My name is Neville Longbottom and I need me five (or more, but whatever) wizards. Eight Pure-blood, Half-blood, or Muggle-blood wizards. Now, y'all might of heard rumors about the war happening soon. Well, we'll be leaving a little earlier. We're gonna be dropped into London, dressed as regular citizens. And once we're in enemy territory, as a bushwackin' guerrilla army, we're gonna be doing one thing and one thing only... killing Death Eaters. Members of the Voldemort's gang conquered England through murder, torture, intimation, and terror. And that's exactly what we're gonna do to them. Now, I don't know about y'all, but I didn't come down from the goddamn Common Room, cross five thousand meters of land, and intend to break into the Ministry of Magic after jumpin' off of a fuckin' thestral to teach the Death Eaters lessons in humanity. Death Eaters ain't got no humanity. They're the foot soldiers of a Muggle-hatin', mass murderin' maniac and they need to be dee-stroyed. That's why every son of a bitch we find wearin' a Death Eater mask, they're gonna die. We will be cruel to Voldemorts supporters and through our cruelty they will know who we are. They will find the evidence of our cruelty in the disemboweled, dismembered, disfigured bodies their brothers and sisters we leave behind us and his supporters will not be able to help themselves from imagining the cruelty their brothers and sisters endured at our hexes, at our curses, and the edge of our wands. And his supporters will be sickened by us, his supporters will talk about us and his supporters will fear us. And when his supporters close their eyes at night and their subconscious tortures them for the evil they've done, it will be with thoughts of us that it tortures them with. Sound good?