"That's brilliant—wish I could've seen their faces at breakfast. But be careful—I don't know much about Amycus and Alecto, but from what I remember, they're not people whose bad side I'd want to have aimed at me."

"You don't have to tell me—I've got no plans on getting caught."

Andrew rolled his eyes.

"Believe it or not, Zabini, I was talking to Weasley there—the one in the house with a penchant for jumping headfirst into things."

"Ah, we'll make a Gryffindor of Blaise yet," a new voice piped in, and Marietta glanced over at Andrew in time to see a moment of faint surprise cross his face.

"You can certainly try, Longbottom," he said, tone so even that Marietta almost thought she'd imagined the surprise. "Keep us posted—Ced'll give you lot an update on us, I've got to check in with Jake." Andrew passed the mirror to Cedric with a chorus of goodbyes from within it, heading toward the study Jake had repurposed as a workroom. Marietta slipped out of the room behind him, and they walked down the hall in silence for a while.

"You know, he wasn't even sure about joining the DA at first." Marietta didn't have to clarify who 'he' meant.

"The Zabinis are known for neutrality."

"Yeah—it was a big step for him. And look at him now." Andrew looked, Marietta thought, a bit like a proud parent.

"I wouldn't have expected him to step into leadership," she admitted, and Andrew grinned.

"Yeah, he'll have had a reason for it—no matter what Longbottom thinks, Blaise's too Slytherin to not have thought through his options and played them out like a game of chess. Don't get me wrong, he'll be good at it. I mean, look at him already."

Marietta shot him an inquisitive look.

"You heard Longbottom—he's Blaise. Not Zabini, some guy from another house. He's a friend, someone they trust. Two years ago, no Gryffindor would've been caught dead letting one of us in on leadership with them, even tentatively. But they've embraced him."

"Good thing, too. They need someone with a clear head, to keep them out of too much trouble." Marietta hesitated, not wanting to bring down the mood, but as they'd nearly reached the study, she was running out of time. "You said know of the Carrows—what do you think will happen if they got caught?"

Andrew paused outside of the door, his face studiously blank, his attention by all appearances held on the door handle.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, and when he looked up at her, his expression shifted to something she couldn't quite gather, a mixture of fear and pain, and over it all, a layer of blinding cynicism which she understood all too well, an expression that embodied the shit hand they'd been dealt, that understood the enormous hole they'd dug themselves into by resisting and the fact that they had no path forward but to keep digging. It wasn't that he regretted it—that any of them regretted it—it was just that, at the end of the day, they knew that there was a strong possibility that the only option they'd been able to live with themselves choosing was leading them toward pain or torture or even death.

"Even my father thought the Carrows were dangerous—too extreme. Mad, he said. I don't know what they'll do to them."

"Only if they catch them," Marietta insisted, and Andrew huffed a humorless laugh, all traces of his former gladness gone.

"Sure," he said, "only if."

When he pushed the door open, Marietta stayed in place only long enough to listen to Andrew greet Jake, sounding cheerful, and to begin to relay what had been said in the meeting. She closed her eyes, only to find the memory of the shattered look in his emblazoned there, and she wondered when he had last had a happiness or confidence that wasn't a mask.

In a haze, Marietta made her way down the hall, ending up in the room she'd been sharing with Angelina, Alicia, and Katie. Without truly knowing what she was looking for, Marietta pulled out the documents she had stolen from the Department of Mysteries, throwing herself into their contents and telling herself that the answer to her problems was there; that if she studied it closely enough, she would find a way to help them have an impact, to move this war toward an end.

And if she didn't really believe that, if she was only lying to herself to feel marginally better, that wasn't anyone's business but her own.

/

Adrian wasn't a member of the Order of the Phoenix. He wasn't. Only, it was getting harder and harder to tell himself that with each passing day. He did, after all, live with them. And he had, after all, given Hermione Granger advice on something she was working on with Harry Potter, and he often helped Andromeda brew potions during the time he had free. But he wasn't a member of the Order of the Phoenix. He was a Healer, and he was caring for his patients, who happened to be under the Order's protection.

Still, he couldn't quite justify away his offer of his house as headquarters, particularly not now, as he knew that Charlie Wealey was in the middle of taking on the duty of secret keeper for the former Pucey House, newly renamed "Phoenix Place."

Even as he had the thought, Adrian couldn't quite hold onto it, as though all knowledge of the house's whereabouts had slipped his mind, and his brain was trying to deny even knowledge of its existence. He sucked in a breath.

"All right?" Adrian glanced over toward the door of his room, where Sirius was leaning against the frame.

"I think the Fidelius took," he said in way of answer, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart, which was in rhythm with the frenetic repetition of what have I done, what have I done, what have I done—

"Having second thoughts?" Sirius's tone wasn't what Adrian would have expected. There was no sarcasm in it, no implied 'a bit late for that.'

"No—I mean…it's just…"

"A weird feeling."

"Yeah." Adrian's mouth felt dry, and his heart still hadn't slowed down. He felt, he realized, slightly nauseous and dizzy, his hands trembling in his lap.

Oh, he thought vaguely, I'm panicking.

"I'm coming over to you. I'm going to sit next to you now. Look to your right; there's a jar of ink on the desk…" Sirius spoke in a low, calming voice, his demeanor different from any way Adrian had ever seen him.

"I—I think I'm good now. I think I'm okay."

"Good," Sirius said, but made no sign of moving—Adrian was glad, because he had no desire to take the hit to his dignity that begging him to stay would have required.

"Thanks," he said, and he wasn't sure if he meant for helping or for staying. "How…" he trailed off before the question could form, not wanting to pry. A ghost of a smile flickered over Sirius's face.

"I was a lot like you, back in the day."

"You mean you got…y'know…" Adrian didn't quite know how to define what he'd just experienced. Luckily, Sirius seemed to understand.

"Yeah, I did. But it's not just that. Pureblood kid, ran away from home after an explosive argument and became the talk of every Family in society? I've been there." He sighed, and looked at Adrian with an expression heavier than any Adrian had seen on him before. "If I could give you some advice, which I wish I'd taken myself? Don't be angry just to stop being afraid. It clouds your judgment, makes it hard to determine what's actually worth being angry about. And, in the end, it'll push you away from the people and things you believe in, and when you look, you'll find that the fear's still there anyway."

Adrian felt like crying, which would be too humiliating. Sirius reached over and squeezed his shoulder, then stood.

"C'mon—if we ask nicely enough, we can get Moony to make us tea. It always tastes better when you don't have to do the work yourself."

/

"I think I've got the Protean charm down—I talked to Hermione last night to see if she thought it would work if I reproduced the spell when she'd done the original, and she said that, as long as I work from one keyed as a master, it should work alright."

"Great, Terry—can you and Nev test it out? It'd be great if we could hand them out at the next meeting."

"We need to," Blaise agreed, "There's been enough whispering going on trying to communicate times that McGonagall, at least, has been looking, and while she's far and above the carrows in terms of intelligence, they'll figure it out eventually."

"Right—any ideas of numbers for the next meeting? I think half of Gryffindor is going to show up, honestly."

"Ernie told me they've been spreading the word, but Susan wants to hold off on getting anyone younger than the fourth years involved until they're sure what kind of trouble they're putting the kids in the way of before they risk thirteen-year-olds getting in more trouble."

"Our latest count is at fifteen?" Terry looked over at Luna to confirm, and she shook her head.

"Sixteen. Anthony invited Beth."

"Runcorn?" Ginny cut in, frowning. "Isn't her dad…big in the ew ministry?"

"Kevin's dad is big with the Death Eaters—it doesn't matter what someone's parents believe, it matters what they do." Blaise surprised himself with the firmness of his voice, and was further surprised by Ginny's response.

"You're right—old habits. I shouldn't have assumed."

"So, sixteen from Ravenclaw, probably about the same from Hufflepuff, and around there from us. Blaise, any idea where you'll come in?" If anyone but Neville had asked the question, Blaise would've bristled, but he expressed it with such clearly genuine desire to know the answer, rather than in judgment, that Blaise couldn't feel offended.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," he told them. He'd been thinking about it, and had even managed to talk to Daphne, Astoria, and Kevin about it one night, Daphne giving names of people who were just too close to Pansy and Draco to trust. "Astoria's already talked to one of her roommates—Lily Nettlebed—but Kevin says all of his would turn us in immediately. He did recruit a fourth year—Graham Pritchard—and Graham asked if he could bring his mate Oliver. So there's seven of us for sure, and a few others who Daph and I are still discussing."

"That's great," Ginny said, her tone encouraging.

"It is, it's just…frustrating, I guess. There are more people who I want to bring in—who I want to trust—but their parents or aunts and uncles or friends are on the other side of things, and I don't know if I can make the call, because if they aren't who I think they are, or even if their loyalties are just too far out of line, I'd be risking everyone."

"Anthony invited Beth Runcorn, even though her father's on the other side of the fight," Luna reminded him.

"Trust your judgment," Neville agreed, his voice warm and firm. "Like all of us already do."

Blaise did trust his judgment, he told himself as he headed back to his common room from the library, where he'd taken a passage out of the Room. He'd been raised to trust his judgment more than anyone else's, and he stood by that training, if not some of the other things his mother had instructed that he be taught. He just didn't trust other people.

He would have thought it a sign from the universe, if he'd believed in that sort of thing, to see the group in the common room when he returned, but he thought that there were enough errors made even when the best practitioners of divination attempted to read signs, much less when someone with his level of skill tried. Still, as Chris Harper greeted him and Niles Hanley turned to wave him over, Blaise followed his gut and joined them, reasoning that a conversation, at least, wouldn't hurt.

Blaise was introduced to Dianne Carter, a sixth year he'd heard of but never actually met, and the conversation about classes resumed, the boys prodding Tracey Davis, Sophie Roper, and now Blaise for pointers on what level of research Flitwick was looking for in their term paper.

"Better to choose a broad topic and narrow it down as you look for materials, and then go really in-depth with a specific part of it," Tracey told them. "You know Flitwick, he's not any different for NEWT classes—he gives better marks if you're detailed and unique."

"Still, don't go as detailed as you would for transfig," Sophie put in. "Flitwick hasn't got McGonagall's patience in grading, he doesn't want it much longer than the base requirements he gave. Save that for next term; this half of the year is more focused on practical application."

"Not that I don't appreciate the advice, but can we please talk about something more interesting than classes?" Dianne asked, and the others laughed.

"Sure thing, Di," Chris said easily. "How about you, Blaise—where were you off to after dinner? And don't say the library, because I was looking for a book for my history essay that had been misshelved, and I was all through there."

Blaise leaned back in his chair, studying Chris, and then looked at the rest of the common room. Apart from a few first years playing chess on the far end of the room, it was deserted, most everyone either off doing work before curfew or already in their dormitories.

"Not that you have to say," Chris said hurriedly, after Blaise's silence stretched out. "Your business." The sincerity of this statement, and the clear agreement from the other four, made up Blaise's mind.

"I'll give you two options," he said to them, and Tracey's brows furrowed, "You can believe whichever you want, but one of them is probably safer."

"Safer for you?" Niles asked, and Blaise shrugged.

"Safer for everybody. I was in the library, and Chris just missed my table in the intensity of his search."

"I didn't," Chris said evenly.

"You might've."

"What's the other option?"

Blaise took a deep breath, resisting the urge to fidget or swallow the lump which had appeared in his throat.

"I'd have thought that was obvious," he said, leaning on the bravado for confidence, "I was helping to plan the next meeting of the group opposing the Carrows and Snape—Dumbledore's Army, you might have heard of us."

The others froze. Blaise heard a sharp intake of breath from Niles or Sophie, and a low whistle from Dianne. Tracey was staring at him, looking disbelieving. He raised a brow at her, trying to appear casually curious and not as though he was second-guessing all the choices that had led him here.

"You expect me to believe that you, Blaise, are not only part of Dumbledore's Army, a group started by Harry Potter—" Chris, seeming to come to his senses muttered a spell which Blaise guessed was some variant of a notice-me-not, but he was too focused on Tracey to determine what it actually was "—but you're high enough up in this group, and they trust you enough, that you're one of their leaders?"

"I'm full of surprises," Blaise said. "I'd tell you to ask someone else if you won't believe me, but I don't feel like putting anyone else at risk."

"Oh, honestly," Sophie cut in with a snort, "We aren't going to report you, or anyone else. Tracey just means that it's a bit hard to see you going for something like this. Zabinis are neutral."

"I haven't been neutral since fifth year, and I don't think I could unmake that choice if I wanted to," Blaise told her.

"You haven't said anything about it," Tracey shot back. "Why should we believe you?"

"You don't have to—I gave you two options."

"Two options that both sound like bullshit."

"Why tell us?" Dianne interrupted, eyes narrowed. "Like you said, it's not safe for us to know, in either direction."

"Partly because I've been around Gryffindors too much, lately," Blaise said, and then sighed. "And also…I joined because Fawley and Pucey and Bagley took a chance on me back in fifth year and decided I deserved to have a choice. And I think you do too. So, if you're not going to report me, the offer's on the table. Like I said, you've got two options—decide that I was just in the library, and walk away, or you can take the second, and come with me to the next meeting."

"Why should we?" Niles asked. "Why risk that?"

Blaise almost laughed. I don't know, he wanted to say. I only got into this to learn, and now there's no way out. It would be mostly true. But the smallest part of him had something else to say, and he let it speak instead.

"I truly can't believe I'm saying this," he said, "But…there's a lot of shit happening in the world right now, and this is a chance to choose to do something about it. To do the right thing."

"Merlin, you really have been around Gryffs too much," Tracey said, sounding disbelieving.

"Neville's said he'll make me one of them," Blaise said, the name slipping out before he could think to call him by last name, as he usually did if his DA friends came up around other Slytherins.

"Well, we can't have that," Niles said, before he could cringe too much at his slip.

"Sounds like you need us around," Sophie agreed.

"Sounds like we have a lot to discuss," Tracey added. "But not here. I'll get Flitwick to leave his classroom open for me to practice in after classes tomorrow, and you can tell all of us what we've gotten ourselves into."

/

"You can say no to this."

"That preface doesn't make me very open to whatever you're about to say to me, Sirius."

"Yeah, well, Moony said that if I asked, I had to make sure you knew we weren't trying to pressure you."

"Asked what?" Adrian was pretty sure that he knew what Sirius would be asking, but held onto the fraction of a chance that he was wrong.

"Kingsley and I are going on an outing, and we're worried that there will be…collateral. I'm good enough at healing spells to be able to handle most any hits we might take, but our sources say that there are a lot of people there who already need help, and we won't be able to do give much to them."

Adrian did his best to shove down the swirl of thoughts trying to enter the front of his mind.

"I thought you didn't talk about field work to anyone not in the Order."

"We don't, usually. Thought you might be able to help."

"I'd advise you to take along a Healer," he said, in as bland a tone as he could muster. "Andromeda's got great skills, and is one of you."

"Andy's taking care of Frank and Alice."

"I'm taking care of Frank and Alice," Adrian responded, trying not to flinch as Sirius studied him.

It wasn't a lie. He was, officially, taking care of the Longbottoms. But, after the Order had moved into his house, he'd begun working to make sure everyone settled in and had what they needed, and Andromeda had taken over their care more and more, Ted helping her. The Longbottoms had been happier since then, Adrian thought, not because they didn't like him, but because they knew Ted and Andromeda from before. He really couldn't claim to be their caretaker anymore, just someone housing them.

And, though he hadn't brought it up with anyone but Andromeda and Ted yet—and he'd made them swear not to bring it up with anyone until they'd worked things out—even that was set to change. Adrian wanted the Longbottoms as safe as possible, and that meant away from the Order, who were being hunted down. He'd begun to think about it before they'd moved, unable to find a place that would be safe until it had come to him over a cup of tea, as clear as day: he could, if she allowed it, send them and the Tonkses to Lucinda's. Now, all that was left was for Lucinda to finish putting up stronger wards and for them to tell the Order.

So, really, he couldn't claim to be taking care of them by housing them either.

"I'm not a part of the Order," he said.

"No," Sirius agreed. "But you could be."