Chapter 131: The DA's Last Stand
While a mountain wind carrying the promise of blood howled in a distant valley, warmth and determined energy filled the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. The come-and-go room had once again transformed itself into the perfect training space for Dumbledore's Army: wide, matted floors, mirrored walls, and stacks of cushions for practicing falls.
The air buzzed with the snaps and flashes of spells. Laughter and shouted encouragement bounced off the walls. After the harsh, pragmatic lesson Elian had forced upon them, a new seriousness underpinned their practice, but tonight, there was also a spark of hard-won confidence.
In the centre of the room, Neville Longbottom stood facing Ron Weasley, his round face set in an expression of fierce concentration. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Come on, Neville!" Ginny yelled, punching the air. "You've got this!"
"Don't you dare lose to him, Ron!" shouted Seamus Finnigan, grinning. "Think of the family pride!"
Ron made a show of rolling his shoulders, a cocky smirk on his face. "No hard feelings, Neville. But I'm not going easy on you just because you're my favourite punching bag."
Neville didn't reply. He just tightened his grip on his borrowed wand, his knuckles white. He had lost to Ron every single time they'd sparred. But something was different tonight. The memory of Elian's ruthless efficiency, the centaurs kneeling in the forest, the looming shadow of a real war—it had lit a fire in him. He wasn't just practicing a spell; he was preparing to survive.
"On three!" Harry called, acting as referee. "One… two… three!"
"Expelliarmus!" Neville bellowed, his voice cracking with the force of his shout.
A jet of scarlet light shot from his wand, not particularly powerful, but startlingly direct. Ron, who had been winding up for a more complex hex, faltered. The disarming charm caught him squarely in the chest. His wand spun from his fingers, clattering to the floor five feet away.
Silence.
Then the room erupted.
"YES!" Dean Thomas roared.
"NEVILLE! YOU DID IT!" Lavender Brown squealed, jumping up and down.
A broad, disbelieving smile spread across Neville's face as his friends swarmed him, clapping him on the back. Ron blinked, looked at his empty hand, then at his wand on the floor, and finally broke into a good-natured grin. "Alright, fair play! That was a good one!"
Fred Weasley sauntered over to George, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "Our little brother… beaten by Neville. Mum'll be so proud."
"Proud of Neville, you mean," George said, pocketing an imaginary Galleon. "Told you he had it in him."
Harry grinned, feeling a surge of pride for his friends. This was what it was all about. This growth, this defiance. He caught Hermione's eye across the room. She offered a small, distracted smile, but her gaze kept flicking to the large, ornate clock that had appeared on one wall. She was worrying, Harry knew. Worrying about Hagrid, about Grawp… and about Elian, who had vanished after dinner without a word.
"Good work, everyone!" Harry called, quieting the celebrations. "Pair up again. Let's run through the Shield Charm. Protego is going to be more important than any offensive spell if… well, if things go wrong."
The members sobered quickly and moved to obey. The mood, however, remained buoyant. They were getting better. They could feel it.
Hermione drifted over to Harry and Ron, her brow furrowed. "Hagrid asked me to check on Grawp later. He was… anxious when he left with Elian."
"Where'd they go, anyway?" Ron asked, attempting to Summon his wand from across the room. It skittered a few inches. "Blimey, Neville, you put some welly into that."
"Dunno," Harry said, his own curiosity piqued. "Elian just said it was Order business. With Dumbledore's approval." He tried to push down a flicker of unease. The look on Snape's face when he'd handed Elian that Time-Turner… the warning about his home…
His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the Room of Requirement's door swinging silently open, then shutting again.
No one had entered.
A chill, unrelated to the room's temperature, trickled down Harry's spine. "Did anyone see that?"
Before anyone could answer, he felt a sharp tug on the hem of his robes. He looked down.
Dobby the house-elf stood there, his enormous, tennis-ball eyes wide with terror. His whole body trembled violently.
"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squeaked, his voice barely audible. He began beating his fists against his own temples. "Bad Dobby! Bad, bad Dobby!"
"Dobby, stop!" Harry hissed, kneeling and grabbing the elf's tiny, bony wrists. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Hermione was at his side in an instant, her face pale. "Dobby, who's coming? Is it her?"
Dobby whimpered, a high, desperate sound, and nodded so fiercely his ears flapped. Then he lunged forward and smashed his head against Harry's knee.
The meaning was horrifyingly clear. The secret he was revealing was a betrayal of his masters, and he was punishing himself for it.
"Umbridge," Harry breathed, the word dropping like a stone in the sudden, dead silence of the room. Every member of the D.A. had stopped moving, their wands half-raised, their faces frozen in various stages of alarm.
Dobby let out a choked sob and began stamping his bare feet hard on the floor. Thump. Thump. Thump.
"She knows," Hermione whispered, horror dawning in her eyes. "She's coming here. Now."
The panic was instantaneous and electric.
"The door!" someone yelled.
"We're trapped!"
"She can't get in, can she? The Room hides us!"
"It hid us until someone told her exactly where to look and what to ask for!" Hermione said, her voice rising in panic and fury. "A traitor. There's a traitor here!"
All eyes swept the room, landing on the one empty space where a certain Ravenclaw with distinctive, pimply skin usually stood. Cho Chang let out a small gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. "Marietta… she said she had a headache…"
The truth was a physical blow. Marietta Edgecombe. The Ministry mother. The cowardly, fretful look she'd had for weeks.
"Everyone, grab your things!" Harry shouted, his voice cutting through the rising tide of fear. "Go! Disband! Remember the plan—if we're caught, you were here for a… a knitting club! A study group! Anything but this!"
It was chaos. Students scrambled for bags, cloaks, the enchanted Galleons that were now damning evidence. Fred and George were frantically trying to vanish a stack of their own prototype products they'd brought for demonstration. Neville tripped over a cushion and was hauled up by Dean.
But it was too late.
From beyond the solid wall where the door had been, they heard a high, girlish, triumphant voice.
"I, Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, command this room to reveal the illegal assembly within!"
The wall shimmered. The outlines of a door began to form.
They were out of time. The Room of Requirement, for all its magic, could not refuse a direct command from a recognised Hogwarts authority within its own walls.
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at Hermione, saw his own dread reflected in her eyes. Elian was gone. Dumbledore was in his office. They were on their own.
The door solidified with a soft click. The polished knob turned.
The last stand of Dumbledore's Army was not to be on a battlefield, but in a room that was no longer secret, facing not Death Eaters, but the pink, smiling cruelty of the Ministry.
(End of Chapter)
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