Neville Longbottom (helloimneville) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-03-06 22:57:00 |
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Mist curled around stone that had been knocked from its foundations, and piled at the bottom of a set of stone steps that lead to a tall, wide wooden door. It was made of oak, and magically fortified against intruders, and at least a foot thick. The witches and wizards who had built it had done so with the idea of keeping goblins at bay, and it had worked. It had also kept out trolls and dark wizards, and any other threat that the school had faced in its thousand-year history. Light flashed overhead and all around, dozens of different colours, all of them emanating from the wands of Voldemort's army, or those of the opposing side, the combined forces of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's Army, and their allies. Inside the castle, he knew that his friends were fighting for their lives, and for the lives of everyone in the magical world. Thunder crashed, and Neville looked down, seeing his robes torn and dirtied, his hands bloodied and his wand clenched in his right. It was time to move on. He took a step, and the mist thickened, and he thought he smelled smoke. Movement to the left, and he thrust his wand out, yelling a spell and taking down a Death Eater. No time to remove the mask; he had to continue in. The Great Hall, that's where he needed to be. It's where he always needed to be. Voldemort would be in there, he always was. With Harry and the rest of them, the school coming to pieces over their heads and the ceiling above reflecting the sky. Not a cloud in the sky, and millions of twinkling lights moving slowly in their endless pattern. Neville stepped into the room, and immediately it stilled. In the absence of the spellcasting, the screams of pain and anger and despair, the grunting as magical force gave way to the primal thrill of physical force, the silence was deafening. He lifted his wand, brandishing it a little like a sword, and stepped forward. His footsteps echoed on the flagstone floor, as steady as a metronome. Neville stopped next to Harry, and they nodded. "Ready, Nev?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse. Neville swallowed, and nodded firmly. "Ready, Harry." Neville held out his wand -- but it had turned into a sword. Godric Gryffindor's sword. Its weight was heavy and reassuring in his hand and, grasping it with both hands, he stepped forward and swung at Voldemort's body, separating head from neck. It fell with a sickening plop, and opened its eyes. "Not what you expected, eh, Neville? Son, don't do this." Panic began clawing at Neville's throat, and he shouted, "No!" at his father's face, which now rested where Voldemort's had been. "No!" he shouted again, slicing through the air once more and removing Nagini's head. That was right, he knew it was. That was what was supposed to happen. Only when the head stopped rolling the face was Alice Longbottom's. It was crying and pleading with him not to do it, to stop and save them all. It made no sense; Neville could only do this, it had been his job all along: kill the snake so Harry could kill Voldemort. At this, all of the Death Eaters removed their masks. Their faces were his friends, his family, and all he could do was swing his sword at them, screaming all the while, a constant stream of "No's" while he flailed about in bed, tossing the bedclothes away in his panic. |