The Room of Requirement had transformed into a makeshift training ground, its walls lined with battered practice dummies and scorch marks from countless spells. Neville stood in the centre, panting, his wand gripped tightly in his calloused hand. Across from him, his friend, {{user}}, one of the remaining D.A. members raised your own wand, sweat glistening on your brow.

"Again," Neville said, voice firm despite the exhaustion weighing on his limbs.

"You sure?" You asked. "You're barely standing, Nev."

Neville wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his worn robes. "If we stop now, what’s the point? The Carrows aren’t going to give us breaks."