Chapter 70: Aftermath and Isolation
One by one, the fallen D.A. members gasped back to life under Luna's quiet Finite Incantatem. They rose slowly, brushing dust from their robes, their expressions a mixture of humiliation, dawning realization, and reluctant respect.
Lavender Brown's voice was small. "Are we… are we really that weak? He's been here six months. He only used one spell…"
Seamus Finnigan, pride stung, kicked at the leg of a conjured dummy. "I didn't even get a shot off! Next time, I'll—"
"You'll what?" Dean Thomas cut in, a new, sharp glint in his eye. He bent, as if to pick up his wand, then whirled, shouting, "Everte Statum!"
Seamus yelped, flipping head over heels to crash onto the mat. He lay there, winded, as Dean stood over him, grinning fiercely.
"You idiot!" Seamus wheezed. "We didn't start!"
"Exactly!" Dean shot back, offering a hand to haul him up. "You think the Death Eaters will shout 'begin'? Elian's right. No rules."
The spark caught. What began as a grumble of frustration ignited into a frenzy of practical, dirty, no-holds-barred sparring. Gryffindors, with their natural bravado, led the charge, but soon Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joined, abandoning formal stances for sneaky trips, feints, and spells cast from behind cover. The Room of Requirement echoed with shouts, thuds, and the crack of minor jinxes. The lesson had been brutal, but its core truth—survive first—had been absorbed.
When Harry, Hermione, and Ron returned to Hogwarts a few days later, exhausted from St. Mungo's, they found a transformed D.A. No one clamored for new, flashy spells. Instead, groups huddled, debating the most efficient way to chain a Stunner into a Disarming Charm, or how to use the environment. The atmosphere was focused, pragmatic, almost grim.
Luna explained what had happened in her usual, matter-of-fact way.
Ron's jaw dropped. "What?! He took on twenty-three of you? Alone? A first-year?" He looked wildly between Harry and Hermione, expecting matching outrage.
Harry just sighed, a weary understanding in his eyes. Hermione shook her head, a faint, resigned smile on her lips. "Get used to it, Ron," she said softly.
"But—twenty-three!" Ron spluttered, utterly isolated in his shock. "You're not even surprised?"
Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Try to keep up." Hermione gave him a pitying look. "It's Elian . 'Normal' doesn't apply." Luna merely patted his arm in silent consolation before drifting away.
Ron stood alone in the corridor, feeling like he'd been kicked out of a secret club. While he'd been visiting his injured father, the world—or at least, his understanding of Elian Thorne—had shifted on its axis.
Life settled into a new, tense routine. Harry began Occlumency lessons with Snape, approaching them with a grim determination he'd never had before. The secret of the soul fragment weighed on him, but it also fueled his resolve.
Then, one morning at breakfast, Hermione's sharp gasp cut through the Great Hall chatter. She was staring at the front page of the Daily Prophet, her face pale.
Elian and Harry spoke as one. "What is it?"
Hermione didn't answer. She just turned the paper around so they could see the headline.
MINISTRY RAID ON 'ILLEGAL STUDENT MILITIA'! HOGWARTS 'DEFENCE GROUP' SHUT DOWN!
Below it was a moving photograph of Dolores Umbridge, looking unbearably smug, standing before a sealed door—the very same door to the Room of Requirement.
(End of Chapter)
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