"You heard from them up at Hogwarts lately?"

"Yeah, Alecto came down the other day. The other teachers aren't happy—coulda guessed that much, they were all up Dumbledore's arse, each one of 'em—but nothing they can do now with three Death Eaters in that place."

"Four."

"What—oh yeah, the Malfoy brat."

The table shuddered as a large, heavy tanker was slammed down, spilling drops of scotch onto the wood.

"They're not going to last long, the Malfoys, mark my words. Lucius is good as done for—got no wand, and he's been hiding away in that manor of his for months. Pathetic." The man banged a hand several times on the table and gave a sharp whistle. "Oi! Get another pitcher over here!"

"Don't whistle at me, I'm not your damned dog!" the grizzled old bartender snapped back. He slammed an overfilled, slightly tarnished glass pitcher onto the countertop and shoved it over, the amber liquid inside nearly sloshing over the brim.

Hooded green eyes flickered furtively across the room, watching as the first man stood up and stomped over to the bar to retrieve it.

"Anyway," he said when he sat back down, "got Dolohov's Polyjuice here. Bloody better be enough, dunno how long he's gonna be stationed at the old Black place—you'd think the Dark Lord wouldn't trust 'em after he and Rowle let Potter escape. Idiots."

There was a heavy shuffling of robes as a large, gleaming copper flask exchanged hands, then both Death Eaters settled back into their chairs and refilled their glasses.

"Still no sign of him?"

"Doesn't look like it. Even Potter's not thick enough to come back here, seems like."

"I still say you should've Cruciated those blood traitors longer. Reckon that Delacour woman was close to cracking."

"We were at it for hours! We weren't gonna get Potter's whereabouts from them, I'm telling you. Besides, it doesn't matter—he can't stay in hiding forever. He'll turn up."

They sat for a long time, drinking down the rest of their pitcher with careless slurps and progressively more slurred conversation about where Harry Potter could be. Hiding with the Order? Or among Muggles? Surely he couldn't have left the country, with dementors prowling all around the borders...

The only other occupants in the pub hardly reacted when the two Death Eaters finally got up to leave, and none of them said a word until the Death Eaters had stepped foot outside, slammed the rickety door behind them, and stalked off down the high street until, at last, they disappeared from sight. That was when one of the remaining patrons in the pub whipped off his hood and turned to speak to his companions in the otherwise empty room.

"So, like, what I really want to know is... why is he still here?"

Feliks' voice rang loudly with contempt as he glared at Ivan, who simply gave him a placid smile in return.

"The friend of my friend, I guess I can play nice with," he said cheerfully. "It has been so long since we've spent time together—right, Toris?" he added, turning to Toris, who averted his gaze.

"I invited Liet, not you!" Feliks said heatedly.

"Toris is happy to have me here though," Ivan said.

Sandwiched between them, with Ivan looming over him on one side and Feliks grabbing his sleeve on the other, Toris twisted his fingers together in a familiar nervous gesture. "Feliks, it's fine—"

"I'll totally wreck you again, dumb Russian! See if I don't!"

"No murder in the pub," the bartender barked. "Take it outside!"

"No murder anywhere, please," Toris said emphatically.

Feliks narrowed his eyes at Ivan, then he stood and flounced towards the bar, pulling Toris forcefully by the arm behind him. Toris shot the bartender a beseeching look.

"Not my business, what goes on between you lot. Sort it out yourselves," the elderly man growled in response, sparing him only a second's glance from behind his spectacles, not budging from behind the counter where he was rigorously polishing a glass with a dirty, frayed rag.

Meanwhile, Feliks puffed up like an angry cat. This was supposed to be a fun trip, and everything was being ruined. Ever since Yong Soo had introduced him to the passage to Hogsmeade, Feliks had been looking forward to going back—even if it was without his fellow Gryffindor this time, as Yong Soo was currently stuck in one of Yao's never-ending lectures following the discovery of his stolen money. Apparently it was the extended edition of said lecture, complete with generous amounts of guilt-tripping and poignant lamenting about where China had gone wrong as a parent.

When Feliks found out about Yong Soo's fate, he'd simply shrugged and left for Hogsmeade anyway, knowing that the other nation probably wouldn't be released for about a hundred years.

Of course he had to bring Toris though. Like, who even decided to spend their weekend in a stuffy library looking up wizarding history books? Lame people, that was who. Feliks was totally doing Toris a favour here, because he needed to get a life. So he'd had planned out this whole trip, and they were supposed to have a blast hanging out, just the two of them, and then all of a sudden Ivan decided to tag along on his own accord? Um, excuse him. Bitch.

"This was fun!" Ivan said to Toris, his violet eyes shining brightly. "It is sad that they weren't the people from last time. I was looking forward to having a talk with them about what they did to Yao." Ivan was not happy with their attackers after what had happened at Honeydukes, so when he spotted a couple of Death Eaters heading into the grubby Hog's Head Inn, he was determined to follow them to see if they were the same ones. Toris couldn't escape from being dragged along, and of course Feliks refused to leave him alone, so here they were, unwillingly accompanying the Russian on his revenge mission.

It was Toris' idea to hide their faces underneath their hoods while they eavesdropped; he just wanted to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Ivan was happy with the idea because "you can hurt people so much more if they don't see it coming".

Restlessly, Toris rubbed his wrist where Ivan's steel grip had bruised him. Those men truly didn't realise how lucky they were.

"I'm sorry," he said to the bartender, who, behind the face full of stringy grey hair and the enormous beard, was looking less impressed with them by the minute.

"I'm telling you again, if you're going to be dragging your fights into this place, I'm not having it," the bartender said irritably.

"Why do you think we are the ones starting fights?" Ivan pointed out with a slightly hurt frown. "What about the people you allow in here? They are not very nice."

"Do they stir up a commotion though? No, so I turn my back, don't I," the bartender snapped.

"Aren't they You-Know-Who's supporters?" Toris said quietly. "Are you really okay with letting them in...?"

The bartender snorted. "Not worth the trouble. It's no use trying to go against that lot anymore, they've already won—might as well make my own life easier."

"That's a horrible attitude to take," Toris murmured. Beside him, Feliks nodded furiously. If he thought that way every time it looked like he was going to lose throughout history, there would be no Poland at all!

They were met with a disparaging scoff. "So you're one of those. Probably think the Boy Who Lived is going to come save us all, is that right?"

"I—I don't know what to think." Toris avoided meeting the man's brilliant, piercing blue eyes, which seemed to cut straight through him from behind the dirty spectacles. "But... lying down and giving in isn't the right answer. All three of us know that well."

"You're all fools then," the bartender said, turning away.

"What a stubborn child," Ivan said, amused, and that earned him an offended scowl from the grizzled, grey-haired man, who had probably not been called a child for at least a century.

"I didn't wake up this morning to be talked down in my own damn house!" Anger flashed across the bartender's eyes now, and he slammed down the tanker he'd been polishing, making the rest of the glasses on the countertop rattle. "If all you're wanting is to give me a holier-than-thou lecture, I suggest you turn your tails out that door and quit wasting my time."

"Let's get outta here, Liet," Feliks said, rolling his eyes. Obviously this guy was a loser, and now that the most interesting part of this trip had left the pub and disappeared up the high street, Feliks was bored of this place. Without bothering to wait for Toris' response, he was already dragging him towards the door, oblivious to the apology that Toris threw hastily over his shoulder. The bartender muttered something that sounded distinctly like "good riddance", but Feliks had already forgotten about him. This little side trip was fun, but it was about time they got to the real important stuff: another candy shopping spree and more spiced cocoa!

"I do worry about him," Francis said, furrowing his brow. His long limbs were sprawled lazily across a plush leather armchair in the corner of the Slytherin common room, and he stared up at the ceiling in deep thought, one hand twirling his wand in slow, graceful circles. "He seemed disturbed by what his friend was doing, so I went with him to make sure he was all right, and yet..."

He could still remember how Malfoy had brushed him off after the incident with Gilbert and Crabbe, how he'd refused to meet Francis' eyes when he snapped that he was fine, that Feliciano didn't seem like much anyway, and "our Ministry never would've taken someone so weak". Draco Malfoy certainly was a difficult one to crack. Francis had always carried a streak of pride about his skill in Legilimency, but from this boy, he got... nothing. Nothing at all.

Curious.

"His father's a Death Eater, Mr Bonnefoy, everybody knows that. He doesn't really have a problem with Dark magic." Astoria Greengrass, perched on a cushion beside him with her legs folded up demurely and a Transfiguration textbook nestled in her lap, frowned up at Francis' ruminating expression. "I don't know if you should feel so sorry for him."

Francis hummed. Perhaps the young lady had a point... but still, the boy was just so young, and he sensed a deep unhappiness from him, so much that he simply could not bear to leave him alone. If these children had wandered down a path they regretted, it was big brother France's duty to guide them into the light! Alas, he had been called nosy and meddlesome by his fellow nations many times before, but it was all out of love!

"You look like you want to argue," Astoria said cautiously.

"Not argue, chérie, oh, no," Francis tutted. "But forgive me if I'd like to continue what I'm doing. It is, ah, how do you say... an instinct."

"I see." Astoria fiddled with the corner of the page, which she hadn't turned for the past twenty minutes. Then she asked, in a quiet murmur that blended with the crackling fire: "Do you agree with them?"

"Hm?"

"Draco and the rest of the Dark Lord's followers. Do you agree with them?"

His mind flashed with the memory of sharp, glinting steel and the whistle of a blade piercing the air, blood spattering across wood and jeering crowds crammed in a huge, sunlit square. If she was asking whether he agreed with their ideals, then the answer was most certainly, vehemently not; a tyrant using violence to exert power and oppress their citizens was not exactly something the French Republic looked fondly upon.

But that didn't quite work with the nations' little cover story, did it?

"I tend not to condone violence nowadays," Francis said evasively, now staring with idle interest at his wand as he ran the tip of his finger over its length.

Astoria turned this answer over in her head in silence.

Then Francis felt, not for the first time that evening, a very familiar chill run down his spine, and he tilted his head back, his smile hovering somewhere between endeared and terrified. "There is no need to hide from us, mon ami."

There was a clumsy rustle, and Ivan's bashfully innocent face popped into view overhead. "Hello, comrade," he said shyly. "I am surprised you noticed me. I thought I was hiding well."

"How precious," Francis cooed. "Would you like to join our little chat?"

"Ah, yes. In fact, I have a question for you."

"Oh, of course! Big brother is always here to help," Francis said, flourishing with a theatrical sweep of his arm. Astoria's gaze flickered between the two nations with interest.

Ivan strolled with short, buoyant steps around the armchair so that he ended up standing in front of the Frenchman and his companion. "I am wondering," he said curiously, his hands folded behind his back, his face half-cast in shadow as he towered over them, "why do you have so much interest in that little blonde boy?"

"Policing the world now, c'est ça?" Francis replied, raising an eyebrow. "You and Alfred are more alike than you care to admit."

Ivan's smile grew colder, and Francis blanched.

"I'm simply keeping an eye on him," he continued hastily. "He seems like an intriguing boy."

"People say he and his friends do awful things. Just like they say about me." Ivan tilted his head, and though his tone of voice didn't change, the way his smile disappeared made Astoria sink a little further into her cushion and hide her face behind her textbook.

"Ah, well," Francis said brightly, "you are a bit... you know..."

"But I think he's cute," Ivan continued. "The fragile ones usually are, da? So if you want to make friends with him, I..." He took a big, trembling breath. "I want to come along with you!"

Francis stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded by the request. Then his face split into a grin—how adorable! It was not the first time Ivan had asked him for help on matters of the heart, and Francis was flattered that he was the one he turned to. Of course he would not let him down!

Before he could respond, however, Astoria cut in, her voice quiet but clear: "I... don't think you should."

"Oh?" Ivan blinked down at her as if noticing her for the first time.

"You don't have much sympathy for Monsieur Malfoy, do you, chérie?" Francis commented.

"You aren't from around here," Astoria said, her gaze fixed down at her textbook. "You don't understand what people like him are really like."

"What do you mean by that?" Francis asked, regarding her now with concern, but she shook her head, either unable or unwilling to say any more.

Meanwhile, the disappointment was obvious on Ivan's face. Another chance at a friend lost. It always seemed to end up this way...

Neville flopped to the floor to catch his breath, and he took a moment to survey the room, his face flushed and slightly damp from effort, but beaming with pride. All around him, members of the D.A. were engrossed in mock battles; some ran around, fighting properly, while others simply stood in front of one another and experimented with curses and counter-curses. They were practising duelling today, so it seemed like a good time to try putting what they already knew into practice.

Gradually, the duels began to die out little by little as students retired, too drained or sore or wounded, to rest on the cushions and watch the others. But there was one duel that continued even long after the last student pair had finished.

"Keep up, lady!" Alfred shouted cheerfully as he ducked under desks and behind cabinets, intermittently throwing red jets of light in Elizabeta's direction.

"Oh, don't get cocky, you little shit!" she retorted. "Invito könyv!"

A huge leather-bound book suddenly flew into her hands, blocking Alfred's Stunner, which ricocheted off a nearby shelf and sent Parvati and Lavender scurrying for cover. Elizabeta hurled the book towards her opponent, who dove out of the way, narrowly avoiding a dented skull.

"Hermione would kill her for that," Ginny commented to Luna.

Alfred sprinted across the room with more books crashing one after another in his wake, until one caught his heel and he tumbled into the wall in a mess of flailing limbs. Elizabeta raised her wand for the finishing blow, only to catch sight of Alfred grappling for a nearby desk; with frighteningly superhuman strength he shoved the mass of wood towards her, sending it skidding across the floor with an ear-splitting screech. Forced to abandon her attack, Elizabeta braced herself to stop it with her hands, and Alfred seized his chance.

"Confringo!"

Instinctively, Elizabeta dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way as the desk exploded in a fiery blast. Shrouded in the thick, black smoke that billowed up in the aftermath, she darted nimbly along the wall, and when her sharp eyes discerned a shift of movement exactly where Alfred had fallen, she ran up to him and socked him square in the jaw.

"Ow! Geez, you don't have to hit me that hard!"

As he spoke, Alfred managed to throw her to the ground, knocking her wand out of her hand. She didn't even try to grapple for it; instead she opted to throw another punch, and soon enough Alfred had discarded his wand as well, and the duel was no longer a magic fight but had turned into an all-out fistfight.

"All right, that's enough—" Neville started forward, signalling for them to stop, but when both nations continued to brawl as though they hadn't heard him, he raised his wand and shouted, "Protego!"

The Shield Charm ballooned between the two and wrenched them apart, pushing them to opposite ends of the room. For a few seconds, they simply stared at one another through the barrier, unmoving, still poised and panting.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Alfred's face split into a grin and he started laughing. Elizabeta promptly followed suit, her tense posture melting away.

"Aw man, that was good! Shame you had to cut it short," Alfred said to Neville, waving a hand to indicate that everything was fine. When Neville cautiously removed his Shield Charm, the American wasted no time in sauntering over and clapping his fellow nation on the back. "Been a while since I had a scrap like that!"

Elizabeta gave a playful little curtsy.

"You guys really don't hold anything back, do you?" Neville said, his expression awed and slightly intimidated.

"'Course not, this is what we're trained to do!" Alfred boasted. "Our job isn't just sitting at a desk all day, y'know! We get sent into the fray all the time when there's fighting going on!"

"Oh... I guess that makes sense. I mean, I just didn't expect..." Neville trailed off, glancing at Elizabeta.

"Her?" Alfred laughed. "Man, you have no idea how vicious she can get. Just ask Gilbert."

"Let's not," Elizabeta said rather tersely.

The two nations each pulled up a cushion and joined the rest of the students on the floor, where many were still trying to shake off the remnants of their classmates' curses.

"Where did you learn how to fight?" Padma asked, gently fingering the burn that Parvati's Stinging Hex had left on her face.

"Oh, y'know, the military mostly!" Alfred said with a carefree shrug.

"Muggle military?" Anthony said, surprised.

"That makes sense," Luna said, nodding as though that explained everything. At the perplexed looks she got, she continued with an air of interest: "Both of you seem to like Muggle duelling. Is that how you plan on defeating Death Eaters, by wrestling them? Most of them are quite skinny, so you may be onto something there."

They hadn't really paid attention to it before, but now that Luna pointed it out, Alfred and Elizabeta realised with surprise that she was right. They were both too used to operating in a non-magical world, it seemed.

"Perhaps we could try brewing an extra strength Growth Enhancement Potion for the rest of us! I have one of Mum's modified recipes—"

"Yeah, I don't know if that's such a good idea," Ernie said, cutting Luna off. "No offence to you lot," he added to the nations, "but I reckon a good Stunner would put you out as soon as they see you coming."

"Well, that's easy! Just make sure they don't see you coming!" Alfred said cheerfully. "Gotta grab the bull by the horns, man!"

"Don't encourage them to be reckless, Alfred," Elizabeta scolded.

"Okay, Miss I-Punched-A-Death-Eater-In-The-Face—"

"I told you not to mention that!"

"You did what?" several of the students chorused loudly. Elizabeta looked duly ashamed of herself.

"Alecto Carrow summoned me to ask about the—sword of Gryffindor, I think it was? I told her I didn't know what she was talking about, and she called me some rather unsavoury things, and... well." Everyone gaped at her, and she smoothed her robes in deep embarrassment. "It's all right, a simple Exmemoriam—ah, I believe that's Obliviate to you—should be sufficient to cover it up. She's going to wake up with quite a headache though."

Terry whistled. "And you're always warning us to be careful..."

"Well, you're children!" Elizabeta said indignantly. "It's different, Alfred and I have faced far worse before, we actually know what we're doing—"

"And we don't?" Seamus cut in.

"Well, we sort of don't," Hannah said nervously.

"You all did well today though," Neville said, glancing over at Hannah with a shy, encouraging sort of smile.

"Yes, I think Harry would be proud of all of us," Luna added happily.

Beside her, Ginny nodded; she, too, was looking around the room at the tired but pleased faces of her peers. "Well done, everyone. I think that's enough for today, we've got to get back before it gets too late. Right, three at a time, you all know the drill..."

"Ve, why isn't it working?!"

Feliciano flopped dramatically on top of Kiku, oblivious to how the smaller man buckled under his weight, and his lips twisted into a pout of surrender. Standing a little ways behind them, Heracles pondered their dilemma with a vague air of confusion, while the ginger cat sat expectantly at his feet, tail flicking as its bright yellow eyes darted from one nation to another.

It seemed that their mysterious practice room was refusing to open. Strange... he didn't think there was anything particularly different from last time. They were even the same four nations. Of course Feliciano and Kiku had invited the German brothers along, but Gilbert was stuck in detention with Professor Slughorn after picking a fight with yet another Slytherin student, and Ludwig had insisted on accompanying him in order to keep him out of trouble.

So that left Heracles, Kiku, Feliciano, and Lovino, who had all spent hours in the room the last time they'd found it... but perhaps they had taken its existence for granted. Perhaps it needed to be a certain time of day, or a certain phase of the moon... or they could take Feliciano's earlier suggestion, which was to bring an offering from the kitchens—

The door suddenly flew open, nearly knocking Feliciano and Kiku to the ground. Alfred stood at the front of a crowd, one of many faces staring in confusion. The four nations out in the corridor stared back.

"What are you doing here?" Lovino demanded.

"What are you doing here?" Alfred retorted.

"I asked you first!"

"I asked you second."

An awkward stalemate fell over them, each side unsure of how much information to reveal to the other. It was Feliciano who finally spoke up, deciding it was best to be truthful: "We came here to practise Patronus Charms! We didn't have anywhere to go, but the kitty showed us how to get to this place!"

This elicited surprised looks from Alfred and the students hovering behind him. Elizabeta's face, on the other hand, lit up in realisation. "You needed a place to practice—of course! Oh, come in, all of you, we were about to leave but it wouldn't be wise to linger outside..."

While some of the students cast mistrustful looks at the two Ravenclaw nations, Elizabeta was already ushering all of them into the room. Heracles paused mid-step when he spotted a familiar face sporting a very red, painful-looking scorch mark on her cheek.

"Did you injure yourself...?" he asked, approaching Padma with a vague air of concern, but Parvati immediately darted in front of her twin and threw an arm out in a protective gesture.

"Heracles-san is quite familiar with healing magic," Kiku murmured. "Please let him help."

Parvati glanced over at Elizabeta, who nodded, and then Alfred, who shot her a thumbs-up, and reluctantly she moved out of the way. Padma herself kept a wary eye on Heracles as he blinked placidly at her, lifted his wand to her cheek, and then drew it slowly across her burn. A few seconds later, surprise dawned on her expression as her skin healed over where the wand touched, no doubt taking the pain away with it.

While Padma gingerly touched her mended wound, Heracles looked around and saw many more to be attended to, from cuts and bruises to twisted ankles and shrivelled ears. What on earth were these students doing in here...?

"Hey, Heracles, wouldja mind fixing a couple of these kids before we head off?" Alfred asked, lighting up all of a sudden as if he'd come up with a brilliant idea. "Save us the trip to the hospital wing, y'know? I don't think some of them would be able to sneak down there anyway." He pointed to Susan, who was presently holding her leg at an odd angle after a richocheting Expulso Curse had smashed into her knee by accident.

Heracles nodded lazily and traipsed over to Susan, who, after a couple of mumbled Greek spells, was standing perfectly well on both legs again. The huge ginger cat wove its way through the crowd to join its friend, and suddenly a shout rang out: "Crookshanks!"

Ginny broke forward and ran towards the cat with open arms, which he didn't hesitate to leap into. "So this is who you've been hanging round all this time? Traitor."

"He belongs to you?" Heracles said in mild surprise. "I'd thought the owner would be in Ravenclaw... since he is in the tower so often."

"Well, yes, I'm the one taking care of him right now, but he does like roaming," Ginny said, stroking the cat fondly. "I've been getting worried lately though, he's been missing so often, sometimes for days on end..."

"I think he has gotten quite attached to you, Heracles-san," Kiku said as Crookshanks wriggled free from Ginny's arms and sauntered straight back to the Grecian. Surprise flitted across Ginny's face, but she gave a reluctant smile when she saw Heracles stooping down to pet the cat.

"Well, at least he's been getting love from somebody," she said. "I'm just glad to know where he's been. His owner would be really upset if he got lost. So would I, come to that."

"Oh, you don't own this cat?" Elizabeta said. "Where's the original owner then?"

An uncomfortable pause followed what otherwise might have been an innocent question. "She's... not at Hogwarts right now," Neville said finally, breaking the tension. "She's Muggle-born, so she wasn't allowed back in school this year."

The nations lapsed into troubled silence. They were all aware, of course, of the state of Arthur's country, and the students had told them several times before about the iron-fisted control that the new regime had on the Ministry of Magic.

"You'd best not be agreeing with all that shite," Seamus said suddenly, his voice loud and aggressive as he glared at Kiku and Heracles.

"'Course they don't, dude!" Alfred said, leaping to his friend's defence.

"Alfred-san is right," Kiku said, though true to their natures, the expressions of both Ravenclaw nations remained quite impassive. He gave a small, apologetic bow. "Please forgive us. I am not sure if we said something to offend you..."

Their housemates all glanced at one another. Eventually, it was Terry who decided to bite the bullet and lay everything out in the open. "Did you or did you not overhear us in the common room that night?" he demanded.

Kiku paused, scrutinising the boy's determined face carefully. "Yes," he said at last.

"And you told Kirkland about it, didn't you?"

"... Yes."

They waited for some kind of elaboration or explanation, but none came.

"What are you talking about, damn it?" Lovino demanded. He had been following the conversation with increasing annoyance, glancing back and forth between each person that spoke, but it felt to him like they were purposefully trying to leave him out. And he hated that feeling. "Are you trying to hide something from the British bastard?"

"Are you going to go telling him everything you know?" Michael retorted.

Lovino snorted. "What the hell would we know that he doesn't? He was the one who invited us here in the first place!"

"Bro, y'all decided to come on your own," Alfred said, but he smirked at the memory of Arthur's face when he saw all the nations climbing off the Hogwarts Express back at the beginning of September.

"But he let us stay!" Feliciano said with a cheerful smile.

"Kirkland... invited you to Hogwarts?" Ginny echoed, glancing over at Elizabeta.

"I've been trying to tell you all this time," Elizabeta said gently. "We are all working for the same goal—Arthur included. While we're in this castle, suspicion is only going to divide us."

While the students tried to digest this information, Feliciano threw out his arms in his usual bright, enthusiastic manner. "Yeah, we want to help! Although I don't know how much help I can be," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head blithely, "but once Ludwig and Gilbert and big brother Francis get here, everything's going to be okay!"

"No Slytherins!" Immediate calls of protest came from several students around the room, and the smile slipped from all of the nations' faces.

"They're the exact people we're fighting against," Ernie said sternly. "Every one of You-Know-Who's supporters that's been through Hogwarts had been a Slytherin, did you know that? I don't necessarily expect you to know, being from foreign countries, but it does say something about their characters—"

"They're not like that!" Feliciano insisted, and even Lovino nodded once as if he begrudgingly had to agree. "You've met Ludwig and Gilbert!" he added to Ginny, who had also tensed up, suspicion plain on her face. "Ludwig was the one who wanted to teach us Patronuses! He's really a nice person, and he can protect us, and—"

"I say they're too much of a liability," Ernie cut in, folding his arms in a rather pompous manner.

"Yeah, plus, what if they slip something to a Death Eater's kid?" Parvati said, frowning. "They're going to be surrounded in their common room—we all know someone like Malfoy or Parkinson would be happy to turn us in to Snape."

"No Slytherins," Neville agreed. Feliciano let out a loud, disappointed whine, but the students were all nodding in agreement around them, and some of the bolder ones even glared at Alfred and Elizabeta as they made motions to argue. Neville, too, cast them a firm look as they rose to their feet. "You don't understand. These people's parents are marching with You-Know-Who right this second, and even the ones who aren't still think he's got the right idea—we're not going risk anything by letting them into the D.A., and that's final."