Chapter Six: The Anti-Darkness League

Mable Murdered!

A Dark Day For the Daily Prophet!

The headlines screamed the next morning. The students stared down at the paper in disbelief, their porridge and kippers going uneaten. That month's issue of Sabrina13 had been cast aside and was being left unread.

Intrepid Daily Prophet reporter, Mable Grable, 38, was found murdered in her Kidderminster home late last night along with her young son and pet kneazle, Sookie. The bodies were discovered by the paper's own Dempster Wiggleswade who believes he must have apparated into Ms. Grable's street mere minutes after the brutal attack was carried out.

Once again, the strange symbol of the skull, this darkest of marks, was found hanging in the air above the small family home - and beneath its ill lit stars lay the bodies of our fallen colleague and her child.

Mr. Wiggleswade, who also works for the Department for Law Enforcement, is said to be helping his own colleagues out with their investigations - however the Ministry proves itself to be as mendacious as ever, when the official interpretation of events varies depending on which official is spoken to.

'Clearly this was a carefully orchestrated attack,' claims Endeavour Enderby, the undersecretary to Harold Minchum, the Head of the Department for Law Enforcement. 'And the repetitious use of this symbol - this mark in the sky - tells me it was perpetrated by the same group responsible for the Night of the Glass Shards and the murders of those musicians back in April. This was a premeditated act of terrorism and we are dealing with a terrorist organisation.'

The Minister for Magic, herself, Eugenia Jenkins, has dismissed these claims, however (and see page 12 for my exclusive piece on her: "Jaded Jenkins - Does the Minister Still Have What It Takes to Govern?"). 'It was rash and irresponsible for Enderby to say that,' was her rather snappish response when she was approached for comment by your humble reporter (Rita Skeeter, high heeled shoes and a nose for the news). The beleaguered Minister continued: 'He may be responsible for a mass panic which was totally avoidable, if people think there are terrorists rampaging through the country. Yes - I grant the reuse of that damn mark suggests a pattern to these incidents, however my intelligence wizards assure me that this could all simply be copycat attacks - it's not as if you don't publish a picture of the gruesome thing every time it gets fired into the sky. I think we are seeing an element of social contagion here, rather than one group orchestrating every event - and I assure your readers that we are fully able to crack down on the individuals responsible and will do so just as soon as we find them.'

When asked how her theory on copycat killings fit in with her belief that seditious groups are funding their activities via Gringotts, the Minister declined to respond.

Let us hope she is capable of more joined up thinking when it comes to her other responsibilities.

In the meantime, The Daily Prophet would like to extend our deepest sympathy to Mable's family during these terrible times - and we raise a toast: to Mable Grable - the Hound Dog of Truth! The dead will know no rest now she is on their case.

The Hall was unusually quiet; no one stirred from their newspapers, or spoke a word, as the post owls swooped in through the windows and dropped letters on the unresponsive heads of their intended recipients. Ignored envelopes were soon strewn between the butter dishes and left unopened; over on the Ravenclaw table, a Howler burst into flames and the strains of an irate mother's voice yelling about her son forgetting his Great Aunt Begonia's 106th birthday went totally unlistened to. High above them all, the enchanted ceiling was bleak and overcast, its leaden greyness seeming to echo back the grim atmosphere of the room below. Despite its great size, the Hall felt close and oppressive; the dreadful headline seemed to take up all the space, and force out all the air until it felt suffocating just to be in there..

Up on the teachers' table, Dumbledore looked grave. McGonagall and Sprout were conversing in tense whispers; Flitwick seemed morose and Malidictus was still reading The Prophet with an expression akin to rage on his face. Across the house tables, the newspaper rustled as pages were turned, more facts were hunted for, understanding desperately sought in the ink. The rustles were punctuated by the occasional mutter or mumble, a hurried murmur hissed beneath breath and then hushed up just as quickly.

A sudden, single burst of laughter sounded shrill and loud and unnatural, in the quiet. Heads turned around to look and, on the Gryffindor table, Callum Brown turned bright red, slumped down in his seat and muttered 'Sorry.'

Dumbledore gave him a brief smile, and then rose to his feet to address the school. 'No need to apologise, Mr. Brown.' He looked around at everyone, and Sirius suddenly noticed how tired the Headmaster looked - as if the worries of the outside world were a heavy burden he was struggling to bear. But, for all he was careworn, Dumbledore's thoughts were - as always - first and foremost with his students. 'Today's paper has brought us very grave news, indeed,' he said, 'and I appreciate many of you will feel worried or disturbed by what you have read. We are living through dark days, and this morning's tidings, while unwelcome, are something I fear we will see more and more of in the months to come. It is therefore of the utmost importance that we carry on as normal.'

There was a collective intake of breath, and heads were put together as a furious whispering broke out. Dumbledore merely smiled, and waited until quiet reined once again.

'I know that may sound like a callous statement,' he said, when he had silence once more. 'But I assure you I do not mean it that way. We should grieve for those who are lost - for Mable, for all those who came before and all those - I fear - who will come after. We should never forget them. And we should think of their families and share in their pain. But life must go on.'

He fixed them all, then, with his most piercing stare; his blue eyes scanned every face to ensure he had their full and undivided attention for this next part. He did, of course. Almost every student in the school was staring up at him, waiting to hear what he had to say.

When he spoke again, his voice was heavy. 'Those who perpetrate these crimes want you to be afraid,' he told them all. 'They want to disrupt your lives, paralyse our society, quash dissent and force us into compliance with their own aims and beliefs. This, we must never do. And therefore it is of the utmost importance that we continue as we always would. We fight back by refusing to give up our way of life. We live as we choose to and we get on… Anything else would be an insult to those who have lost their lives.

'So,' he clapped his hands. 'Go forward, have a good day - and never apologise for the joy of laughter.'

He sat back down, the benches scraped back and the students trudged their way to their first period, still feeling unsettled and sombre, despite Dumbledore's reassurances.

…

The boys went to visit Remus in the Hospital Wing at break. Remus was already awake, sitting up in bed and reading the paper, a deep frown line etched into his brow. He was absentmindedly eating the chocolate Madam Pomfrey always gave him as part of his recovery, while he read.

'You've seen then,' Sirius said.

'Yes. Terrible.'

James took a seat at his bedside, and reached out to nick a piece of chocolate. 'Why Mable?' he asked. 'Why her - and her son… and her kneazle ?'

'Maybe she did something to annoy Lord … well, the Dark Lord,' Peter said, taking a handful of chocolate for himself.

But James looked perplexed. 'How could Mable Grable annoy Voldemort? She's… well, she's nobody.'

'She's "the hound dog of truth",' Remus corrected. 'I can see why a journalist would be very dangerous to a regime trying to operate in secret.'

'And she wouldn't stop banging on about opening up Gringotts,' Sirius said. 'Putting pressure on the government, keeping it fresh in everyone's minds. Maybe she was getting too close to something.'

Peter nodded at that, looking thoughtful. 'So now he's hit two chasers with one bludger. Mable gone, so she can't uncover the truth and everyone else so terrified by her murder that no one will continue her work.'

His words made James scowl, 'What a total git.'

'And that about sums it up,' Remus smiled wryly.

…

But smiles were thin on the ground that day. Remus stayed for the rest of the afternoon in the Infirmary, poring over the paper, and returned to Gryffindor Tower after tea. When he arrived in the common room, it was to find a large crowd gathered beneath the noticeboard.

'What's going on?' he asked Sirius, joining the crush to peer at whatever it was that had everyone else so animated.

'There's a sign gone up, something about the murders last night.'

Remus craned his neck to get a better look.

'There's a meeting - tomorrow night,' James materialised from out of the scrum, looking excited. 'Me and Pete got right to the front - he's got sharp elbows, has Pete - we read the whole notice.'

When the crowd eventually dispersed, drifting away, heads together and talking a mile a minute about what they had read, Remus finally got a clear view of the cause of all this disturbance himself.

Do You Stand Against the Rising Darkness?

He read.

Last night's murders were yet another example of the evil currently pervading our society! And yet the Ministry still will not act!

If you think direct action is necessary

If you no longer wish to simply stand by while dark deeds happen around us

Then attend the meeting tomorrow evening:

Nov 2nd 7pm

The Great Hall

TOGETHER WE CAN STOP THIS!

'What do you reckon?' James asked Sirius, 'worth going to?'

'Might as well … we might as well at least see what's going on.'

…

The 2nd was a Saturday, the sky was grey and the weather was drizzly and most students spent the day in the common room, huddled by the fire and finishing off homework, though the Quidditch team was forced out onto the pitch to practise for a couple of hours after breakfast.

James and Petra returned, soaking wet, their cheeks flushed with the cold, just before lunch to find that the main topic of conversation all morning had been the murders, and speculation about what the meeting that evening would bring. Anticipation seemed to hang in the air, and watches were surreptitiously checked every few minutes - as if, for once, the Gryffindors were wishing away their precious day of freedom from lessons.

There was a flurry of indignation and a bit of a kerfuffle when The Daily Prophet was delivered to the tower in the afternoon, and they all saw the latest headlines:

Did The Goblins Gang Up on Grable?

The newspaper asked, and everyone read with increasing fury as the article went on to blame the Gringotts goblins for Mable's murder:

Our goblin friends, always a belligerent race, looking out to take offence from the merest wizarding slight and act violently upon it, have perhaps outdone themselves in recent days. As the Wizarding World watches on in horror as a spree of copycat killings and acts of terrorism spread across our community, questions need to be asked as to why Mable Grable, journalist extraordinaire? And why now?

Chariton Nott, of the Wizengamot had this to say: 'We have been trying to work with the goblins for months now, to allow Ministry oversight into the cash flow of accounts so we can track who funded the giants. The goblins - miserable little blighters that they are - have been blocking our every attempt. Grable, who never willingly let go of a lead, was not giving them a moment's respite. Her constant and dogged work to reveal the truth has obviously stirred the Gringotts goblins up and spurred them on to violence.'

Mr. Nott claims it was then all too easy for the goblins to try and deflect suspicion from themselves by using the so-called "Dark Mark" that was first seen back in April. 'They want us to think the same people behind The Night of The Glass Shards are responsible,' Nott says. 'But it's obvious - it's the goblins that had it in for Grable, it was the goblins whodunnit.'

Minister Jenkins was approached for a comment, but was not available. Her senior Undersecretary, however, had this to say: 'we will catch the goblin responsible and make an example of them. You can rest assured of that. Now please go away and leave the Minister alone, she is very busy.'

'Did they even read this article back before they published it?' Remus asked, rather incredulously, as he sat with the others in front of the fire. 'Can't they see they contradict themselves?'

But apparently The Prophet saw no problem with what they had written and, though the students could see the lies for what they were, there was real fear among them that - out in the wider world - people would choose to believe the paper. Copycat killers, rebelling goblins … it was so much less frightening than organised terrorism working to destabilise their way of life. Of course people would believe this version of events, especially as Minister Jenkins herself seemed to endorse it.

And so - when 7pm finally rolled around - everyone was fully fired up and ready for the meeting.

…

The Great Hall was packed when the boys got there. The house tables had been moved to one side and what seemed like the entire student body (with a few dishonourable exceptions - Reg being one of them, Snivellus another) were milling around under the enchanted ceiling. There was a low hum of noise, as they chattered amongst themselves - bristling with anticipation.

'I wonder who will be chairing the meeting?' the boys heard Lily say. They turned to look, she was standing a couple of feet away with the other Gryffindor girls. Without him even seeming to realise it, James' hand flew to his hair and tried to flatten it down at the back.

'I hope it's someone who knows their stuff,' Petra was saying. 'We really need to get to grips with - well - You Know Who .'

'We saw him once, do you remember, boys?' James asked in an overly loud voice. The girls turned to look. The three boys stared at him like he was mental - of course they remembered coming face to face with Lord Voldemort, himself! 'The Dark Lord - he looked straight at me,' his voice was still at a higher volume than normal, so it carried clearly to where the girls were standing. 'Could've killed me…' He seemed to suddenly spot the girls listening in. 'Oh - hello, Evans.' He smoothed his hair again. 'Fancy seeing you here. I was just reminiscing about the time I saw Lord Voldemort in the flesh. Have you ever seen him? In person - I mean?'

Lily stared at him like he was mad. 'No,' she said slowly. 'And I don't want to either.'

'I don't blame you - it was rather awful. Pete was afraid, weren't you, Pete?' He clapped his arm around Peter's shoulders.

'Shut up!'

'He's embarrassed… but he shouldn't be. Anyone would be frightened. Like I said, he looked like he wanted to kill me.'

'I'd quite like to kill you right now,' Peter muttered, feeling the curious eyes of the girls and the staring eyes of Remus and Sirius lingering on him.

James laughed heartily. 'He likes his jokes, does Pete.'

Lily continued to stare at James for a couple of seconds, as if she thought he had gone mental, and then tutted and walked away with her friends. 'I told you he had started being weird,' they heard her say.

James deflated … and then caught sight of the way Sirius and Remus were staring at him. 'What?' he asked, rather defiantly.

'"What?", indeed,' Sirius said. 'As in what, in Merlin's name , was that all about?'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'The insanity! With Evans!'

James blushed bright red. 'I don't know what you mean.' He pretended to glance at his watch, 'is that the time? The meeting should be starting soon…'

He was spared from any further embarrassment by the doors to the Hall being pushed open, a sudden hush descended on the crowd and Professor Malidictus walked in, the tapping of his pointed shoes echoing loudly in the space. Malidictus stood on the dais, in front of the teachers' table, shuffled his papers, cleared his throat and - once he was sure he had all eyes upon him - started to speak.

'Thank you all for attending this evening,' he said to them all, staring around the room with his oddly intense gaze. 'And I must, of course, thank Professor Dumbledore for allowing me to call this meeting together. It makes me very proud - and feel no small amount of hope for the future - to see you all here and to know that so many young people are taking our current political situation seriously.'

The whole Hall waited silently, hanging on his every word. As always, he spoke well. His voice was authoritative and reassuring and it suddenly didn't matter that he was small and snappish and unimpressive looking. He spoke the truth, he didn't mollycoddle them or refuse to face facts - like the Minister did - and everyone was filled with hope that he was going to tell them what to do in order to put things right.

'It must be very frustrating,' he said, 'to be trapped here in school, aware of what is going on out there and feeling like there is nothing you can do to affect things. And - worse! You must watch while those who are in charge - who have all the power to make all the difference in the world - choose not to.' He brandished today's newspaper. 'Two days ago, a journalist of The Daily Prophet - and her child - were murdered in cold blood, yesterday a Ministry official told Rita Skeeter this was an orchestrated attack by the same people who destroyed Diagon Alley in the summer and yet today - today - Rita's paper, Mable's paper, is shifting the blame for Mable's death onto the goblins.'

There was a susurration of disquiet around the Hall, murmurs of fury as everyone remembered their own earlier outrage at reading the paper that afternoon.

'You can rest assured,' Malidictus continued, when he had quiet once again, 'that this has been a deliberate tactic by the Ministry to obfuscate, to hide the truth and to use the goblins as a handy scapegoat because they would rather ignore what is happening, and thus avoid mass panic, than get to grips with the situation they find themselves in. But this makes them a weak government and - if they do not change their course of action soon enough - it will be all of us who pay the price for their weakness. Everyone in this room knows it was not the goblins who killed Mable Grable, that they do not know how to fire that mark in the sky. Everyone in this room understands that there is a dangerous way of thinking sweeping through our world, and that there are dangerous people banded together, under that mark, who are willing to fight and terrorise and even kill to get their own way.'

His voice had been growing steadily louder as he spoke, so by the end he was roaring his words out, the newspaper waving wildly in his hand. He came to a stop then, his cheeks were flushed and he was breathing heavily. The silence of the crowd was like a living thing, a palpable crackle of magic in the air as they waited to hear what he said next.

After a few breaths, he continued in a quieter voice, the newspaper still once more. 'But - no matter what we know - everyone in this room is a student, with no voice in government and powerless to effect change… Unless, like our foes, we band together! '

He was roaring again. 'We just became an army! We are only powerless if we refuse to act, weakened and divided. But if we stand together then there is no stopping us! Collective action, built around collective values and working towards collective aims - that is what we need and that is what we shall have. And if we all work as one, speak as one, then the Minister must hear us - and surely she must act.'

There was an outbreak of applause, and some cheering from the crowd. Malidictus allowed himself a small smile; he still looked flushed, and his eyes were gleaming in the candlelight. He raised a hand for quiet. 'We must decide what it is that we stand for,' he said once he had it, 'write a charter that outlines our beliefs and sign up to it - for those of you who are willing to take this fight to the government, that is. We need to state that - as a league of our own - we hold it to be self evident that the Dark Lord is working to destabilise our community and spread his own repugnant ideology about the purity of blood far and wide, and that it is his Knights of Walpurgis - and not the goblins - who are behind the atrocities we have seen committed in recent months. And, if you wish to stand up and be counted, to make a difference, to have a voice, I bid you now to leave this hall and write to Eugenia Jenkins - before you even retire to bed - to tell her that this is what you believe and this is what she must take action against. Thank you.'

And - amid another round of applause - he stepped down from the dais and exited the Hall. That crackle of magic, of anticipation and excitement was still in the air, as the crowd made their way towards the doors, only now it was charged with a sense of purpose and almost everyone headed straight to their dormitories to do as they had been told.

'What did you think?' James asked, as he and the others were swept along in the tide of the crowd. His cheeks were rosy and he looked like he had been as stirred up as everyone else by Malidictus's speech.

But Sirius was as cool as ever, and he snorted derisively. 'I don't think letters are going to get us very far against Lord Voldemort,' he said.

…

Up in the girls' dorm, the four of them were all fired up and had pulled out their parchment and quills and were furiously writing their letters before they got ready for bed. 'What are you going to put?' asked Mandy, dipping her nib in the ink and then coming to a stop. 'I've never written to someone as important as the Minister before.'

'I'm going to write what Malidictus told us to,' Mary said. 'That the Dark Lord is killing people and she needs to act.'

'I'm going to tell her about my Uncle Ciaran,' Petra said, nodding. 'He just disappeared - and we never did find him. He was one of the very first, Mable is the latest - I'm going to tell her that she can't allow any more.'

Lily already had her head bowed as she scribbled down her words furiously. 'I'm telling her about Bobby,' she said. She was the first to finish, and she lay back on her bed and read her letter through carefully, checking it for spelling mistakes and ensuring it made sense.

Dear Minister Jenkins,

She had written

My name is Lily Evans and I am a 14 year old muggleborn student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Since I first joined the magic world, three years ago, I have watched darkness sweep across the community, and I have heard and seen things that no one - certainly no one my age - should have to witness. I am told to "go home", I have been called an "immigrant" and - I am afraid - a "mudblood". I have been hexed, as have others of my birth, just for being who we are, and I have seen ugly things painted on the castle walls.

If this darkness was only limited to school, it would be bad enough. But I know enough to know it is spreading across the wider world as well. Like many witches my age, I was a huge fan of the music group "The Kneazles" - I was lucky enough to have Bobby Darrow himself dedicate a song to me. And then Bobby was murdered, just a few days later, and writing a letter to me was the last thing he did. Bobby stood up for muggleborn rights, he inspired me to be proud of where I came from, but there were certain people who did not like what he had to say - and they killed him rather than let him speak.

This was my first taste of true loss, but I know it was not the first loss suffered in these dark times. My friend, Petra, had an uncle who simply vanished; a boy in my year - Remus - had muggle relatives who were killed by the giants back at Easter. I have spoken with Florean Fortescue about the Night of The Glass Shards. The victims are piling up, and the crimes are more serious than a bat bogey hex in the corridors.

And all of this is coming from the Dark Lord, from the things he writes in the paper, from the speeches his Knights make on the wireless - like Septimus Selwyn's "Planets of Blood" speech last month. The Knights of Walpurgis are encouraging dissent, and advocating for removing rights from muggleborns and it is my belief that they are killing in order to gain what they want. They may act like a group of respectable pure blood traditionalists in public, but it is them behind the masks, firing that Dark Mark up in the sky to let us all know they have been there. It is my belief they are terrorists, and it is my belief that blaming the goblins, or pretending this is a matter of copycat killings, is giving them free rein to spread their terror.

I am writing to you to ask that you drop this pretence and that you acknowledge that the deaths of Bobby and Mable, and the disappearance of Petra's uncle are all linked, and need to be treated as having been perpetrated by the same criminal organisation. I am asking you to recognise the true threat we face, so you can better protect the world - and so that young witches and wizards like me can grow up safely in a world where we are welcome.

Yours Sincerely,

Lily Evans

She was quite pleased with how it had turned out. So she added a few extra flourishes to her signature and popped the letter in an envelope. Then, with a sigh, she pulled out the muggle newspaper and betting slip her parents had sent her - with the next weeks' football fixtures in. She got out her Artihmancy textbook, and started her calculation to work out the results for the First Division.

…

There was less activity in the boys' dorm. Sirius was cuddling John, James was tossing FLP up and down, and Remus and Peter lay on their respective beds staring up at their canopies. 'Letters,' Sirius snorted again. 'I thought he said "direct action".'

Remus smiled, 'Well - he was hardly going to suggest we storm the Ministry, was he?'

'That's what I was hoping for.'

'Are we going to write?' Peter asked.

This time it was Remus's turn to snort. 'Oh - yeah - I'm sure the Minister would just love to receive a letter from me: " Dear Eugenia, do you remember the time you tried to frame me for those werewolf attacks in Hogsmeade but it turns out it was Lord Voldemort all along? Well, he's still killing people. Be a dear and do something about it, won't you? Love, Remus".'

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. 'It would only be worth writing that if we got to see her face when she read it.'

'It's not worth writing at all.'

James sighed, threw FLP up in the air once last time, caught him and popped him on the bedside table. 'Well - I wish there was something we could do. Malidictus is right about one thing - it is frustrating being trapped here in school not being able to change anything.'

…

The next morning, the girls got up early and crept their way to the owlery to post their letters. But when they got there, they found half the school had had the same idea, and the draughty tower was crowded with students, shoving past each other and bumping into each other as they tied envelopes and scrolls of parchment onto the legs of disgruntled postal owls.

'We'll all have to share,' Petra said, when she finally managed to locate one sleepy looking brown, barn owl who was perched on a high rafter, hoping to avoid the bustle. He gave a hoot of indignation as Petra held her arm out for him but - after a bit of coaxing and a promise of treats - he fluttered down in the end and allowed the girls to tie their letters onto his outstretched leg.

Meanwhile the other owls were already being released, flexing their wings and taking off through the open windows and, as the birds started to fly from the tower, it felt to the girls a bit like being trapped inside a feathery snowstorm. 'The Minister is going to be absolutely inundated,' Lily said, covering her head with her arms to protect herself from falling feathers (and droppings). 'She'll have to listen to us.'

…

Up in their own dorm, the boys were slower getting up. The sun rose late, now it was November, and James, Sirius and Peter had to chant their animagus incantation with every sunrise.

Once they were done, Remus scrambled onto Sirius's bed with Sirius's presents (it was - after all - the third of November today, and thus Sirius's fifteenth birthday) and handed them to him with a flourish. 'I got this at the muggle shop closest to my house,' he said, handing over a flat package.

Sirius ripped the paper off, and grinned with delight when he found a magazine, inside, filled with pictures of motorbikes. 'These are beautiful,' he said, leafing through the pages and staring at the photos hungrily.

'I thought you'd like them.'

'Thanks.' He continued to flip the pages until he came across a photograph of a bike that looked exactly like the one he had first fallen in love with back in Taunton last year. 'A Triumph Bonneville,' he breathed, almost reverently. 'That's the one I want - that's the one I'm going to make fly.' He hugged the magazine to his chest and sighed happily.

'I thought you might like to put some of these photos up in your room back at home,' Remus told him, grinning rather wickedly, 'cheer the place up a bit.'

'That is an excellent idea,' Sirius grinned back - matching Remus for wickedness.

While Sirius had been drooling over motorbikes, James had been decorating the dorm with balloons, and had popped party hats on John and FLP. 'Alright - time for my present,' he said, once he was done. He had bought Sirius a manual for motorbike maintenance, Peter had bought him a large bag of dungbombs and some fizzing whizbees and Mr. and Mrs Potter had sent a book of crossword puzzles.

'It's a pretty good haul,' Sirius said, approvingly. 'And I think we can safely say that my mum and dad won't send anything - apart from maybe a Howler - so I guess it's time for breakfast.'

They got dressed and headed downstairs towards the Hall, but were stopped in their tracks by a large crowd gathered on the second floor corridor. 'What's going on?' James muttered, standing on his tiptoes to try and see over the heads of the swarming students. 'Pete - use your elbows, try and find out what's going on.'

So Peter stuck out his elbows and jabbed himself a path through the milling crowds, the others following in his wake. When they got to the front they found a lengthy roll of parchment nailed to wall with:

The Anti-Darkness League

Our Charter

Written across the top. And then there were a number of clauses, listed underneath - values for the students to sign up to and support:

We, the undersigned, believe in the following and will work to uphold our beliefs

The Anti-Darkness league stands in opposition to the Dark Lord and his Knights of Walpurgis and recognises that they are behind the misfortunes befalling magical society.

We stand against their political opinions - and recognise that their views, particularly on blood purity, are abhorrent

We believe in protecting muggleborns and - should it come to it - muggles from the lies the Dark Lord spreads.

We stand against anyone using dark magic or espousing dark views and recognise that those who do either deserve punishment.

We will not stand by if we come across these dark views in our daily lives.

We stand against dark creatures - and any part or non-humans that the Dark Lord may recruit, and will treat any such creatures accordingly.

We will continue to petition the government to take the necessary action to stop the spread of this darkness, and take matters into our own hands where we can.

Beneath the values, the parchment was already crowded with names - over half the school seemed to have already signed up. Mary McDonald finished writing and passed her quill to Lily, who signed her own name with a flourish. Petra and Mandy's signatures were already up there.

'Does anyone have a quill?' Peter asked his friends.

'Just hold on a minute, Pete,' Sirius said, his brow was furrowed and his lips were moving ever so slightly as he read his way through the charter. 'I don't think we should hurry into anything - I think we should discuss this over toast.'

'What's to discuss?'

'God Pete, how about what the definition of a "dark creature" is for a start - and what any of them have done to wind up front and centre on this parchment. Come on…' he glanced around the crowd and lowered his voice so only the others could hear him, 'we can't talk here.'

They pushed their way out and continued down to the Hall - where they perched right on the end of the Gryffindor table and talked about what they had read in hurried whispers.

'I think it's obvious what a "dark creature" is,' Remus said, 'we all heard Malidictus on the wireless back in the summer.'

'He doesn't like furry little problems - an insult to both werewolves and puffskein owners alike,' James nodded.

'And I can hardly sign a charter agreeing to stand against myself can I?'

'And that's not all of it,' Sirius said. 'There was other stuff I didn't like the look of. That bit about people espousing dark views deserving punishment, and members of the league not standing by when they hear these dark views around school. What does that even mean? Who gets to decide what counts as a "dark view"? Are we being "dark" when we hex Snivellus? Is he being "dark" when he hexes back? And who decides on the punishment?' He shook his head. 'There were parts of it that were just a bit too woolly for me, a bit too vague.'

'But the charter says the league stands against the Dark Lord - that it supports muggles. Don't we want to sign up to that?' Peter asked.

'Yeah - but there doesn't seem to be the option to pick and choose what we agree to. We sign up to part of it, we sign up to all of it and I'm not ready to.'

'Are you scared?'

Sirius hit Peter around the back of his head. 'Don't be soft! Like I said, I just don't think we have enough information to be agreeing to these terms yet. I'm not saying "never", I'm saying we need to know more - because I don't know about anyone else but I'm not taking a stand against, well…' he caught Remus's eye and shrugged apologetically, 'puffskeins . I'm rather fond of one as it happens.'

Remus flushed and concentrated very carefully on spreading marmalade on his toast. But it was decided. They would not sign up to the charter today, and would wait for another meeting and a chance to ask some questions before they agreed to anything in writing.

…

But the following week, when Malidictus called the next meeting, the boys found Bertha, the seventh year with the squashed nose, standing outside of the hall doors blocking their entrance. She held the roll of parchment in her hand and was checking off names as she allowed people inside. 'Stop there,' she held out her wand and halted the boys in their tracks. Her beady eyes darted back and forth behind her spectacles as she searched for their names on the charter.

'You haven't signed this,' she said, in the end. 'I can't find any of you on here.'

'No,' James agreed. 'We wanted to clarify some things before we joined up.'

'Well I'm afraid the rules are you have to have signed the charter to go to the meeting.'

'Since when?' Peter asked.

'Those are the rules. It's an Anti-Darkness League meeting. Only members of The League can attend, and to join The League you need to sign.' She proffered the parchment. 'You can sign now and go inside, if you like.'

But the boys backed off. 'We can't even come in to listen?' Remus asked.

'No - it's a League meeting. You're not in The League.'

'This is bollocks,' Sirius said. 'Why is it a secret all of a sudden?'

Bertha blinked at him. 'It's the rules,' she repeated. 'You haven't signed, you can't come in.'

'But -'

'You can't come in,' she said with a snap of finality in her voice, and she turned her back on them, entered the hall and slammed the doors shut in their face.