Author's Note: Just trying to fill in a gap.

(Hogwarts) Sixth Year

The train ride to Hogwarts is a depressing event. Few wizarding families have taken the risk to send their child to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry now that the great Headmaster and protector Albus Dumbledore is dead. The number of Muggleborn students attending this year is nearly non-existent. Only the Slytherin House seems to be unaffected by the Dark Lord's return; Slytherin is filled to the brink of wide-eyed First Years and returning Pureblood witches and wizards crowding its dorms.

Gryffindor, however, in all its scarlet-and-gold splendour, is looking worse-for-the-wear. Smiles are scarcely scattered about. As much as we are praised for our pride and courage, all of that Gryffindor grandeur quickly dwindles as rumours increase about Death Eaters posing as professors.

I slide into the train compartment that is seating Luna and Dean and Neville. "Wotcher," I say to them.

Luna wiggles her fingers dreamily at me in greeting, her usual smile absent but very much present in her pensive eyes. Dean, still sore about our break-up from last term, stiffly nods his head before favouring his gaze upon the dizzying landscape nearly indistinguishable through the train window. Internally, I sigh. Obviously, he is still not over me. I don't understand why; I'm not that great of a person. Neville gives me the warmest welcome out of the three of them: he actually says hello.

"So how was your summer?" I ask them.

"Terrible; not that you care," Dean tells me curtly.

I share an incredulous look with Neville at Dean's rude temper. "Er, actually I do care, hence the question," I reply, unable to control the amount of sass that somehow manages to colour my words.

As expected, I do not receive a response from my ex-boyfriend.

Luna, thankfully, interrupts the awkward moment. "I just had the loveliest time. Daddy let me paint my ceiling if I helped to find the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks that are living nearby our house." Here, her luminescent face dims as she frowns. "I never did find them, although the Nargles were rampant this summer. . ."

"Gram was considerably nicer to me," Neville interjects before the silence after Luna's comment becomes uncomfortable. "She told me my memory was improving."

I look closely at Neville and shake my head at him and his ingenuousness. "Among other things," I say a tad bit cryptically. Over the summer, Neville has grown like a weed. He's been the type to look short but at second-glance prove to actually be tall. Now, it is undeniable that he is big and bulky. His dark hair actually seems to be cooperating with him for once, and he's lost the air of cluelessness that used to follow him around like a stray, wandering puppy. The grim confidence that now lights his eyes is startling but perfectly suits Neville. I reach over teasingly and touch his biceps. "Wow, Nev, did you work out this summer or something?"

He laughs but there's a note of seriousness clouding his face. "Got to be prepared for the Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you know?"

"Oh," I say as the impending gravity of the situation overcomes the train compartment again, the moment of levity lost for now. Then I furrow my brow. "Didn't you used to call him 'Vol-"

Immediately I am shushed when Dean furtively glances around and slaps a hand over my mouth. I resist the urge to take a bite out of his fingers – it's not polite to violate someone's mouth with a hand when the person isn't expecting it. "Don't say the V-word!" he hisses, glaring at me as if I was about to utter something taboo.

Perplexedly, I question: "What does anything sex-related have to do with You-Know-Who's name?" I can think of a lot of sex-related words that start with V but I am pretty sure I do not want to use them in the same sentence as You-Know-Who.

"Nothing," Luna sighs out. Great, even she sounds slightly exasperated with my naïvety. It's not my fault that all my brothers have corrupted my once pure and innocent mind. "You just cannot say the Dark Lord's name anymore. It's a Taboo and allows any Death Eater to track your whereabouts. The Blibbering Humdinger told me this," she adds as an afterthought.

"I'm sure it did," I say slowly, looking to Neville for confirmation of what Luna had informed me of. When he nods his head affirmatively, I ask: "But why? They're already our professors at Hogwarts. They can easily stalk us there."

Dean shakes his head, a sincere pitying look on his face. "It doesn't only apply to Hogwarts students, Ginny. Anybody who uses the Dark Lord's name can be traced. Even your superhero, flying, magical boyfriend," he finishes with a sneer.

I stare at my friends, my mouth opening wide into the shape of an 'O' when I realise what exactly is going on. Oh, hippogriff shit, Harry. He'll be able to find you in no time what with your constant flippant usage of You-Know-Who's name. I ardently pray to Merlin that somehow you'll find out about the Taboo before it is too late and you unknowingly deliver yourself into You-Know-Who's waiting arms.

.

.

Hogwarts is so corrupted. The rumours about Death Eaters being professors are completely true. What's worse is that the new Headmaster is none other than Professor Snape. School is now like being stuck in a lesson of Potions that never ends. He's conducting Hogwarts the same as he would in the classroom – he demands silence, compliance with whatever he dictates in that monotone voice of his, and no laughing or smiling. And, of course, the Slytherin Snakes are at the top of the food chain.

I think everybody knows that lions, eagles, and badgers eat snakes. Honestly. (Although, I'm not so sure about badgers.)

The Carrow twins teach Defence Against the Dark Arts except they have adapted it to become just 'the Dark Arts'. Unforgivable Curses are the norm in that class, and they advocate torture and use of the Cruciatus Curse whenever possible. A typical class with them as professors goes like so:

"You're tardy by .00000000001 of a second? Crucio."

"Answered the question wrong? Crucio."

"Did you just laugh when I said to be silent? Crucio."

"I saw you roll your eyes. Crucio."

"You blinked. Crucio."

"Touch your tongue to your elbow. What do you mean you can't? Crucio."

"Your name is Neville Longbottom? Crucio."

"That Slytherin told us you were copying his homework. We know Draco would never lie. Crucio you filthy blood traitor."

And it's only the third week of term. I hope the saying 'it gets worse before it gets better' is applicable to this school year. I doubt Hogwarts could ever get shoddier than this.

.

.

One night, when the nights are getting longer and the shadows are growing darker, Neville gets the bright idea to start up Dumbledore's Army again to rally all of us fighters together so we can start rebelling against the Death Eaters who are torturing us for no good reason. Immediately, all of the original D.A. members who are still attending Hogwarts agree to the plan. We decide on the Room of Requirement as our base camp (no Death Eater will ever find us in there) where we can mend those who have been subjected to any of the Unforgivables or whose spirits are broken or basically to give a home to those who want to help fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Neville, who's become bloody brilliant at Charms these days, bewitches a few coins with the same spell that Hermione used back in my Fourth Year to summon us for the original D.A. meetings. Although it's Professor Dumbledore whom we are named after, it is you that we are fighting for.

.

.

Fred and George are prospering over at their shop in Hogsmeade – I know this because there is a catastrophically large number of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products that are being used at Hogwarts these days. Puking Pastilles are so mainstream and old-school to skive out of a Carrow Dark Arts lesson; the newest item my brothers have come up with is a Ruddy Rudolph (courtesy of the fast-approaching winter holidays) which gives the victim a red nose like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. The product is a hybrid of a Nose-bleed Nougat and a No-Noise Voice which ensures that the consumer of a Ruddy Rudolph not only gets a scarlet-looking nose (not contagious), nosebleed (not contagious but messy), and loses their voice (which is, strangely, contagious according to the warning on the exterior of the packaging).

Luna tipped me off that Potions is being taken over by Professor Snape again. I think I just might have to take a Ruddy Rudolph, visit Madam Pomfrey for the hour (poor woman never gets any time off what with all the Unforgivable cursing done in Dark Arts and the sheer amount of students becoming voluntarily ill from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products), and then go hang out in the Room of Requirement for the rest of the day. Without you, Ron, and Hermione here anymore, someone has to be the rebel of the castle.

.

.

"I'm bored."

I look up from the Quidditch magazine I am browsing through. The Room of Requirement is empty save for me, Luna, and Neville. Those two words had been spoken by a female and not in my voice.

"You're . . . bored?" Neville says slowly, looking incredulously at our friend. She nods, silvery-blonde hair swinging gently about her face as if there is a midnight breeze swishing through that moon-beam coloured hair of hers.

I am quite surprised by Luna's declaration as well. "Isn't there a Nargle that needs to be found or a Blibbering-Bumbling Humdinger or whatever you call them?"

Luna shakes her head. "They're hibernating."

"Oh," I say. "Silly me for forgetting about that."

Neville stands up from his sitting position on the floor. "I have an idea."

"Yeah?" I question and set my magazine down as I lean in to hear him.

"Yeah?" Luna echoes, her voice returning to its original floaty and dreamy lilt.

"Do you know what Harry's doing?" Neville asks.

I shrug, not understanding what Neville is trying to get at. "We, er, didn't really talk about that over the summer. And he said it was top-secret – something only Ron, Hermione, and Professor Dumbledore were allowed to know."

"Are we Dumbledore's Army or not?" Neville demands.

"Not," Luna replies languorously.

Neville's and my head simultaneously whip to stare in her direction. She giggles and says, "Of course we are, silly. Why would you even offer the option of 'not' if you didn't want it to be picked?"

"It was a rhetorical question," I explain.

"Mm," she hums back. "Did you know the Raffie-girs travel in packs of eighteen?"

"No, I didn't," Neville answers patiently. Out of me and him, Neville is the most patient and tolerant with Luna's random outbursts. "But think, Gin, what's in Professor Dumbledore's office that could be of use to Harry?"

I furrow my brow and think hard. "The Sorting Hat. . .?" I think aloud. "No, that can't be it. Lemon drops? No, they're tasty but not very useful. What about. . . ." My eyes widen as my brain stumbles across one thing that sounds impossible but really, if one thinks about it, is entirely reasonable. "Are you proposing that we steal the Sword of Gryffindor right under Snape's greasy, hooked nose?"

Neville's answering smirk and Luna's gleam of excitement in her eyes is all I need to clarify that yes, we are going to be breaking into the Headmaster's office and filch the sword of Godric Gryffindor from Snape.

.

.

I have no idea how the twins managed to make sneaking around look so easy. Luna took as much as a single lungful of air from the Headmaster's office and then Snape was there and immediately assigned us detention for the rest of the school year for breaking-and-entering and attempting to steal a Hogwarts Founding House artefact. Luna, Neville, and I think that Snape is up to something because he has never, ever been so lenient with punishments. If one thinks about it, serving detention with Hagrid is more like a blessing in disguise than a harsh verdict. The fact that our detentions are to be carried out in the Forbidden Forest makes it even better – I am grateful towards anything that excuses me from Dark Arts class.

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.

Over the winter holidays, Mum and I fought over whether I should be allowed to return to Hogwarts for spring term. I obviously won the row since my sorry ass is currently sitting in a half-empty train that is bound for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neville finds me and joins me in my train compartment. We wait forever and ever for Luna to show up, and it is only until we are three-quarters of the way to Hogwarts do we resign ourselves to the fact that she isn't going to come sit in our compartment.

It's only until four days have passed with no sign of Luna do we realise that she isn't going to show up at all for spring term. I'm starting to wonder whether if Mum was right or not to want me to stay home this spring. Hogwarts just doesn't seem worth the effort and trouble anymore – not with Death Eaters running the place.