CHAPTER SEVEN:
HOW TO START A WAR

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IF FREYA HAD LEARNED anything from her childhood, it was that, no matter how much you might've wanted them to, the good moments just wouldn't last forever. Winning that Quidditch game against Fred and George (no matter how much they might deny it, Freya and Lee both agreed they beat the twins fair and square) was definitely a good moment, but like every other fragment of happiness in Freya's life, it was stepped on and squashed like a bug.

The classes with Umbridge were getting impossibly worse. With every passing day, Umbridge's 'teaching' style grew harsher, stricter, toeing the fine line between acceptable and barbaric. It was no longer a secret that more and more students were wandering around with scars on the backs of their hands from blood quills, Fred and George included. The day after the Quidditch game, they got caught throwing dungbombs at Filch's annoying cat (don't get her wrong, Freya was a lover of animals, even slightly annoying ones like her Maximus, but Mrs Norris was a whole new level of frustration) and as a result, they had to spend an hour serving detention with Umbridge. Later on that evening, they met Freya and Solana in the kitchens with bleeding scars and an even stronger desire to disobey the wicked woman Solana had so creatively dubbed Umbitch. 'I must not be a troublemaker.' How original. To make matters even worse, a whole wall outside the Great Hall had been taken up by her ridiculous 'educational decrees,' meaning it was really only a matter of time before Fudge found a way to completely surpass Dumbledore's control of the school.

Not that Freya and the others knew that when they signed up for secret classes with Harry Potter.

The first Hogsmeade trip of the year was early on a Saturday morning. The snow was particularly heavy that morning when Freya stumbled out of bed to find Solana with a vague letter from Hermione Granger herself. The Hog's Head was hardly the first place that Freya had wanted to visit in her time away from Umbridge's reign of terror, but after some convincing from Solana, the two met with Fred and George and went on their way.

"Merlin, you could at least pretend you're happy to see us, McKinnon," Fred smirked at the short blonde who was trudging through the snow with a scowl on her face. The crunch of her boots sinking into the damp earth and the biting breeze blowing through her soft yellow sweater was less than pleasant on the best of days. Add on being woken up early by Maximus turning her school things into chew toys, and it was safe to say that Freya was stuck in a sour mood.

"It's not you," Solana told him as Freya shot him an unamused glare.

Vaguely, she grumbled under her breath, "Max and Mrs Norris would get along great now that I think about it," as if that explained everything. Solana snickered, shooting Freya an innocent smile when she raised an eyebrow at her. The dark-haired girl had already woken up when Freya came storming down the dormitory stairs with a torn up Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook ("Umbitch is gonna murder me in my sleep!") and unlike Freya, she found the whole thing absolutely hilarious, praising Maximus with a treat when Freya's fuming back was turned.

"What did he do this time?" George sighed, sidling up to Freya and slinging an arm loosely around her shoulder. "Come on, tell Georgie all about it, Frey."

Outwardly, she rolled her eyes at him, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest. But as he laughed and turned to tease Fred about something, his arm still around her shoulders as if sensing the comfort it provided, she couldn't help sinking into him, his unnaturally warm body heat blocking off the blasted wind. He looked nice today, she noticed as she subconsciously watched him from the corner of her eye. A dark maroon shirt under a thick black woolen jacket made to match the beanie tucked on his fiery hair and the scarf wrapped around his neck. George Weasley always looked effortlessly good (as did Fred, but Freya would never admit that to him) and today was no exception. She wasn't sure when she noticed just how good, but the thought was like a lingering aftertaste she just couldn't shake.

"We're here," Solana suddenly declared, nudging Freya's side with her elbow and leading the way up to the door of the dingy pub.

Everyone else had already arrived before them, it seemed. Freya vaguely recognised some of the faces of the younger years; Ginny Weasley was sitting beside Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. Cho Chang, a girl in the grade below Freya who used to spend most of her time with Cedric in the Hufflepuff Common Room, was at the front watching Harry pace in front of them with impassive eyes. The rest Freya simply skimmed over as she and Solana went to save seats while Fred and George grabbed them butterbeers from the dingy bar shoved into the corner.

"What a lovely spot," Freya muttered as she settled on a rickety bar stool that swayed under the sudden pressure.

"Oh, yes," Solana scoffed as her own seat creaked and groaned beneath her. "Forget the Three Broomsticks, the Hog's Head is the place to be."

Freya sniggered into her butterbeer as Fred and George sat down on either side of them, both wearing the same incredulous expressions as they took in their surroundings. Freya had to hand it to Hermione, she sure knew how to pick inconspicuous spots. No teenager in their right mind would be caught dead near the Hog's Head.

Speaking of Hermione, just as Fred and George settled themselves down, she skittishly rose to her feet to address the crowd. "Erm, hi. So, you all know why we're here. We need a teacher, a proper teacher, one who's had real experience defending themselves against the dark arts-"

"Why?" Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff boy in the grade below Freya, cut her off before she had the chance to continue. Freya rolled her eyes at his interruption, her clenched jaw not going unnoticed by George, who frowned and looked between them. Freya had never gotten along with arrogant Zacharias. He was one of the Chasers on the Quidditch team with her, and he frequently messed up their plays in games simply because he could not accept when Freya was right. He always had to have his say, and by the way he was eyeing Harry with distrust, she knew the others would share the same sentiment as her: Zacharias was a no-good prick.

"Why?" Ron repeated incredulously from Harry's side. Freya had always admired the younger boy for how he stood by his friends. Ignoring that brief moment last year when he and Harry were at odds, he was always there to back the boy, especially when he needed it most. Ron wouldn't sit there and listen to Zacharias, Freya was sure of it. "'Cause You-Know-Who's back, you tosspot."

"So he says."

"So Dumbledore says," Hermione interrupted darkly. She had her arms crossed as she stared down at the boy, almost as if she was daring him to challenge her.

"So Dumbledore says because he says. The point is: where's the proof?"

"Merlin, do you ever shut up, Smith?" Freya snapped, leaning forward in her chair to glare at him.

With a sneer in her direction, he continued, just as she knew he would. "If Potter could tell us more about how Diggory got killed-"

A tense silence fell over them. Freya was fuming as she clenched her hands into fists, fighting the urge to knock some sense into Zacharias as she watched Harry rise to his feet, looking unimpressed and like he'd rather be anywhere but there. Freya couldn't blame him. Ever since school started up, his name had been dragged through the mud. "I'm not gonna talk about Cedric, so if that's why you're here, you might as well just clear out now."

No one said anything for a moment. Harry sighed, turning to whisper heatedly in Hermione's ear. She didn't look happy with whatever he said, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket reproachfully, but before he could respond, Luna Lovegood of all people was addressing the room.

"Is it true you can produce a patronus charm?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. Freya's eyes widened. Not even she could produce a patronus (that didn't say much) and she was in her last year. Harry already knowing how to do it at fifteen further cemented what she already knew: he was their only real hope at surviving. "I've seen it."

"Blimey, Harry," Dean gasped in awe. "I didn't know you could do that."

"And he killed the basilisk," Neville stuttered out. Everyone's eyes snapped to him, but rather than waver under the pressure, he added, "With the sword in Dumbledore's office."

"It's true," Ginny nodded, staring up at Harry with bright eyes.

"Third year, he fought about a hundred dementors at once." Ron.

"And last year, he really did fight off You-Know-Who in the flesh." Hermione.

"Wait," Harry cut her off, looking severely uncomfortable with everyone's praise. "Look, that all sounds great when you say it like that but the truth is, most of that was just luck. I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I nearly always had help."

"He's just being modest."

"No, Hermione, I'm not," he shook his head in frustration. "Facing this stuff in real life is not like school. In school, if you make a mistake, you can just try again tomorrow. But out there, when you're a second away from being murdered or watching a friend die right before your eyes, you don't know what that's like."

Defeated, he sat down in his chair again. Looking at him, Freya couldn't help thinking of the little baby boy she used to see with James and Lily Potter at Order meetings. Freya didn't remember much of it, but through vague fragments of tense whispers interrupted by childish laughter, Freya thought of a boy who didn't have the weight of humanity on his shoulders. A boy not yet marked by Lord Voldemort himself, a boy who still had a mother and father to show him love. Harry didn't see it yet, but it was those experiences, those pieces of pain people like Harry and Freya carried around with them, that made him the perfect teacher for them. He could show them what it really meant to protect yourself, the raw importance of it. Something that people like Umbridge just didn't understand, and while she was a wicked horrible person, Freya hoped she never would.

"You're right, Harry," Hermione sighed as she sat beside him. Her nerves before had faded away, now replaced by insistence, determination. "That's why we need your help. If we're going to have any chance of beating... Voldemort." There were gasps from around the room, shudders of terror, but Freya only beamed with pride at the younger girl.

"He's really back?" Colin Creevey asked from the front row, his voice small and unusually serious.

Harry nodded. He didn't know what else to say.

When no one made a move to speak, Freya glanced over at Zacharias. He looked annoyed with the way the conversation had turned, whispering to a dark-haired boy beside him heatedly. "Is that enough proof for you, Smith?" He went quiet, shooting her a dark glare but saying nothing. With a pleased smile, she turned to look at Hermione, who returned the gesture happily. "Tell us what we have to do, Granger."

Moments later, they were all lined up in front of a table, Harry watching with pure surprise as each and every person - even Zacharias, though albeit he was hesitant - signed their name on a list for future meetings. While Fred and George were first in line, eager and ready to contribute to the cause, Freya waited for the end so she could speak to Harry. He was waiting by the list as everyone began to disperse for the rest of their Hogsmeade visit, discussing the past hour in excited whispers, still in a shocked daze at the sight of so many names in support for him.

"Hey, Harry?" Freya said as she finished writing her name down, allowing him to finally take the list and pencil from her hands. He looked up at her, a bit uncertain. "I know you might not think you're the right fit for a teacher-" At his huff of agreement, she continued. "But I think you are. And I think you'd make our parents really proud."

Harry didn't know what to say. It was no secret what happened to Freya's poor family; like the deaths of Lily and James Potter, the wizarding world had spread the news like wildfire. But even then, Freya hadn't spoken much to him, choosing to keep to herself for the majority of her education. It was really only during the past Summer that they spoke, and it was more in a 'you're there, so I'll speak to you to fill the silence' kind of friendship than it was an actual relationship. Regardless, the honesty behind her words hit him hard. Ron and Hermione were his best friends, but neither of them ever got to meet his parents. Freya did, even if she was young when it happened. She remembered their faces, their voices, she remembered him before the world took away his chance at normalcy. She could relate to him, that sinking feeling of a missing piece in your heart that could never be found. Her trust in him to teach her, to teach her friends, was like opening your eyes after a deep sleep; surreal but daunting.

"You guys coming?" Solana called out from the doorway. She stood by Harry's friends and the twins, watching Freya and Harry talk with a raised eyebrow.

Freya nodded, sparing Harry one last smile. "Come on, Potter, we have a rebellion to plan."

As the group left the pub, George of all people pulled Freya to the back of the group. Freya's heart jolted at the sudden touch to her wrist, though she didn't pull away as they walked side-by-side, George with a concerned frown on his face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she blinked at him, confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"That Smith bloke seemed to really piss you off," he said.

"Oh, him," she chuckled. "Let's just say I've had too many run-ins with him to sit back and let him bad-mouth Harry."

"It was strange watching you get all feisty," he commented, his other hands stuffed into his jacket pocket casually. Freya raised an eyebrow at him, uncertain at his sudden cheeky grin, but his next words explained everything. "I kinda liked it."

Then, with a laugh at her wide eyes, he released her wrist and went to join Fred and Solana, shooting her one last grin as he went.