Note: I very rarely write canon ships (Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, etc), except in challenges. However, this one felt like it needed to follow the canon, so… yeah.
Another Note: The title, as some of you probably realized, is taken from the book of the same name by Suzanne Collins. I recently finished the Hunger Games trilogy, and I was struck with this thought... Katniss et al suffered terrible nightmares after surviving the Games. They lived through some pretty horrific stuff, so the nightmares were to be expected. But Harry and the gang have lived through terrible times as well and I think they would suffer similar chronic nightmares. And thus this was born.
Enjoy.
Catching Fire
She was as cold as ice. She tried to open her eyes, tried to take in her surroundings, but she was stiff, stuck lying on the cold, hard stone. She could sense movement around her, but she didn't know what it was. She wanted to move. She needed to sit up and figure out what was going on. But she couldn't move. She was too weak. Even her mind was weak. Her thoughts moved slowly from one place to the next. She felt drugged. She felt like she would never move again. Was this how she would die? Alone, in the cold, unable to move, or even think properly.
She heard a faint splashing, and the echo of feet across the stone. Warm fingers wrapped around her own.
"Ginny," a voice called to her from far away. "Ginny," the voice called again, a little louder this time.
'Harry,' she tried to say back, tried to open her eyes. But she was frozen stiff. She couldn't move, could hardly breathe. 'Harry!' she tried to scream.
There was another voice. A dark voice. A voice she knew all too well. Even though she couldn't make out the words he spoke, she knew the voice, all too well. Riddle. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
'Harry!' she cried out in her mind, willing herself to speak. She had to warn him. She had to make him see that Riddle couldn't be trusted, had to make him see who she was. She had realized far too late, she had to make him see, before his fate would be the same as hers. The Boy Who Lived couldn't die here. 'Harry! Harry! He's the Dark Lord! You can't trust him. He's evil. Harry!' But her lips didn't move, and he didn't hear the words that only existed in her mind.
She could feel the stone beneath her begin to hum. The snake. There was a snake. She hadn't seen it, but she knew it was there, her mind was too entwined with Riddle's now for him to keep that secret from her. The snake.
'Harry!' she tried to scream again. She had to warn him. The snake would kill him. And then it would kill her. 'Harry!'
She could hear him running again. He must have known, that there was a snake, and it wanted to kill him. There was a loud shriek and the sound of the running stopped. Was he dead? Had the snake gotten to him already? She must have been falling further into her addled mind because that shriek had sounded more like a bird that a human.
There came another cry. A cry from the basilisk? What was happening? She needed to know. She willed her body to move, for her eyes to open, something.
Perhaps she was getting stronger, or maybe slipping further from reality, because should could swear she felt her fingers move, just a bit. She tried again. Yes. Surely she'd moved them. If only she could open her eyes.
She focused all of her energy on that one thought, willing her eyes to open.
And when they finally did, she realized that it must have been an illusion, because Harry was alive, and he was fighting the snake with a sword. A glittering gold and red sword.
Her eyes fell closed again. She didn't have the strength the keep them open any longer.
She didn't know how much time passed… she couldn't' judge time anymore, and she wasn't even sure if things there happening in the right order. It could have been a minute, it could have been a year, but suddenly Harry was at her side again, shaking her lightly, trying to call her back to the world of the living. But it was no use, she was already dead.
"Ginny," he called loudly. So loudly. Why was his voice so loud.
"Harry," she tried to respond, but knew it was no use.
"Ginny," he said, and she could hear a smile in his voice. Why was he smiling? Was he happy she was dead? No, that didn't make sense.
"Harry?" she said again. This time she realized that it wasn't just her mind calling his name, it was her lips as well. "Harry," she said again, willing her eyes to open.
"Hey," he smiled back at her. "Can you sit up?" he asked.
She could feel her strength returning slowly and, with his help, was able to move into a sitting position. She stayed there a while, in fear that if she moved any more, she might break, but in her mind, she was dancing. She was alive and Harry had defeated both the snake and Riddle. They were alive.
"We're alive," she finally said.
"Yeah," he gave her an exhausted smiled. She gave him her own drugged smile in return.
She spotted the glittering sword lying a few inches from Harry's hand, and the Sorting Hat at the feet of a large orange phoenix, and then there was Riddle's diary, a snake's fang stuck in it, black ink oozing out, and finally, the dead basilisk, lying far too close for her comfort. But then, the other side of the world would have been too close for her.
"Can we get away from that thing?" she asked, rising to her feet, shaking slightly. Harry helped her and the two of them began to walk away.
And then there was a sound. Both of them turned as the basilisk rose up from the cold stone, and slithered toward them. Though still blinded, it knew exactly where they were, and they knew it was still just as deadly.
"RUN!" Harry shouted. She didn't need to be told twice.
But she wasn't fast enough, and neither was he. The snake was easily faster than they, and it only took a moment for it to catch up. It stuck Harry, causing him to collapse from the impact.
"Harry!" Ginny cried.
"RUN!" he shouted through a mouthful of blood. The snake must have pierce something vital, because he was bleeding everywhere. "RUN!" he cried again.
Ginny didn't get the chance to ponder what she should do: help Harry get out, or save herself, as he was telling her to do. The snake was far too fast, and she was attacked as well.
The two of them lied on the stone, separated by several feet, but neither able to move closer. There was blood everywhere. They were dying.
"Harry," Ginny called weakly when his eyes slipped shut. He didn't respond. "Harry!" she cried a little louder.
"HARRY!" she woke up screaming. It took her a moment to take in her surroundings, to realize that she was at home, in bed, safe, alive.
"You okay?" Harry asked, walking over from the window where he'd been sitting.
She nodded slightly, not quite trusting herself to talk for the moment. He ran his hand soothingly over her back, calming her.
"How long have you been up?" she asked, taking a look at the clock, which read 5:47.
"Few hours," he replied, walking back to the window and staring out into the darkness once more.
"Nightmare?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. They'd seen so much horror in their youth, neither of them got much sleep anymore. It was not unusual for either of them to wake up screaming, though Harry did so more often than she.
"Starting with dementors, ending with watching everyone I love die all over again," he said.
"You should have woken me," she told him, rising from the bed.
He shrugged. "You seemed to be sleeping peacefully. I didn't want to disturb you."
"I wasn't peaceful. I was petrified."
"Basilisk?" he asked. She nodded. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close. She held tightly onto him as she buried her face in his chest.
"We survived the war," she said. "But can we survive the memory of it?"
It was cold. So cold that it was hard to breathe, hard to get enough oxygen running though his body. With every passing moment, he felt weaker. He was dying, he could feel it. He had to do something. There must have been something he could do, but his mind was fuzzy. He was cold and weak and his mind wasn't working as it should have been.
Wand! He thought finally. He fumbled through his robes with numb fingers. Where was his wand? It wasn't in his robes, where was it?
He looked around, turning slowly. Perhaps he'd dropped it somehow. There! There it was, lying in the snow just a few feet away. He started to move toward it, but his legs were stiff and not working properly. He'd only made it two steps before falling into the cold, wet snow, which only made him colder. He had to reach his wand. It was closer now, he could maybe reach it if he stretched…
There! He had it. Now if only he could remember spells that would help him. His mind was working so slowly… He tried every spell he could think of, but nothing could warm him. He quickly began to lose hope. What was the point? He was going to freeze to death, so why bother prolonging it.
His eyes fell closed and a flash of green light filled his vision. There was a scream. He was getting colder. He'd thought colder was impossible, but he was curled up in the snow, getting colder with every second.
He knew this feeling. It was all too familiar.
He forced his eyes open. Dementors. Dozens of them closing in on him. His fingers closed a little tighter around his wand.
But what was the point? There were so many of them. He couldn't stop them.
STOP! He shouted at himself. That was just the effects of the dementors talking.
He willed happy memories to the surface. His mother's voice. Riding a broom. Laughing with Ron and Hermione. Meeting Sirius. Kissing Ginny.
"Expecto patronum," he said, his voice coming out as barely a whisper. His mother's voice. Riding a broom. Ron and Hermione. Sirius. Talking to his parents. Ginny. "Expecto patronum," he said again, a little louder. His mother's voice. Playing Quidditch. Ron and Hermione. Sirius. Mum and dad. Ginny. "Expecto patronum." The most he could produce was faint wisps of smoke, which did very little to repel the ghostly creatures. "Expecto patr-"
But every happy memory he had was connected to a dozen nightmares.
"Expecto pat-" His mother screaming. Ron dying on the chess set. Hermione remaining petrified forever. Sirius falling through the veil. "Expecto p-" Cedric dying. Playing Quidditch with a skeletal Fred. His mother screaming. Feeling himself attacking Mr. Weasley. Sirius falling through the veil. His mother's screams. Snape killing Dumbledore. Nagini killing Snape. His mother's screams. Dead bodies lining the castle. Dead. Dead. Dead. Fred was dead. The ghost of a smile etched on his dead brother's face. Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
(Catching Fire)
Black smoke closed in around him. But it wasn't just smoke. It was evil. Pure evil.
"You'll never be god enough," the smoke told him. It was taunting him. "You'll never be good enough for her. She'll never love you. How could she? You're so ordinary, but she's amazing. You'll never be good enough."
"Stop," he begged weakly.
The smoke swirled around making shapes in the air, before settling on the form of Harry.
"Why would she ever love you?" Harry asked. "Why would she love you, when I'm here?"
"No," he shook his head. Harry didn't love her, and she didn't love Harry. They were best friends. That was all.
"Maybe," Harry said. He transformed into Fred. "But what about me?"
"Fred-" he breathed. Fred took a few steps toward him. With each step, his image became more gruesome. Blood dripping from his head, his ears, his nose, his mouth. His skin was paler than it had ever been. He was decaying right before his eyes.
"How could she ever let herself truly love you, when she'll always be comparing you to me? She'll always wonder what could have been. She could have been happy, you know. She would have been happy, with me. But you? You are, and will only ever be, second best."
"Stop," Ron said. He looked down. In the moments that had passed, he had dropped the Sword of Gryffindor. He reached to pick it up. Fred laughed.
"You think a sword can kill me?" he asked. "I'm already dead! Or did you forget?"
Ron turned and swung the sword down, aiming to trap the Slytherin Locket between the blade and the rock, but the Locket was moving of its own accord. He aimed to hit it again. And again. And again.
A new laugh entered the scene. Hermione. "You're so bad at this," she giggled. "Why do you even bother? You know you can't win."
"I did win!" he cried. "I have you! You're mine. None of this is real!"
Hermione smiled. "Maybe not. But deep down, you know the truth. You know that I will never love you. Not the way you love me. You will only ever be my friend." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I mean, really, did you think you could ever be more than that? You must be quite thick to think I would ever choose you."
"Ron," a voice pulled him from his nightmare. "Ron, wake up."
"'Mione?" he slurred.
"Shh," she replied. "You were having another nightmare."
"Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?" he asked as she yawned.
She shook her head, still yawning, as she laid her head down on his chest. "I was having a nightmare of my own."
"You okay?"
"As okay as I'll ever be," she replied, staring, unseeing, across the room. "You?"
"Once I realized you were here, I was okay," he replied, running his fingers through her hair.
First, she was falling. She was falling fast, and she had no wand. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. She couldn't cry out for anyone to save her. Not that anyone would be able to.
Suddenly, she wasn't falling anymore. She was in the castle. In a bathroom.
There was a faint dripping sound. She looked down at her hands. They were covered in blood, so much blood that it had no place to go but down. A small pool of crimson was forming at her feet. But where had the blood come from? She didn't feel any obvious injuries, not any that could have caused this much blood.
She stepped toward the middle mirror, the only one that remained intact after the beating the castle had been through. It was, in fact, the only thing in the room that showed no signs of abuse. A shining mirror and pristine white sink.
But her reflection looked like something out of a horror story. Her hair matted with blood, and her face masked with layers of it. Whose blood was it? Surely it wasn't hers. Where had it all come from?
She looked down at the sink, where she'd left bloody handprint as she'd looked into the mirror. From the handprints, moving outward, the sink began to decay. It shriveled, rotted and fell apart, until it looked no different from the rest of the bathroom.
She gasped, stepping away from it. Looking into the mirror again, she saw her reflection begin to distort. She was a monster, destroying everything she touched.
Screams emanated from outside, distracting her from her own terror. She ran to the doors and wrenched them open. Outside, in the rest of the castle, war was being waged.
There was a loud bang, and thick black smoke began to fill the air. She tried to breathe, but the smoke was too thick now, and it was filling her lungs. She began to cough and wheeze. She couldn't breathe.
"Hermione!" a familiar voice cried. She searched for its owner, but the smoke was clouding her vision. She tried to call out, but there was only smoke in her now. She coughed again and again and again, and collapsed to her knees. She needed air, real air.
She heard a faint hiss of Latin and the smoke began to clear in her immediate vicinity, allowing her to take in a deep breath of oxygen.
"Hermione, are you okay?" one of the Weasley Twins asked, reaching out for her as he emerged from the smoke.
Hermione nodded, focusing the rest of her strength on taking in oxygen and dispelling the smoke. Waves of black exited through her mouth and nose as she breathed out. The waves quickly joined with the wall of smoke that was still all around them.
"Yeah, Fred, I'm fine," she said when she could speak again. A few puffs of black came out with the words.
"Sorry, I didn't realize you were in the area until it was too late. I thought it was all bad guys."
"What was that?" she asked.
Fred grinned. "Georgey and I recently invented it. We haven't come up with a name yet, though. That was the first test actually. We were just going for distraction, but judging by your reaction, it seems it could be more useful than that. Tell me, what did it feel like?"
Hermione glared at him.
"That bad, huh? Hey, hey, there's no need for hitting, we're on the same side here!"
Hermione put her fist down, but continued to glare. Her chest still felt too tight and she was still expelling little puffs of smoke as she breathed.
"What do you say we get out of here and find the others?" he suggested, offering his arm to her. With a roll of her eyes, she took his arm and they began to walk, the smoke parting just enough for them to pass through, then closing again behind them. It didn't take long to fully escape the smoke, but Hermione knew that anyone trapped inside without the Weasleys' escape plan, would be trapped for a while. They soon met up with Harry, Ron and Percy, who were battling a handful of Death Eaters.
"You guys look like you could use a hand," Fred shouted, joining the fight.
Hermione, too, was fighting. And then, suddenly, she wasn't.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry exclaimed over the noise of war.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She knew this. She had been here before. It was all so familiar.
"Hermione!" Ron was shouting.
What was it? She knew this. Why did she know this? Everything was wrong with this moment. Wrong. So wrong. What was happening?
She looked down at her hands. They were covered in blood. Her blood. She tried to wipe the blood off on her pants, but it was no use. Blood was everywhere, dripping from her hands, face, hair. Everywhere. It was filling her nose, her ears, her mouth. She couldn't breathe.
This was wrong. It hadn't happened like this.
No. What really happened was worse.
There was an explosion, followed by a scream. Everything went dark.
No, no, no, no. They were not living through this again.
When she finally opened her eyes, she was standing on the edge of the bridge with Harry and Ron. The war was over. They had won.
They had won.
Thin, grey smoke filled the air, growing thicker by the moment. She coughed as it filled her lungs.
Not smoke. Ash. Ash of all those who had died.
"Hermione," Harry's voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up at him. He and Ron were standing at the edge of the wall, peering down into the abyss beneath them.
"What are you doing, Harry?" she asked. He shouldn't have been standing so close to the edge. He could fall if the wind blew just right. The Boy Who Lived, killed by a puff of wind. "Get away from the edge, both of you."
"It's okay, Hermione," Ron assured her. He held out his hand. "Come join us?"
Hermione shook her head. She coughed. She didn't want to breathe this air anymore. She didn't want to be inhaling the ghosts of her dead friends.
"It'll be alright, Hermione, don't be afraid," Harry said, his hand held out to her as well. There was blood on both Harry and Ron. Blood dripping from their hands.
"Come on," Ron said.
Hermione found herself stepping towards them. She took their hands in hers and joined them on the ledge.
"See, nothing to be afraid of."
"I don't like heights," she said, though she found that she was oddly calm. She looked down at her hands. Covered in blood. Dripping, dripping, dripping onto the ledge, mixing with the blood of her brothers, her best friends. Ash joined in the pooling blood.
"Just close your eyes," Ron said. "Take a deep breath."
Hermione closed her eyes, as instructed, and breathed in the dead souls around her. When she opened her eyes again, they were falling, falling, falling into the abyss. Harry to her left, and Ron to her right, their hands clasped tightly together as they fell. A small smiled formed on her lips.
She was at peace.
(Catching Fire)
He can hear them screaming sometimes. In his sleep, their cries plague him. He shouldn't be able to hear it, he shouldn't remember their tears, but he does. He remembers, and it hurts.
His own screams drown out the sorrows of the past.
"That should teach you," Alecto Carrow said in a cold whisper. "Now, what do you say? Are you ready to accept the Dark Lord as your master?"
Neville glared into her eyes. "Never," he said, spitting a mouthful of blood into her face.
She made a face of utter disgust and magiced the blood off her face. "Very well then," she said, turning to the others in the room. "Perhaps this will change your mind." She eyed Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood. "Which one shall I toy with first?" she asked.
"NO," he shouted. "Don't."
She ignored him, looking back and forth between the blonde and the ginger. "Eenie, meanie, minie, moe. The ginger it is."
"NO!"
"Crucio!"
Ginny let out a cry of agony.
"STOP!" Neville shouted.
Alecto lifted the curse, and turned back to him, snarling. "Then tell me where the Potter boy is!"
"Neville, don't," Ginny said.
"Quiet you!" She stopped and looked between the three of them. "One of you will tell us where he is."
"How do you expect us to tell you," Ginny said. "When we don't know ourselves."
"You think I'm stupid, girly? Of course you know where he is. You're his friends, aren't you? Hmm… Perhaps we were wrong in believing that. Perhaps you really are just the dim-witted fools everyone thinks you are. Potter wouldn't be friends with you, now w-"
"Who are you calling 'dim-witted'?" a male voice asked, but it was not Neville speaking to her.
She turned, scowling. Her prisoners had been unlocked, and now all three of them were standing, wands in the air, and they had been joined by a fourth, Seamus. In unison, they shouted different curses at her, then turned to run.
"You three alright?" Seamus asked as they ran.
"Better, now," Luna replied, rubbing her wrists where the shackles had been. Neville and Ginny nodded in agreement, though they both looked rather worse for the wear.
"No," Neville said, as Seamus began to head in the direction of the seventh floor. "We can't lead them there."
Neville took the lead and began to guide them in the opposite direction.
"Crucio!" someone behind them shouted. Luna fell. Then Ginny, then Seamus, then, finally, Neville. Through the pain, he heard a familiar cackle.
No. She couldn't be here. She didn't belong here. This wasn't right.
"Lookie what we have here," Bellatrix squealed with pleasure. "Ittle Longbottom and his wittle fwiends. Oh what fun we shall have."
"Foolish children," Alecto hissed, joining Bellatrix. "We were just going to torture you, but now I think it would be better… better to hang you as an example to the others. Yes… I very much like the thought."
The next thing he knew, they were hanging above the tables in the Great Hall where the rest of the students were eating.
Everything hurt. So much pain. He struggled to keep his eyes opened.
Below him, the students, all of them, even the Slytherins, pointedly looked everywhere but at the four students handing, nearly dead, over their heads.
There was a group of Slytherins, four or five of them, led by none other than Draco Malfoy, stood out, taunting the traitors.
"Look, Longbottom thinks he's gone and done something brave," Malfoy mocked. "But instead he's got himself killed."
Neville twitched with hatred for him.
But something was wrong.
He was in so much pain.
He felt like he was dying.
He could feel blood pooling in his shoes. Bruises covered his body. It hurt to even breathe. Couldn't he just die? The pain would end.
He forced his eyes open. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of watching him die. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of causing his death. If he was going to die, it would be on his own terms.
But he wasn't going to die. Not today. He remembered this.
No, he didn't remember this, and that was exactly what was wrong.
He didn't die here. He didn't even exist here. This wasn't how it happened. He had escaped the torture of the Carrows on his own. Ginny and Luna hadn't even been with him.
And yet, they, and Seamus, hung in the air with him.
But it hadn't been like this. He had escaped on his own and hid out in the Room of Requirement. Hadn't he? Had he?
He couldn't remember. Every time a thought of hope crossed his mind, another thought of doubt crossed with it. He couldn't keep anything straight in his mind anymore.
He awoke with a start. His heart was beating rapidly and for a moment, the utter darkness of the room terrified him.
And then he remembered where he was. In his home. Safe.
But was he really? Was he ever safe? He surely didn't feel it.
(Catching Fire)
George didn't climb into bed. He never even entered his room, not of his own volition. He buried himself in his work and he worked and worked and worked, until he literally couldn't keep himself awake anymore. He fell asleep at his work desk in the back room of Weasley Wizard Weezes, he fell asleep in the kitchen as he made himself a midday meal, he fell asleep at the cash register. He refused to go into his room. He could go for days, usually, without sleeping. And so he did. He stayed awake until he fell asleep. He stayed awake until his mother came in with her wand raised and put him to sleep with a light flick. He stayed awake until one of the employees came in with a syringe of muggle anesthetic and stuck it in his arm. He always liked those, because with them he didn't dream as much, but when his mother found out what Ish had been doing, she made her swear not to do it again. Ish was terrified of what Mrs. Weasley might do to her if she didn't obey, and rightly so. George was terrified of her sometimes.
"Mum, please don't," he begged her quietly. He was exhausted, he knew, but he didn't want to sleep. "I don't want to, please don't make me." He felt like a child, and he must have sounded like one too.
"You need to sleep, George," she said softly.
"I don't want to sleep," he said. "I don't want to dream."
"I know," she said as he drifted off. "But you have to sleep. This isn't healthy."
Dementors were crowding around them. He could feel their power tugging at him, the cold creeping in. He and his twin shared an identical grin, then turned to the monsters heading their way. They both created a patronus with relative ease. Identical foxes erupted from their respective wands. The foxes danced around for a moment, then ran toward the swarm of dementors.
But then, one of the foxes stopped.
First it just stopped moving, and stood still for a moment, before fading from existence altogether.
George looked over at his brother.
"Freddie?" he asked. There was a trail of blood running down the side of his face. "Freddie!"
"It's okay, George," his brother said in return, a smile forming on his lips. The wound on his head began to expand, blood poured out of it.
"No, Freddie," George cried as the image of his twin began to distort and decay.
He was running through Hogwarts. He screamed. He felt like his lungs were on fire. Everything was on fire.
"FRED!" he cried. Burning. Everything hurt. The world around him was burning. He faintly heard someone call his name as he ran, but he paid it no attention.
"George," someone said and he felt a pair of hands wrap around his arm. "Stop." George didn't know who the hands, the voice, belonged to, and he didn't give a damn.
"Let go of me," he said, shaking the hands off.
"George, please," the voice repeated.
"NO!" he cried, pulling away and running forward. Everyone he passed moved out of his way, and he tried to ignore the matching looks of pity they all wore. Fred wasn't dead. He couldn't be.
But he had known, long before he'd reached the crowd of red hair, he had known the moment it had happened.
"NO!" he screamed again, falling to his knees at his brother's side. "No, no, no, no." He pulled Fred into his lap and buried his face in his chest. "No," he cried.
He was alone, standing in a forest. Dementors surrounded him.
"Expecto patronum," he tried. Faint wisps of smoke came from his wand, disappearing quickly after. "Expecto patronum."
But it was no use. To produce a patronus, he had to focus on a happy memory. And every happy memory he had began and ended with Fred. Fred and George, running through the castle, trying to escape Filch. Fred's rotting corpse. Fred and George sneaking into Hogsmeade for the first time. Fred's rotting corpse. Fred and George's first Quidditch match as beaters. Fred's rotting corpse. Fred and George, Fred's rotting corpse. Fred and George, Fred's rotting corpse. It's not Fred and George anymore, it's George and Fred's rotting corpse.
In the real world, he didn't even have that.
(Catching Fire)
She ran. Her ankle was swollen and bloody and sprained, but she ran just the same.
Bits of her hair were blackened and singed off and she smelled a faint stench of burning flesh… her flesh. She couldn't remember what had happened. So much had happened in the last few hours, she couldn't keep any of it straight in her mind. So much fighting, so much dying. Where had the burns come from?
No. She couldn't worry about that now. There was too much happening. She had to keep running.
"Loony Lovegood," a voice cackled from behind her. "Why are you running from me? I only want to play."
Luna turned with a quick flourish of her wand. Bellatrix easily dodged the hex and laughed.
"That's not very nice," she said, pouting slightly. "I thought we could dance. Instead you curse me."
"You're insane," Luna hissed, throwing another hex.
Bellatrix giggled. "I am just like you," she said.
"I'm nothing like you!" Luna cried.
"Of course you are. You're just like me. I was the freak when I was in school, the girl everyone ignored because I was too weird, the one they picked on because my feeling didn't matter."
"You're wrong-"
"You're a freak!" Bellatrix exclaimed. "Just like me. And you will become me!"
"NO!" Luna shouted back at her. "I have friends. They care about me. I matter to them."
Bellatrix laughed. "You really thing they're you're friends? Why on earth would they need you?"
Luna shouted another curse at her and began running again. Her foot hurt so badly.
"In here," a familiar voice called quietly. Luna looked around to see Ginny waving her into a nearby closet. She changed direction slightly and made it to the closet just as Ron and Harry slid in. "Sorry," Ginny shrugged. "No more room." Then she slammed the door closed, leaving Luna in the hallway with Bellatrix at her heels.
"She's such a freak," she heard someone whisper. She looked around. She was still in the castle, but the scene hand changed. She was in the library now, sitting at a table, doing her homework for Potions.
Her leg was still throbbing.
The whispers were coming from a nearby aisle of books. The first voice belonged to Hermione Granger, but she was with several others.
"So weird," Ron's voice agreed. "Crumple-horned snorlax? Come on."
"Snorkack," George corrected.
"Whatever. She's weird."
Luna opened her eyes to a sunlight room. It had only been a dream. A dream that had vaguely resembled life.
She relaxed slightly into her pillow.
She hated Bellatrix Lestrange. Hated her. Even in death, the woman had found a way to torture her. She must have known what her words would do. That they would torture her like this. That her words would plant a tiny seed of doubt…
She jumped out of the bed, desperate to find something to occupy her mind.
(Catching Fire)
When Hermione arrived at the Burrow, George and Mrs. Weasley were the only ones there.
"Hey," she said, hugging George tightly, her eyes half filled with tears. George wrapped his arms tightly around her as well and didn't let go for a long time.
"Where's Ronnie?" he asked, when they finally pulled apart.
"He had some business in Hogsmeade," she replied. "He should be here soon. Everyone else?"
"Harry and Ginny are on their way. I haven't heard from Luna or Neville though. Bill, Charlie, Percy and Dad are swamped with Ministry work, but they'll be here soon enough. Fleur and Penelope should be here soon, of course."
"I can't believe they're working on a day like this."
"I think they're working because today is a day like this," he said. "It's easier, you know, to work through it, rather than be left to your thoughts."
"Yeah. I suppose I know that feeling all too well."
"You should go in and visit Mum," he said, nodding toward the kitchen. "She hasn't seen you in a while."
Eventually, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Luna and Neville arrived at the Burrow.
"Thank you for inviting me," Luna said when she entered.
"Nonsense," Molly said. "You're family, too."
They joined Hermione and George in the sitting room to await the rest of the family and the dinner that would commence when they all were there. Mrs. Weasley, Fleur, and Penelope went into the kitchen to continue preparations for the feast.
It seemed odd, perhaps, to hold such a gathering, a party one might call it, on such an anniversary. The anniversary of the day the dark lord had been defeated, the day they were freed from oppression.
The day they lost their brother.
"Some of the reporters at the Prophet have been asking for interviews this week," Luna told the group. "They want to hear our stories a year after the battle."
The others looked up at her. None of them wanted to speak to reporters. They didn't want to relive the horror anymore than they already did.
"I told them to go to hell," she assured them. The group collectively let out a sigh of relief. The last thing any of them wanted, or needed, was for some reporter to harass them about their memories of the Battle of Hogwarts. Certainly they would be asked to relive the horror, which they already did on a daily basis. Then they would ask what they were doing now, a year later. And the answer would be nothing.
They were doing nothing. None of them were working, not really. They just kind of drifted. Even Hermione, who hated the idea of living an idle life, had left her job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures some four months before. George, of course, had his shop, but he was hardly working anymore, he'd let his employees all but take over almost a year prior. Luna still helped her father with the Quibbler, and published the occasional article with the Prophet.
"I was thinking," Neville started a few minutes later. He paused. "About taking Kingsley up on his offer."
"To be an Auror?" Hermione asked, a small smile appearing on her face. Neville nodded. "That's great Neville!"
He shrugged and mumbled something along the lines of "The nightmares can't get much worse, can they?"
Ginny nudged Harry. "What about you? Didn't you say you were thinking about it?"
Harry nodded.
"Me too," Ron said.
"Great," Neville said. "We can do it together." He was clearly relieved. Though he'd gained a lot of confidence in the last couple years, he was still a little terrified of becoming an Auror.
"Someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement contacted me last week," Hermione said. "Not the Auror's office or anything. But they've offered me a junior leadership position… I think I'm gonna take it."
"I…" Ginny started. "The Harpies need a new chaser. They offered it to me."
"What?" Harry asked. "You didn't tell me that!"
"I haven't told anyone," she said. "I wasn't sure what I was going to do."
"You're going to accept, of course," Ron said.
"Yeah, I am," she nodded.
"I've been thinking about doing some travelling," Luna said thoughtfully. "Discovering the world or something. Something new."
"That sounds exciting," Hermione said, though she could never imagine leaving herself.
"We'll miss you," Ginny said.
"What about you, George?" Harry asked. "Any big plans for the future?"
"I…" he started. "I've had a few ideas… things that would have made Fred laugh. I think I'm gonna get back to work at the shop. I've been kind of neglecting it lately."
They all had plans, every one of them. Big plans, and some small. But for the first time in a year, they were going somewhere. They were moving forward. Doing something with their lives.
But deep down, they all knew.
They knew none of it mattered.
The nightmares wouldn't stop.
The memories of their horrors could not be erased.
There was no such thing as happy endings. Not for them.