The Inadequate Life

That Saturday was very cold. Winter had held off longer than usual that year, but that Saturday, with less than a week left until Christmas, the wind grew sharp and biting. None of the D.A. wanted to venture outside, not even with the prospect of gift-buying looming.

As a result, the kitchen was especially crowded at lunchtime. Harry, squeezed in between Ginny and Seamus, counted sixteen people trying to eat without being accidentally elbowed out of the way. He fought down a smirk as he watched Sally-Ann bump elbows again with Lee, who was seated to her left. Sally-Ann was left-handed and Lee was right-handed, making them incompatible bench-mates.

Harry finished eating and decided to go prepare one of the practice rooms for some more work. He, Ginny, Neville and Pansy had been working together on their mode of attack—Pansy, still clearly reluctant about facing Voldemort, stated flatly that she refused to go along unless they’d taken the time to practice all together, so that when the time came they wouldn’t just be randomly hoping they could divert Voldemort’s attention. Harry had thought the idea a sound one, so the four of them had been working almost nonstop, almost completely exhausting the supplies that Krum’s contact in Bulgaria had sent them. Every time his spells worked, Harry felt new confidence grow. He was still concerned, though—hence more practice.

Pansy, seated across the table, looked up at Harry when he stood. She grimaced. “More practice?” she asked resignedly.

“Yeah, more practice,” Harry confirmed with a grin. “Fifteen minutes, in the first room, okay?” Pansy sighed, nodded and returned to her meal. Neville, who was next to Pansy, nodded at Harry to indicate that he’d heard.

Ginny got up too, as Harry was extracting himself from the table. “I’m done too, I’ll come help set up,” she said.

Harry smiled and caught Ginny’s hand, making her blush a bit and return the smile. They headed to the stairs, but just as they were about to ascend to the second floor the fireplace flared up. Harry and Ginny turned, along with everyone at the table, to see who it was, and after a moment Fred came out of the fire.

Dusting himself off, Fred looked over the crowd of people, all of whom were watching him. “No no, no applause,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “The show’s over, folks—no autographs, please!”

Harry smirked at Ginny, who rolled her eyes at Fred’s silliness. Before they could turn away again, Fred called out “Hoi, Harry! A message for our intrepid leader from McGonagall!”

“What?” Harry gasped, staring at Fred, who’d extracted a letter from his pocket. :”Are you sure it’s from her?”

“Well, maybe not,” Fred acknowledged, walking over and holding out the letter. “It could be some other person who uses the Hogwarts seal and puts MM in big, dramatic handwriting on the envelope.”

Harry took the letter in fingers that felt numb. Sure enough, he recognized Minerva McGonagall’s double-m initials, just as Fred said. He looked up at Ginny, whose lips were pressed together, and then over at Hermione and Ron, both of whom were watching him with wide eyes.

“Did we miss something?” Hannah said into the silence. “What’s wrong with getting a letter from Professor McGonagall?”

“The plan,” Harry said softly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the letter. “To get things started, we have to send a letter to the Order of the Phoenix. But we didn’t want to contact them out of the blue, because it might look suspicious since we haven’t been in open contact for a while. So we’ve been wondering exactly how to go about it. But this,” he said, holding the letter up, “might give us the opportunity.”

The silence was weighted with tension as Harry’s words sunk in. He slit the envelope and pulled out the letter. Ginny leaned against him so she could read the letter at the same time as Harry did:

To Harry Potter,

Greetings, Harry. I hope you are still doing as well as when we last spoke.

It’s occurred to me that we haven’t communicated in some time—I realize that it’s rather overly-protective, but I would feel much better hearing that you’re still all right. I took it upon myself to accept responsibility for the well-being of the students of Hogwarts, and even with the school indefinitely closed I cannot remove myself from that feeling of responsibility. As well, you are a special case, of course, with your safety being a far greater concern than any other student of mine.

If you would respond to this letter, if only to inform me that you are well, I would greatly appreciate it.

Hello to your wife Ginny as well.

Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall

Harry swallowed, but his throat was dry. “It’s exactly what we need,” he muttered. Looking up at the assembled D.A., Harry was suddenly, inexplicably struck by how few of them there seemed to be. Of course, George, Luna and Susan were all over in Fred and George’s shop, and Lupin and Tonks weren’t there, nor were Hagrid and Grawp… but it still seemed, all of a sudden, like far too few people to go to war with.

But it was too late to worry about that. “This is it,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “The perfect opportunity to draw Voldemort in.”

Hermione, her eyes wide and apprehensive, stammered “Y-you mean—?”

Harry nodded. “It’s time. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to war.”

*****

Ron opened the curtains, and a flurry of owls took off from the window of the apartment above Fred and George’s shop. Hermione had just finished enchanting them in very specific ways. The ltter to Gringott’s was fairly straightforward, with just a simple charm to make certain it got to the right place—there was no reason to think that the wizarding bank’s mail was (or even could be) being watched. The letters to Lupin, Tonks and Hagrid all had the most powerful anti-tampering Charms anyone in the D.A. knew—and considering the strength of Hermione’s magic, that was exceptionally strong. The response to McGonagall had been enchanted to seem like they were trying to protect it from being tampered with, but inexpertly so.

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had spent a great deal of time some weeks earlier working on the wording to McGonagall’s letter. Since they’d had it ready, it wasn’t much to alter it slightly for the circumstances:

To Minerva McGonagall,

Hello, this is from Harry. I’m fine, really. Thanks for worrying about me—it does seem kind of annoying at times, but I appreciate the concern all the same.

I’m glad you wrote, because I was thinking it’s about time for us to get together—that is, your group and my group. I think we’ve sort of stalled out a bit, but I think that we’ll accomplish a lot if we work together from now on.

Can you meet tomorrow morning, say at eight? I thought we could get together at that café in Diagon Alley—the one across from Magical Menagerie. Their breakfasts are really good. And we could talk about some stuff. It’ll have to be a kind of a short meeting, though: there’s something we have to check out at the Muggle Prime Minister’s office that could be really important. I’ll tell you more when I see you.

Oh, and don’t worry about security—I’ll have some people take care of that, and be on guard. I think they’ll be more inconspicuous since they’re around Diagon Alley more than your folks.

Let me know if you can make it.

Sincerely,
Harry Potter

It was their hope that the letter would accomplish not one, but two things—three, if Minerva responded the way they thought she would. They had strong faith that it would work, and their whole plan was banking on it.

Once the owls had all left, Ron shut the window and drew the curtains. He turned to Hermione, and was surprised when her arms went around him and she hugged him tightly, pressing her face into his chest. “Er—Hermione?”

“I’m scared, Ron,” Hermione said thickly into his sweater. “We’ve sent the owls, it’s too late to turn back now. In less than a day we’re going to be pitting ourselves against all the forces Voldemort can muster—while Harry and Ginny try to deal with Voldemort himself!”

Ron hugged Hermione back. “Yeah,” he said. “I—do you think we’re…I dunno, getting it easy? You and me, I mean?”

Hermione lifted her head and looked up at him incredulously. “Compared to fighting Voldemort? I would say so!”

“Compared to the others, too, I mean,” Ron said. “They’re going to be out there going wand-to-wand with Death Eaters, while we’re holed up in here, relatively safe—none of the Death Eaters will even know we’re here, and they won’t really have any reason to look. I just feel like we’re…”

“Not doing our part?” Hermione suggested. Ron grimaced and nodded. “I do know what you mean,” she agreed, “but our part’s important too. Hugely important.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron admitted, and then added stubbornly “But I don’t think it’s right that we’ll go through this fight without hitting or hexing someone!”

Hermione smiled slightly. “Beating up the Minister of Magic wasn’t enough for you?”

“He’s not a Death Eater,” Ron said. Then he took on a thoughtful look. “Or maybe he is… maybe that’s why the Ministry’s not having any luck stopping Voldemort…”

Hermione whacked Ron on the shoulder. “Don’t be silly, Ron,” she said, but she smirked when Ron grinned. “Come on, let’s get back to the house. They’ll be needing our help to prepare.”

Ron and Hermione descended to the street and entered Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes through the back door. Waving to Lee and Sally-Ann, who were keeping their shop open for the look of it only (and who were both carrying D.A. Galleons so they could call for help at a moment’s notice), Ron and Hermione headed straight for the back room. Once inside, they wasted no time heading for the fireplace and Flooing back to the House of Black.

No one noticed them arrive—everyone was too busy. There were a few people rushing around the kitchen, but mostly on their way from one place to another. Pansy and Justin had descended into the basement to finish the last potions still simmering. Fred and George were holed up in their rooms, feverishly constructing a few extras of their inventions. Neville had headed to the greenhouse with Susan and Hannah to secure the more dangerous plants, and to give Dobby and Winky careful instructions on their care in case anything should happen to the three who usually tended the greenhouse. Oliver Wood was in a conference room with Angelina, Alicia, Katie and Krum, going over their flight plans again. Everyone else was running errands, or getting in some extra spell-casting practice.

Ron looked around and stuck out an arm just in time to catch Lavender’s elbow as she hurried past. “Ow!” she exclaimed. “Oh—Ron, I have to go,” she said rapidly, holding up an armful of strange-looking roots. “Neville asked me to take these to Pansy for her potions!”

“Okay, but afterwards our group all needs to get ready for some last-minute preparation,” Ron told her. “Once you’re done dropping those—er, whatevers off, come to the second conference room, okay? And if you run into Parvati, Seamus or Dean, bring them along.”

“Um, all right,” Lavender said, her eyes wide. “Parvati should be in one of the practice rooms with Padma.”

“Good, will you grab her when you come upstairs?” Lavender nodded. “And listen—go slower, okay? I know we’ve got a lot to do in a short time, but t won’t help anyone if you fall and break your ankle or something.”

Flushing, Lavender nodded again, so Ron released her arm and she headed for the stairs to the basement—but at a more moderate pace, still hurrying but not dangerously. Ron turned around and found Hermione staring at him with a bemused half-smile on her face. “What?”

“Oh… I was just thinking,” Hermione said fondly, “that you would make a fine leader in your own right, Ron.”

Ron went red. “I don’t know about that…”

Hermione looked like she might say more, but let it pass. “I’ll let you get on with it,” she said. “I should really go practice some more while I have the time.”

“I thought you had it perfect!” Ron exclaimed, a bit alarmed.

“It’s worked perfectly the last dozen or so times I’ve tried it, yes,” Hermione assured him. “But it’ll be different when Voldemort’s trying to counter me. So I’d like to get as much practice with it as possible.”

Ron shuddered. “Right then,” he agreed fervently.

Smiling, Hermione reached into her pocket and grasped her wand. A careful twitch, and she levitated off the ground—not much, but just enough so that she and Ron were of a height. Ron blinked, disconcerted. “It, uh… it’s easy to forget that you’re gliding and not really walking…”

Hermione chuckled a bit. “Well, I am dead to most of the world, aren’t I? So it makes sense that I’d float like a ghost.” Lightly grasping Ron’s collar, she pulled him in for a kiss. She parted her lips and teased his mouth with her tongue, making him shiver.

Finally Hermione allowed herself to sink back to the floor. Ron’s head followed her down, but finally he broke off the kiss, reluctantly. “There’ll be plenty more time for that later,” Hermione assured him. “Let’s have our part in this, and then we can get married, put it behind us and never think of it again.”

Ron licked his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

*****

Ginny shoved the door to the first conference room open, making Harry look up from the table liberally covered with parchment. “We just heard back from Hagrid,” Ginny exclaimed, panting slightly from running. “He’s got Grawp all ready for the transport.”

“Great,” Harry said, relieved. He’d been worried that Hagrid wouldn’t have the time he needed to coax Grawp to cooperate.

Harry had turned the conference room into the center of activity, so everyone could stay on the same page, and was coordinating everyone. The door was open and there were a few D.A. members hanging out in the hall; everyone was taking turns using the practice rooms for a bit of last-minute spell work, and whoever was waiting stayed outside the conference room until Harry gave them something to do.

“Remus and Tonks both used their Galleons to signal that they’ll be here as soon as they can get away.” He checked his watch. “Just past six; they’ll probably be here within the hour. Are the brooms all set?”

Ginny nodded, grinning. “You should have seen the look on Angelina, Alicia and Katie’s faces when I handed each of them a Firebolt Mk II. Even Krum forgot to look surly for a bit. I’d be jealous of how you got their measurements for the custom building of the brooms—except you had to get Krum’s measurements too!” Harry reddened at the implication. “Anyway,” Ginny continued, smirking, “they’re all in the practice room you Enlarged, getting used to the handling.”

“Good.” Harry returned his eyes to the table, and picked up a piece of parchment, which contained a list. Picking up a quill, he crossed a couple of things off. “Lee,” he said, catching the attention of Lee Jordan, who was out in the hall, “go tell Angelina, Alicia and Katie not to overdo it, okay? They have to be ready for their part tomorrow morning.”

“Right,” said Lee, and jogged off down the hall.

Ginny hid a smile and forced herself to look sober, although she felt immensely proud: Harry was being absolutely amazing, and if they’d had time—and the situation hadn’t been so serious—she’d have ravaged him right there.

Harry’s D.A. Galleon, which was resting on a shelf near him, started vibrating. Harry picked it up, looked at it for a moment and then nodded. He tapped it with his wand, it stopped vibrating, and he set it down again. “What was that?” Ginny asked.

“What? Oh—Ron’s gone,” Harry told her. “He was just letting me know. It got dark enough out, so he, Seamus, Dean, Lavender and Parvati are out setting the last of Fred and George’s traps. If we don’t hear from them within an hour, we assume something’s gone wrong.”

Ginny shivered at the idea of ‘something going wrong’. It led inevitably to the thought of what they’d be doing in roughly fourteen hours. Don’t think about it, she scolded herself. Focus on now, on being ready. “Is there anything else to do?” she asked. “Besides panicking, I mean…”

Harry looked up, startled, but grinned when he saw that Ginny was kidding. “How are Neville and Pansy doing?”

“They’re in another practice room, going over a few more ideas,” she said. “Pansy wants for all of us to have another session.”

Frowning, Harry looked over the list still in his hand. “Is Hermione still practicing?”

Ginny nodded. “She’s supposed to let us know the moment she’s out of her trance.”

“Okay. Neville’s squared away the greenhouse, just in case… And—aha, perfect timing!” he said with satisfaction, looking past Ginny. She turned and leaned slightly out the door to see Justin appearing at the top of the stairs, carrying two leather straps, one over each arm. The straps has rows of glass tubes fitted snugly into pockets, and the tubes contained liquids of various colors.

They beckoned Justin over, and once he was in the room Harry asked “Is the Potions room secured?”

Justin nodded. “I just finished up. There’s nothing left simmering, and all the potions we made have been distributed. These,” he said, patting the leather straps,” are the last two—we found time to make nine full ones, including those three special ones you’d wanted for the fliers.”

“Great job!” said Harry, who’d only hoped for five at most. “Let’s see—give the three special ones to Fred and George. Give one of the others to Hermione and Ron when they get back, and two to us. Then two for you and Cho, and the other… hmm.”

“Oliver,” Ginny said firmly. “Give the last one to Oliver.”

Harry nodded his agreement. Justin unslung the two he was carrying and handed them to Ginny. “I’ve got the others in my room—I’ll go get them,” he offered, and headed off.

Harry picked up his list again, and crossed something else off. Then he ran his finger down the list, smearing the ink slightly but not noticing. Ginny waited patiently, and finally Harry looked up at her. “There’s, er… there’s nothing left,” he said, sounding like he didn’t quite believe it. “I mean, we still have to distribute the Portkeys and the potions to everyone, but we’ll do that when everyone’s here and we’re having our last meeting.”

“Good,” Ginny said. “Let’s go meet Neville and Pansy, then.”

“Right.” Harry put down his quill and list, pocketed his D.A. Galleon and followed Ginny into the hall. “Keep practicing,” he said to those still gathered in the hall. “If Hermione or Ron shows up, someone come and tell us, right? We’ll be in the third practice room. But be sure to knock, we’ll be doing some dangerous stuff.”

*****

“Okay,” Harry said nervously, “we’re here.”

Everyone was present, the only exceptions being Hagrid and Grawp. Harry found himself doing a mental tally:

Ginny. Hermione. Ron. Fred and George. Luna. Lee. Seamus and Dean. Neville. Pansy. Padma, Parvati and Lavender. Angelina, Alicia and Katie. Oliver Wood. Viktor Krum. Sally-Ann and Terry. Justin. Cho. Hannah and Susan. Lupin and Tonks.

Counting Hagrid, Grawp and himself, that was thirty people. Thirty people, most of them not even Hogwarts graduates, against Voldemort and his followers. And yet—Harry felt like they had a chance. Minerva’s confirmed she’ll be there tomorrow—she got our message, so everything’s according to plan so far, he thought. It’s our choice of ground. We have the traps, we control the terrain, we have surprises they’ll never expect. We’re ready for them.

I’m not going to die tomorrow. I can feel it.

“We’ll only going to get one shot at this,” he said, his confidence carrying into his voice, which projected clearly through the room. “So we’re going to make it count. I’ve talked to each of you about your parts, and I tried to explain the overall plan so everyone knew every aspect.”

“Not every aspect,” Sally-Ann pointed out. “You still haven’t told us what you plan to do against V-Voldemort.”

Harry grimaced. “That’s true… and that’s because I can’t. Not until it’s all over, and we know it’s worked. We can’t risk the chance, however miniscule, that what we’re going to do leaks out. It probably sounds overly paranoid, but look at it this way: This is the one thing that gives us a chance of defeating Voldemort himself. If any of the other Death Eaters escaped, we could deal with that, but not Voldemort—he’d reconsolidate his power and the war would build all over again. Is it worth that risk, when telling you all now wouldn’t change anything anyway?”

There was some mumbling from the group, but no one had a real response. Harry could tell, though, that some of them were less than thrilled, and would have felt better if they’d known and had confidence in Harry’s plans for Voldemort.

“It’s a good plan.” Harry looked around in surprise at Pansy, who’d spoken. She reddened slightly when everyone’s eyes fell on her, but she glared back defiantly. “Do you think I’d be insane enough to risk my neck on Potter’s plan if I didn’t think I’d get out of it alive? He had a decent plan when they brought me in, and I made it infinitely better. I wouldn’t give us high odds of pulling it off—but against Voldemort, I’ll take a fifty-fifty shot, and I’d say that’s what we have.”

Harry didn’t think Pansy’s comment was very encouraging, but the rest of the D.A. responded differently: apparently they felt that if Pansy went along with something because she believed she had a chance of survival, then it must be a pretty good plan—Pansy wasn’t one to do anything unless the odds were stacked fairly heavily in her favor. At any rate, most everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter, and exude a bit more confidence.

“Okay,” Harry continued, “Are there any final questions about the overall plan?”

“How are Angelina, Alicia, Katie and Krum going to only attack the Death Eaters and not us?” Justin asked nervously. “How will they tell us apart?”

Krum snorted, but it was Katie who answered. “We can tell the difference between people from the air,” she said sardonically. “Our eyesight has to be good in order to fly well.”

“Plus, they’ll have Oliver directing them from the ground via the magical walkie-talkies that Fred and George figured out,” Harry added. “And they’re under direction to not attack unless they’re certain they won’t hit any of us.”

“Which isn’t to say we won’t do fly-throughs to break things up,” Alicia added.

Justin seemed satisfied with the response, so Harry solicited other questions. There were only a few—he’d been very thorough when explaining the plan to everyone, and had answered most questions then. Finally everyone was satisfied—or at least, no one could come up with any more questions. “Just keep in mind everyone’s part,” Harry told them, “but don’t dwell on it. Focus on your own role, and let everyone else take care of theirs, and it’ll go fine.” He smiled. “Okay. We all have to make sure to get some sleep, so we’ve made up these—”

“Wait a second,” Susan interrupted, sounding surprised. “You—that’s it?”

“Er… did you expect something else?” Harry asked.

“Well, I don’t know… maybe some words of encouragement?” Susan suggested hesitantly. “Or—or something motivational to galvanize us into doing our best?” She shrugged. “I just thought… there’d be more.”

“I’m not really one for long speeches,” Harry told her. “But if you’d like, Oliver can come up here and give one of his pep talks.”

“Sweet Merlin, NO!” George shouted.

There was some laughter, since Oliver Wood was infamous for his long-winded pep talks to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. “So that’s a vote against, then,” Harry said once the noise died down. “Sorry, Oliver.”

“No worries,” Oliver said with a good-natured smile. “I’ll lead the victory cheers after.”

“Good idea.” Harry turned back to Susan. “How does anticipation of the victory celebration sound? Pansy’s promised us Parkinson Manor to throw the biggest party you’ll ever hear of!”

Susan smiled hugely. “Ooh, I do like the sound of that!”

“You’re buying the butterbeer, Potter,” Pansy muttered.

“Deal,” Harry agreed instantly. “So, we should all get some sleep so we’re as rested as possible tomorrow,” he continued, going back to what he’d started earlier. “Hermione and Pansy made up some Sleeping Draughts. They’re very specific—they knock you out instantly, and they last exactly four hours from the time you drink them. But the sleep is so deep and so restful, you’ll wake up feeling like you got the best night’s sleep of your life. And the Draughts also have just a hint of muscle relaxant to make the sleep even better. You couldn’t take them all the time—but every now and then is okay. In this case, it might be a life saver.”

Harry gestured to one of the tables off to the side, where there were rows of bottles neatly organized. “You see that there are pairs of bottles, one with a blue liquid and one with a green liquid?” Most people nodded. “The blue one is the Sleeping Draught—you’re all to drink it at exactly ten tonight. That way we’ll all wake up at two. Don’t worry,” Harry said as some people looked like they thought it was a bad idea to wake up so early in the morning, “this won’t be normal sleep. You’ll be energized and ready to go. But just in case you’re not—that’s what the green potions are for. They’re Vitalizing Draughts. Take them as soon as you’ve woken up. That will guarantee a ton of energy for all of tomorrow.”

“My word,” Lupin muttered.

“Er… you want to say something, Remus?” Harry asked nervously.

“Oh,” Lupin said, a bit embarrassed; apparently he hadn’t meant to speak aloud. “I—I’m just rather stunned, Harry. You really have tried to think of everything. It’s impressive.”

Harry blushed. “Er… thanks. I, uh… right. So,” he said, pulling himself together, “That’s that stuff. Remember to take one of each bottle before you go. They’re marked which is which—for Merlin’s sake, don’t mix them up! Now, the other table has the Portkey necklaces I told you all about.”

Everyone strained to look at the second table, which did indeed have rows of necklace chains, from each of which hung four butterbeer caps. “They’re designed to hang below the line of your shirt, so they won’t be obvious to the Death Eaters. I know you’ve all been practicing memorizing the trigger words, but if you feel uncomfortable with them, practice some more before bed. Tonks, we’ve got a special one for you—get it from Hermione. Any questions about those?”

There were none. Harry swallowed. “That’s it, then,” he said. “We’re as ready as we can make ourselves. Go and do… whatever you want for the last couple of hours before bed. Be sure to take your potion in bed at ten, but until then… enjoy yourselves. Tomorrow’s going to be a hell of a day.”

*****

No one did much of anything that night, no matter what Harry might have said. A few people, like Fred and Angelina, tried to work off some of their nervous tension by shagging, but found they really weren’t in any kind of mood for it. Every couple ended up simply sitting together, holding each other, and those who weren’t part of a couple got together in twos and threes, just so they wouldn’t be alone that night. Some people talked—most didn’t. And when ten o’clock came around, every single person was grateful to take their Sleeping Draughts and fall instantly into dreamless sleep.