Title: Hero
Author: molly22
Summary: Hermione, Harry, and Ron are trying to move on after Neville is killed in the final battle between good and Voldemort. One chapter only.
Rating: PG-13 for "thematic elements"
Pairings: None, not really. A little hints at Ron/Hermione, although barely, and they could be perceived as...well, not hints. Oh, and some really unemotional Hermione/Neville.
A/N: I began writing this with the intent to create a parody of the Goth Hermione. It didn't really turn out that way. It might be a little cheesy, so just bear with me. My second attempt (first finished) at a DRAMATIC Harry Potter fanfiction, and it didn't even start out that way. Life is weird.
Disclaimer: It doesn't belong to me. It belongs to JKR...-grumbles-...
EDIT: I wrote this story listening to "Abra Cadaver" by the Hives, and, as a result misspelled Kedavra of Avada Kedavra (The Killing Curse). So...sorry about that. And don't listen to that song while writing that word over and over. It'll only confuse you.
- - - - - - -
It was on an unusually warm October afternoon, as she stared for hours at her reflection in the dormitory mirror. Her busy hair was pulled back, her face pale and cosmetic-free, her sad eyes gently probing her own image.
Just two months earlier Voldemort had been defeated–not by Harry Potter, but, in a surprising twist, by Neville Longbottom. Neville had sacrificed his life to save everyone. Neville. Of all people, it was Neville.
She had been dating him back then. If you can even call it that. She didn't even know why they were together. They were friends, sure, but they were certainly not anything more. But she had broken up with Viktor (the long-distance relationship was not only hard to manage, but it had lost most of its affection and warmth and color; they still corresponded, but it was just as friends), and Neville had long since given up his crush on Luna as going nowhere. Two lonely souls, just sort of together.
Of course they participated in the expected couple rituals. Meaningless kisses, empty words, and hollow caresses.
But, hard as she tried, she didn't remember the good times with Neville. The happiness.
All she could recall was that night in August...
The heat made everything, every movement feel sluggish and heavy. She clung tightly to Ron, on whose broom she rode, terrified of falling. Neville rode with Moody, she believed, or perhaps one of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix who had not already Apparated to the scene; Ginny was with Harry.
They were recklessly flying to London, their destination Diagon Alley. A surprise attack there by Voldemort had caused Dumbledore to quickly assemble the Order and those were also to help (Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny). Dumbledore did not want to risk the students' lives, but this was Harry's fight. He knew it to be so. They all knew. As for the others, they would not let their friend fight alone.
Oh, but at that moment, Hermione almost regretted going. She loved Harry. He was her best friend. But she didn't want to die. For her parents, and her friends, and, also, for her. It was selfish, but it was true. She knew she was smart, knew she had a future, and she didn't want to lose that.
But she didn't want to lose her friends even more. Didn't want to lose the world.
She didn't speak of her fears as they landed on the ground–to many surprised and horrified looks from muggles. Quickly, they made their way through the Leaky Cauldron and to the brick wall which could grant them entrance. The large group waited as Lupin speedily tapped the bricks and the doorway opened–to reveal a world of chaos and misery, the likes of which Hermione had never seen.
Olivander's was no more. Flourish and Blotts was decimated. The stores were ravaged and destroyed. But they were the least of the problems. The wizards and witches were shrieking and crying. Young children, probably there to buy a new broomstick, or something of the like, were cowering behind their mothers and fathers. Already twenty or more lay dead in the street. Terror reigned.
Shaken, Hermione turned to Harry. "What can we do? Oh, Harry, what can we do?"
As Harry went to reply, Tonks approached. She looked worn and grim. "Good. You're here. We need all the help we can get. We haven't found Him yet, although we've taken care of several of his followers."
"Where's Dumbledore?" Ron asked warily.
Tonks frowned deeper. "Searching." After a moment, she said, "You two–" She pointed to the young Weasleys. "Help these people. If they're already dead . . . leave them. Your parents are doing the same thing, if I'm not mistaken." Gesturing to Hermione, Harry, and Neville, she said, "You three come with me."
As they followed Tonks, Hermione whispered fervently, "It's so . . ."
"I know," Harry said. Neville nodded.
"I can't seem to remember any curses," she added.
Neville suggested, "Just breathe. You'll be okay. It'll be okay." He turned to Harry. "Right?"
Harry paused, looking somewhat thrown. Finally, he said, "Yes. Of course. Everything will be fine. We'll be fine."
As they passed what had once been a cauldron shop, a figure in gray came barreling out of nowhere, knocking the four of them to the ground. Hermione looked up quickly to see a blue shot of light zooming over them.
"Are you alright?" Dumbledore, the man in gray, asked quickly, his eyes wandering, looking for something . . . someone.
"Y-yes," Neville stuttered.
Dumbledore nodded, then said, "Good. Be careful." He turned to hurry away, but as he began to turn, he froze.
Hermione, Harry, and Neville all followed his gaze. It was Voldemort. He was just there, in the open. They had been expecting it, but it still seemed impossible.
"Hello, Dumbledore. And Harry. How are you?" the tall, menacing man said, smiling a sadistic smile. "And this girl, she must be Hermione Granger, the mudblood I have heard so much about from one of my Death Eaters. And you–you look familiar." His smile grew wider. "Ah, yes. Longbottom, isn't it? How are your parents?"
Neville said nothing.
Harry, on the other hand, said something Mrs. Weasley would have been very shocked to hear coming from his mouth, and he pulled out his wand and aimed.
Dumbledore got there first, shouting a curse at his opponent. Voldemort easily deflected it, and he pulled out his wand. "Avada Kedavra," he said, and a green light shot out towards Dumbledore. He moved quickly to avoid it.
They battled it out for a few more minutes, but to no avail. Neither was winning. Neither was losing. Hermione was shocked. She had such faith in Dumbledore, and now he couldn't stop Voldemort? She scolded herself. Why had she thought it would be so easy?
And then–in the blink of an eye something changed. Voldemort was halfway through muttering a curse at Dumbledore, when he turned, pointed his wand at Harry, and said, "Avada Kedavra."
Hermione, without thinking, pushed Harry out of the way. The curse hit no one. In one quick movement, Voldemort blocked Dumbledore's spell as he sent another Death Curse Harry's way. Harry avoided it, luckily, once again. Voldemort went to try it a third time, and, just as the words were on his lips, out burst Neville with, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The green jet hit Voldemort square in the chest.
But he was not dead. It would not be that simple.
But, again, Neville bellowed, "Avada Kedavra." Over and over, attempting to dodge Voldemort's curses, he shouted the words. Harry, Dumbledore, Hermione, Tonks, and others–including Hagrid, Snape, and Mr. Weasley–fought off Death Eaters.
Finally, Voldemort fell.
He was not dead. He could not just die like that. But he had fallen.
Dumbledore approached him, wand still outstretched. Cautious. He looked at him carefully. "I believe that he's knocked unconscious," he said. "The mass quantity, the rage–and love–behind it must have somehow–"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Voldemort was not unconscious. He was awake. Or he had woken. And, with, it seemed, the last bit of remaining energy he had, he sent a Death Curse not to Harry, not to Dumbledore, but to Neville.
The boy–for he was only a boy–crumpled to ground instantly.
Hermione was vaguely aware of Harry staring on and someone–perhaps Tonks, or Mr. Weasley, or even Dumbledore–crying softly. The noises around her filled her ears, until all she heard was a buzzing. No screams, no sobs, no loss, no pain, no suffering. All she heard was noise, with no distinguished sound. Just noise.
Hermione snapped out of her reverie at a soft tapping on the door"Yes?" she called to whom she hoped was no one.
"It's Ginny. Can I come in?"
"Sure," Hermione said lamely. "Come in."
The younger girl entered. Her bright hair was in braids, and she wore a pretty summer dress. "Hi."
"Isn't it a bit cool to be wearing that?"
Ginny sighed. "Hermione, it's nice out. You should come out with me."
Hermione declined politely.
"I won't take no for an answer. Please. It'll do you good."
Her lips narrowed, but, finally, Hermione said, "Well, I suppose."
As they headed out to the grounds, they didn't speak. Perhaps Ginny didn't want to prod into Hermione's obviously gloomy thoughts. Or, perhaps, they just had nothing to say.
Finally, they reached the lake. Harry and Ron were playing wizard's chess under a tree, both smiling, if somewhat tightly. Luna was also outside, it seemed. She sat motionless not too far off. Hermione half thought that she wasn't even breathing. Thankfully, Draco Malfoy and his friends were nowhere to be seen. Since the detainment of the Dark Lord, none of them had quite been in spirits, especially since most of their parents were rotting in Azkaban.
The two girls made their way over to Harry and Ron, the latter smiling brightly when he saw her. "Hermione, you're outside," Ron said. "I mean," he added quickly, at Ginny's warning look, "there's nothing unusual about that. You're always outside. Not always, o' course. You're in the library a lot. Uh . . . blimey, Hermione, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."
Grinning slightly, she responded, "You said exactly the right thing."
Ron's ears went pink
Hermione said, "Harry. Are you . . . ready?"
"Yeah." Harry hesitated before adding, "Are you ready for tonight?"
She paused. "I think I am."
- - - - - - - - -
"Throughout the years," Dumbledore was saying, "we have lost lives here at Hogwarts, lives that should never have been taken. Do I blame others? Yes. Blame Voldemort? I certainly do. But I also lay the blame on myself. Neville Longbottom should not have been allowed to fight Voldemort. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ginny and Ron Weasley, should not have been allowed to fight Voldemort. But they wanted to fight him. I shouldn't have let them go. But they would have gone anyway.
"I am not trying to blame them in any way. Neville's death is not his own fault. He was a hero. A true hero. Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron are all heroes. You–all of you who were good, who did not do what was easy, did not simply join with Voldemort, who remember my plea three years ago, my wish that you would not do what was easy, and that you would do what was right. You are all heroes. You did what was right. Neville did what was right. Cedric Diggory did what was right.
"But while I loved both boys as I love all of your students, I cannot say that I knew them well. There were those who knew the people who died here at Hogwarts, and they will speak to you tonight."
Dumbledore retreated as Harry took his spot in front of everyone. "There was a girl, years and years ago, named Myrtle. She died here at Hogwarts, after being looked in the eye by a Basilisk. I fought and killed this same Basilisk in my second year here, and I did it partially for Myrtle who haunts the girls' toilet. Myrtle who did nothing to deserve her death. I killed the Basilisk for others as well. Every student here at Hogwarts. Every student that would come to Hogwarts one day. For my friend Hagrid, and for my friend Hermione. For Ginny Weasley.
"And even though I won the fight, Myrtle is still dead. People who I love are still dead. My parents, as you all know. My godfather. And killing what killed them won't bring them back. Killing a Basilisk doesn't bring Myrtle back. Killing Lord Voldemort won't bring my parents back.
"And people die, and its terrible, and I know this isn't a very good speech. But, when you lose someone, someone like Myrtle, or Neville, or your parents, or your godfather, or whoever, you have to remember that they wouldn't want you to suffer. They would want you to remember them, but they would also want you to live.
"So don't forget Myrtle. Don't forget Neville. Don't forget Cedric. Keep them in your hearts, but don't stop living.
"I'd like to end my little speech by reading a muggle poem by Christina Rossetti I remember reading years ago:
"Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that I once had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad."
In a choked voice, Harry said, "Now, Cho Chang of Ravenclaw will say a few words."
Cho stepped onto the platform, as Harry took his seat next to Hermione and Ron. "Good job, Harry," Hermione whispered.
"You were great," Ron added. "I just wish I could say something."
Hermione put her hand on his. "It's okay. You're here, and you are being supportive and that's the important thing."
"Bu–"
"Shh," Hermione said. "Listen to Cho."
Cho took a deep breath. "This isn't going to be a very long speech, so I want all of you to listen hard. I didn't know Neville Longbottom. But I am sorry that he died. I am. But, as Harry pointed out, he wasn't the only person to die. Cedric Diggory died three years ago at the hands of You-Know-Who. But he wasn't even an enemy of You-Know-Who. He was just a boy in a bad situation. He was someone's son, someone's friend, someone's boyfriend. I loved Cedric." She sighed. "His loss was a tragic one. He was a good person, and he didn't do anything to deserve his death. His murder. I didn't know Neville Longbottom. But I know, like Cedric, he was someone's son, someone's friend, someone's boyfriend. And I thank Neville. And I miss Neville. Because he helped to avenge Cedric's death, and so many other deaths. Never forget Cedric and Neville. For what they've done, and what they could've done." She looked out at the crowd. "Hermione? Uh, I think you're up."
Hermione gulped. "Hermione, you'll do great," assured Ron. "Yeah. For Neville," Harry said quietly. She stood and made her way to the platform.
As she stared out at the crowd, she wondered how many of them actually knew Neville? Cared about him? How many shed even one tear over his death?
Steadying herself, Hermione began: "I wasn't in love with Neville Longbottom." No one moved. No one seemed to know what to say to that. "He wasn't the boy, the one boy. I don't even know if there is a 'one boy,' but if there is, he wasn't it. But even though I wasn't in love with Neville, I loved him so much. He was one of the greatest friends you could have. He was sweet and smart, and he was the best damn Herbology student any of us have ever seen." She blushed. "Sorry. But he was great at Herbology. And even though he wasn't in love with me, he still treated me wonderfully. He was a gentleman. Yes, he sometimes fumbled with words. He could be clumsy. And he had a terrible memory. But those weren't flaws to me–those were simply things that I found more endearing that ever about him.
"There are things I regret not saying. Things I'm sure many of us regret not saying. And I want to tell him, 'Thank you, Neville, for what you did for all of us. Every last one of us.' I also want to slap him and ask him why he was such an idiot. Why he had to be the hero.
"But there's always a hero among us. There are those we know for certain are heroes, those who you count on to be heroes for you. And there are those who are your own personal heroes, and they have no idea that they are your hero. And then there are those like Neville who you would never suspect of being a hero, and then, as it turns out, he is one of the greatest heroes you've ever seen.
"To be a hero, I think you also have to be a bit of an idiot, too. I think Neville was both, and I love him for it."
She held up a glass. "To Neville, to Cedric, to Myrtle. To those we have lost, and those we will lose."
She drank deeply, a smile on her lips.
- - - - -
A/N: That was the most intense thing I have ever written. Whoa. So, what did you think? Too much with the angst? Too little of the angst? Offended that Harry wasn't the savior? Annoyed that Voldemort was so easily defeated? Please let me know.
Oh, and about the Voldemort thing, the reason he was defeated (although not killed–he was "detained") was because there was so much force and strength and hate and rage and love (for him parents, friends, and grandmother) and he said "Avada Kedavra" so many times. It just kind of worked. I tried to get that message through in the story, but some people might not have gotten it.