Perdition Mods (perdition_mods) wrote in perdition_rpg, @ 2009-05-01 20:58:00 |
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Bianca and Lavender Lavender didn't realise it was possible to feel like this; to feel this thoroughly defeated, and utterly devastated. Her best friend was dead. Parvati. Another tear rolled down her cheek as she squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to look anywhere but at the lifeless shell that her friend had become. She couldn't take this. Raising herself from the stone floor, she hobbled a few steps to the side, wondering where she could escape to. Then it struck her -- she had to tell people, tell everyone that knew Parvati, so they knew to keep fighting, to not give in. More tears ran down her cheeks, mingling with the blood and dirt caked there from her fight with Greyback. People were everywhere. Rushing, shouting, crying. She noticed Bianca, stood not far away, and not seeming to know quite what to do. Lavender wasn't generally on good terms with her dormmate, but she knew Parvati had become so this year. She should probably know. Limping in Bianca's direction, Lavender tapped her on the arm. "Can I talk to you, please?" It came out in barely more than a whisper. Bianca really had no idea what to do with herself. She'd spoken to a few people already, but she felt lost standing in the Great Hall. She'd spent the entire year openly supporting two very irrational people and in end she'd stayed to fight, but it felt as though she'd stayed to fight alongside a group of complete strangers. It reminded her of that first trip she'd taken to King's Cross as a Hogwarts student. She felt like a first year again, with her arms self-consciously wrapped around herself and with no one to lean on because her siblings had all run off without her. Only this time she ached all over and she wanted nothing more than to return to Gryffindor Tower and sleep for months. Biting her lip, Bianca turned to look at Lavender. She was surprised, both by Lavender's presence and the shape she was in, but her features remained neutral. Even the disgust that typically registered on her face when Lavender entered a room was nowhere to be seen. She was too exhausted and it seemed as though there were more important things than disliking Lavender. "Yes," she said simply, nodding. How was she supposed to start this conversation? Every muscle in Lavender's body ached, not just the wounds inflicted by the werewolf, but her very heart. She wanted to curl up in a corner and cry and cry and cry, until somebody made everything better again. "It's Parvati, she's..." She couldn't bring herself to quite say it out loud. Then it would be real. But it was real, all of this was real, and it still wasn't over. "Parvati's dead, Bianca. I'm..." Before finishing the sentence she dissolved into a fresh bout of tears. She didn't even know how she was planning on finishing off that sentence. She was sorry? Sorry for Bianca's loss and her own loss and the fact that Bianca was hearing it from her in the first place? Lavender didn't know what to think. She busied herself with wiping her face with the sleeve of her robes, not looking at Bianca's face, not wanting to see her reaction. For a moment, Bianca was inclined to think the worst of the blonde standing before her. She had to be lying. But even Bianca knew that Lavender wasn't that cruel. That, though they'd had their differences, she would never make a joke that horrible about someone so important to both of them. "No," she breathed, horror seeping into her bloodstream as the news took hold of her. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, attempting to force a calm over herself as she cast her eyes around her. She couldn't fall apart here, not surrounded by so many strangers, but she felt herself crumbling anyway. She felt her eyes tear up and didn't bother to wipe away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Loss was, for the most part, a foreign concept to Bianca and she felt even more lost in the face of it. "I just thought you should know, I know that you two got on quite well this year," Lavender mumbled, shrugging her shoulders and still not meeting the other girl's eyes, trying to distract herself from everything. But it wasn't quite working; the act of telling someone else seemed to have opened the internal barrier that she had attempted to build within herself, and she couldn't stop the tears from leaking from her eyes. Part of her wanted to collapse on the stone floor there and then, but another part of her wanted to hug Bianca, so she went for the option that gave her the most comfort. Flinging her arms around Bianca's neck, Lavender sobbed freely into her shoulder, not holding any of her anguish back. Bianca didn't immediately return Lavender's embrace and instead stood limply in the other girl's arms as she attempted to make sense of what was happening. She felt overwhelmed. It wasn't fair that Parvati had died in a fight over something as insignificant as who a person's parents were. Bianca would likely never truly appreciate Muggleborns, not after Hermione, but it seemed ridiculous to kill over that. "I-" she started, but the words that were meant to follow simply weren't there. When she'd decided she was going to stay, she'd accepted the possibility of her own death and she acknowledged that Sasha would need protecting, but the very idea of losing someone important to her was one she hadn't really prepared herself for. She felt a frantic need to find anyone she'd ever felt the remotest sense of affection for and tell them her goodbyes, but it didn't seem like there was time for that and so she settled on finally wrapping her arms around Lavender. Settling her chin on the other girl's shoulder, she said in a breaking voice, "Be careful." The request was certainly for Lavender, but it was also for every other familiar face in the Great Hall. It was when Bianca returned the hug that Lavender suddenly had a flash of her old malice. She was hugging Bianca Spinks, who she had frequently described as a 'cold bitch'. This flash only lasted momentarily, however. Bianca was, like her, only human. And she'd just, like her, lost a friend. Lavender was greatful for the hug. Another couple of sobs wracked her body, as wondered how many more of her friends were dead, or doomed to die tonight. She was used to people leaving her, her mother frequently walked out of her life for months at a time, but she always knew that she'd see them again. This felt different, more raw, more painful. Pulling away from the hug, Lavender smiled weakly at Bianca. "You too." Wiping the tears from her face, she sniffed loudly, in a very un-ladylike way. "It hardly seems to matter whether we win or lose anymore." Her voice was small and sad, so very different from her usual loud trill. Bianca recognised the difference in Lavender's tone, but her words still struck a sour note in Bianca and she fought against the twinge of annoyance that came along with it. It wasn't worth it, not after hearing about Parvati. But Parvati's very death was part of the reason Bianca found herself so annoyed with what Lavender was saying. She wrapped her arms around herself again, struggling with her urge to reach out and shake the other blonde. "Don't say that!" she exclaimed finally, sounding a bit more like herself. "Parvati didn't--" She stopped abruptly. Not just Parvati. "These people," she began again, sweeping an arm around the Great Hall to indicate the other victims of this horrible night, "didn't die for us to simply give up!" There was sense in what Bianca was saying, and Lavender knew it, but she still wanted to give up. What was the point in carrying on fighting if more people were going to die? Anyone could be next - her, Bianca, Sasha, Seamus, Dean, Neville, anyone. The thought released another wave of misery in her that she fought to contain, scrunching up her face and dropping her gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Bianca's eyes. She hated admitting that she was wrong, and to be wrong in this situation was verging on painful. "But I don't know if..." If I can. How was she supposed to take on another Death Eater in the state she was currently in? Her grip tightened on her wand and she looked up again, a look of fierce resolve in your eyes. She was a Gryffindor. If her peers were going to carry on fighting, so was she. Another glance round at the spot next to Parvati's body that she had so recently vacated, and that resolve disappeared as fast as it arrived. "I'm scared, Bianca," she admitted, again not meeting the other girl's eyes. It didn't seem possible for someone to not be terrified of what was going on around them. Bianca cupped her elbows in her palms and rocked on her heels as she watched Lavender waver before her. There wasn't really a resolve in Bianca. She was simply there and there was nothing to do but fight in her eyes. She was absolutely terrified, especially after her encounter with a Death Eater, but she wasn't just going to hand her life over to some Death Eater simply because she was in pain or tired or even afraid. "Me as well," she replied honestly, her voice soft again as she followed the other girl's gaze to Parvati's body. There was a pang of sadness in Bianca's chest as she looked on at the empty shell of someone she'd cared about, but at the same time she felt a surge of anger as well. Why Parvati? What had she done to deserve this? She turned her eyes back to Lavender. "We're here, though. We may as well do something." Lavender nodded, this time trying to channel the anger she had felt upon realising that Parvati wasn't going to get up again. She needed to use that anger, that adrenaline, to somehow keep fighting, somehow keep alive. Although she probably wouldn't survive another encounter with Greyback, hopefully normal Death Eaters wouldn't be biting and pouncing on her, and she could rely on her grounding in defence to help. This wasn't over until they won, and they were going to win. With this thought she was almost entirely convinced that things were, on the whole, going to be all right, and she flicked her hair back over her shoulder with some of her old vivacity. "Ok. Let's do this for Parvati. Just don't you go dying on me, yeah?" "The same goes for you," Bianca said, lifting the corners of her mouth in a tight smile. Later, she would marvel at her ability to have a civil conversation with Lavender Brown, but in that moment she was only focused on steeling herself, preparing herself for her next Death Eater. This night was by far one of the most difficult nights of her life, but faced with the knowledge that she would never see Parvati again because of one of the Death Eaters that had invaded their castle that night she finally felt as though she'd made the right decision in staying. She'd made a mess of her first encounter, but she wasn't going to make a mess of her next. She finally felt the first tendrils of resolve in herself and she felt a bit more grateful towards the other girl. "Thank you for telling me, Lavender." Her voice was soft again, but she was sincere. It wasn't as if she felt better, but having something new to focus on, something that wasn't related to the amount of pain she was in, whether physical or mental, helped. Lavender, somewhat pleased that she'd managed to both talk to Bianca and, to a degree, appreciate the other girl for the first time in seven years, nodded to her in acknowledgement. Before she had time to say anything else (something which, knowing her, would ruin the mood and cause friction between them again), Lavender's attention was distracted by a slight change in the movements in the hall. The hour wasn't over yet, but people seemed to be moving more purposefully, now they'd been healed and taken some time to mourn their dead. She suddenly felt ready to fight again, to not be on the receiving end of the attacks, and determined that she was going to do this for Parvati, stalked off into the crowd. Maybe she could find Professor McGonagall or Mr Shacklebolt or Neville or someone like that to give her some advice. She was going to be ready. Megan and Susan This night wasn't exactly turning out as Megan had expected. Well, no, that wasn't true. She'd expected to get hurt and she'd expected there to be deaths all around. She could see bodies all over the Great Hall from where she lay, resting after having her bones and the horrible gash in her leg reasonably mended (though she felt she hadn't gotten enough blood replenishing potion, but then again, one couldn't really be demanding in this situation). So many empty faces had been carried past her spot, some more familiar than others. She could have sworn that she saw one of the Weasley twins being brought in, and wasn't that Ritchie Coote, that Gryffindor Sixth Year that seemed perpetually high? Every face she saw made her feel sadder and sadder, though more in a wistful way than anything else. Most of them, she'd barely known by their faces, never mind actually knowing any of them. It was sad in the same way that finding out someone famous has died is sad--there was a sense of regret for the loss of life, but nothing that really struck more than a chord with a person's humanity. Nothing that really touched a person. But then, it was just one face that was needed to touch a person. Megan knew that with so many of her close friends fighting in this battle, it was nearly guaranteed that they wouldn't all survive, but she was the optimist of the bunch, and had high hopes anyway. So it happened, then, that word of mouth got to her that Justin hadn't survived, and then she'd seen his face, empty and lifeless, and... All Megan wanted to do was to get up, to go find someone, anyone, and be hugged or cuddled or held or something. That's what they did when the world ended, they hugged and cuddled and held until things seemed less bleak. She wanted one of her friends or maybe her father or her Aunt Hestia (who'd spotted her briefly and waved hello, but seemed to have no time to chat one way or the other) or...God, it was bad enough that Megan would've even settled for her mother at that point. Unfortunately, though, the Healer who'd seen her had told her to stay off her feet for a little while longer, both to give the bone mending time to work properly and because she'd...well, she'd lost a lot of blood, and that was bad. Stone bed-ridden, now Megan could only lean against the nearest column (and how grateful she was that the Great Hall had columns to lean against) and cry silently, fiddling with the bandages on her leg as she did. There were so many injuries that the few Healers who were there had waved Susan off with a jar of burn salve and a few pain-killers. Unlike Megan, she wasn't feeling particularly sad at the moment. It was as though the part of her that was able to feel sadness, happiness, anything had shut down completely, and she felt nothing. She only felt numb. Justin, she had been told, was dead. The irony of this did not escape her. She felt as though she was reading something out of a book, because life could not be so hurtful and casually cruel in its ironies. They had dreaded for months that he was dead, and now he was. It was too cruel to be true. When she saw Megan leaning against one of the column, she walked over to her, not exactly certain of what to say. They had fought together, but how were you supposed to talk about something like that? "Oh, yes, wasn't it awesome when you got in that jinx?" It didn't seem appropriate. So she stood beside her, silent, for what seemed like a very long time (though in reality it was probably only a few moments) before saying, "Did you... hear?" She didn't really want to be the one to bring the bad news, but someone had to say it. She was hoping Megan had already heard. While waiting for a response, she tugged the charred remains of her t-shirt over her head, feeling jabs of pain as the fabric peeled away some of her burnt skin. At the sound of Susan's voice, Megan looked up and managed a shaky, watery sort of smile. It was a pretty pathetic smile, considering that it was Megan giving it, but it would have to do. "Susan...thanks for rescuing me out there. I don't know if I thanked you on the way in, I was kind of...bleeding." The smile went away again as Megan glanced down at her bandage and sighed heavily. This was just...it wasn't a great night all around, and she didn't need clarification as to what Susan was asking about. She glanced up again, not looking at Susan, but rather looking out over the bodies that lined the Great Hall. "I heard. I saw. I..." A lump rose in her throat again, and words sort of stopped working. Of all the things that could've happened tonight, why this? Why couldn't the ten of them all escape unscathed? Was ten really too much to ask for? Some weird part of her mind was reminded of Lot asking God to spare Sodom and Gomorrah for ten righteous men; weren't these ten righteous Hufflepuffs good enough to be spared? "It was no problem," Susan said, to her first statement, waving it away. It hadn't really felt like rescuing anyone, what she had done. More like grabbing someone and running like hell away from anything that could hurt them. And now, they had an hour before the fighting would start again. What would happen to all of these bodies in an hour? She blinked rapidly, the reality of it almost setting in, but she waved any feelings inside of her away. It was easier to feel numb. She opened the jar of burn salve and spread it over her shoulders, where her skin was peeling and painful and damaged. The relief was instant. "It isn't fair," she added, bluntly, and with petulance. "He shouldn't have had to die. Why would anyone kill him? He was so harmless and -- and -- " Susan's voice broke off and she didn't know what else to say. "And Justin shouldn't have to die when Death Eaters are still walking around, fit as a fucking fiddle." She was shirtless and still a little shaky, but somehow she couldn't manage to feel embarrassed or even worried about her bodily injuries. This was all too unfamiliar and surreal and unlike Megan, Susan was not thinking of the Bible. She was thinking of T.S. Eliot. Distantly, she put her hand against the cool stone of the column Megan was leaning against. We are the hollow men, the stuffed men. Indeed, they were. Megan sighed heavily again, looking back up at Susan. "None of them should've," she commented after a moment. She had no idea, at that point, how many people had died or if anyone else they knew was among those numbers, but she did have a pretty good feeling that most of the people who'd died to this point were innocent and shouldn't have died, and not just tonight, but since things had gone bad over the summer. It was war, of course, and this sort of thing happened in wars, but that knowledge didn't make it any less difficult to accept the fact that Justin's broken body was lying lifeless on the ground a short distance away. In fact, it actually made it worse, knowing that his death wasn't just an isolated incident and, not only that, but that it was almost to be expected in a situation like this, and not just for Justin, but for any one of them. She swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in her throat back down again. "This isn't how I expected things to go." It was an odd confession to make, and Megan felt oddly guilty making it, like she somehow should have seen something like this coming in some way. Not that anyone can see things like this coming, but somehow, naively not expecting it seemed wrong. Not how she expected things to go? What did that mean? Susan wasn't certain. This wasn't how she expected things to go, either, because, to be honest, before about 11:30 that evening, the idea of Death Eaters (including Lord Voldemort himself) storming Hogwarts was something she wasn't even able to conceive of. She conjured a shirt out of thin air. It was orange. How disgusting. Listening to Megan speak, she pulled it over her head. The burn salve helped a lot; it didn't hurt for the fabric to touch her burns. But then, even in the time leading up to the battle, when she had rushed around with mandrakes, she had thought that they would... win? Was that the right word? Anyway, they'd be doing better than this, than Justin being dead and Voldemort weirdly retreating. She sighed. "This is how the world ends," she said flatly. "Not with a bang but a whimper." "The world isn't ending," Megan stated in as flat a voice as Susan had used. The world couldn't be ending, though it definitely felt as bleak as an ending world would feel. There was still hope, there had to be. There had to be something left to fight for, something left that would make all of these deaths not be in vain. You-Know-Who still hadn't gotten his hands on Harry Potter (Megan had a feeling they would know if he had), and there were still people alive to fight, at least as many as lay around the hall motionless, with their hands folded across their midsections, already like effigies. It was late, the darkest hour of night...probably close to four in the morning, Megan really had no idea specifically...but dawn would come. It had to come. Right? Susan wasn't privy to her train of thought, but Megan ended it with a pondrance. "Maybe the world isn't ending...maybe it's beginning again. Isn't birth nearly as violent as...?" She didn't finish the question, letting the unspoken word hang in the air between them. Susan sighed, heavily, and went on to inspecting her hair, which had caught fire and was now, frankly, a singed and frizzy mess. And it smelled bad. "I'll believe it's not the end of the world when He's dead." Her voice was bitter, and of course Megan would know who he was. She closed her eyes, dreading what she felt as though she had to do, and muttered, "Diffindo." The charm cut off the ends of her hair that were burnt and uneven, and the result was blunt and ugly. "How do I look?" she asked, trying make a joke. Megan smiled a bit more genuinely at Susan's joking attitude and sloppy new haircut. It didn't feel completely right to be smiling, but then again, it hadn't felt completely right not to be smiling either, and smiling took a bit less energy than trying to stave off tears, anyway. "I think it looks...rather like the kind of haircut someone should have when it may or may not be the end of the world," was her final assessment, given with a weak chuckle. "You might want to consider getting it recut over the summer, though." At least if they survived that long, which Megan did not say. She didn't need to say it; they both knew it. The thought made for a kind of awkward silence, but Megan quickly added, "Anyway, it's almost morning...I'm sure things'll turn around. They have to, right?" Susan inspected her hair momentarily, glad that Megan hadn't told her off for trying (very unsuccessfully) to be funny. She smiled, too, for a minute, before tying her hair back in a sloppy ponytail. She was trying to be as possible to remain optimistic. They still had Harry, right? And Harry was supposed to defeat Voldemort. He was the Chosen One. "Harry will make sure this is over. I know that he will," she said, with confidence that belied how unsure she really was. She had always believed in Harry, but Harry was, after all, only one person. There was another awkward silence, and finally, Susan said, "I love you, you know that, right?" It felt kind of stupid to say, but if, when the hour was up, the Death Eaters started attacking again, she wanted to make sure that the people she cared about knew that. She selfishly wished she'd been able to tell Justin that, too. "As long as Harry's still alright, there's hope, I suppose," Megan agreed. It was strange for her to put as much hope in a person as she usually put in God, but then, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility for God to use a person to accomplish something good, and anyway, Harry was supposed to be the Chosen One, or something like that, at least if the papers were to be believed. No one had seen neither hide nor hair of Harry since the battle started, at least to Megan's knowledge, but in this case, no news was good news. "And I'm sure he is alright, wherever he is. It's just a question of when, now, I suppose." Megan felt herself tearing up again as Susan said that she loved her, and gingerly raised her newly-healed arm to squeeze Susan's hand. "I love you, too. I'm glad that we got to know each other more this year...just shows that not everything this year was completely bad." Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, Susan chanted to herself, but it was useless. The numbness she'd been trying so desperately to hold onto gave way to tears, and she broke down sobbing. It was half being touched by what Megan had said, half the grief she'd been suppressing since she'd heard that Justin had died finally hitting her. She let go of Megan's hand and sank to the floor, shaking too hard to really stand anymore. It was all going to end, and she was going to lose everyone, and she couldn't do this anymore. She just couldn't. She meant to say something to Megan, but she didn't know what, and her throat was closed up so tight she probably wouldn't have been able to get the words out anyway. After a few gasps, she managed to sob, "Just don't you die, too, okay?" Megan hadn't ever really properly stopped crying, but when Susan started sobbing like that and fell to the floor, the tears started flowing again more freely, and she pulled herself into a kneeling position, very gingerly wrapping her arms around Susan's burnt shoulders, and pressing her forehead against the side of Susan's head. She was about to start sobbing herself, but managed to say, "I won't. I promise. I still have Ernie's boxers," before she did, and when she did, her sobs were mixed with bizarre giggles that stemmed from a lack of sleep and the oddness of the situation. Either way, she couldn't really talk anymore, but what needed to be said had been said, she thought. Susan silently conjured them a box of tissues and wiped her eyes with one, but they promptly disappeared, and she gave up, leaning against the column. She tried to say something in response to Megan's joke about Ernie's boxers, like, how maybe they should summon them and throw them in Bellatrix Lestrange's face, or how she hoped Ernie was wearing boxers now, but she was crying too hard, and it was easier just to lean against Megan and cry and be silent. Harry and Neville There was a numb, empty feeling washing over Neville as he walked, alone, back to the grounds of Hogwarts, where he was sure that he would see the death-set faces of more people that he knew, the last expressions of terror and fear and regret forever etched onto them. He couldn't shake the regret that he had felt when he and Oliver had come across Colin, regret that he had allowed him to stay, regret that he hadn't been able to teach him more, even though he hadn't even been at school this year. Maybe if he'd taken a moment to review Shield Charms with him before the battle, Colin would have survived. He didn't very much want to think about who he would find next. Despite the necessity behind what Harry was about to do, it was still a difficult decision to make and an even more difficult decision to uphold. There was still a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that made it difficult for him to move in either direction. A very large part of him wanted to run inside and give his loved ones the farewell he thought they deserved or, at the very least, the explanation he was sure they would want. However, he was going to die with or without excuses and the last fleeting moments he would have with them had already taken place. Listening to his heart and sprinting back into the Great Hall would only make this all the more difficult. From beneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry watched Neville walk away from the school. This was the direction he was meant to go as well, but there was still unfinished business that he wouldn't be able to finish in death. With heavy feet, he followed Neville. Neville, who had endured so much in Harry's absence, would help. Harry whipped his cloak from over his head, holding it gingerly between his fingers. "Neville," he said, quietly. Neville didn't recognise the face of the man who he was bent over. He might have been a member of the Order, or a resident of Hogsmeade, or maybe someone's father. He felt a pang of guilt surge through his heart and, in spite of reason, he wished that he could have been there to save him, too. Someone must have cared for this man, loved him, cherished him. Someone, though Neville didn't know who, would mourn this loss, even if, for Neville himself, it was impersonal. Then, he was pulled out of his thoughts and jumped nearly a foot in the air. Turning, he saw Harry beside him and frowned. He hadn't been there only a moment ago, but then, Neville remembered, Harry did have an invisibility cloak. "Blimey, Harry," he exclaimed. "You nearly gave me heart failure." Harry only lifted his shoulders in a vague apology. He was preoccupied with the body of the man that lay before them and then his eyes flickered to other, similar dark shadows. If Neville's guilt was only a pang, Harry's was a tidal wave in comparison. He should have figured Dumbledore's plan out much sooner and, honestly, he should have anticipated the headmaster's intentions. While he continued to blindly follow Dumbledore's instructions, he still knew that it was almost too much for someone his age. It wasn't too much for Harry, of course, but it was still too much. He had always known that he constantly tested his friends with his mission and it was for that reason that he constantly left that exit open for them. There would be, perhaps, a twinge of regret at watching them leave, but there would be no hard feelings. It was pointless to consider that now, with his end and Voldemort's end being so near, and he turned his gaze back to Neville. Watching Harry, Neville sensed something a little off about his expression. He expected Harry to look down, of course. He couldn't imagine how he must feel, walking through a field strewn with bodies of people who had died protecting him. The mere idea of it made his stomach twist, but it wasn't just guilt and regret that he saw in Harry's features. There was a sort of resolution, one that frightened Neville. "Where are you going, alone?" he asked, suspicion narrowing his features. He wasn't really going to... was he? Recognising the suspicion in Neville's voice, Harry turned his face towards the grounds again. "It's all part of the plan. There's something I've got to do," he said, attempting to sound as though he didn't want to burden Neville with the boring details of what he was about to do and trying his hardest not to give his intentions away. "Listen -- Neville," he started, his expression turning serious again. Neville cut Harry off. "Harry!" He had to work to keep his voice quiet, so as not to draw anyone else's attention. He wasn't really considering it? He couldn't be. If Harry went there, and Voldemort killed him... Well, they would all be screwed, and everything would be over, and Voldemort would win. And Neville wasn't about to let that happen. He would fight till the death for Harry, and he couldn't accept the idea that Harry would just... give up. He shifted uneasily on his feet, feeling frightened of what Harry was really going to do. "Harry, you’re not thinking of handing yourself over?" "No," Harry said, quickly and with a shake of his head. "'Course not...this is something else. But I might be out of sight for a while." It was easy to force himself to lie to Neville, but that didn't ease his conscience any. He had always known Neville was capable of more than he gave himself credit for, but, from what Harry understood, his fellow Gryffindor had far surpassed his expectations. It felt wrong manipulating him this way, but he knew it was necessary. "You know Voldemort's snake, Neville? He's got a huge snake... Calls it Nagini..." Harry's words did not exactly ease Neville's mind, and he still had a feeling that something was still wrong. The words surely he wouldn't kept racing through his mind, as he tried to assure himself that Harry wasn't about to rush over and hand himself over to Voldemort. He understood, really, why Harry might want to. He couldn't imagine the weight of responsibility that rested on Harry's shoulders, and perhaps it was best that Neville was completely unaware that the prophecy that had tethered Harry to Voldemort might have also applied to him. He would feel incredibly guilty, if all of these people died defending him, but Neville thought that walking off to let himself be killed by Voldemort would make their sacrifice, the greatest sacrifice there was, meaningless. Harry would never do that. He must have something else in mind, Neville assured himself. Everything that Harry had been doing was dark and mysterious, and Neville didn't understand it at all, but he did trust that Harry knew what he was doing, so when he mentioned Nagini, Neville listened. "I've heard, yeah..." he trailed off with some distaste. It was like Voldemort, to care about a snake more than a human being. "What about it?" Harry took a deep breath and continued with his request. "It's got to be killed. Ron and Hermione know that, but just in case they --" He stopped suddenly as he thought of his friends. Just in case they don't make it, his head finished for him. Ron and Hermione's faces, juxtaposed against what he was about to do, caused Harry's chest to clench. There was a possibility that they too might not see the end of this fight, but the thought made him anxious for the Great Hall again. He couldn't waste his time thinking about that. He couldn't save them by turning on his heel and running back towards them. He would save them by dying. Both Ron and Hermione were talented wizards. He had taught them much of what they knew, after all, and Hermione, grudging as she may have occasionally been about it, was always happy to share what she knew. They were capable. Halting his darker thoughts, Harry quickly straightened out his mind. He had only faltered for a few seconds, but he knew worrying about the safety of his friends would only undermine what he had to do. He had to be rational and calm, like Dumbledore had always been. He would see to his own sacrifice, whether his heart agreed with the decision or not, but he had to make certain that someone would be there to destroy the final Horcrux. "Just in case they're -- busy -- and you get the chance --" He trailed off and left his words hanging in the dark air. "Kill the snake?" He finished Harry's sentence. A pained expression was on Neville's face, as he cringed outwardly at the implication of Harry's words. Just in case they're busy. Well, of course they would be busy. There was a bloody battle going on, and there were Death Eaters who would be back as sure as dawn would come. They were all busy, but Neville knew what Harry meant. He didn't want to think about Ron and Hermione being dead. As he stood over the body of the fallen unknown, he imagined Hermione splayed across the ground, her hair around her, and Ron... No. He couldn't think about that. Harry had a job to do, one that he obviously didn't have the time or the means to explain, and that involved killing Voldemort's snake. He hadn't seen it, but then, he hadn't seen Voldemort, either. But if he did, he would do it, if that was what had to be done. He couldn't imagine why it was so important, but then, he couldn't imagine what Harry was up to at all. "Kill the snake," Harry repeated Neville's words with a nod of his head. He studied his fellow Gryffindor, regretting that he couldn't say goodbye and that he couldn't properly express his gratitude for everything he had done that year. It would be far too suspicious if he had and he could tell Neville was already suspicious enough as it was. He'd watched the expression on Neville's face as he'd haltingly told him what needed to be done. Harry wasn't as transparent as he would have liked to be, but that was all right. It was nearly done. There was still an aura of unease about Harry, and Neville could sense it. No, he wasn't the most perceptive of people, never had been, but it was hard to miss that something this large. He tried to shrug it off, and tell himself that Harry was just upset because of the battle, but the finality of Harry's words were difficult to dismiss. He had to kill Nagini. He didn't know how he would do it, or if it was magical and had protections, and he had heard that it ate people, but he would do his very best. That was all, Neville thought, that anyone could ever do. Their best. He was worried, though. Harry was sneaking about under his invisibility cloak and making odd requests, so, warily, he asked, "All right, Harry. You’re okay, are you?" Harry nodded, lifting the corners of his mouth tiredly in a sorry attempt at a smile. No, he wasn't, but Neville had enough ahead of him and, honestly, Harry didn't want his final words to be the melodramatic rantings of his youth. It struck him as strange that he could think the word 'youth' in relation to his own age. He was of age but, for all intents and purposes, he was still just a kid. He felt much older, though. He had a feeling they all did. "I'm fine," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Thanks, Neville." He packed as much of his gratitude as he could into the words, shaking out his cloak and moving to throw it over his head again. Before Harry could go, Neville reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, firmly, but not too hard. He couldn't leave... Not just yet. There were still so many more things to be said. Neville had so many questions he was dying to ask, and what's more, he wanted to comfort Harry, though he didn't even know how he would do that. Before Harry could go, he said, "We're all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?" It was the most comforting thing that Neville could think of to say. Even if something horrible happened to Harry, they weren't going to stop. At least, Neville wouldn't, and he knew that none of the DA would, either. "Yeah, I --" Harry started, but that overwhelming urge to run back into the school struck him again, hard. He could appreciate the sentiment behind Neville's words but they were almost like a tether, tying him to the life he was meant to leave behind. He selfishly wanted to stay and fight with him, but there had been enough lives lost already and he couldn't put it off any longer. It was a small sacrifice, really, his life for the lives that still thrived in the Great Hall. His life given in exchange for Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Neville and the rest of his loved ones. The thought bolstered his resolve but he still couldn't find the words to finish his sentence. Harry didn't need to say what he meant. It was too difficult to say good-bye, knowing that it might be final, and they might never see each other again. So Neville let go of Harry's wrist and patted him on the shoulder, a little awkwardly. They would see each other again, he told himself, when Harry had finished whatever it was he had to do, and Voldemort was dead. He turned to look for more of the dead, not really relishing the task, and he looked back, with the compelling urge to tell Harry "Good luck," but he had already disappeared. |