"Dumbledore's Army"

October 1995, 1 month later

Needless to say, Snape was the most furious the girls had ever seen him.

Of course, the professor always brooded behind the curtains of his greasy black hair but he took the time to tuck it back and peer long and hard at the raw scarring on the back of one of his students' palm. It was easy to determine that he cared mostly for the insult it had on Slytherin house above all but he still bore an undeniable look of fury. He had spun around, throwing the cape of his cloak out when he sat at his desk.

His arm flourished with every new line of the letter he was scrawling. Circi looked at Mica who was watching Carmen, who was writing her own letter in a similarly dramatic flare fueled with anger and abhorrence.

Since, Circi only saw Umbridge in lessons. The woman didn't talk to her but she assumed it was because she had gained all the satisfaction she could get from torturing her. The scarring on her hand was faint and performed a white braille imitation of the phrase; she had become accustomed to tracing the raised edges in nerve-inducing situations. And she was nervous more often these days.

Winter was fast approaching and, despite the summer threatening to melt them into puddles, the temperature dropped exponentially. In early November the students were wrapped in a rainbow of hats, gloves and scarves. Mica even went as far to sport leg warmers on days she trained for quidditch.

Despite the snow, which brought more joy through weekend snowball fights, and the frigid cold, the third years rejoiced knowing their opportunity to join the older years in Hogsmeade was drawing near.

Circi received her permission slip via owl the weekend before the trips began. She was fully prepared to spend her weekends alone, catching up on schoolwork and journaling the week- but she supposed the permission form was gesture of expected forgiveness from her father. He could revoke the permission by all means, but she did not considering sending him a letter of thanks.

After her detention with Umbridge, he had received letters from Carmen, Snape and herself. While her peer demanded answers as to how he could let it happen, and her Professor inquired with professionalism about the incident, Circi had written him a furious letter when the pain eased.

She had seethed over the parchment, watching as her handwriting morphed into a stranger's.

It was all his fault.

The cold weather had transformed Leslie. While Circi was glad to wear her gloves and keep warm, Leslie complained about the itchiness of his scarf and the restrictions the gloves gave him. He moaned whenever a passing professor instructed him to wrap up warm and even retired to his bedroom for the rest of the weekend when Mica attempted to initiate a snowball fight. The change concerned them, they figured he had forgiven them for dragging him to the Yule Ball. It was almost a year ago and, until the final task, he had been perfectly civil with them.

Of course, everyone was altered by Cedric Diggory's death.

Mica was much more careful with her words and had even taken to wearing the correct uniform; this changed, however, when the weather turned. She admitted that her parents, her mother more so, had insisted on her quitting quidditch and remaining in the stands- where she was definitely safe.

Leslie, despite his letters showing no change in demeanour, was all the more quieter. It seemed as though he had emptied his brain of all opinions onto his dinner plate and abandoned it for the rest of the year.

The girls encouraged him often but he simply brushed them away, growing reserved in anyone's presence.

As disheartening as his rejections were, the girls began to enjoy their down time more. They had already spent one weekend together at Hogsmeade.

To begin with, they spent most of their self-decided allowance in Honeyduke's sweet shop in hopes of cheering up their friend with a sugar rush. Then, they had followed a group of older students into a pub called The Three Broomsticks. Sitting down at a booth with their sweets, they were unsure how to act until a kind-faced blonde woman approached and offered them their most popular drink among students, Butterbeer.

Mica had never heard of it but accepted nonetheless. Circi, on the other hand, had drank plenty of butterbeer over the years and eagerly accepted the offer.

They spent the majority of the afternoon occupying the booth and, when they were preparing to leave, Carmen entered the seating area and slid into the seat next to Mica.

"Hey kids," she dipped her finger into Mica's near-empty cup and scooped out some of the remaining froth, "I am inviting you to the Hog's Head Inn, down the road, tomorrow for lunch. Don't ask questions, I won't answer, just know I would like you there and miss Hermione Granger herself suggested inviting you." Lingering long enough to see them accept the offer, she pursed her lips and left them to their business.

The next day, the girls wondered the village in search of the Inn to no avail. It wasn't until they spotted a few familiar fifth-years did they realise they simply hadn't walked far enough.

The Inn itself was dingy and held somewhat curious characters. It was grey, and dirty, but upon a second sweep of the area the gaggle of students sat around the unlit fireplace drew their attention. Hermione stood in front of them beside Harry, waiting in silence as the others spoke. They seemed to be waiting for someone.

Upon noticing the two third-years, she smiled faintly and beckoned them to join the group.

"What is she doing here?" An older Gryffindor spoke. "She's a slytherin."

Circi opened her mouth to defend herself but was interrupted.

"Is that a problem?" All eyes turned to Carmen, who sat at the edge of the booth in the window. She had one leg crossed over the other, lifting her skirt above her calves, a look scandalous for her. The Gryffindor flushed red and hunched over under her stern gaze. He shook his head.

"No, but she's still a Malfoy." The scar on her hand seemed to crawl at the association.

"Ugh, whatever!" Mica dragged two chairs over, straddling hers and hanging her arms over the back. "Sure, Draco's a toad, but how often have you seen Circi act in any way worthy of the name?" A hand raised gingerly from Carmen's booth. Francis Twigger leaned forward, her butterfly clips causing an indent in her hat.

"She called me a mudblood in our first year." All eyes turned to Circi, even Mica leaned away and placed a hand on her hip. Sighing and hanging her head, Circi removed her glove and showed the room her scarred hand.

"I've learning my lesson. I'm sorry Francesca."

"Francis." Flushing red, Circi nodded and sat down.

The room was silent for a moment before Hermione began to speak.

"Hi, so you all know why we're here. We need a teacher." She paused. "A proper teacher, one who's had experience defending themselves against the dark arts."

"Why?" Piped up the Gryffindor who had been opposed to Circi's appearance.

"Why?" Ron stood beside his friend with a scowl, sneering at the boy. "Because You-Know-Who's back, you tosspot."

The two boys went back and forth, the situation seemed to be out of hand. It seemed promising to start with but the more Ron bickered with the other boy, the more frustrated the students grew. Circi huffed and leaned on her knees, resting her chin in her palm, she twisted her head to see Mica leaning her cheek against the back of the chair and puffing out her cheeks. Suddenly, Harry interrupted them,

"I'm not gonna talk about Cedric!" The girls sat up, alert at the mention of the name. Circi couldn't help but look over at Carmen to see her reaction but the seventh year appeared overly composed. "So if that's why you're here, clear out now. Come on, Hermione. They're here because they think I'm some sort of freak." While he was whispering to Hermione, Mica nudged Circi and nodded to the door.

"They were ready to leave until a fifth year Ravenclaw piped up in a voice that sounded as though she was mid-dream.

"Is it true you can produce a Patronus Charm?" The two girls sat back down, intrigued. They had only ever heard of patronuses two years ago in the presence of the dementors, it was a spell far too advanced for most students in the room.

"Yes. I've seen it." Hermione's confirmation gave the students confidence in Harry, it seemed. "And he killed a basilisk, with the sword in Dumbledore's office." Ron was encouraged and joined in.

"Third year, he fought off about a hundred Dementors at once." Eyes wide, Circi couldn't take her eyes off of the trio and began to wonder why she was only just paying attention to them.

"Last year, he really did fight off You-Know-Who in the flesh." Harry shook his head, holding his hand out to interrupt Hermione.

"Wait. Look, it 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." She was shaking her head, searching the group almost desperately for belief.

"No, Hermione, I'm not. 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."

It was true, they had no clue. Circi had seen death, sure, and she had heard mild tales of the first war from her father and much more nightmare-inducing tales from Narcissa. But never had she experience dark magic personally.

"You're right, Harry, we don't." Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. Behind her, Carmen was sitting back with her arms crossed as though she was the only other person to face such magic. And, upon reflection, Circi assumed that the girl's contacts in the ministry could have potentially exposed her to such magic. "That's why we need your help. Because if we're going to have any chance at beating... Voldemort..."

Hearing the name from a reputable person, rather than Harry whom had been defamed in the papers all summer, was especially terrifying. It was all the more real for Circi who, upon hearing the name for the second time in her life, saw only visions of Cedric Diggory's lifeless body and the fresh mark on her father's arm.

"He's really back."