( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖊 ) — dumbledore's army

The morning of the Hogsmeade visit dawned bright but windy. Evangeline walked between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars all on her lonesome, then turned left onto the road and into the village, the wind leaving her pin-straight hair unaffected thanks to a glamour charm.

Her usual ventures into Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop and Gladrags Wizardwear had been replaced with an incriminating invitation to The Hog's Head, courtesy of Hermione.

The Rosier girl would've been lying if she didn't know what the trio were up to; she did, and she had encouraged it. Granted, they would all be more than done for if anyone were to find out, but for the time being her pitiful power as a teacher was better than nothing. In the long run, risking redundancy seemed like a minor problem compared to the war brewing in the Wizarding World.

She walked down the main street and past Zonko's Joke shop (not surprised to see Fred, George, and Lee clowning about), past the post office, from which owls issued at regular intervals, and turned up a side street at the top of which stood a small inn.

A battered wooden sign hung from a rusty bracket over the door, with a picture upon it of a wild boar's severed head leaking blood onto the white cloth around it. The sign creaked in the wind as she approached.

''Charming,'' the brunette muttered.

It was nothing like The Three Broomsticks, whose large bar gave an impression of gleaming wealth and cleanliness. The Hog's Head bar comprised one small, dingy, and very dirty room that smelled strongly of something that might have been goats. The bay windows were so encrusted with grime that very little daylight could permeate the room, which was lit instead with stubs of candles sitting on rough wooden tables.

There was a man at the bar whose whole head was wrapped in dirty grey bandages, though he was still managing to gulp endless glasses of some smoking, fiery substance through a slit over his mouth. Two figures shrouded in hoods sat at a table in one of the windows. In a shadowy corner beside the fireplace sat a witch with a thick, black veil that fell to her feet.

The barman sidled towards her out of the back room. He was a grumpy-looking old man with a great deal of long gray hair and beard. He was also tall and thin, and seemed vaguely familiar.

''What?'' He grunted.

''She's with us.''

Suddenly, Ron swooped in beside her, nodding in thanks to the man. He led Evangeline to the farthest table from the bar, which Harry and Hermione occupied. They greeted her once the two had properly retreated, inconspicuous in the sheltered corner.

''So, who did you say is supposed to meeting us?'' Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his butterbeer and taking a swig. ''Apart from the professor, obviously.''

Evangeline rolled her eyes, taking a seat with her back to the entrance. ''Yes, because I dream of tattling to Umbridge the first chance I get. You know me so well, Harry.''

''Just a couple of people,'' Hermione answered, checking her watch; she was as anxious as ever. ''I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is — oh look, this might be them now—''

The door of the pub had opened. A thick band of dusty sunlight split the room in two for a moment and then vanished, blocked by the incoming rush of a crowd of people.

First came Neville with Dean Thomas and Lavender Brown, who were closely followed by Padma and Parvati Patil with Cho Chang and one of her giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy that she might have walked in by accident) Luna; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnett, and Angelina Johnson, Collin and Dennis Creevey, Zacharias Smith, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, three Ravenclaw boys, and bringing up the rear, Fred, George, and Lee.

''A couple of people,'' Harry repeated hoarsely. ''A couple of people?''

''Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular. Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs.''

The barman had frozen in the act of wiping out a glass with a filthy rag; possible, he had never seen his bar so full.

''Hi,'' Fred greeted, reaching the bar first out of all his companions. ''Could we have . . . twenty-five butterbeers, please?''

The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as if he had been disturbed in something very important, he started passing up dusty butterbeers from under the bar.

''Cheers. Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these . . . ''

''What have you been telling people?'' Harry spoke lowly. ''What are they expecting?''

''I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say,'' Hermione attempted to soothe him, but added quickly at the furious expression on her friends face. ''You don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first.''

''Hi, Harry,'' Neville beamed, joining the ever-growing cluster of people and taking a seat.

In twos and threes the new arrivals settled down, some looking rather excited, others curious; Luna gazed dreamily into space. Once everyone had pulled up a chair, the chatter died down, and all eyes turned to Harry.

''Er,'' Hermione began, her voice slightly higher than usual. ''Well— er— hi.''

The group focused their attention on her instead, although their eyes darted back to Harry and even Evangeline every so often; after all, it wasn't everyday that a teacher was present during such meet-ups.

''Well . . . erm . . . well, you know why you're here. Erm . . . well, Harry here had the idea— I mean—'' the Potter boy had thrown her a sharp look. ''I had the idea— that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts— and I mean, really, study it, you know, not the rubbish Umbridge is doing with us, because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts. Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands. By that, I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but real spells—''

Michael Corner, one of the Ravenclaw boys, was first to speak up. ''You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?''

''Of course I do,'' Hermione agreed at once. ''But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because . . . because . . . '' She took a great breath. ''Because Lord Voldemort's back.''

The reaction was immediate and predictable. One of Cho's friends slopped butterbeer down herself, Terry Boot twitched involuntarily, Padma shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry. The same could not be said for Evangeline; most of them glanced at her as if Death Eaters sprouted from the top of her head.

''Well . . . that's the plan, anyway. If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to—''

''Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?'' A blonde Hufflepuff Quidditch player asked in a rather aggressive voice.

''Where is the proof The Dark Lord is not back?'' Evangeline asked, speaking for the first time in a while. All eyes turned to her, calculatingly. ''If I were you, I would rather be safe than sorry.''

''Dumbledore believes it—''

''You mean, Dumbledore believes him,'' he nodded at Harry.

''Who are you?'' Ron asked rudely, rightfully so.

''Zacharias Smith, and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back.''

Hermione intervened swiftly. ''Look, that's not really what this meeting was supposed to be about—''

''It's okay, Hermione,'' Harry interrupted, staring straight at Zacharias. ''What makes me say You-Know-Who's back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you don't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.''

''All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought his body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know—''

''If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone then I can't help you,'' Harry clipped, his temper rising. ''I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out.''

But none of them left their seats, not even Zacharias, though he continued to gaze intently at the Potter boy.

''So,'' Hermione started, her voice high-pitched again. ''So . . . like I was saying . . . if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to—''

''Is it true?'' A girl with a long plait down her back interrupted. ''You can produce a Patronus?''

''Yeah,'' Harry said, slightly defensively.

''A corporeal Patronus?''

''Er — you don't know Madam Bones, do you?''

''She's my auntie,'' she smiled. ''I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So — is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?''

''Yes.''

''Blimey, Harry!'' Lee exclaimed, deeply impressed. ''I never knew that!''

''Mum told Ron not to spread it around,'' Fred grinned. ''She said you got enough attention as it was.''

''Molly is not wrong — I am a professor, and even I have not been able to produce one yet, not for lack of trying.''

''And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?'' Terry demanded. ''That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year . . . ''

''Er — yeah, I did, yeah.''

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled, the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks, and Lavender Brown said ❛wow❜ softly.

''And in our first year, he saved the Philosopher's Stone from You-Know-Who,'' Neville remarked.

Hannah Abbott's eyes were as round as Galleons.

''And that's not to mention all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things . . . '' Cho commented.

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table.

''Look,'' he began. ''I . . . I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but . . . I had a lot of help with all that stuff . . . ''

''Not with the dragon, you didn't,'' Michael pointed out. ''That was a seriously cool bit of flying.''

''Yeah, well—''

''And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer,'' Susan said.

''No— no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is—''

''Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?'' Zacharias asked.

''Here's an idea,'' Ron replied. ''Why don't you shut your mouth?''

''Well, we've all teamed up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it.''

''That's not what he said,'' Fred snarled.

''Would you like us to clean your ears out for you?'' George offered, pulling a long and lethal-looking instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags. ''Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this.''

''Calm down, boys. Do not get too ahead of yourselves.''

''What's the teacher doing here, anyway? Not to mention, the deputy head of Slytherin and a Charms teacher.''

''Taking points off from irritating students,'' Evangeline smiled. ''Twenty-five points from Hufflepuff for insulting me, Smith. Open your mouth again and next time it will be fifty.''

''Well,'' Hermione said hastily. ''Moving on . . . the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?''

There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, perhaps because of the instrument George was wielding about, or the fact his fellow Hufflepuffs were glaring at him for loosing house points.

''Right. Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week—''

''Hang on,'' Angelina cut in. ''We need to make sure this doesn't clash with out Quidditch practice.''

''No,'' Cho agreed. ''Nor with ours.''

''Nor ours,'' Zacharias twittered.

''I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone. But, you know, this is rather important, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters—''

''Well said!'' Ernie barked. ''Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!''

He looked around impressively, as though waiting for people to cry out in disagreement. When nobody spoke, he continued.

''I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells—''

Evangeline rolled her eyes; she only spoke up because his voice was giving her a headache. ''We believe Umbridge does not want you trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts is that she has some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students as a kind of private army. She thinks he will mobilize you against the Ministry.''

Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except for Luna, who piped up.

''Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army.''

''What?''

''Yes, he's got an army of heliopaths.''

''No, he hasn't,'' Hermione snapped.

''Yes, he does.''

Neville blinked blankly. ''What are heliopaths?''

''They're spirits of fire. Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of—''

''They don't exist, Neville.''

''Oh yes they do!''

''I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?''

''There are plenty of eye-witness acsounts, just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you—''

''Hem, hem,'' Ginny coughed in such a good imitation of Umbridge that several people turned around in alarm before laughing. ''Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet?''

''Library?'' Katie Bell suggested after a few moments.

''Madam Pince will never allow it. Besides, it is not discrete enough.''

''Maybe an unused classroom?''

Ron nodded. ''McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard Tournament. What about your living quarters, Eve?''

Evangeline shook her head at once. ''They would be big enough, Umbridge and I are not on the best of terms. I have a feeling she is monitoring all of the staffs every move.''

''Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere. We'll send a message out to everybody once we've got a time and place for the first meeting.''

She rummaged in her bag and then produced a parchment and quill. A very special parchment and quill, which Hermione had gone to her Charms professor for help with. Evangeline was more than happy to oblige; such precautions had to be taken, despite the dire consequences for any snitching soul.

''Everyone needs to write their name down,'' the eldest brunette instructed. ''If you sign, you are not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we all are up to. If you do, I will know.''

Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully put down his signature. The same could not be said for the other hesitant faces.

''Er . . . '' Zacharias huffed, avoiding the parchment George was trying to pass to him. ''Well . . . I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.''

But Ernie was looking less than pleased about signing it too. Evangeline raised a perfectly plucked brow, daring him to go on.

''I — well, we are prefects. If this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out.''

''You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year,'' Harry reminded him.

''I — yes. Yes, I do believe that, it's just—''

''Do you really think I am stupid enough to leave such a list lying around?'' The pure-blood witch demanded. ''Have no fear, Ernie — I will make sure to keep it in that cursed heirloom jewellery box of mine.''

''I — yes, of course I'll sign.''

Nobody objected after Ernie, though Cho's friend did give a reproachful look before slowly adding her name. When the last person — Zacharias — had signed, Evangeline took the parchment, tapped it twice with her wand, and folded it before slipping it into her fur coat.

''Well, time's ticking on,'' Fred announced briskly, getting to his feet. ''George, Lee, and I have got items of sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later.''

In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave too, piling out of The Hog's Head slowly so as not to rouse suspicion.

''I still don't understand what that Charms professor was doing there.''

''Fifty points from Hufflepuff, Smith!''

At fifteen minutes past seven, Evangeline left the Slytherin common room.

Despite teachers having full authority over the corridors, it had been quite difficult navigating the long hallways and winding staircases without running into Filch and Mrs Norris. Especially carrying a basket of decoy Galleons, which certainly wouldn't go unnoticed.

There were numerals around the edges of each coin, ones which usually were a simple serial number referring to the Goblin who cast the coin. These ones, however, were charmed to grow hot and change to reflect the date and time of each meeting, so each member would be informed immediately. A Protean charm sealed the deal, so that Harry could change the numbers on his coin and everyone else's would automatically follow.

At long last, the pure-blood reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet, undetected. The stretch of blank wall opposite was no longer there; a highly polished door replaced it instead.

She seized the brass handle uncertainly, pulled open the door, and entered into a spacious room lit with flickering torches.

The walls were lined with wooden bookcases, and instead of chairs there were large silk cushions on the floor, one of which Ron was prodding with his foot. Harry was watching him, whilst Hermione was squashed into a corner, her nose buried in a book.

There was a gentle tap on Evangeline's shoulder, which turned out to be Ginny. The brunette was still stood in the doorway. Behind her had appeared the youngest Weasley, followed by Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and Dean.

''Whoa,'' the Thomas boy looked around, impressed. ''What is this place?''

Harry began to explain, but before he had finished more people arrived, and he had to start all over again. By eight o'clock, every cushion was occupied, and the key protruding from the lock had been turned with a satisfying click.

''Well,'' Harry began. ''This is the place we've found for practices, and you've — er — obviously found it okay—''

''It's fantastic!'' Cho exclaimed, and several people murmured their agreement.

''It's bizaree,'' Fred frowned. ''We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then . . . ''

''Well, I've been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do her first and — er — what, Hermione?''

Her hand was raised high up in the air. ''I think we ought to elect a leader.''

''Harry's leader,'' Cho declared at once, staring at the Granger girl as if she were mad.

''Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly. It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So — everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?''

Everyone put up their hands (even Zacharias, albeit half-heartedly) except for Evangeline. She was staring at her lap, unintentionally reminiscing the times in her seventh year when she had been caught out of bounds by Remus.

''Er — right, thanks,'' Harry nodded, his face burning. ''Professor Rosier can be deputy leader, so if you need help and I'm busy feel free to ask her, and — what, Hermione?''

''I also think we ought to have a name. It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?''

''Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?'' Angelina asked hopefully.

''Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?'' Fred suggested.

Hermione frowned at Fred. ''I was thinking more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside of meetings.''

''The Defense Association?'' Cho proposed? ''The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?''

''Yeah, the D.A.'s good,'' Ginny nodded. ''Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army because that's the Ministry's worse fear, isn't it?''

''All in favour of the D.A.?'' Hermione called, kneeling up on her cushion to count. ''That's a majority — motion passed!''

She took the piece of paper with everyone's names on it from the pile of Evangeline's fake Galleons and pinned it on the wall, before writing ❛DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY❜ across the top in large letters.

''Right,'' Harry started when she sat down again. ''Shall we get practicing then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is Expelliarmus, you know, the Disarming Charm. We do have our professor, and I know it's pretty basic but I've found it really useful—''

Zacharias rolled his eyes and folded his arms. ''Oh, please. I don't think Expelliarmus is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?''

''Thirty points from Hufflepuff,'' Evangeline clipped, snapping out of her trance. ''You do not want a repeat of last time, do you, Smith?''

He opened his mouth stupidly, whilst Ernie and Susan knocked him furiously with their knees.

''Okay, I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice.'' 

''You can practice with me,'' Evangeline offered Neville, who was predictably left partnerless. ''Right — on the count of three, then — one, two, three—''

Wands flew in all directions, missed spells hit books on shelves and sent them flying into the air. Unsurprisingly, Evangeline was both too quick and experienced for the Longbottom boy, whose wand went spinning out of his hand, hit the ceiling in a shower of sparks, and landed with a clatter on top of a bookshelf which she then retrieved with a Summoning Charm.

Beside the bookshelf which Neville's wand was on top of seconds earlier was an ornate tapestry of astronomy. The woven stars gleamed as if they were real, orbiting a pearly moon against a velvety blue background which shimmered in the candlelight. It invoked a small ember in her cold chest, bringing back the evening spent at the Astronomy Tower with him.

''Expelliarmus!'' Neville exclaimed, and the brunette, caught unaware, felt her wand fly out of her hand. ''I DID IT! I've never done it before — I DID IT!''

''Well done!'' She praised, plastering an encouraging smile over her nostalgic expression.