Friendship in the face of death
Harry is dead. All hope is lost. Hermione's thoughts as her world is ending. Stand-alone.
Something in her was breaking. Seeing him there, in Hagrid's arms, so limp and lifeless was a pain she had never felt before, a new agony of war. Her cheeks were damp with tears; her arms were shaking. The battle had taken its toll. And now it had taken too much.
"Harry," she screamed into the night, Ron's voice overlapping with hers. They both felt it, the enormity of what they'd lost.
She'd given so much. Her parents were far away and she'd likely never see them again. Her parting gift had been their safety. Would that last now? What could stop Voldemort now Harry was gone? He would take over the world and she'd never see them again. The future was bleaker now than it had ever been before. Not that she expected to have one. Not in this new world where Harry was gone. A new world, a previously inconceivable world, where they had lost.
Her eyes didn't leave Harry as silence was imposed on them. She bit back the bile threatening to rise as her eyes kept their vigil over his body. She refused to look away as if somehow it would dishonour him and his sacrifice.
"…a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"
A flash of fire deep inside her, a phoenix's death and rebirth, and a rebirth for her. Ron's voice shouted an echo of her thoughts and then she too screamed them into the night before once more silence choked her.
"HE DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY HIS FRIENDS!"
But the words she had spoken, where had they come from? It was that night, the one that had flitted like a snitch across her mind for months, ever since the war had begun in earnest. That was the night she had known. Known, deep down somewhere forbidden and consciously denied but still a part of her. She was the girl that knew things. And she'd known the only way it would end would be like this.
She had changed that night and then so much again since then. But that day. Finally, on this night, her memory shoved it to the front of her consciousness.
Maybe she'd foreseen it. Maybe that's why she'd been thinking about it so much. That day was the day she truly understood what it meant to be a hero.
It had been a night much like this night. It had felt like the end and almost had been. She remembered that room, in the Shrieking Shack, where earlier she'd seen Snape die. Another loss but one that didn't touch her like the devastation of losing Harry.
She'd been so afraid. Ron had been lying on the bed, the agony marring his face, intermixed with fear. His leg bent at that horrible angle. Sirius Black there, shabby and dangerous. And Peter. Peter Pettigrew alive and well and a rat.
And then Sirius Black wasn't a killer. They'd knocked out Snape. Peter Pettigrew still well and still alive.
She remembered Sirius Black's words as if he was speaking them today. They been yelled, screamed at Peter.
"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED. DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"
Harry had understood. Maybe he'd remembered it to. She knew with absolute certainty that however Harry died, however this had come to be, that it must have been for them. Harry, one of the bravest men she'd ever known, would have died no other way than like his father, giving his life to protect others.
He had died for them. Was it perhaps some last ditch attempt to stop Voldemort that had gone horribly wrong?
The speaker of those words was long dead. And so now was Lupin. She had seen his body in the Great Hall, she had cried over it. And Snape and Pettigrew. All gone. In fact, her and Ron were the only survivors of that night.
She had never doubted the sincerity of those words. But perhaps until this very moment she had never truly understood them. Friendship and loyalty and bravery. It was everything a life with Harry Potter had taught her. Everything she must now carry forward in what was likely her final hours.
"… killed while trying to save himself."
More lies. She had seen Harry risk his life time and time again. It went right back to their first night of friendship where he'd leapt into action when he and Ron had accidently locked her in a bathroom with a troll. Harry didn't run for help, he ran to help. So whatever Voldemort said she knew Harry had lived up to his godfather's words, that he would never have betrayed them, any of them, that he would die rather than betray them.
And then she saw Neville move. He pushed past Arthur Weasley, dodged round Professor McGonagall and charged forward, wand raised, before any of them could process what was happening. Was this it? Was this the moment to follow Neville and embrace her limited, lifeless future? Ron clearly thought the same as his wand instantly raised and he began to move. And then Neville's wand was gone and he was on the ground. Arthur's outstretched hand stopped Ron and she couldn't face it, going into the final battle without him, her soulmate, at her side.
"And who is this? Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"
She stood breathless unsure what to do. She should be there, right beside him. As Bellatrix dared speak his name, Neville Longbottom, she wanted nothing more than to be there beside him standing shoulder to shoulder with yet another example of selfless bravery. But it was not the moment, not quite yet, but it was coming soon. She watched as Neville struggled to his feet. She heard as Voldemort pronounced him pure blood, as if that meant anything. All that mattered was that Neville was pure of heart, all goodness right to his core. She heard the evidence of this from his very lips as he replied to Voldemort "so what if I am?"
"You show spirit, and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom." Harry's voice rose up instantly in her head. All those years ago, once more offering words to comfort those around him. You're worth ten of Malfoy. And he was worth hundreds of Voldemort. But she was no fool. Neville would not live through the hour. He would be another Harry, as perhaps fortune had always destined him to be. Brave enough to die for those he loved; smart enough to know how much it would matter, even if it was futile.
"I'll join you when hell freezes over. Dumbledore's Army!" he shouted as he pumped his wandless fist into the air. She screamed her agreement, a roaring giant come alive in the name of the army she had helped create.
"Dumbledore's Army! Dumbledore's Army!" The words themselves brought courage. She was part of something, a living, breathing, desperate collective. Voldemort's next words were mostly lost to her but she saw his demeanour, saw his distorted version of a smile and felt another wave of dread. Maybe it would have been better to die in the earlier battles. Would that have been less painful than whatever fresh agonies Voldemort would inflict on them?
"… on your head be it."
She felt her heart flutter, an unnatural, startled rhythm. Ron was one step ahead and she reached forward and took his hand. As Voldemort's wand twitched with a silent spell, Ron turned and took half a step back so he was once again in line with her. He could feel, she thought, the terror and the exhilaration that coursed through her. He understood it, just as he'd come to understand her in a way not even Harry had done.
"We're together. We'll be together," he whispered, just the words she needed. He always knew what she needed. She loved him fiercely, with everything she had left. Whatever happened, true peace would come as she died at his side.
Whatever Voldemort had summoned forth reached him and she realised with a wince that it was the Sorting Hat.
"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School…" It was, she knew, going to be a perversion of her own ideas. She had worried that the houses divided them but this… this was the opposite of her intentions. United in darkness, cruelty and death.
"The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone, won't they, Neville Longbottom?" His paternal ancestors had the same amount of magic as her own. But hers, she believed, had a touch more courage.
As the hat was forced onto Neville's head, her and Ron instinctively released each other and pushed forward again and she saw Ginny and Luna off to the left doing the same. But when the Death Eaters raised their wands in unison against them she stopped. It felt like she was on the beach, waiting for the biggest wave of her life to beat its path angrily to shore and crash over her. It was near, oh so near, but not yet upon her. She kept her mind focused once more on that night, that full moon of years gone by and the words, bitten into the night by an angry, bitter man. Words that brought courage and comfort, words that would guide her through her final minutes.
"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me."
The rage, the despair, the terror, all shook within her, threatening to erupt. She embraced those feelings, knowing that whatever followed those words would be unspeakable evil, the only way of life that Voldemort knew. The wave was also upon her and she stepped forward to meet it.
A flick of Voldemort's wand. Then flames. Then screaming. But she was silent as the flames licked the sides of the Sorting Hat and Neville stood there frozen, unable to save himself. Ron's left hand shot out and clenched her right forearm. It squeezed just once. To do nothing now would be a betrayal. A betrayal of Neville, and all that he had done for them and for those who had remained at Hogwarts. A betrayal of Harry and all that he had stood and died for. And she had learnt, long ago, that it was better to die than betray your friends. And Ron knew it to.
At the edge of her vision, she saw figures appear at the distant boundary of the school. Hundreds of them. Grawp appeared. It was now. It was now. She screamed out a battle cry, held her wand aloft and charged. It was better to die here, die among her friends, die with them, die for them. Just as Harry had done.