On Sunday, the Toady McToadface had a decree passed naming her High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. It gave her quite a bit of power over the other teachers, and ensured that the year would truly be a living hell for anyone who didn't toe the Ministry line. The act was bold, but in such times bold acts often went unopposed, as did Educational Decree #23. The very idea of a High Inquisitor made Emma's blood boil, and she could tell her friends agreed.

On Monday, the seventh year Charms class was among the first to be inspected. Professor Flitwick took it well, treating the Toad like a guest, but Emma was internally seething. She read into all of the questions students were being asked about her head of House: Umbridge was trying to prove he wasn't fully human, which was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes. The man clearly was part dwarf or elf or goblin, something of the sort. But that shouldn't matter; he was still one of the best teachers in the school. He wouldn't have been around so many years if he wasn't.

"Miss Norwick," the Toad said, sickeningly sweet as Professor Flitwick continued his theoretical explanation, "you are in Ravenclaw House, is that correct?"

"That is typically what the blue and bronze necktie suggests, Professor," Emma said, rather cheekily than she typically would have, but matching the Toad's sweet-as-pie tone, making all of her friends listen to the conversation between her and the Toad, rather than the lecture.

"And Professor Flitwick has access to your dormitory?"

"I suppose he does."

"You suppose?"

"He's never been in there."

"That you're aware of, you mean?"

"No, I mean the closest he's been to our dormitory is the common room during emergent situations. I specifically ward the dormitory to collect the magical signatures of any intruders, that is to say people who don't live in our room, in case something goes missing. We had some thefts in my second year and Professor McGonagall suggested it to me. I've warded the room ever since. Professor Flitwick hasn't been in our room, and he doesn't know of the wards, so he hasn't taken them down or anything like that."

"How clever of you, dear," she said through gritted teeth. Emma wasn't stupid. The Toad was making him out to be some sort of half-bred pedophile. That was uncalled for. "What sort of emergent situations are you referring to?"

"Nothing the public isn't aware of," Emma said honestly. "There were the attacks on Muggleborns my fourth year, but all of the Houses were pretty much kept in their dormitories as often as possible and were spoken to in the common rooms several times. In my fifth year, there was the incident on Halloween with Sirius Black, but he contacted the Head Girl, who was a Ravenclaw that year, and she gathered us all up, the females, I mean. He took care of the males. It was more efficient. That's really been it, since I've been here. He doesn't really have much need for visiting us. I know Professor McGonagall has had to deal with excessive noise on occasion in the Gryffindor common room after Quidditch, but we don't have much trouble with that in Ravenclaw."

With that, the Toad must have realized she wasn't getting anywhere, because she moved on to someone else and tried again. Fred squeezed Emma's hand under the table and they turned back to the lecture, which was going on in Flitwick's usual cheery tone, as if he was completely unaware that a toad-faced demon was attempting to defile his good name. But Emma knew Professor Flitwick too well: He knew exactly what was going on.

It quickly became clear that Umbridge preferred inspecting during third year classes, probably because she enjoyed baiting Harry Potter, who was already on his second straight week of detentions with the psychopathic woman.

After several weeks of frustrations, both romantic and sexual frustrations with not seeing enough of Fred, and academic and ideological frustrations caused by the growing tyrannical reign of the monster who was Umbridge, Fred and George cornered her and the girls in the Gryffindor common room one evening with huge grins on their faces.

"You're going to love this," Fred whispered, "tell Tien, too. Granger says Harry is going to get together a group and teach defense, sort of an opposition to Umbridge and her lack of teaching, among her other many lovely attributes."

"Sign me up," Katie sighed. "Where and when? And should we tell Alicia?"

"Yeah, we probably should," George muttered. "I'll do that, she likes me better than you lot right now. Anyway, Hogs Head, next Hogsmeade weekend. Just come with us, we'll meet you outside Zonko's."

"Emma, are you coming with us to Zonko's?" Fred said softly, kissing her cheek.

"Only if we can stop at Honeydukes first, quickly," she bargained, pressing her lips to his.

"Your wish is my command, darling," Fred replied brightly. "Oi, George, you heard the lady, put Honeydukes on the agenda!"

On the day of the Hogsmeade trip, they made a quick stop at Honeydukes where Fred made a point of purchasing Emma four bars of her favorite chocolate, with caramel in the center. Then, they went to Zonko's with George and Lee. Emma followed the boys around the shop, barely paying attention to their purchases, holding Fred's hand.

When they made their way to the Hog's Head, it was suddenly full of student, obviously all meeting for the group Harry Potter was going to head.

"Hi," Fred said to the barman, reaching the bar first with one hand gripping Emma's and the other holding a bag full of Zonko's products. "Could we have… twenty-seven butterbeers, please?"

The barman, who had been cleaning a glass with a filthy washrag glared at Fred for a moment before tossing the rag aside and handing over dusty butterbeer bottles.

"Cheers," said Fred as he distributed them. "Cough up, everyone; I haven't got enough gold for all of these…" Emma instantly reached into her pocket with her free hand, but he muttered, "Not you love. Yours is on me. Go sit down, save me a seat, will you?"

When everyone had settled, in Hermione Granger said, "Er, well – er – hi." Her voice was rather higher pitched than Emma though it usually was, and most people were stealing glances at Harry rather than giving her their full attention. "Well… erm… well, you know why you're here. Erm… well, Harry here had the idea – I mean I had the idea – that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts – and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts" – "Hear, hear," said Anthony Goldstein, a fellow Ravenclaw, and Hermione became visibly less nervous – "well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands. And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory, but real spells–"

"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?" interjected Michael Corner, another Ravenclaw, and a boy Tien definitely didn't like.

"Of course I do," Hermione said quickly. "But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because… because…" She inhaled deeply and then exhaled her next words, "Because Lord Voldemort's back."

Emma squeezed Fred's hand tightly, and he covered it with his other hand, rubbing it reassuringly, but the other reactions were a bit more comical, or they would have been, had the situation not been so serious.

"Well… that's the plan anyway," Granger continued. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to–"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said a blond Hufflepuff snidely. Tien ruffled visibly.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it–"

"You mean, Dumbledore believes him," the boy intoned, nodding at Harry Potter significantly.

"Who are you?" Ron snapped.

"Zacharias Smith, and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," Granger said quickly, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about–"

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said quietly. "What makes me say You-Know-Who's back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you don't believe him, you don't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

"All Dumbledore told us last year," Smith said snottily, "was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know–"

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone, I can't help you," Harry interrupted sharply. "I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you may as well clear out."

But nobody moved. Even Zacharias Smith stayed in his seat, although clutching his butterbeer intently and watching Harry as though trying to puzzle him out.

"So," said Hermione, her voice once again nervous. "So… like I was saying… if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to–"

"Is it true," said a Hufflepuff girl, "that you can produce a Patronus?"

"Yeah," said Harry, as though unsure whether this was an interrogative or friendly question.

"A corporeal Patronus?"

Emma froze. Could the boy really be that talented?

"Er – you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" he asked.

"She's my auntie," the girl said. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So – is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?"

"Yes."

"Blimey, Harry!" said Lee, awestruck, "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning at Harry as he shook his head. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She's not wrong," Harry muttered, and several people laughed. It was true, Harry Potter had more attention than most celebrities.

"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" said Terry Boot, yet another Ravenclaw. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…"

"Er – yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry.

There was much noise of awe, and Emma had to admit, she was impressed. A twelve-year-old killing a vicious sixty-foot snake with a sword wasn't anything to sneeze at.

"And in our first year," said Neville Longbottom, "he saved that Sorcerous Stone–"

"Sorcerer's," hissed Hermione.

"Yes, that, from You-Know-Who," finished Neville.

"And that's not to mention," said Cho, who clearly didn't realize Tien was mocking her behind her back, "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year – getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things…"

"Look," he said, causing the awe-inspired noises to die down, "I… I don't want to sound like I'm trying to modest or anything, but… I had a lot of help with all that stuff…"

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Tien loudly. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying…"

"Yeah, well–"

"And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer," pointed out Susan Bones.

"No," said Harry, "no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is–"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Smith.

"Here's an idea," Ron practically shouted, "why don't you shut your mouth?"

Smith had the decency to turn a bit pink.

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," Smith justified.

"That's not what he said," Fred snapped.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" asked George, pulling out the long and lethal-looking metal powder measure from inside one of his Zonko's bags.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred.

"Yes, well," Granger said quickly, "moving on… the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?" There was a murmur of agreement throughout the group. "Right. Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week–"

"Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said Cho, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," Smith chimed in.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," Hermione said testily, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters…"

"Well said!" exclaimed Ernie MacMillan of Hufflepuff. "Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!" He looked around at them all, but when there was no further reaction than Tien's amused snort at his pompous manner, he continued, "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry as foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously they're in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells–"

"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," Granger explained, "is that she's got some… some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

The news was mostly shocking, but Luna Lovegood said, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has his own private army."

"What?" cried Tien, clearly pleased that Luna had finally spoken up. Emma groaned and hid behind her hand.

"Yes, he's got an army of heliopaths."

"No, he hasn't," snapped Granger.

"Oh, but Luna says he has," Tien said with glee, "so he must!"

"What are heliopaths?" Neville Longbottom said, confused.

"They're spirits of fire," said Luna. "Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of–"

"They don't exist, Neville," snapped Hermione.

"Oh, but they must! Luna says they do!" cried Tien, and poor Hermione Granger clearly didn't pick up on the joke, because she continued the argument.

"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?"

Luna flared.

"There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you–"

"Hem, hem," said Ginny, sounding so like Toadface that many people flinched and looked around in fear, before laughing when they realized it was just Ginny. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get Defense lessons?"

"Yes," said Granger, "yes we were; you're right…"

"Well, once a week sounds cool," said Lee.

"As long as–" began Angelina.

"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," Granger said tersely. "Well, the other thing is to decide where we're going to meet…"

There was an awkward, thoughtful silence.

"Library?" Katie finally suggested.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," said Harry.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" said Dean Thomas.

"Yeah," said Ron, "McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard…"

But Emma didn't even have to point out the trouble Professor McGonagall would likely be in if Toadface got wind that she had allowed them space for their misdeeds.

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Granger. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting." She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, biting her lip before saying, "I – I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge – or anybody else – what we're up to."

Fred eagerly reached out to sign first and put his signature down as if it was the lightest thing in the world before handing the quill to Emma, who followed suit, but she saw that some were less prepared to put quill to parchment on the issue.

"Er…" Smith said, eyeing the parchment nervously as George tried to hand it to him. "Well… I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."

Ernie was also regarding the list with some trepidation.

"I – well, we are prefects," Ernie cried. "And if this list was found… well, I mean to say… you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out…"

"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do all year," Emma reasoned, making her friends jump slightly at the sound of her voice. It was far more determined than usual.

"I – yes," said Ernie, "yes, I do believe that, it's just…"

"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" Hermione snapped.

"No. No, of course not," he said. "I – yes, of course I'll sign."

After Ernie's little meltdown there were no active objections, however Marietta Edgecombe didn't seem too happy with the idea as she added her own signature. When they finally got Zacharias to sign, Hermione slid the parchment back into her bag. A feeling of legitimacy fell on the group and Emma felt as though she had just made some sort of binding agreement, some sort of deal with someone.

"Well, time's ticking on," Fred said quickly, getting to his feet and holding Emma's hand tightly as he helped her to hers. "George, Lee, Emma, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you later."

She followed the boys quietly out of the pub, but she couldn't shake the feeling that all of this had become incredibly, indescribably real. War was on its way.