"Everyone's clear on the plan?" Ginny asked, her expression serious.

"Neville and Blaise are taking the Great Hall, you've got the entrances to the courtyards, and I've got the wall by the library," Terry listed, "Luna will be in the Room to keep anyone else who tries to use it out and make us the passages we need." Blaise fixed Ginny with a hard look.

"Take a route that doesn't pass by the Headmaster's office, Weasley. Getting caught won't do anyone any good." Ginny looked rather put-out, whether at his implied accusation or the instruction itself Blaise wasn't sure.

"We can put one there later—and we can have someone who isn't being observed so carefully do it," he promised. Blaise was sure that Snape and the Carrows would punish anyone caught acting in defiance, but he was also sure that they would treat Ginny Weasley worse than just about anyone else.

"Yes, alright. And make sure you remember to clear your wands, or all it'll take is a Priori Incantatum, no matter how well out of their way we are."

"Let's go, then," Neville piped up, his face set with more determination than Blaise had ever seen on it, including back in fifth year. He had insisted on taking the Great Hall himself rather than letting Ginny do it—Blaise was pretty sure that they'd had the same line of thinking. It was a brave choice, to be sure, but Blaise had been more impressed by its decisiveness, and Neville's sheer determination.

"We've got the main message, right? The recruitment one?" Blaise muttered, and Neville nodded in affirmation. "Where are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure," Neville admitted, but Blaise could hear the lie in his voice.

"Don't be stupid, Longbottom, you know exactly where we're putting it."

"I want it right behind Snape's chair." From somewhere in the back of his mind, Blaise brought forth a memory of third year, when the rumor mill had been rich with stories about Neville Longbottom putting a boggart that looked like Snape into his grandmother's clothes. It felt right, that he should be the one to do this, too.

"Thought you might." Blaise paused, then added, "I'm nowhere near Dean Thomas' level, but I thought I could throw up a phoenix on the other end of the hall—just above the doors, you know? Where they'll have to look at it every meal." Neville grinned at him.

"Sounds brilliant."

They'd reached the end of the passage to the room, which had opened for them in a space Blaise guessed was just behind the doors next to the high table.

"They might have it warded," he mentioned, and Neville gave no response apart from a slight downward flick of his lips, which Blaise took to mean that he had considered it. "If it is, and if everything goes to hell, get out of here—don't wait around for me. Even if I don't get out, they're not likely to do anything too awful with me."

"They'll want to make you an example," Neville disagreed, and Blaise shrugged.

"Better me than the rest of you. My family's got connections, and the Death Eaters pander shamelessly." Neville examined Blaise so carefully he would have turned away, had he been raised by anyone but his mother.

"Brave of you," Neville finally said, and Blaise barely held back a laugh.

"Gryffindor of me, you mean," he replied. "I'll give you that it's entirely against any reasonable model of self-preservation, but I prefer to think it's shrewdness."

"Whatever you say. Shall we?"

Blaise pulled the door open and they stepped into the Great Hall. It felt like every muscle in Blaise's body was tensed, ready to run; ready to flee. There was, at least, no audible alarm, which was a relief.

"Make it quick," Neville muttered, making his way to the head's chair.

Blaise had never fully appreciated how long the Great Hall was until he was jogging down its length to put up graffiti. No matter what Neville said about bravery or nerve, Blaise could tell that he had not been made for Gryffindor, because his survival instincts were screaming at him to turn around and put the phoenix literally anywhere else.

Who are you trying to impress? he asked himself, but came up without an answer. Maybe it was everyone; maybe he was trying to prove that Slytherins could resist just the same as any member of another house.

We don't do it in the same way, though, dumbass. (This voice sounded like Daphne's, and Blaise had to admit that she was right.)

Finally at the far wall, Blaise did his best to block out those thoughts, pulling to mind a memory of Dumbledore's old phoenix. The charm itself came reasonable easily—it had always been his best subject—and though the art was a bit shakier (and certainly stylized, the phoenix's head and wings leading into a fire which was much easier to draw than the lower half of its body), it was alright, too.

"Thanks for the art lessons, Mama," Blaise whispered, and then lightly laughed as he imagined what she'd think of the use he was putting them to. He stepped back for a second, looking at his work, and as he did, the sound of footsteps in the hallway met his ears. Without another thought toward his art, he turned and set off in a sprint toward the other end of the hall, casting a glamour on himself as he ran—and, after noticing that Longbottom wasn't moving, sending one at him too.

"Bloody Gryffindors," he muttered, and then heard the doors burst open behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed Filch and both of the Carrows—good, he thought, that meant they weren't onto the others.

Neville was sending stunners at the three of them, some only just missing Blaise himself, and finally beginning to move toward the door. Blaise got there first—just barely, and Neville followed him through only after tossing a packet onto the floor of the Great Hall. Blaise had just enough time to see the logo of the Weasleys' shop before it hit the ground. He grabbed at Neville's arm, catching his wrist as the Hall—and their corridor—became shrouded in darkness, pulling him toward where he knew their passage was.

"Thank Merlin for Luna," he muttered, as he felt the opening in the proper place in the wall and dragged Neville through.

Shut off the tunnel, he thought desperately, but they were clearly not in the Room yet, because the entrance stayed stubbornly in place.

"Colloportus ruina!" his spell his the stones around the end of their corridor, and with relief, he heard the stones slide together to create a barrier—they were out of the range of the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, but the end of the corridor was still too shrouded in it to see clearly.

"Nice one," Neville managed, pausing to catch his breath, pulling Blaise to a stop with him.

"Thanks—and thanks for…you know, having my back."

"You should have seen it coming, really," Neville said, shrugging as though it was nothing.

"I did see it coming," Blaise grumbled. "That's why I specifically told you not to do it."

"Good thing I specifically didn't listen to you," Neville responded, his tone entirely too self-satisfied.

Blaise, unfortunately, had no good response, and no intention to lower himself to a disdainful whatever, and opted to roll his eyes and say nothing.

Neville, unfortunately, saw right through this and laughed in Blaise's face.

"Shut up, Longbottom."

"Sure, Zabini," Neville said, gently shaking his wrist out of the loose grip Blaise hadn't realized he was maintaining. "I never got to ask, really—why are you here? Not just resisting, I mean—there're plenty of people who will be doing that."

He said it so casually that there was no room for question—of course plenty of people would be resisting; it was only right. Neville had, Blaise realized, a belief in something he'd never put much stock in the existence of himself: the inherent goodness of most people.

"But I mean, you talked to the twins before term started, and you found us on the train, and you volunteered for the Great Hall as willingly as I did, even though we all knew it would be the most likely place to be under supervision."

"I figured that you and Weasley and Boot would all be planning something, based on how things were back in fifth year," Blaise said, hoping his shrug looked more casual than it felt. "Figured Lovegood would be in there with you too, and thought she deserved to have someone else around with some brains."

"Rude," Neville commented, though he didn't sound particularly offended. "That's all?"

"That's all."

It wasn't all, of course. The full truth was that, no matter how much better inter-house relationships had gotten over the last few years, Blaise hadn't been sure they would hold up in the face of Death Eater control of the wizarding world, and the only way he'd been able to be sure that he wouldn't be turned away was to appeal to the leaders themselves. Offer what he had, make himself useful, and always know there was somewhere to run in emergencies. Other than the fact that he was applying it to actually choosing a side, it was the same model he'd always lived by.

There was no way for Neville to know that, but something in his face told Blaise that he could tell that what he'd said hadn't been the full truth.

"Let's go—they might do dorm checks."

When they made it back to the Room, Luna met them with one of her airy smiles.

"I've sent the others back already. I'm glad you made it, too. Goodnight, Neville. Goodnight, Blaise."

"Sleep well."

"G'night." Neville turned back toward the wall and offered Blaise a smile. "Guess we should head back too, since everyone else is gone—like you said, they might do dorm checks."

"Clear your wand as you go," Blaise told him. "And remind Ginny if you see her, just in case."

"I will."

Blaise opened a corridor to an alcove in the Slytherin Common room, casting mundane charms as he walked down it.

"Successful night?"

"Merlin, Daph, you couldn't have given me a warning?"

"A warning like what? It isn't as if I shouted at you. And you knew I'd be here." Both true, Blaise knew—Daphne had offered to sit up reading in the only chair near the alcove, making sure no one else was there when Blaise got back.

"Sorry, I'm a bit…tense. Got in a spat with the Carrows."

"They didn't see you, did they?"

"Nah, I got glamours up in time, and Longbottom covered me so we could get out."

"Of course he did," Daphne rolled her eyes. "Can't say I'm upset about it. You'd better get rest so you don't look dead in the morning."

"So had you."

"Don't be stupid, Blaise, I always look good." She made a show of fluffing her hair, a snooty look on her face which Blaise had seen on Leona Greengrass's face any number of times.

"Of course not, darling," he drawled, and she shot him a dirty look which didn't quite hide her grin.

"Oh, get on—go sleep off those revolutionary activities."

"Sleep well, Daph." Blaise crept up the stairs, entering his dorm as soundlessly as possible, thanking every star they'd learned in astronomy that he'd chosen the bed nearest to the door seven years ago.

/

Jake was practically vibrating with excitement as he approached Andrew, Cedric, and Jack. He was flanked by Corrie and Gil—an odd pairing, Andrew thought. Gil and Corrie had been close friends since their seventh year, mostly through Cedric at first, and Andrew had noticed that Corrie had, for lack of a better word, adopted Jake ever since they'd broken him out of his house. As far as he knew, however, the three of them had never really spoken as a group.

"I've got an idea," Jake opened. Andrew saw grins peeking through the serious expressions on both Cedric and Jack's faces at the enthusiasm, and imagined his looked much the same.

"Am I going to have to make a plan for your idea to come true?" Jack asked. "Because I'm kind of booked." Jake laughed, shaking his head.

"No, we've got one of those too. I was thinking about our problem with the Muggleborns, and how it's so hard to transport them because we have to do it all ourselves, because they don't have wands. And—I mean, it's so obvious that I can't believe I didn't think about it before—but I was talking to Corrie and I just thought, why don't I just make them, then. Because I can, you know? I mean, I'm nowhere near a professional, but I've been studying for years, and I've done a few. And they wouldn't be as powerful, but they'd be enough for the basic things—apparition, simple defenses, stuff like that."

"Okay," Andrew said, hesitating to join in Jake's excitement. It was obvious, he was right, but there were still a lot of factors at play, like how will you get supplies and doesn't the wand choose the wizard, so how can you make them specifically for people?

"Well, the second one's easy," Jake said when Andrew asked. "Of course the wand chooses the wizard, but as long as I have the right basic materials and a bit of time to talk to the people, I should be able to make them wands that will serve them fairly well. And the first one is only a little more complicated, because that'll require some breaking and entering."

"Jake should be able to get past the wards anyway," Corrie put in, "But from what he's said, they're mostly intent-based anyway, so they should let us in without much of a fight, since we're acting for a good reason."

"And we can get to the Cauldron and back mainly using buses," Gil put in, "so there's no magical trace in either direction that they might pick up on." There had been rumours that the Death Eaters had found a way to place localized charms that let them read apparition traces. No one had been able to confirm or deny it yet, but the Ghosts and the Order alike had been taking measures just in case, particularly in high-traffic areas like Diagon Alley.

"Some basic glamours, topped with notice-me-nots, and the resources in Ollivanders should be our oyster," Jake concluded cheerily.

"Still sounds risky," Cedric noted.

"We can do it." Corrie's voice was firm, and Andrew paused to consider it. Cedric was right, it did sound risky. And he knew that Corrie and Gil in particular had wanted to do something to help the Muggleborns, recognizing that the same thing might have happened to them—hell, Gil was using a wand the twins had nicked off someone in Diagon Alley himself. And Jake, he knew, had his own reasons to want to act.

But Corrie was right, too, he recognized. They were capable of doing it, and they'd planned it out—not perfectly, admittedly, but if they waited for everything to be perfect, they'd never get around to doing anything.

Andrew wondered, briefly, what he'd done to get himself into a position where things like this were his call.

He wondered if he'd ever stop hating making the calls.

"Do it," he said. "But if you think you're going to get caught, don't bother with the Muggle transportation, just do a few apparitions in a row, like the twins said the Order's been doing. Mundane spots are best."

"Yes, sir!" Jake threw a two fingered salute which Andrew could only describe as jaunty.

"I can walk you through some of the details?" Corrie offered, and Cedric nodded and rose.

"If you two've got a handle on this…"

"Go on," Jack waved him off, not quite keeping the sigh out of his voice.

Andrew studied the page he, Cedric, and Jake had been using to plan. The words didn't seem to be making any connection to their meanings in his mind.

"It's risky."

"Yeah."

"How'd we get here, right?" Andrew looked up at that, and saw in Jack's eyes a look every bit as lost as the one he felt himself. It felt like it had been a long time, he realized, since he'd talked to Jack about something that wasn't the plans they were making, the fight they were entering.

"I don't know about you, but for me it was when Cassius became champion and you started dating Patty, and I got dragged along to a party in the Hufflepuff common room." Jack's laugh was tight, but it did come out.

"Please, all you did that night was make fun of the Hufflepuffs, that didn't start anything."

"Not true—Adrian and Cassius had some deep conversation and they tried to bring it up with me for weeks after." That person felt so entirely removed from who he was now that Andrew could barely reconcile the two. He'd spent sixth year sure of the way he'd been raised, riding the high of his best friend being suddenly immensely popular, barely a care in the world.

"Fair enough," Jack said, a small smile on his face.

"I haven't spoken to Patty much recently—how is she?"

"Good—she's been checking up on the houses, making sure they have supplies and all that." This was, actually, the one thing Andrew did know Patty had been doing, since it had been the reason for every interaction they'd had recently.

"Yeah, but…um, how are things with you?" Jack looked at Andrew and dissolved into laughter. His shoulders were looser than Andrew remembered seeing them in months, and the worried lines which had been marking his face were almost erased.

"Merlin, I don't know what's weirder," Jack managed, "seeing you get flustered talking about girls or having you try to talk to me about my girlfriend."

"Oh, fuck off, Jack." Andrew scowled. This only set Jack off more, his laughter mostly silent at this point.

"Sorry, sorry. We're good. I'm glad she's around. I run ideas past her, she runs problems past me, we take breaks to debate the ethics of historical wizarding treatment of magical creatures in Great Britain."

"See, this is why I've never talked to you about your girlfriend; I've got nothing to say about magizoology or history."

"We can talk about the other ways Patty and I break up the time, if you'd prefer," Jack said, his eyes still brimming with laughter, but his mouth curved in a grin. Andrew raised a brow.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, and gained a grin of his own as he saw Jack's falter just slightly. If there was one thing he was sure he could still do, it was call Jack's bluff. "Tell me everything. No stones unturned."

"If you're—"

"Oh, I am." Jack's face was red now, and he paused a moment before shoving Andrew.

"Oh, piss off, Fawley." It was Andrew's turn to laugh: real, sincere laughter, for the first time in weeks.

It felt brilliant.

/

"Daphne! I didn't know if you'd be able to make it!"

Daphne barely turned in time to catch her sister in a hug.

"Told you I was coming," she scoffed, and Astoria looked up at her with equal disdain.

"You missed our exit time, though I wasn't sure you'd be able to get away from Pansy."

"I just had to make the right excuses. I'd already set up a backup time with Blaise."

"I was just worried. It's harder to get in now that we don't have a place we can use in the dorms."

"Glad you could make it, Greengrass," Ginny Weasley interrupted before Daphne could respond. "Both of you."

"You the one in charge here?" Daphne had heard a bit from Blaise, but he hadn't been clear on who the actual leader of the DA was meant to be.

"We've sort of got a group of us."

"The ones who put up the graffiti."

"Yeah," Ginny grinned. "Looks great, doesn't it? We didn't plan for it to be us, but that's who was there, and it makes sense, you know? It would've been ideal to have Hannah or Susan or someone around too, so we'd have one from each house, but we can always add someone in. Anyway, like I said, there's a group of us, but I'd bet on Neville and Blaise stepping out if you're looking for big figures like Harry and Hermione."

"You're joking."

"Nope—they took point on the graffiti—almost got caught, too—and they're the ones who've worked out the plans we're talking over tonight. I'm glad to lead the action, and Luna and Terry are…creative directors, I guess, but Nev and Blaise are the masterminds."

"From the way Blaise was talking, I'd assumed he was barely contributing anything other than his presence," Daphne said, not sure if it was an explanation of her disbelief or simply a statement. Ginny laughed.

"Well, Nev's roped him into helping address everyone tonight, so if he didn't know he was in charge before, I'm sure he will now." Neville gestured Ginny over at that point, and she gave Daphne and Astoria one last smile and wave as she left.

Daphne took the time Ginny was navigating to the other DA leaders to look at who else was in the room. As far as she could tell, everyone who'd been in the DA before had gotten word of the meeting. There were a lot fewer members than there had been, with two years having graduated and others on the run, and she'd guess that there were under twenty students in the room, though she'd also bet that many more would be willing to join.

A piercing whistle tore through the room, and Daphne turned her attention back to the group Ginny had joined, who were standing on a now-raised section of the flooring. Ginny waved cheerily at the group before dramatically ceding the floor to Neville.

"Yeah, cheers, Gin. Glad you all could make it. I'm pretty sure I don't need to do a whole conversation about why we're here—we've all got that pretty well understood. Instead, we've talked—" Neville gestured to the other four on stage with him "—and we figured it would be good to have a conversation about what we're going to be doing here."

There were vague murmurs of approval, and a hearty "Hear, hear!" from Ernie Macmillan, and Daphne noticed Neville nudge Blaise, prompting him to speak. For a moment, he didn't say anything at all, instead looking over the group until he made eye contact with Daphne. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Astoria lift her hands in a double-thumbs-up that their mother would have seen as utterly unladylike. A smile twitched at the corner of Blaise's mouth, and he began to speak as smoothly as if he'd never been nervous at all.

"As some of you likely picked up, we're prioritizing recruitment; getting the word out. We've had lots of members graduate, and there's lots of people who were too young last time, or who we didn't want to get into trouble unnecessarily for something like an illegal defense study group. Think about who you know and trust, talk to each other about it somewhere you're sure you're alone, and then bring them with you to the next meeting. This year in particular, we don't want anyone to be alone."

"The DA is something more than it was before," Ginny picked up the train of thought. "It's not just about preparation to defend ourselves. It's about actually defending each other, actually pushing back against evil. As long as we're here to resist, Hogwarts hasn't truly fallen to the Death Eaters, because they haven't pierced its heart."

"You've all still got your galleons?" Terry asked, and nearly everyone nodded. "Good—I got Neville's coin re-keyed so that it's the master like Hermione's was, so he can use the old system to let you know about the meetings. And I'm working on making new ones—hopefully I'll have them ready by the next meeting so I can give them to everyone who's new and anyone who hasn't got their old one with them. If that's you, make sure you tell someone who has theirs so they can keep you up to date."

"The Room is going to be our base this year. As long as we've got someone in here and we've set it up so that no one can get in but us—and I have done that—we'll be in control of it. So we're starting a rotation, one or two people in here at a time, all the time, including nights. We'll keep experimenting to see what all it can do, but we know it can make beds that are as comfortable as the ones in the dorm. I'll take as many of those as possible, but if anyone else is willing, let me know—can't leave Seamus alone in the dorm every night."

A ripple of laughter ran through the room.

"That's all we have prepared specifically, but now is the time for questions, ideas, and concerns. We've planned this so far, but we're all the DA, and we're stronger together, when we can poke holes in each others' ideas and figure out how to patch them up without those weak spots." Blaise hadn't had to find her eyes this time; he'd simply spoken to the crowd. Daphne tried to summon the same courage, reaching for her sister's hand as she began to speak.

"I just think you all should be aware of what's going on with me this year, and get a clear idea of what I'm trying to do, because I don't want anyone thinking it's something it isn't…and also, I'd love to hear any ideas of what I should try to do."

/

"What on earth did you do to make the Death Eaters hate you even more?" Adrian didn't know whether to be impressed or despair for the sanity of everyone he was currently sharing a house with. The Prophet had featured an updated list of their Undesirables, and Hermione had slipped into their ranks, while Sirius had overtaken the Ghosts for the second spot.

"They're never letting Harry drop out of first, so second's really the best anyone can do," Sirius responded—in place of an actual response, which would've answered Adrian's question. "So I think I'm winning."

"But why?"

"Just Order business," Hermione said, and Adrian gave her a disbelieving look.

"You don't even do things with the Order most of the time, how come your name is on here?"

"I was the one who was already loosely wanted, but who wasn't Harry, so I could afford to be seen. Sirius wasn't even involved, they've just guessed wrong."

"That's true," Sirius admitted, "Harry and Ron were the ones who kidnapped Dolores."

"Dolores—Umbridge? They kidnapped Umbridge?"

"They didn't really kidnap her. It was more…pickpocketing."

Adrian leaned back in his chair. "Still—can't believe they didn't invite me along."

Hermione gave him a significant look, and he chose to ignore it.

"I guess that's got something to do with why there've been more Death Eaters outside recently?" he asked, and Sirius frowned.

"No, actually. That upset things at the ministry, since a few of the trials weren't able to go through while Dolores was out of commission."

"Stunned in an alley," Hermione translated.

"We think it might have something to do with the defenses—we don't know if they're wearing too thin. We're looking for a new base, but there are a lot of requirements…we used Grimmauld for a reason—centrally located, not a family house, well-protected, willingly volunteered, and…well, there was the fidelius, at the time. Still is, technically, but it's stretched pretty thin."

"We couldn't join up with the Ghosts, I suppose?" Adrian asked, quelling the feelings he had as he thought of the group—his friends.

"Nah—they're on the move, and their safehouses need to stay as safe as possible. They're tenuous enough as it is."

They sat at the table a while longer, finishing up their breakfasts, before Hermione headed off to find Harry and Ron. Sirius took the Prophet and flipped through it and occasionally making disgusted or bewildered noises at the stories. Adrian stayed at the table too, staring into his empty teacup and thinking, remembering conversations with Cassius about choice, and how desperately he'd wanted to have it; thinking about himself, after Cassius died, and how he'd let himself be driven by revenge, be controlled by it, and how that was really not making a choice at all. Andrew had seen that, when he'd held Adrian back from running to the Ministry to help the Order fifth year, and Adrian would bet that it was why Andrew and Jack hadn't brought him into the loop when they'd joined the Ghosts—the Guard, whatever it had been back then.

After graduation, he'd played the cards dealt to him: he'd thrown himself into learning healing, barely focusing on anything else; he'd left for London and St. Mungo's when everyone around him pushed him that direction. He'd worked in the wards he'd been told he'd be good in.

The first choice he could remember making in a very long time was helping Andromeda Tonks get the Longbottoms out on the night the ministry had fallen. She'd given him the choice, and he'd made one—and it had felt good. And the choice he'd made had felt right, even when it had brought him here, to the kitchen table of a house being closely watched by Death Eaters. A house they needed an alternative for, soon.

"Centrally located, no family lives there, good wards, and a willing volunteer, was it?" Adrian asked, and Sirius looked over at him over the top of the paper. "I'd recommend some of you take a look at the wards, and setting up the Fidelius probably wouldn't be the worst idea in the world, but if you're okay with that…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"You have a place in mind?" Sirius finished, and Adrian took a steadying breath, feeling it shudder in his throat.

"Want to check it out?" Sirius smiled now.

"Let me grab Remus—we've been on house call while the kids were doing their work, and he's been dying for a field trip."