Sunday morning began with a scandal at Hogwarts.
The cause was obvious, and expected on my part — first thing that morning, the three Ravenclaws responsible for yesterday's incident had walked straight into my traps. The uproar was considerable. Students howled with laughter, pointing at the unfortunates with not a shred of tact or decency. The pure-blood students ground their teeth, since many of them knew exactly what the trio had done — rumours spread instantly at Hogwarts. As for the teachers…
"What an outrage!" McGonagall fumed, attempting to undo the transfiguration, though with little success, since this was a compound magical working, not a single discipline's magic.
"…filthy Mudbloods," Professor Hunt muttered under her breath, quietly enough that few could hear, teeth gritted as she tried to conceal her fury.
Flitwick's expression betrayed decidedly mixed feelings — admiration for the magecraft warring with distaste for this sort of trap — though his goblin blood made itself known too, in the faint hint of a bared-teeth grin.
It was Professor Babbling who sorted out the problem — she immediately recognised that the trap's magical structure rested on runes, managed to trace their residual signature, and dismantled the array. Fortunately for her, I hadn't bothered to set any defensive measures to safeguard the magical circuit.
Once the situation had been resolved, and the mocked, furious, downcast trio had been sent off to the hospital wing for a check-up on their injuries, the professors settled the students down and got everyone seated at the tables — breakfast began.
"I wonder," Zacharias eyed the other house tables with a smirk, heaping a serving onto his plate all the while, "what they did to deserve that."
"Oh, I'll tell you," Hannah shot our group an equally sly grin.
Hearing this, Ernie turned to look at Hannah at once, unable to hide his surprise.
"How is it you always know everything?"
"Secret. Anyway, I have it on good authority that those three attacked two third-years from Gryffindor, sending them to the hospital wing."
"The lions? And who from their house could've set traps the professors couldn't undo?"
"Now that just takes a bit of logic," Hannah's expression carried an impossible slyness. "The incident happened in the evening, the lions had already been sent to the hospital wing — and how does Hector get back from his training sessions?"
"The floo in the hospital wing…"
"Exactly. So the logic runs like this. Hector saw them, asked around, found out, moved quickly. Especially since Hector's the sort who always knows what's happening at Hogwarts, when, and why. I wouldn't even rule out that he knew about the whole thing before he even got back to Hogwarts."
"Hm…"
"You're overestimating my abilities," I shook my head.
"Oh, really?" the whole table chorused at once.
"You're underestimating yourself, more like," Zacharias remarked. "Anyway, I've already drawn up the training schedule — come along."
Handing me a parchment with the schedule, he returned to his breakfast, and judging by his expression, had no intention of rejoining our conversation until he'd eaten his fill.
"Even if Hector's involved somehow," Ernie drawled philosophically, "it doesn't matter. If anyone draws the same conclusions, they can work out for themselves what happens if they touch one of ours."
Everyone agreed with this and carried on with breakfast.
Sunday, in principle, was a free day. Daphne and I, meeting right as we left the Great Hall, decided to put in some proper work on our projects. And though we spent nearly the whole day in the library or wandering the castle's inner courtyard, some elusive glint of mischief in the girl's eyes kept stirring my curiosity.
Our productive creative labours, however, were rudely interrupted by the arrival of an unexpected pair. Straight into the library, an hour before closing, when almost no visitors remained, came Harry and Hermione. Their arrival was odd chiefly in that they'd come together, and their faces bore a certain determination and unmistakable conspiratorial air — the two of them are dreadful at hiding their emotions, let alone their true motives.
They strode purposefully up to the table where Daphne and I sat.
"Hector," Hermione began. "We need to talk. Alone."
That last word came with a brief glance at Daphne.
"Talk here," I smiled. "I won't be hiding anything anyway."
Hermione was clearly displeased with this arrangement — she evidently hadn't yet overcome her antipathy toward Daphne, though compared to how things had been before, the progress was plain enough. But that wasn't what interested me — rather, the sheer purposefulness and burning look with which this "pair" had marched over to me.
"Do speak, but you'd best sit down," I gestured toward the seats across the table from Daphne and me. "No good ever came of standing about."
"Nor of standing beneath, either," Potter smirked and took the offered seat, thereby neatly dismantling whatever notion Hermione might have had about standing "above" to win the argument.
"Keeping company with a certain narrow-minded layabout, widely renowned in certain circles, seems to be rubbing off on you both ways."
"I'll ask you to skip the insults," Potter shot me the same smirk as he settled in, while Hermione took the seat beside him. "Are you going to tell him?"
At Potter's glance, Hermione merely nodded, and, adopting a solemn bearing, straightening her posture as though she believed the delivery of the material depended on it, drew a deep breath.
"You already know about all the current goings-on in the magical world, don't you?" Hermione fixed me with a look full of grave intent and concern, though what exactly that concern was about remained a mystery sealed under seven locks.
"Let's say so."
"Which means you're aware of the various events inside the school too?"
"You mean those three individuals who revealed themselves in all their pristine splendour?"
"Among other things," she nodded. "But I'm also aware of various rumours and moods circulating at Hogwarts."
"Oh, right," Potter snorted. "Chatty Lavender Brown will tell you so much your brain swells up…"
"Your brain swells from any information exceeding the length of a broom review in a magazine, generally speaking," Hermione couldn't quite keep her opinion of Potter's intellectual capacity to herself, though in fairness it should be said the lad's above average on that front when he actually bothers. "But that's not what we're here to discuss…"
Hermione looked at me again. At that very moment a whirlwind of several first-years came tearing into the library, promptly earning Madam Pince's trademark scolding, though it had no bearing on our conversation.
"Certain pure-bloods," here Hermione had to visibly restrain herself from flicking her eyes toward Daphne, "clearly want to push things toward humiliating Muggle-borns and half-bloods, toward fights and outright chaos. Before, Dumbledore's influence kept them in check, but now, with the Ministry pursuing this sort of policy, having been seized by the Dark Lord…"
"Stop, stop, stop," I even raised my hands in a halting gesture. "What policy?"
"It's obvious, isn't it," my little sister answered with mild indignation, "that the Ministry wants to brand and track down every Muggle-born, and punish anyone who objects, brutally."
At that remark, even Daphne couldn't suppress a faint smirk crossing her face, and given her usual public demeanour, that was saying something.
"You find something funny about this?"
"Of course," Daphne nodded. "You ought to widen your circle of acquaintances — then you'd have more well-rounded and accurate information. Every pure-blood knows the registration will apply to absolutely everyone, not just Muggle-borns."
"But the paper says otherwise," Hermione refused to yield, and Potter chimed in with a few words of his own.
"I've got reliable information too. From trustworthy sources."
"So then," Daphne spoke with the composed, serious expression so many found familiar, "every pure-blood, half-blood, ancient family and newly risen one alike, has been gathering and preparing documents on every member of their household — for nothing?"
"Oh, come off it."
Neither Potter nor Hermione believed Daphne's words, clearly suspecting her of lying.
"There's no reason whatsoever for me to lie to you."
"For my part," I settled back more comfortably in my chair, "I happen to have the same information."
"Right," Potter ruffled his hair with one hand. "We've rather drifted off topic here."
"Yes," Hermione nodded. "The true state of affairs matters, but the problem is what information's reaching the masses. Because of it, some students who hold with Voldemort's ideas have clearly decided, or are preparing, to torment Muggle-borns."
"Hardly surprising," I shrugged. "Given the sheer volume of rumours about the Dark Lord's rise to power, his sympathisers' views on ordinary people and first-generation wizards are rearing their heads. Opportunists, those who love fishing in troubled waters, criminal fringe elements, and the rest — likewise. Students with similar opinions and habits included."
"But that's wrong!" Hermione burst out. "So — right, you know this, you understand it, so you won't object to organising some sort of… resistance?"
"What's this, 'vive la révolution'?" a smirk crept onto my face, and a matching one appeared on Daphne's. "How exactly would that help avoid bullying at school?"
"Obviously!" Restraint and Potter — like two parallel lines, never meeting. "Everyone who might be targeted, or who simply wants to refuse to submit and fight Voldemort and his regime, all the oppressed — we'll gather them into a group. We'll study together, fight together, move around in groups, and fight back if we're attacked."
Harry spoke with real conviction, pressing and passionate, though fairly restrained — I actually had to check with a subtle gesture whether I'd put up my usual silencing charms out of habit. Turned out I had. The main thing was doing it unnoticed in the library, since the only thing Madam Pince hates more than noise is unlogged spellwork within the library's wards — it can damage the books if the wizard isn't sufficiently skilled.
"Really?"
"Absolutely!"
"Harry," Hermione shot Potter a reproachful look. "Can't you see Hector's mocking you?"
"Only a little," I shook my head. "It's just… the idea's rather weak."
"And why's that, exactly?!" Potter was clearly displeased with my words, unsurprisingly. "Last time, gathering a group produced excellent results."
"Don't confuse gathering a group for studying together with gathering a group for defence or rebellion," I waved a hand. "In the first case, achieving results just meant spending an hour or two together on any given day, studying, and results followed naturally. In the second, though…"
"Hm…" Hermione seemed to fall into thought, while Potter was still trying to work out what I was getting at.
Well, while they think, I'll lay out my own thoughts.
"The first problem that comes to mind… Hmm," I even scratched my chin for show, at which Daphne rolled her eyes pointedly and withdrew from the pointless conversation to study and adjust our runic project in her notes instead. "Let's see… fewer than a third of students would want to join you, maybe a quarter. Another quarter will actively belong to the 'oppressor' faction. The rest will keep their heads down, or bend to the oppressors' demands. Don't forget, plenty of those who follow the Dark Lord's ideas and movement are children of influential families, or have criminal leanings, or are ready to drop to their knees before whoever offers the best deal. That's simply how life is."
"Suppose that's true," Hermione spoke up in Harry's place, who'd gone off into his own thoughts but, surprisingly, wasn't rushing to protest.
"Not suppose — fact. There are exceptions, of course, but they're exceptions precisely because they're rare. Don't expect much help from the professors. The Heads of House will be busy enough trying to maintain order within their own houses; they won't have time for clashes outside the common rooms. Even our own house has its troublesome cliques, though they're not among the active troublemakers. But surely you understand — the moment a reliable opportunity arises to show themselves without getting beaten half to death for it, they'll turn active fast enough?"
"Perhaps."
"Another obvious problem. The composition of your group won't stay secret from anyone. I could already draw up a rough list of most of the likely members myself, and the only place I'd probably go wrong is with the pure-bloods who disagree with the Dark Lord's policies — or rather, with how those policies affect school life."
"Does that matter?"
"Very much so, little sister, very much so. It'll give your ill-wishers grounds for various actions, not just over 'blood status,' but also over the simple fact of organised resistance. That's the short version," by now I'd shifted closer to Daphne, nearly shoulder to shoulder, and she'd slid her notes over, silently pointing to a complex runic circle with a great many empty "slots." "The other problem… hm… how to put it…"
I got briefly distracted, and, amid a general silence brimming with impatience, sketched in a couple of runes.
"…that'll make the link more stable. Anyway — how exactly would your meetings and lessons protect students from trouble within their own houses? Fine, Slytherin won't see much trouble — the ones unhappy with how things stand will either keep quiet or fall in with the active radicals, and the handful who'd stand for neutrality, or side with the Muggle-borns, or with one particular person in my position, will get a proper show of force in their defence."
"A show of force?" Hermione was startled. "How do you mean?"
Potter, for that matter, didn't understand either.
"It's simple. Neither Malfoy, nor Daphne, nor Pansy would ever cut ties with me. And frankly, none of them particularly care about internal politics — Malfoy's washed his hands of all these dubious movements, whichever direction they lean, and focuses purely on studying magic. Daphne…"
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