and everyone knew that. Unfortunately due to the hammering rain during their lunch break, Margaret, Harry, Hermione and Ron had found seats in an overcrowded classroom on the first-floor where Peeves was entertaining himself by blowing ink pellets on the heads of students.

Margaret was munching on one of her last chocolates, having given some to the other three to eat as well. She was sat next to Hermione, behind Ron, who was sprawled next to Harry.

Angelina Johnson, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, had just left after triumphantly informing Harry and Ron that Professor McGonagall with the probable help from Headmaster Dumbledore, had managed to get permission for the reform of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and they would be having practice later that evening.

Ron's smile dims a bit as he stares at the window that was opaque due to the heavy downpour. "Hope this clears up... What's up with you?"

Hermione was also gazing at the window, although not as if she was seeing it.

"Just... thinking," says she, still staring at the rain-washed window.

"About Siri- Snuffles?" Harry asks.

"No... not exactly..." Hermione says absentmindedly. "More like... wondering... I suppose we're doing the right thing... I think... aren't we?

Margaret, Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"I speak four languages and that made no sense in any," says Margaret, her lip curled in confusion.

Hermione looked up as if she had only just realised where they were.

"I was just wondering," she says, her voice stronger now, "whether we're doing the right thing, starting this Defense Against the Dark Arts group."

"What!" Harry and Ron exclaim together.

"Hermione, it was your idea in the first place!" Ron says accusingly.

"I know," Hermione says, twisting her fingers together. "But after talking to Snuffles..."

"But he's all for it!" Harry argues.

"Yes," says Hermione, staring at the window again. "Yes, that's what made me think maybe it wasn't a good idea after all..."

"Let's get this straight," Harry says angrily, "Sirius agrees with us, so you don't think we should do it anymore?"

Hermione looked conflicted and rather dejected. Staring at her own hands she says, "Do you honestly trust his judgment?"

"Yes, I do!" says Harry at once. "He's always given us great advice!"

An ink pellet whizzed past them, striking Katie Bell squarely in the ear. Hermione watched as Katie leapt to her feet and started throwing things at Peeves.

"You don't think he has become... sort of... reckless... since he's been cooped up in Grimmauld Place? You don't think he's... kind of... living through us?"

Margaret stopped staring blankly at her half-eaten chocolate and turned to Hermione with a frown.

"What d'you mean, 'living through us'?" Harry retorts irately.

"I mean... well, I think he'd love to be forming secret defence societies right under the nose of the Ministry... I think he's really frustrated at how little he can do where he is... so I think he's keen to kind of... egg us on."

"Of course he's going to 'egg us on'. What else did you expect, Hermione?" Margaret speaks up in a low voice from beside her. "You do realize that before being on house arrest, before being an escapee, before even being Harry's godfather - Padfoot was one of those people who joined the Order straight out of Hogwarts to fight against what he believed was wrong?"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but Margaret held up a hand.

"No, listen," she says, a fierce kind of look in her eye indicating this was more than just defending Sirius. "He fought from the very beginning, didn't he? He fought against his own parents even if it resulted in the fallout between him and his only brother, he ran away from home at sixteen, he did what he thought was right and needed to be done. And now? Now he's stuck in the very house where he was told for so long that he was unworthy, that he was a blood-traitor, from where he was disowned, where now he is constantly left to wonder what happened to his brother – Do you know how that feels like?"

Hermione fell quiet at this, suddenly rather interested in the wooden table in front of them.

"They all fought till the very end - Padfoot, Harry's parents, Moony, Longbottoms', McKinnons', Prewetts', and god knows how many other unnamed people... If one of them thinks that we're – that we are doing the right thing – that we should so this then I believe him wholeheartedly, because he's been through this once before. Granted, it didn't work out well enough, You-Know-Who's back, but they tried and got us these many years of peace. They never had that- that peace; that reassurance... And most of them aren't here anymore, and the ones that are, are too far away to help us..."

Margaret takes a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is – we are not 'too young' to learn to defend ourselves. Cedric Diggory was nearly the same age as us, and Wormtail didn't bash an eyelash before killing him."

No one said anything for a few moments. The chatter around them went on as if in a loop, students talked and laughed and ducked once in a while as Peeves swooped over them. The four of them were as if frozen in time, watching the world go by.

Harry hadn't thought of it like that; even though he had said countless times that being out there, facing this stuff needed more than just being brilliant at school - as he was sure all of their predecessors were - and more than throwing spells at Death Eaters. But knowing that Sirius and his parents were in a situation like this before reassured him somewhat about conducting these defence lessons and made this even more important.

Hermione was still silent, looking rather miserable and guilty, and Margaret knew her mind was racing a mile per minute. On the other hand, Ron was frowning seriously, an uncharacteristic expression on his face that Harry took a notice of.

"Ron, you all right?" he asks, snapping them all out of their thoughts and the time ticked once more.

"Huh?" Ron looks up and nods. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... you spoke about the Prewetts, didn't you? They were my uncles. Mum's brothers. Twins, like Fred and George. Named after them, actually; after their initials – Fabian and Gideon. All I know of them are stories. Dad's spoken of them, so have Bill and Charlie; and Percy too, it's the only time I've ever heard him joke... They were very brave." He pauses to clear his throat and shuffle in his seat. "Mum's got photos of them in her purse, Ginny told me. She'll tell you all about them if you ask but... tends to not talk about them if it can be avoided. I think it still hurts her."

None of them knew of this as Ron was not the one to open up about stories. Hermione was looking at him, her hands now covering her mouth in barely suppressed shock, Harry was patting Ron's back understandingly, and Margaret was unconsciously fidgeting with her necklace in her hand, feeling like a knot was stuck in her throat.

"I can understand," she says darkly.

It was a few moments before Hermione speaks to Margaret again and it sounds as though she was choosing her words very carefully, "Are you saying that... is it possible we'd... encounter a situation in the f... future... where we'd have to – er – profoundly defend ourselves?"

Margaret shrugs, determined not to give anything away.

"Remember what Padfoot said? Better be expelled and know how to defend ourselves than sit in school without a clue. Whether we'd need to know how to protect ourselves and others around us is a different topic. If the situation does come up – mind you, if – then we wouldn't have time to learn at that moment itself."

Just then, Peeves decided that this was a good time to target them and floated over, on his stomach the peashooter at ready; automatically the Golden Trio lifted their bags to cover their heads, but Margaret realized a second too late and an ink pellet came flying at her.

She squealed, raising both her palms to block it, they shimmered a light red without her wanting them to, and the ink tablet stopped mid-air; then with double-speed, hurled across the air and hit Peeves square on the forehead, who crashed back into the blackboard dramatically. A couple of people laughed loudly, pointing at the poltergeist's inky head, while others stared shell-shocked at Margaret and then at the chaotic spirit, whose mouth had fallen open.

"Uh oh," Ron mutters, gaping at Peeves with wide eyes, his previous sadness forgotten.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-"

Margaret's frantic apologies, however, fell to deaf ears as Peeves loaded all of his ink pellets into the peashooter, materialised many ink pots out of thin air and started shooting them all at mass, emptying the bottles of inks on their heads.

"Run!" Harry exclaims, grabbing Margaret's arm and both their bags as she was still staring at Peeves horror-struck at what she had started.

They sprinted after Ron, Hermione and the rest of the screaming, ink-covered students. Once they were a safe distance from the classroom, Margaret looked down sadly at her hand. She had dropped her chocolate when she had tried to protect herself.

Hermione brought out her wand and swiftly performed the Scourging charm on all of them to get rid of the ink on their robes.

"Sorry about that," Margaret says.

"What happened though?" Ron asks, set on avoiding the previous topic of his uncles as he continues as conversationally as possible. "You didn't draw your wand at him, that would've made him madder..."

"No, well-"

"It happened yesterday too," says Harry as they begin to walk down the corridor towards the Grand Staircase, "with Pansy Parkinson."

"Didn't her spell-"

Hermione cuts Ron off, speaking what was also on Harry's mind, "Her spell didn't rebound, did it? I doubt she was going for a disarming spell seeing as you hadn't drawn your wand on her."

"She believed it though," Margaret says lowly, looking around to see if there was anyone eavesdropping. Luckily, there weren't many people around. "It was my powers acting without my consent, as usual."

"Your... powers?" Ron asks quizzically.

"Well, that's what you'd call wandless magic."

"It was what you did with my Rubik's cube, back when you first arrived. It wasn't impulsive that time, was it?" Hermione says and Margaret shakes her head. "You called it tele... something. Is it not magic?"

"Telekinesis," Margaret offers. "Yes, it's one of my powers. And no, I don't think it's magic. I don't use spells for it, not even non-verbal."

"One of them? There are more?" Ron asks, in the same curious fashion he had back at Grimmauld Place.

"We'll see when the time comes," she tells him again as she had back then, feeling amused. "Anyway, want to go see the Room of Requirement tonight?"

"We might as well," says Harry, seemingly elevated, and Hermione and Ron nod in agreement.

It was during Herbology in the greenhouse where the four of them sought out their classmates who had come to the meeting in Hog's Head and told them that they were planning to meet tonight.

"Where did you say it was, again?" asks Susan Bones under her breath, although the hammering rain outside made it hard to hear anyways.

"On the seventh floor, near Barnabas the Barmy's troll dance class tapestry," Margaret replies, labelling the diagram she had drawn of a strange plant in front of her. "Pass it on to your friends who had been there that day."

"I will," Susan says.

The rest of the day was spent in trying to seek out the remaining of their schoolmates who had signed their names on the parchment in Hog's Head, and by dinner, they were sure that the news had been passed on to them all.

At seven o'clock that evening after the Quidditch practise was over for Harry and Ron, they along with Hermione and Margaret left the Gryffindor common room. Fifth-years were allowed to be outside till nine o'clock, but they all looked around alertly and somewhat nervously as they sprinted up to the seventh floor.

"Hold it," Harry commands, halting the other three in their steps at the top of the last staircase as he taps an old piece of parchment with his wand, muttering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

A map of Hogwarts appeared upon the blank surface of the parchment which unfolded from its complicated folds - a different one for every room and every passage on every floor. Tiny inky moving footsteps labelled with names showed where various people were.

"Filch is on the second floor," Harry says, holding the map close to his eyes to scan it, "and Mrs Norris is on the fourth."

"And Umbridge?" Hermione asks anxiously.

"In her office," Harry says, pointing at the map. "Okay, let's go."

They hurried down the dimly lit corridors of the seventh floor, Margaret a few steps ahead, leading them to an enormous tapestry hung on the wall. Hermione squinted to read the curvy handwriting in which was written Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet.

"Okay, so..." Margaret says looking at the blank stretch of stone wall opposite the tapestry. "We are supposed to walk past this wall three times, concentrating hard on what we need."

"Are you sure?" Ron asks, looking at the wall warily.

"Absolutely."

They did so, turning sharply at the window just beyond the blank stretch of wall, then at the man-sized vase on the other end of the corridor just as Margaret had done about a week or so ago. Ron had screwed up his eyes in concentration, Hermione was whispering something under her breath, Harry's fists were clenched as he stared ahead of him, and Margaret pictured the room just the way it had been described in the books.

"Harry," Hermione calls sharply, looking up at the wall, surprised, as the turned after their third round.

The wall was grumbling, high iron double-doors had materialised out of the stone. Once the rumbling stopped, Harry turned to Margaret with his brows raised, clearly impressed. She grinned and waved her hand dismissively.

"Thank Dobby," she tells him as she reached out, seized the brass handle and pushed open the doors. She led the way into a spacious room lit up with the fire in cylindrical marble stands on the sides and an enormous but intricate chandelier up the high ceiling.

Margaret closed the doors behind them and the four of them scattered about, looking around the room.

The walls were lined with wooden bookcases, and instead of chairs, there were large silk cushions on the floor. There was a granite fireplace at the far end of the room and set of shelves above either side of it holding a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes and Secrecy Sensors.

On the left side of the room was a large cracked Foe-Glass. On the right end past the fireplace was a metal statue holding up a fake wand that looked vaguely like a soldier robot with wheels for feet.

"These will be good when we're practising Stunning," Ron says enthusiastically, prodding one of the cushions with his foot.

"With that," says Margaret, pointing at the metal contraption, "we can practice Disarming."

"And just look at all these books!" Hermione tells them excitedly, running a finger along the spines of the large leather-bound tomes. "A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions... The Dark Arts Outsmarted... Self-Defensive Spellwork... wow..."

She looked around at them, her face positively alight with joy with the presence of hundreds of books that had finally convinced her that what they were doing was right. Margaret gave her a small smile as she grabbed a book about jinxes off the shelf and plopped down on one of the cushions.

There was a knock on the doors and Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Padma, Parvati and Dean stepped in.

"Whoa," says Dean on all their behalf, sounding impressed. "What is this place?"

Harry began to explain just as more people filed into the room and he had to begin all over again. By the time it was half-past seven, every cushion in the room was occupied.

Margaret had taken to standing on the far end of the room beside the fire as she looked into Barty Crouch Jr's old foe-glass. It was cracked but still functional. She could see several shadows on the other side, none of them clear enough for her to know who they were but she had a hunch.

"It's bizarre," says Fred loudly, looking around the room and snapping Margaret from her thoughts. "We hid in here from Filch once, remember, George? But it was only a broom closet..."

"It takes the shape of what you need," Margaret explains, stepping out from where she didn't realise she was hidden within the shadows as several people gasped at her voice, startled. She smirks. "Although, think unclearly and... you might just end up in unfavourable circumstances."

"Speaking from experience?" Lee asks.

"No," she replies, "but I do know of its functions."

"She's the one who suggested it," Hermione tells them, marking the page of her book and getting to her feet to face them all. She went to continue but was interrupted by a girl.

"But you're new," Katie Bell points out, frowning. "We've been here for years and we never knew of this place..."

Several people looked like they agreed about this and Margaret caught the glances the Harry, Hermione and Ron shared, obviously having concluded that it had to do something with her knowledge.

"All you have to do is ask," Margaret replies with a small smile, eyes twinkling like she knew something they didn't.

Hermione speaks up before anyone could continue the topic, "Well, I think we need to elect a leader."

"Harry's the leader," Cho says at once, looking at Hermione as though offended that she would say such a thing. Margaret noticed that Marietta was not in sight, and nearly sighed in relief.

"Yes, but I think we ought to do it properly," Hermione tells her, unbothered at Cho's expression. "It makes it formal and gives him authority. So - all those in favour of Harry being the leader?"

Everybody raised their hands.

"Er - right, thanks," says Harry, his ears starting to turn red.

"I also think we ought to have a name," Hermione says, making Harry look at her impatiently. "It would promote team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" Angelina suggests hopefully.

"Or Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?" Fred says.

"I was thinking," Hermione says pointedly to Fred, "about a name that wouldn't tell everyone what we were up to so that we can refer to it safely outside of meetings."

"How about The Defence Association?" Cho says hopefully. "D.A. for short."

"Yeah the D.A. is good," Ginny pipes up, "but let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army; because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?"

There was a good deal of appreciative muttering and laughter at this.

"I like Dumbledore's Army," Margaret agrees, shooting Ginny a smile and raising her hand, "All those in favour of D.A.?"

Hermione counts the hands that were raised and nods. "That's a majority - motion passed!"

"Right, well," Harry begins once everyone settles down again, "I think we should start with the Disarming Charm, you know, Expelliarmus. I know it's pretty basic but I've found it to be quite useful-"