Neville doesn't hate a lot of people. It doesn't come naturally to him. He doesn't even really think that he hates Voldemort, even though Voldemort killed his parents. He thinks Voldemort needs to be stopped, and he knows—his grandmother has told him again and again—that he's responsible for stopping him. But… knowing that it's his job doesn't make him hate.

Bullies? Bullies make him hate. Bullies make him angry right down inside, and they make him feel sick and sad, because he doesn't always know what to do, but he always knows it's wrong. And Dolores Umbridge is a bully.

The first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the year was enough to set the tone. She sat them all down in individual desks, lined up in tidy perfect little lines, and she handed out textbooks. Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard: Neville opened it and almost, almost groaned out loud. "Basics for Beginners" was the title of the first chapter, and almost every chapter thereafter had a name like "Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation" or "The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack". If they hadn't known from her speech at the Welcoming Feast, it was obvious just from her choice of text book what her policy of teaching was going to be. No real defence against the threats rising in the magical world—instead she was going to bury her head in the sand as deeply as she could, and she was going to bury the rest of them with her. Literally.

Neville sighs. Next to him, Ron makes a vaguely inquisitive noise, but doesn't look up from the game of chess he's conducting against Seamus's pieces.

"Umbridge," Neville explains, and taps the open pages of his Defence textbook. He'd been trying to do the reading—even aside from being friends with Hermione, his gran would kill him if he failed a class. Even this class.

"Right, mate," Ron mutters, makes a move on the chess board, and then sits up and stretches. "What're we going to do about her, d'you think?"

Neville shrugs. "I mean, what can we do? She's a teacher. And she works for the Ministry."

"So?" Ron rolls his eyes. "Quirrell was literally evil."

"Yeah, but we didn't do anything about that," Neville points out. "We just told, uh, the teachers. And Umbridge is a teacher."

"Right." Ron scratches the back of his head. "Well, I don't know. But we can't just… sit around, can we?"

"Obviously not," says Hermione, at the same time as she sits down hard on the couch next to Neville, enough to bounce him slightly. His Defence textbook tumbles out of his hands and lands face-down, open on the floor; he doesn't bother to pick it up. "There's going to be a war. We need to know how to defend ourselves!"

"It's still only the first week," Neville says, in an attempt at optimism. "Maybe she'll get better?"

Hermione shakes her head decisively. "I've spent all afternoon reading that drivel," she says, and gestures at the book. Neville and Ron share a startled glance. Hermione's never that disrespectful to books. "It's absolute rubbish! She's never going to get better—all this book has in it are strategies for conflict resolution and non-violent solutions. Non-violent solutions are not going to save any of us from Death Eaters!"

"No," Neville says, and scrubs a hand back through his hair. "So… what do you think? Because, well, you are right. And I've been getting extra tutoring, and a few other people, like Harry, because we're… targets. But that's not going to help everyone else."

"We should start a club," Hermione says decisively.

"A… club?"

"Er," says Ron. "Didn't Umbridge just put up a sign today banning student clubs?"

And, yes, Neville does remember seeing that—he recalls vaguely something about the Hufflepuff Quidditch team that had maybe prompted it, though the badger House had closed ranks pretty quickly, so no one's exactly sure.

"Yes," Hermione says. "That's what made me think of it! She clearly doesn't want us organizing against her, which means that's exactly what we should do!"

Neville and Ron exchange a glance, and then Neville leans in and says more quietly, "Okay, but how do we even do it? We don't… we don't know enough to teach Defence, especially not to the upper years."

"That's where you come in, Neville," Hermione says. "You're going to go talk to Cedric Diggory."

"Cedric Diggory?" Ron asks. "The Hufflepuff Captain?"

"And their fifth year Prefect," Hermione says triumphantly. "He got banned for life from playing Quidditch by Umbridge, and he's got a good reputation. I bet he'd help us!"

Neville considers this, then nods slowly. "But why do you want me to talk to him?"

"Neville," Hermione says patiently. "You're, well, you're you. Ron and I are nobodies at best, but he'd listen to you, even though we're only third years."

Neville rubs his face. She's probably right. He knows he's not the most commanding presence, he doesn't demand attention just by being there in the way that Hermione or Harry do, but he's the Boy-Who-Lived and Heir Longbottom and that means people usually listen when he talks, at least at first. "Alright," he says. "Should I try to talk to anyone else?"

"Not yet," Hermione declares. "Try to get Diggory first. Oh, but maybe Harry?"

Neville nods. "Okay. I'll snag Diggory when I can, and… Harry sometime, I s'pose. He hasn't been around much lately."

"No, he hasn't," Hermione says, frowning. "Well, he's probably got a lot of his mind—it was an eventful summer, really. And now all this with Umbridge?"

"Yeah," Ron says, nodding. "He's been spending time with his Slytherin friends, and all."

"Nothing wrong with that," Neville says, but Ron just rolls his eyes. Neville sighs. "Anyway. I'll talk to him, too. Maybe after next Defence class."

Hermione nods. "Good plan."

They have Defence with the Slytherins this year, which means that two days later, Neville does have the opportunity to see Harry in class. Harry's taken to sitting over on the Slytherin side of the room rather than close to his friends in Gryffindor, but because Umbridge has them all in individual desks rather than at the longer tables Sirius preferred, it sort of makes sense. Neville watches Harry during Umbridge's dry lecture, trying to catch his eye, but Harry avoids looking at him pretty thoroughly. Maybe it's an accident, Neville thinks, but… something about Harry's determined forward attention when there's no way he cares about Umbridge's high-pitched blather about 'identifying a situation that requires defusing' bothers him.

Then, a few minutes before the end of class, Umbridge says, "Now, please keep in mind: some wizards, particularly those who used to be Aurors, become paranoid. They will often try to tell you that a situation is dangerous when it is not, or a person is dangerous who is not! You must not overestimate and over-react simply because certain former teachers of yours have been affected by their experiences."

Harry's head, which had been bent to his notes, snaps up. Neville watches as he visibly struggles with himself; Umbridge looks his way too, and smiles expectantly, smugly. Neville grimaces in anticipation, and sure enough, Harry's hand snaps up.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asks sweetly, that smile still on her face.

"Professor Umbridge," Harry says, his voice steady and ice-cold, "I think you should be careful about what you imply about our former teachers. Remember that one of those is Lord Black, a respected former Auror and a Peer of the Wizengamot."

"Oh, I would never slander such an upstanding Lord," Umbridge says. "I only ask that you evaluate carefully whatever he may have taught you! He has made some inflammatory comments about the safety of our community, Mr. Potter, and I wouldn't want those comments to colour your readiness to deal with realistic situations of day-to-day life."

"Lord Black's comments reflect the reality of the state of our community," Harry says.

Oh no, Neville thinks, watching Umbridge's expression sharpen.

"There is no proof of anything Lord Black claimed in the papers this summer," she says firmly.

"No proof beyond my own word," Harry says. "If you're going to call him a liar, you should call me one too—but mind yourself if you do."

"Impudence!" Umbridge shrills. "We both know full well the truth of your words, Mr. Potter: that there isn't any. The magical world is perfectly safe, and certainly not threatened by any such thing as the return of Lord Voldemort."

"I didn't say anything about Voldemort, did I? Just that Sirius was right that the magical world isn't safe," Harry says. "But fine, if you want to go there. Voldemort is back. I saw him with my own eyes. I spoke to him. And if you want to—"

"Enough!" Umbridge shouts. "Enough, none of these lies will be had in my classroom! Detention with me, Mr. Potter, for a week, right after dinner. Am I understood?"

Harry visibly grits his teeth. There's a beat, and then he says, "If you understand that I won't stop speaking the truth in your classroom, Professor, then I understand that I'll be serving detention for it. But this is, after all, your classroom, so I suppose you can run it however seems best to you."

"Two weeks," Umbridge says, hisses out the words through her teeth.

Harry just smiles. "Yes, Professor," he says. Then he looks at the clock on the wall and starts gathering his things. Umbridge looks deeply insulted for a moment, but even as she opens her mouth again, other students look as well and start to prepare to leave. The class period is over; she can't keep them.

Neville heaves a sigh of relief. Then he scrambles to gather his books, because he needs to catch Harry on his way out.

It's a close thing. Harry is headed away from the Defence classroom at a brisk pace, his shoulders hunched, and Neville has to run to catch up. He puts a hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him, and Harry flinches under his touch and whirls—but he doesn't relax much when he sees it's Neville, just says, "Oh."

"Harry," Neville says, a little out of breath from his short sprint. "That was amazing."

Harry just shrugs. "I shouldn't have lost my temper. Did you need something?"

Neville frowns. "I… uh, yes, I wanted to talk to you." Harry's expression is closed and tense; he's probably still mad about Umbridge, for all he says he shouldn't have snapped at her. "Do you have a minute? We should talk privately."

"Maybe," Harry says, and takes a surreptitious look around. The other Slytherins have gone ahead, it looks like. "We can talk here."

Neville also glances around, then shrugs. It's true, there aren't many people around. Still, he lowers his voice. "Hermione and Ron and I are going to try to start a Defence club," he says. "To make sure everyone can learn to defend themselves. We were hoping you'd help?"

Harry hesitates for a moment, then he says, "I can't."

"What?" Neville shakes his head. "I mean, Harry… you're the best at Defence of anyone I know. And… don't you want to learn, too?"

"I have other ways of doing that," Harry says, "and I'm busy. I also can't risk getting in any more trouble—Umbridge already has it out for me, and probably for you too. You'd be better off keeping your nose clean, Neville."

Neville stares for a moment, feeling a bit blindsided. This, he'd thought, would be exactly the sort of thing Harry would want to be involved in. "I… I thought—"

"Things have changed," Harry says, almost harsh. "I… I still care about you, Neville, but after this summer, and with Voldemort, I've got to be more careful. You've got your friends, but I'm alone in Slytherin."

"We're your friends too, Harry!" Neville insists. "You're not alone, you have us."

"That's naive." Harry doesn't look sorry when Neville flinches from the hurt that causes. "I won't join your club, and I'm not going to be able to help you if you get caught, okay? So… don't get caught. And don't tell me anything else about it."

Neville can feel the miserable curl of his mouth, and he drags in a breath. There's a wet edge of tears caught somewhere in his throat, and it comes out thick in his voice when he says, "Fine." He hates how easily he cries, sometimes. "Alright, fine. I won't tell you. But… I'm still your friend, Harry. So…"

"So?" Harry looks away then, a distant look in his eye. He's Occluding, Neville thinks. He's seen that look before, from when they were practicing together. Whatever Harry's feeling, he's locking it away. "I'd better catch up with Blaise and Theo. Bye, Neville." He hesitates, then, just for a moment, and quietly he says, "Good luck."

"You too, Harry," Neville says. He doesn't know what's going on—everything about this feels wrong. There's nothing he can do, though, except scrub the gathered tears from his eyes and watch Harry walk away.

It's both easier and harder to catch Cedric Diggory than it was to catch Harry. He's often found out in the courtyard or in one of the study halls on rainy days, or in the library, but he's also always surrounded by people, and Neville feels a bit reluctant to approach him when there are so many other, older students about. After about a week of trying to find him on his own, however, he gives up and resigns himself to public embarrassment, and when he spots him while walking back to Gryffindor Tower after lunch with Hermione and Ron, he excuses himself and heads over that way.

Diggory is sitting in a window seat with two other sixth year Hufflepuffs, engaged in a cheerful conversation, but he looks up right away when Neville approaches and smiles. He's got a handsome smile, warm and welcoming.

"Hello," Diggory says. "Longbottom, is it?"

Nice of him to ignore Neville's fame, really; then again, it's probably obvious to just about everyone how little he likes everyone knowing him. "Hi," he says. "Er, Diggory, I was wondering if I might have a private word? I just need a moment, really."

"Of course," Diggory says, and gets up immediately, waving down his friends and walking with Neville to a quiet corner where they won't be easily overheard. There are people going past now and then, of course, but no one should be listening.

"Right," Neville says, and has to take a deep breath to steel himself. "Listen, Diggory—this is going to sound insane, but… I need your help."

"Sure," Diggory says, easy-going. "What with?"

Neville lowers his voice. "Ron and Hermione and I, we're thinking of… starting a club. A Defence club, to help everyone learn what we're going to need to know to survive."

Diggory's expression goes serious, and he nods. "I see," he says. "Well, I can see why you came to me—because of Umbridge cracking down on our Quidditch team, right? And you'll need older students."

"Exactly," Neville says, relieved. "We were thinking… maybe a meeting, during the first Hogsmeade weekend, just to see who might be interested. Would you be willing to spread the word?"

"I can do that," Diggory says. "But—well, I'm a good student, but I'm not sure I'm teaching material. I'll do what I can, but you should have some others involved, too, if you can. And… I assume this will be open to all Houses?"

Neville frowns, looks away. "I'm not sure anyone in Slytherin would come," he says. "And those did might just be there to spy." Malfoy and his cronies have proven themselves eager supporters of Umbridge, as have a few others.

"What about Potter?" Diggory says, and Neville looks up at him, surprised. Diggory shrugs. "Everyone knows you're friends."

"He's… it's complicated. He might be willing to pass the word, but we shouldn't count on any Slytherins."

"Alright," Diggory says. "Well, even so—it would make me feel better if we had a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor student in sixth or seventh year too, to help lead the group. With that, I'd be willing to take on a share."

"Thank you," Neville says. "It's… it means a lot."

"It's important," Diggory says. "I understand. And I think Umbridge is terrible too—you're right that we're all going to need to know how to defend ourselves in the days to come. I believe you and Potter, y'know. About You-Know-Who. I'll do what I can to protect everyone else."

Neville swallows, nods, and offers a hand for Diggory to shake, which he accepts with alacrity. "Hermione and I will do as much as we can to get things organized," Neville promises. "We'll find a meeting place, and all, at least for the first meeting. And… I've had some extra tutoring, from Sirius—er, Professor Black—and Dumbledore, last year. So I can try to help with the lessons, though I'm not much good speaking in front of people."

"That would be great, Neville," Diggory says, smiling. "Better scurry off for now, though, before we start looking suspicious. Let me know when you can what the plan is."

"Will do." Neville sketches a shallow bow and then hurries away, going to catch up with Hermione and Ron. Thank Merlin, he thinks, as he quietly relays the conversation to them in the Gryffindor Common Room, not long after. With Diggory—Cedric, he thinks, probably—this will be a lot easier. Not easy, because they're going to have to be very careful. But easier.

The next three weeks are consumed with planning. Hermione suggests they have their Hogsmeade weekend meeting in the Hog's Head, where they're unlikely to be overheard by anyone else from the school; the students don't go there, usually. This makes good enough sense to Neville and Ron, so they put the word out, as quietly as they can while still making sure it gets around.

On the upside, everyone Neville talks to seems really on board with going behind Umbridge's back to study Defence. She's really only gotten worse in class, and hands out detentions at the slightest provocation… and for the worst offenders, her detentions are downright cruel. Neville has seen a few people with red marks on the backs of their hands, maybe in some sort of shape—he's not sure, but he reckons she beats people with a ruler, like some sort of horrible caricature of a mean schoolmaster. She seems to delight in the silences that fall as she strides around through the halls, equal parts hateful and fearful, and it feels like every other day that some new decree is being pounded into the wall around the doors to the Great Hall by Filch. First, no student clubs… but quickly that becomes no talking in groups of more than three in the halls, no spending time in the study halls if you aren't studying, three feet between male and female students at all times.

"She's a tyrant!" becomes Hermione's repeated lament, and Neville agrees, but he doesn't do much more than sigh and nod. Their first meeting for their Defence club will at least give them something else to worry about for a while. And maybe it'll take Neville's mind off Harry.

He'd tried once more to approach his friend about the Defence club, told him when the first meeting would be, but Harry had only shaken his head and walked away. It really only made Harry's behaviour more obvious: since they'd gotten back to Hogwarts, it's like they don't even know each other. Harry spends all his time with Zabini, Nott and Bulstrode, or sometimes with Farley and her friends, but he never even makes eye contact with Neville or Hermione or Ron. When they try to approach him, he puts them off with excuses of homework or detention—he's earned a few more with Umbridge, too stubborn to keep his tongue entirely in her class, though he hasn't been as strong about it as he had been in that one early class. She just hates him now, and takes any bit of snide tone as backtalk and gives him a detention for it. Neville has seen the bandage on Harry's hand; she's pretty harsh on him. But he doesn't come to them to complain.

Instead, he's just… gone, so much of the time. Or absent in mind if not in body. He seems to be constantly studying, whenever Neville sees him, his nose bent to a book or working out runic sentences on scrap parchment or writing in a leather journal, probably keeping a calendar. Neville doesn't get it, doesn't understand what he's done to drive Harry away all of a sudden—they'd been united over the summer, both of them trying to get the world to believe in what they'd seen. Maybe Harry was angry because Neville's grandmother hadn't allowed him to speak to the press, and so he felt like he'd been left alone to take the brunt of it? Which… was true, and Neville couldn't blame him, but if that were the case why not say anything sooner, or at all? Harry knows that Neville would always try to help, if asked, or at least Neville would like to think so.

But there's nothing to be done, really. Harry won't talk to him, and Neville is sure he won't come to the Defence club meeting, so… he'll have to find some other way to get through to him. Somehow.

In the meantime, the Hogsmeade weekend is looming. The first one of the year falls on the very first weekend of October, and when it arrives it arrives grey and windy, but dry at least, and not too cold. Neville, Ron, and Hermione walk down to the village together, chatting, and then into a lull in the conversation Hermione says, as tentatively as maybe Neville has ever heard her, "Do you think Harry will come?"

Neville looks down, watches the toes of his boots emerge, left, right, left, right, from under his long school robe, and he tells the ground, "I don't know."

Ron huffs, annoyed. "Just goes to show," he says. "He wasn't ever much of a friend, was he, if he's just going to drop us all for Zabini and Bulstrode and Nott at the drop of a hat?"

Neville shrugs, uncomfortable. "He saved my life, Ron."

"Yeah, I know, so he's a decent bloke," Ron says. "But that doesn't mean he's a good friend, Nev. You might as well forget him—he's not going to show, we all know it. He's done with us, he's gone off to be a fancy Heir with the Slytherins and he doesn't care about you anymore."

That isn't true and Neville's sure of that, because if Harry really didn't care, he'd have turned them all in to Umbridge to get her off his back. That would be the really Slytherin thing to do. But Neville is sure Harry won't do that, for all he's told Neville not to involve him with their new Defence club. So, yeah, maybe Harry's been a bit of a bad friend, dropping them all of a sudden like this, but…

"Well, maybe," Hermione is saying. She still sounds unsure. "But what if it's that there's something wrong, and he's not telling us? You know Harry, he never talks about his problems."

"I wondered that too," Neville says.

"It doesn't matter," Ron insists. "He's being a prat. If he's not going to own up, who cares? If he wants to deal with everything by himself so badly, he can—and anyway, it's not like he hasn't got friends in Slytherin. He's probably telling them. Seriously, you'll only drive yourselves 'round the bend trying to get inside his head. He's a Slytherin! Who knows what he thinks?"

Neville shakes his head. They've had these conversations with Ron before, and he can tell Hermione is tempted to argue, but all the best to her if she does—he's given up. No point. Ron's too stubborn on the topic of Slytherins in general and Harry in particular to actually change his mind. Whatever the source of his grudge is, it's ingrained. Obviously it's much worse when it comes to Malfoy, but that makes sense—his dislike of Harry doesn't, not to Neville. Nothing to be done, though; best to choose his battles, or so his grandmother always said, and this really isn't a battle he wants to fight.

So they go onward down into Hogsmeade in an uneasy quiet. They stop at Honeyduke's first, to put off any suspicion, and then make their meandering way down the village road toward the Hog's Head. They're early, but this is also sort of their party, and Neville's gran always said that it was gauche for the host to be ready less than a quarter hour ahead.

Probably, he decides, for this exact reason: they walk into the Hog's Head to find Percy Weasley already there, being lectured sternly by Penelope Clearwater. They both look up when the door opens, and Clearwater smiles at them, waves, and says, "Oh, good, you're here."

"Uh," says Neville.

"What are you doing here?" Ron demands immediately, stomping up to his brother. "You're not supposed to know about this!"

"I told him," Clearwater says, in a voice that sounds very kind but also like if Ron uses as rude a tone on her, she'll unhinge her jaw and bite his head right off. Neville's familiar with it; his grandmother uses a similar one when certain of the Wizengamot Peers are acting up.

"Oh," Ron says, stymied; clearly he recognizes the tone too. "Uh. Why."

"He's my boyfriend," Clearwater says. "And he's Head Boy, and he'll be helpful. We're all in this together, aren't we?"

"Of course," Neville cuts in, before Ron can stammer too much. "We were just surprised."

"It's really very good!" Hermione says cheerfully. "That means we'll have at least a sixth year from all three Houses—even a seventh year, if Cedric managed to find one from Hufflepuff!"

Clearwater smiles, then says, "We're really not expecting any Slytherins? I mean… I'll admit, I don't talk to them much, but some of the other Ravenclaws have friends in Slytherin. Or, ah, acquaintances, at least."

Hermione shakes her head. "Not that we know of," she says. "It's… well, it is what it is, right?"

"I suppose so," Clearwater says, sighing, then turns to Percy and says, "Percy, why don't you go stand at the door and shepherd the newcomers this way? We'll set up."

Percy is frowning, but he nods and heads over toward the door, taking a seat and watching for any students arriving. While he does, Neville takes the opportunity to look around the bar. It's dingy and dark, and mostly empty. There's an old wix sitting at the bar with a cloak drawn down low over their face, but after a moment of study, Neville decides they're probably not anyone in disguise. There's also two witches sitting at a table, playing a game of dice and laughing over tankards of some sort of drink, and of course the bartender, who's wiping the counter and giving them all a suspicious look. But he doesn't come over and turn them out, so they stake out some tables in the back corner and collect some chairs from around the bar, and then they wait.

People trickle in, some alone, others in twos and threes with friends and Housemates. It's a good mix of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor, though the latter two are better represented. Cedric arrives just on time, and he waves at Neville, Hermione, Ron, and Clearwater, but he heads for the bar first, and speaks with the bartender, then hands over some money and receives after a minute a tray with pitchers of water and juice, and tall stacks of glasses. This he brings with him when he comes over and greets them cheerfully.

"Good crowd already, isn't it?" he says, setting down the tray. "And there's sure to be some stragglers."

"Yes," says Clearwater, sounding satisfied. "No small bit because of you, Diggory; thank you for your efforts."

He shrugs, a little sheepish. "It's important. Anyway, really we should be thanking you three," he says, turning to Neville, Hermione, and Ron. He smiles winningly; Hermione flushes a little and ducks her head. "It was your idea, after all."

"Hermione's, really," Neville says, happy to hand over the credit. "Should we start?"

"Probably best," Cedric says. "Clearwater? You want to call us to order?"

"Certainly," she says, and collects a glass and a spoon from the tray, rises, and taps the glass several times. It produces a clear ringing noise, which carries through the bar over the chatter that had been rising in volume as people gathered, and everyone turns their attention to her. "If everyone would come sit down, please?"

There's a bit of a shuffle as everyone finds seats—there are more than twenty people present, and the Hog's Head really isn't that large. They end up commandeering the last of the available chairs, and the witches who had been playing dice shift to a table further from theirs, shaking their heads at the commotion. Once everyone is settled, Clearwater clears her throat and says, "Welcome, one and all, to the first meeting of the yet-unnamed Defence club. First, I would like to reiterate something that all of you must know already: what we are doing is against school rules, and if Madame Umbridge were to find out, we would be in danger of suspension or even expulsion."

There's a bit of murmuring, but people nod, too, some turning to whisper to their friends. Once it's quiet again, Clearwater continues, "With that in mind, if there is anyone who does not wish to put themselves at further risk, you are free to leave now. We all understand—some of us have families whose reputations we must protect; others cannot afford to be deprived of a Hogwarts education for the sake of our futures."

Neville remembers, quite abruptly, that Penelope Clearwater is a muggleborn. She belongs to the latter class she'd mentioned; if she's expelled without qualification as a fully-trained witch, her odds of ever being able to find a job in the magical world are very low. He swallows. If he gets caught, well, he'll still be Heir Longbottom, and he'll still be the Boy-Who-Lived; Umbridge can't really touch him. But for some of these people—he looks over the crowd, sees faces of others he knows are muggleborn, and some whose Families he knows are poor, like Ron and his brothers—the stakes are a lot higher.

But no one leaves. Instead, Clearwater turns to Neville and Hermione and says, "Perhaps you two would like to introduce the idea, seeing as it came from you?"

Hermione nods, but then she doesn't say anything. She looks at Neville. Panicked, Neville looks back, and she just makes a sort of go on gesture, urging him forward.

His whole head is full of no, why, no, but he clearly hasn't got much of a choice, so he squares his shoulders and steps forward. "Uh," he says, which is really just an excellent start. "Well, um, I'm Neville Longbottom."

"We know!" shouts one of the Weasley twins, from somewhere in the middle of the group. Everyone laughs. For someone else, Neville thinks, this would maybe break the tension; it only winds him tighter.

"I… in April, I got kidnapped by Death Eaters," he says. A silence falls, hard and heavy, over the group. "I couldn't do anything about it. I've never been so scared in my life, and it was really only because I had a friend by my side, who'd been learning with me how we could defend ourselves, that I managed to keep my head. But I did manage, eventually, to remember some of the things Lord Black taught me last year—how to assess a situation, how to find my tools… how to know when to run. I'd be dead without those lessons, and the other lessons I've had in Defence."

He pauses, clears his throat, and looks down at his shoes. "I'm probably not a good person to be talking about how we all need to be great at defending ourselves with magic. I'm actually a bit pants at it. But I know that we all need to know how to defend ourselves somehow, because the next kid who gets kidnapped by Death Eaters might not be me.

"I know not everyone believes what Harry said, still," he says. "About Voldemort—" he has to pause to let the gasps and muttering pass. "About him being back. But I know what I saw, and I know Harry wouldn't lie. So… war is coming. We have to be ready. That's all."

Embarrassed, knowing he probably just made a muck of it, Neville steps back to Hermione's side. She lays a hand on his arm, briefly, and Ron bumps his shoulder against Neville's.

"What Neville didn't say," Hermione says, stepping forward to pick up the thread, "but what all of us know, is that Umbridge isn't going to teach us anything that will actually help us. Most of us, except you few first years I see, remember how wonderful Professor Black's lessons were last year, because they were things anyone could use, and use well. We want to do more of that; we want to learn and teach things that everyone here can use to keep themselves and the people they care about safe, whether Umbridge likes it or not."

"She doesn't want us arming ourselves," Cedric says. He's sitting down, but he sits up, sits forward, and immediately has the attention of the room. "She doesn't want us to realize how capable we really are. She believes in the power of the Ministry, and wants us to believe in that too—and that's all well and good, but not even the Ministry can be everywhere all the time. I believe in the Ministry too, in our society and our government, but I don't believe in being controlled by it. We're all our own people—everyone remembers the Sorting song this year, right? We can each make up our own minds, and we can each decide to become strong, as individuals and together.

"We can help each other," he continues. The conviction is clear in his voice. "We can teach each other. And we can be more than she thinks we can—we're not little kids who she can blind to the realities of the world to make us obedient little subjects. We're young wixen; we've got magic, and we've got ourselves, and we've got Hogwarts."

"Hear hear!" cries a Hufflepuff from the middle of the crowd, and there's an outburst of cheering and shouting that takes a while to subside.

Eventually, Clearwater raises her voice again and says, "So, we need to decide a few things about how to do this. First, we'll need a secret way to communicate when the meetings will be—Miss Granger and I have had a little brainstorming session and we think we have some ideas, but if anything springs to mind for anyone else, let us know. Once we've got it figured, we'll distribute… something.

"Second, we need a place to meet. This one I'm less sure on—maybe we should have a rotating space?"

"What about the Come and Go Room?" says a new voice from the far back of the group. Some of those who are standing at the back shuffle out of the way to reveal, to Neville's surprise, a small group of Slytherins: Gemma Farley and two of her friends, and huddling behind them, a few younger students who all look… well, haughty, like Slytherins usually do, but a bit like that's to hide how nervous they are to suddenly have the attention of the whole group. Farley's expression is serene, though, and the brown-skinned girl in a hijab standing at her side waves slightly. "Yes, that was me," she says.

"Don't look so shocked," Farley adds smoothly. "This is for everyone, isn't it?"

Clearwater, startled, manages to gather her wits and clears her throat. "Of course," she says, glancing at Neville and Hermione. Hermione nods firmly; Neville tries a smile. "Ah… thank you for coming."

How had they found out? Then Neville realizes: Harry. He's not here himself, but he's friends, or at least allies, with Farley; he must have told her, and she told the group she has with her. Herself and her hijabi friend and Terence Higgs, and about half a dozen Slytherins from the lower years. Not many faces Neville recognizes, so maybe these are some of the snake House's elusive halfbloods and muggleborns? But, no, not entirely—there's Miles Bletchley, and hiding at the far back are Iuliana Urquart and Astoria Greengrass, and it's not like Farley's a small name, either.

But they're not going to turn them away. It's good, really, that all four Houses are represented—and they've got both the Head Boy and the Head Girl, plus at least one Prefect from all the Houses now, too.

"What was that about a room?" Cedric is saying, moving smoothly past the awkwardness in a way Neville could never pull off. "Ah, Hussain, right?"

"Yes," the hijabi girl, Hussain—right, Harry's mentioned her—says. "The Come and Go Room. Have any of you heard about it?"

A round of head-shakes, including from the twins, which surprises Neville a little; they seem to know everything about the castle.

"Do none of you talk to the house elves?" she asks, a bit sardonic, but shakes her head. "It's off the seventh floor corridor. It'll be anything you want, if you want it clearly enough."

"That sounds… perfect," Clearwater says. "You'll have to show myself and Hermione."

"No need to be suspicious," Farley says. "I've been there too—it's no trick. Well, it's quite a trick, really, but not on you. No one will be able to find us there unless we wish it."

"That does sound very good," Hermione cuts in. "Well, we'll have our next meeting there—seventh floor, you said? I don't recall seeing a door…"

"No, you wouldn't," Hussain says mildly. She crosses her arms. "Across from the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy. Pace back and forth three times, thinking hard about what you want the room to be, and a door will appear. Try not to go check it out all at once, because then one of Umbridge's lackeys will notice and we'll surely be caught."

"Of course," Cedric says. He rises from his seat and bows shallowly in Hussain and Farley's direction. "Thank you. I'm sure this knowledge will be invaluable."

"Believe me," Farley says with some good humour in her voice, "we weren't going to come empty-handed. We know we'll need to prove ourselves to the rest of you."

"That's not—"

"Don't be a fool, Diggory," Farley says, cutting him off ruthlessly. Her tone is still mild, almost amused, but… "Not one of us in Slytherin, not even the first years, isn't aware of what the rest of the school thinks of us, and we're realistic about it. But like the Hat said, when the school is threatened, four come together as one, not three. This is our home too, and we'll do what we have to to prove that we're here to protect it."

"Being in Slytherin doesn't make you a villain," Hermione says firmly, stepping forward. "The first real friend I'd ever made in my life is in your House, and I'll never forget that."

Neville can see, out of the corner of his eye, the slightly disdainful twist of Ron's lips. He can see the same disbelief on the faces of others in the crowd, too; he'd heard the guarded suspicion in Clearwater's voice earlier. He agrees with Hermione, of course he does, but they're only two people—and Farley clearly knows that. She smiles, nods, but she's humouring Hermione at best. Behind her, some of the younger Slytherins turn their faces away, and Neville can only imagine the disbelief that must be on their faces, too.

"Declarations of intent are all well and good," says an older Ravenclaw boy in the crowd, "but we need some sort of assurance that no one here is going to narc."

There's a pause, and then Cedric says, "Sorry, going to what?"

"Oh," says the Ravenclaw. "Sorry—turn us over to Umbridge, I mean."

"Right," Clearwater says, waving away the confusion. "Granger and I talked about that, too—"

She starts explaining something about signing a piece of parchment that she and Hermione brought, and Neville leans over to Ron and says in an undertone, "When did they have this meeting?"

Ron shrugs. "Hermione's always off in the library, mate," he says. "They probably met there to 'study' and no one noticed a thing."

"Right," Neville says. It's true—Hermione does study more than pretty much anyone, including most Ravenclaws. If she and Clearwater had been meeting up in the library, no one would have noticed, never mind said anything about it. Good cover, really; she's a lot better at subterfuge than Neville is, at least sometimes.

The meeting goes on, people asking questions, raising concerns—some want to know who'll be teaching, others what, still others have questions about schedule… some things they can answer, some they can't. Neville stays quiet for the most part—though this is his, Hermione, and Ron's venture originally, he's not really the leader this group needs. Better that he step back and let Clearwater and Cedric run things.

The Slytherins don't leave, which makes him feel… better, he supposes. They aren't Harry, but he can see Harry's hand in them being here. It gives him hope that whatever's going on with his friend, it'll be fine.

Eventually, things wind down, and Clearwater pulls out her enchanted piece of parchment and a quill and sets up so that people can form a queue to sign. Neville, Hermione, and Ron's names are right at the top of the list, followed by everyone else; it's a long list, and that gives Neville hope, too.

Feeling warmed, he lingers at the end of the line, waiting. He tells Hermione and Ron quietly not to wait up for him, but of course they do, lingering a little ways away, closer to the door. He just shakes his head fondly, and then turns his attention back to the line, waiting until—and then there she comes.

"Farley," he says as she goes past, and she pauses.

"Something I can do for you, Longbottom?" she asks.

"I just wanted to thank you for coming, and for bringing the others. I know—" he hesitates, laughs awkwardly. "Well, maybe this will sound more like an insult than a compliment, but I know it probably took a lot of courage to show up here."

She studies him for a moment, in a way that reminds Neville a bit of Harry—maybe it's a Slytherin thing, to take the measure of another person like that before speaking. Then she smiles. "I'll take it as a compliment coming from you."

"And… uh," Neville says, and hesitates again. Her smile doesn't waver, though, and it gives him the confidence to continue. "If you get the chance, tell Harry… tell him he's still welcome."

"He knows," she says gently. "But I'll tell him anyway."

"Thanks." He rubs a hand over his face, and then he makes a proper bow, Heir-to-Heir.

Farley bows back, still smiling that warm smile, and says, "I look forward to working with you, Heir Longbottom."

Neville nods, then nervously he says, "I think you should call me Neville, Heir Farley."

"Neville," she says with a nod of her own, and then sweeps away to meet Hussain where she's been waiting, hanging back a little—no return offer of her first name, but that makes sense. While at Hogwarts, at least, she outranks him. She's Head Girl, after all. But it felt right to offer her the familiarity, and he hopes she takes it the way he meant it—that he admires her strength, and doesn't at all want her as an enemy.

Even the thought makes him shudder a little as he walks over to Hermione and Ron.

"Everything alright?" Hermione asks, a concerned frown on her face.

"Yeah," Neville says. "Just fine. Let's get some lunch, alright?"

"Alright," she says, sounding a little doubtful. Ron just shrugs, and together, they leave the Hog's Head… and the first meeting of the newly named Defence Association.