Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness, page 33
Parvati gasped as she realized what her friend was getting at. "Lav, you're talking about winning!"
"And if something bad does happen to Harry, you can kill You-Know-Who too, right, Neville?" Colin's enthusiastic outburst dropped like a bomb into the middle of the little group, and they all fell silent, staring at their leader expectantly.
Neville felt like everything had suddenly started moving extremely fast, and he shook his head, raising both hands as if trying to ward it all off. "Wait...wait just a second...."
"He can." Ginny nodded firmly. "It's not just a rumor. Dumbledore's portrait told me himself...that Prophecy about Harry was about both of them. You-Know-Who selected Harry, and there's a bunch of other complicated stuff that he said he didn't have time to explain because of that, so he is the Chosen One, and it is his task...but it is possible if Neville had to."
Seamus was looking at his friend as if he had never seen him before, and his voice was hushed. "How would you do it?"
Neville shrugged helplessly. "Avada Kedavra? I have no effing clue, really. It doesn't seem like a Killing Curse would be enough...I mean, if it was that simple, Dumbledore would have done it...or had Harry do it one of the half-dozen times he's faced the bastard. There's got to be more to it."
Ginny's eyes had taken on a distant look as she stared into the fireplace. "The locket. It's got something to do with the Sword and the locket. Luna said it definitely belonged to Slytherin, and that it was last known to have been reported in the Prophet as having gone missing when some old witch was accidentally poisoned by her house-elf. It was a big deal, because it had belonged to one of the Founders, and it was gone along with Hufflepuff's cup, which was the only known relic of hers."
"Gryffindor's sword, Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket...the Sorting Hat said all the houses had to be united to defeat our enemy. I always thought it meant that we couldn't be trying to fight each other all the time, or even the way we wound up having Renny in the D.A. and have sort of had to bring Malfoy in too in a way...but what if...." Neville trailed off, not wanting to finish his own thought.
"What if Harry - or you, Neville - uniting four Founder's objects completes some kind of amazingly powerful spell that would be enough to finish off even You-Know-Who?" Ginny finished solemnly.
"One problem with that...there's nothing of Ravenclaw's that still exists." Parvati sighed. "Padma was talking about it when you were going to get the Sword. She's jealous that we have a relic and they don't."
"Then maybe that's a red herring." Colin shrugged, and Neville was not the only one to stare at him bemusedly. He laughed. "It means a distracting detail. Maybe the cup has nothing to do with anything, and it's just what we thought before...the locket being possessed, and the Sword of Gryffindor to kill the Heir of Slytherin."
"Unfortunately," Neville pointed out, "the Sword of Gryffindor is in the Vault of LeStrange in the Bank of Gringotts, and that's a dead end...very literally, if we were idiots enough to try it."
Romilda twisted a lock of her thick, dark hair around her finger, an evil glint in her eyes. "So, if Bellatrix LeStrange and her husband were to die, who would inherit their vault?"
Ginny paused a moment, thinking. "I'm trying to remember the tapestry of the Black family tree...her husband's the last of his line, except his sister's kids...who I guess are Colin and Dennis, actually, even though they weren't listed. And on her side, I think it would be her sisters...one's Draco's mother, and the other's the mother of Tonks, Professor Lupin's wife."
"So you're telling me," Romilda went on, "that if we took out the LeStranges, then either the Creevey boys would own the Sword, or if they're out because she was a Squib, there would be a good chance Mrs. Lupin's mother could sign over her inheritance early, and a member of the Order could walk in there and pick it up for us, easy as you please?"
"Bellatrix is his right hand," Neville said cautiously, "and she's mad. He doesn't use her lightly."
"Then Lavender's got to be right!" Seamus jumped to his feet, slapping his wand against his hand so hard that sparks flew out of the end. "We build up numbers, make this a real one for the history books, make him bring everythin' he's got to the field, and make damned sure we take out both LeStranges so that whoever's left standin' - you, Harry, whoever - can use Colin or Tonks to get the Sword and finish off ol' Snake-Face...and then by Merlin, we'll have done it!"
Ginny seemed as stunned as Neville felt. "We can win."
Slowly, like warmth seeping back into frozen fingers before the glow of a fireplace, the amazing, impossible, wonderfully plausible hope of it all began to spread a smile over Neville's face. The thought of himself as the one to kill You-Know-Who was still so daunting as to not even bear consideration, but he had complete faith in Harry's ability to do it, and if they were all going to give their lives anyway, how much better to do it not in a grand gesture, but a triumphant mortal blow to their enemies?
But it was not the thought of victory that finally resolved him, that pushed him to his feet as he reached out a hand to shake Seamus' with a nod of agreement. It was another drive, something deeper and older than the war, something that he had nursed quietly in the darkest places of his heart even when he had thought there was nothing else there at all. When he had believed himself to be a Squib, it had survived on the edge of a knife or the rim of a poisoned cup, but now he knew it would come in a blaze of power that his parents had given him and that he would use in their name. "We do it," he said firmly, "on one condition."
"What's that?" Seamus asked.
"Bellatrix is mine."
OOO
The next day, their campaign began. Neville had consulted with Terry about how to modify the Fidelius Charm without endangering their current protection, and although the exact membership, activities, and meeting places remained under the magical confidentiality, the existence of the D.A. itself was now free to disclose. And disclose it they did.
Sally-Ann Perks, a Hufflepuff seventh-year, had a mother who had worked for Fudge's election campaign for Minister of Magic, and she helped them to create a veritable snowstorm of propaganda that blanketed the school within two days. Graffiti lined the walls - Dumbledore's Army: Still Recruiting! - and everywhere students went, they were besieged with the atrocities that had been committed by You-Know-Who's followers over the past weeks.
Bathroom taps announced the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Creevey as the water flowed, while the showers babbled happily about Harry being sighted. Blackboards bore the unerasable question: Are you the next to disappear if he has a Quibble with your family? Suits of armor recited the names of witches and wizards murdered and gone missing: Abbott, Anderson, Bones, Burbage, Cattermole, Chang, Corner, Creevey, Cresswell, Crouch, Diggory, Dobbs, Dumbledore, Entwhistle.... Rubbish bins implored people not to throw their freedoms away when scraps of parchment or broken quills were tossed in. Library books all opened to the Quibbler article about the Runcorns on the first page. Mirrors asked what side the user saw themselves on, and tiny iron shackles were left on pillows, each doll-sized cuff inscribed "Souvenir of the Hogwarts Express."
Snape and the Carrows were in spasms of fury, but the most deranged of all was Filch. Even Mrs. Norris was shying away from him as he patrolled the corridors and burst in on classes, turning out pockets and bags, the still-bloodstained whip coiled tightly in his skeletal hands. In an attempt to blackmail the perpetrators to a halt, Snape had two first-year students Cruciated in the Great Hall during dinner, but their screams sounded from the hinges of doors the next day, and he was rewarded not with fear, but with even more eyes turning to him in bitter defiance as he looked over the tables.
The Headmaster then declared that all offenses previously punishable by detention - with particular emphasis on defacement of school property - would now see the offender used as practice for the Cruciatus Curse in Dark Arts, but he had underestimated the sometimes terrible adaptability of the young. In his fervor, he soon made the curse that struck terror into the hearts of adult wizards into a badge of honor among the students. As more and more were subjected to it, word quickly spread that it could not only be endured, but that the pain faded the moment it was lifted, and that even the worst agony was survivable. Within a week, the teenagers bragged about having received it, trading tales about who had cast it on them like chocolate frog cards, and the bruises and bandages were worn not in defeat, but with pride.
Although the exact membership of the D.A. remained a mystery to all but those who were in it, the identities of the ringleaders had circulated through the rumor mill to the point of common knowledge. Neville could scarcely turn around without someone trying to catch his eye, nodding their head at the graffiti, brushing against him to pass a note that said simply "I'm in." Ginny laughingly reported that a Ravenclaw seventh-year had kissed her outside the girl's bathroom, only to destroy her sense of flattery by slipping her an enlistment note in his mouth, and Susan had two fall out of her hair when she undid her braid at night. The greatest challenge proved not to be persuading new recruits, but getting Colin to meet with half the school in ones and twos, inaugurating their growing ranks.
By popular demand, a junior division - the D.C. or Dumbledore's Cadets - had to be formed, accommodating those who had been refused at the ironclad fourth-year age minimum but were determined to find a way to rebel. Fourth-year Caroline Johnson, Angelina's sister, became their leader, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts from textbooks the older students had kept before the subject was changed. Edmund Vance, meanwhile - a third-year who's Aunt was in the Order - took on the role of their Secret-Keeper with the utmost resolve.
The D.C. was strictly forbidden from engaging in any active attacks or participating in combat, but the excitement of learning fourth and fifth-year DADA spells was more than enough, and the officers of the D.A. proper had to admit that it was a relief to know that their most vulnerable classmates would at least be better able to protect themselves from crossfire. The last traces of doubt about forming the secondary chapter faded to nothing when Neville saw a tiny first-year girl produce a confident, glimmering Protego Charm that bounced Filch's intended whip-strike for 'looking cheeky' back into his face as though it had struck a stone wall.
With all of this extra activity and the scramble to determine the exact breadth of their newly-swelled ranks, the first fully proper and official meeting of the D.A. did not actually take place until Monday, the 13th of January, almost two weeks into the new term. As the familiar heavy door appeared over the portrait hole in the Gryffindor common room, Neville found himself hesitating, his collar feeling suddenly tight around his throat with a sense of stage fright that he hadn't experienced in months. They would all be in there, he knew, veterans of the original D.A., comrades from the past term, and new recruits alike, and he had a feeling that the little stolen meetings with Colin had probably added up.
He allowed his fellow Gryffindors to go through first, staring out the window fixedly at the leafless branches of the Whomping Willow as they pummeled one of Hagrid's unfortunately trespassing escaped skrewts into a blotchy stain on the snow. Finally, however, the last of the D.A. had entered the Room of Requirement, and he felt someone pluck at his sleeve. Turning, he saw it was Ginny, and she gave him an understanding smile as she took in the pale face and wide eyes he had seen reflected in the window pane. "It's okay," she said, "they're not even going to notice you."
Neville raised a deeply skeptical eyebrow. "Ginny, I know I'm no Harry Potter, but...."
Her smile widened, and a mischievous sparkle appeared in the brown eyes. "Trust me, Neville. No one's paying attention to the D.A....but you're definitely going to want to see what's in there."
She was right. Neville had entirely forgotten the request he had made of Dobby before Christmas break, but it was clear the little elf had not.
The Room of Requirement was indeed packed with people, but it had also been transformed into a giant ballroom, decorated everywhere with yellow and blue tartan and white crepe, enormous silver wedding bells hanging in a cluster from the chandelier at the center. A vast banner hung at one end proclaiming "Congratulations Ernie and Susan" and twenty tables surrounded the shining dance floor, the largest of them crowned with a cake easily as tall as Neville himself that was incongruously topped with small sugar figures of the bride and groom shooting hexes at a cringing black-robed heap that bore an uncanny resemblance to their Headmaster.
Dobby himself was standing proudly in the middle of the room, a wooly tam perched between the bat-like ears, and at least a dozen yards of vibrant plaid cloth enrobing his tiny body and trailing the ground behind him. At Neville's appearance, he raised his arms. With a sudden crack, a pair of bagpipes appeared there, and he began to blow into them with an enthusiasm that was only matched by his profound lack of skill. The noise was appalling - a sound like a Kneazle being fed backwards through a laundry mangle - and Neville could not help clapping his hands over his ears as it wailed with magical amplification through the room.
Seamus had appeared at his side, and although he likewise had his hands pressed against his ears, there was a wide grin on his face as he leaned in a few inches away from the side of his friend's head and yelled, "AMAZING, ISN'T IT?"
"THE MUSIC?" he shouted back.
"I WAS THINKING THE REST OF IT...LOOKS LIKE A BRIDAL BOUTIQUE THREW UP IN HERE AFTER GORGING ITSELF ON HAGGIS!"
Neville couldn't help laughing, although he was grateful that Dobby did not appear to have been able to hear over his own attack on the poor bagpipes. Looking around the cringing faces, he finally spotted Ernie and Susan at the far end of the room, their faces twin shades of crimson as they stared at the house-elf. Careful not to allow his hands to slip from their protective position over his ears, he made his way around to the two of them, smiling sheepishly. "I didn't know he'd take it this far!"
Ernie frowned. "WHAT?"
"I SAID, I DIDN'T KNOW HE'D TAKE IT THIS FAR!! I JUST ASKED HIM TO GET YOU A CAKE OR SOMETHING!"
Susan laughed soundlessly, shaking her head in disbelief, then brought her mouth in close enough to be heard. "JUST GET HIM TO STOP THAT RACKET, AND I'LL FORGIVE YOU FOR THE REST!"
Neville nodded, braving deafness as he stepped into the middle of the dance floor and approached the well-meaning piper. Kneeling, he tapped Dobby on the shoulder, and the elf opened his eyes, his cheeks still distended as he blew into the mouthpiece with even greater gusto. Shaking his head, Neville made a slicing motion across his throat, and blissful silence descended immediately, though an odd ringing noise persisted in his ears for several seconds.
"THANK YOU DO--" he caught himself, bringing his voice back down to a normal level as he blushed in momentary embarrassment, "Thanks, Dobby, that's enough...you're...uh..." he hesitated, looking into the huge, earnest eyes, then decided on something that was technically very much the truth "...you play so unbelievably, you're going to make people cry."
Seamus let out a brief snort of laughter, and Neville shot him a dirty look as he put one hand on the elf's shoulder. "This is really incredible. I'm sure Ernie and Susan are going to remember it for the rest of their lives."
Ernie nodded, stepping forward onto the dance floor. "Oh, definitely. So...." He turned slowly, his fair cheeks reddening even further as he took in the full number of eyes staring back at him. "I...well, I fancy the secret's rather a moot point, then."
Holding out one hand, he motioned Susan to join him, and he slipped one arm around her waist, drawing her close to kiss her cheek before he continued. "As you might have guessed by now, Susan and I were married over the Christmas holiday. We're trying to keep it hidden from the Carrows, so I'd beg you all to keep your congratulations and anything else to this room...we're wearing our rings on chains under our shirts, and she's still Miss Bones when we're in public, even if she's been Mrs. Macmillan for almost a month."
A burst of applause broke out, most enthusiastically peppered with whistles and cheers from their fellow Hufflepuffs, and Bagman's voice carried over the din almost as loudly as Dobby's bagpipes had. "Hey, Ernie...we're all invited to the real wedding, right?"
The groom chuckled, drawing himself up in a stiff parody of his own formality. "Survivors shall be cordially invited to attend wizarding services upon the attainment of a state of rigor mortis by You-Know-Who...provided, of course, that the couple in question are also among the living and able to attend."
Laughter swept the crowd, and Dobby began to hop up and down on the tips of his toes, yanking eagerly at Susan's sleeve. When the last of the giggles had faded, she looked down with a smile that was kind, but also a little bit nervous. "Yes, Dobby?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Macmillan must dance! It is tradition! They must dance, and then Dobby will serve cake and champagne and butterbeers for everyone!" Clutching a handful of robes in each spindly hand, he dragged them into the middle of the shining floor and then clapped his hands, oblivious to the looks of trepidation that had spread at the thought of more bagpipes.
To everyone's relief, however, at a snap of the thin fingers, the bagpipes did not make a return appearance. Instead, music began to float from the bells above. The voice was the familiar sweet alto of Artemis Apperworth, and although he hadn't listened to the WWN in months, Neville recognized the tune as one that he had heard Susan humming while they had stood in the endless queues of the Muggle offices. He had never heard the words before, but as Susan and Ernie wrapped their arms around each other and began to dance - stiffly at first, then more gracefully as they seemed to forget their audience entirely - he understood why the song had been on her mind, and why Dobby had chosen it now.
