotly. "I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status - but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto."

She brandished the sheaf of parchment at us.

"I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."

"Hermione - open your ears," said Ron loudly. "They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!"

"Our short-term aims," Hermione said, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn't heard a word, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented."

"And how do we do all this?" Harry asked.

"We start by recruiting members," Hermione said happily. "I thought two Sickles to join - that buys a badge - and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron - I've got you collecting tin upstairs - and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting. As fr you, Annie, you're Vice President. You help me recruiting, organizing meetings and making important decisions that can affect our organization."

She looked at us a bit breathlessly, but proud. I didn't have the heart to the hell the project was doomed before it could even start.

There was a soft tap, tap coming from the window and Harry looked over.

"Hedwig!" he shouted, and launched himself out of his chair and across the room to pull open the window.

Hedwig flew inside, soared across the room and landed on top of Harry's predictions.

"About time!" said Harry , hurrying back over.

Ron pointed at the letter tied around Hedwig' leg. "She's got an answer!"

Harry hastily untied it and sat down to read, whereupon Hedwig fluttered onto his knee, hooting softly.

"So, what does it say?" I asked, staring at him impatiently.

Harry started aloud:

Harry-

I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore - they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is.

I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Tell Anya to not ignore any detail and if possible, write it down. Both of you, keep your eyes open.

Sirius

I tapped my chin, meeting Harry's eyes thoughtfully.

"He's flying north?" Hermione whispered. "He's coming back?"

"Dumbledore's reading what signs?" said Ron, looking perplexed. Harry suddenly hit himself on the forehead with a frustrated shout. "Harry – what's up?"

"I shouldn't've told him!" Harry said furiously.

My eyes widened but narrowed on him quickly. "What?"

"What are you on about?" Ron asked too.

"It's made him think he's got to come back!" Harry said as he slammed his fist on the table so that Hedwig landed on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly.

"Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you," Harry snapped at Hedwig, who was clicking her beak expectantly, "you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food."

Hedwig gave him an extremely offended look and took off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she went.

"You shouldn't have treated her that way," I said. "Hedwig was just hungry."

"Didn't you listen what I just said?" Harry exclaimed.

I pursued my lips, annoyed. "'course I did. And I think all of what you said was rubbish. Sirius is right, Harry, something is going on and it has to do with you, Its not a coincidence your scar hurts before the Death Eaters attacked back in the World Cup and Dumbledore knows it, too."

Harry glared at me heatedly. "Don't you care what happens to Sirius? What if they catch him?!" he demanded.

"Sirius is a grown man," I said calmly. "He knows what to do and what the risks are. I think what he's doing is rash, coming back when Hogwarts will be on the spotlight, but we can't do anything about it. He must be already halfway to Scotland."

"I'm going to bed," Harry said and stood abruptly. He looked at anywhere but my eyes. "See you in the morning."

"Don't talk to him," I told Ron once Harry was out of sight. "He needs to cool off right now. By tomorrow, he will have to accept it."

The redhead nodded and went up to the boys' dormitories.

Hermione looked at me worriedly. "He will try to convince Sirius to not come back," she said.

"I know. But Sirius knows that too."

Neville lay staring at the dark canopy of his bed when the door of the dormitory banged open and Harry entered, looking angry and started to put on his pajamas. He listened silently at all the tiny noises his roommate made, like the tiny puffs of air he let out and when his bed groaned at the weight of Harry's body. Ron came moments later, and from the corner of his eye, Neville noticed he looked troubled. He was less noise as he changed, but he kept shooting small glances at Harry's bed. He wondered for a moment what happened and if Anya would tell him tomorrow, and quickly remembered what had been troubling him all day.

He was not alright. He thought he wouldn't deal with it at Hogwarts and certainly not in public, but finally he had witnessed how his parents ended in St. Mungos.

The offspring of wizards were different from those of Muggles: because of their ability to learn Occlumensy at some point in adulthood, wizards could remember everything from the age of five and onward, and sometimes, they could even remember from before. It was rare and not entirely accurate but the memories were always there, only not within reach. And the first memory that came from Neville's life as a toddler was a church.

His Gran eventually told him why the first thing that came at memory when his parents were mentioned was a religious Muggle building. They had been in hiding because Dumbledore feared they still were on top of the Death Eaters' list, even after Voldemort had been defeated, and Frank Longbottom's Auror training kicked in and he and his wife, along with their son, had disappeared off radar for a while. Not only that, but a close friend of his father had gone with them.

The man's name had been Alexander Barton.

Neville didn't hear of that name for a while until he and his Gran met Thea Rosenberg outside of Flourish and Blotts. They had been buying for his school equipment and eleven year-old Neville worried when his Gran suddenly gasped, looking at a woman as if she were a ghost. Later on second year, he would understand the woman should be anything but alive.

Thea Rosenberg was a very pretty woman with long red hair tied neatly into a bun, the several look on her face didn't even affect her beauty much. Neville's Gran had demanded what she was doing out in public, and with an apologetic look, she pointed to the back of the store. A little girl, shorter than Neville, was staring at the ceiling where a few books were floating and Neville thought she was a Muggleborn. She was really pretty, he'd thought as he turned red, her hair was long and her eyes, a mix of brown and green, stared captivated at the whole new world that was the Wizarding World.

Later, his Gran told him who she was. But that was until before the beginning of Third Year. By that time, his crush on Anya Barton had been brushed aside and instead he was trying to focus on being her friend while not turning into a stuttering idiot, and to also not ask about what happened with the Chamber of Secrets. He only knew that she and Harry and Ron had done something to stop the Heir of Slytherin, but the whole ordeal had done a number on Anya and her friends (were they, really? He'd always wonder since the rain train when Harry, Hermione, and Ron, did not go after her when the Dementors got off the train) didn't look as affected as her, except for the few times he glimpsed a shadow crossing Hermione's face and then it was like if nothing had changed.

He knew she didn't tell him everything. As much as she claimed he was her best friend, Anya Barton kept secrets from him. Then again, so did Neville Longbottom. Today he had given her a clue, a trail to follow; not only he knew how the Cruciatus Curse worked but he had been there when her father died. Anya obviously remembered something, if the 'you have your mother's face' comment was anything to go by.

They were sure going to talk about it at some point, and Neville wasn't sure if he was ready. Being best friends with the girl you fancied had its advantages and, like him, Neville was absolutely sure she wasn't ready to have that conversation yet. Maybe they would never be and he was okay with it. But he knew that sooner or later, it would have to happen.

I just discovered that when I'm completely angry, writing turns something natural while you're at it. R & R, and remember, the poll for the Yule Ball is still open.

Next: the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive at Hogwarts. You know what it means. *squeals excitedly*