For the 40 characters, 20 pop songs competition, with the characters Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner and the song Hall of Fame by The Script.
Also for the Song Fic Boot Camp with the same song and the prompt "school."
I owe about a million thanks to Karyn (Kailey Hamilton) for her story "Resistance," which partially inspired this one, especially in Anthony's characterization. (Though they couldn't be considered part of the same verse.)
This is directly related to my stories All We Know is Falling, War Photographer: Memento Mori, and Morsmordre. While they interconnect, each story stands alone.
On September the first, at King's Cross, Anthony Goldstein stared not at the scarlet engine in front of him, but toward the brick wall that served as entrance to the platform. Ten minutes before the Hogwarts Express would leave, and still the platform was sparse, and nearly silent. Acquaintances he'd had for years wouldn't make eye contact, looking down, staying close to family. His own breathing, which had been quick and uneven, steadied when he saw the Patil twins walk through the brick wall. He smiled and headed toward them, kissing Padma softly. "They let you come?"
"Only just," Padma said. "And only because we reminded them schooling for Purebloods is mandatory. They knew how much trouble they would be in if we didn't go."
He pulled her against himself, her head finding its place just below his collarbone. "I'm glad. I don't think I could do this without you."
"Even with you, I'm not sure I can do this," she confessed, her voice barely audible over the whistle from the train.
Parvati left them for her Gryffindor friends and Anthony and Padma found a compartment with Michael Corner, for which he was grateful. If there was anyone he could trust, anyone he would want to go through this year with, it was him.
"How was your summer, mate?" Anthony asked as they sat down, trying to keep the air of normalcy.
"The same as everyone else's," he replied gloomily. "I didn't lose too many, though, thankfully."
"Me, either," Anthony said, but squeezed Padma's hand tightly. He knew the same could not be said for her friends. "But we'll be at Hogwarts, soon," he added with confidence. "It can only get better."
A month and a half into the school year, the Ravenclaw seventh years were bunkered into their Common Room, reassuring trembling younger students, and being braver than they felt themselves. Padma had begun nursing the younger students, Anthony watched with admiration, tending to their wounds physical and mental alike. While she worked, Anthony, who couldn't stand the blood, hung back in a cozy armchair near Michael, his Book of Psalms open on his lap.
Keep talking to God, he told himself, over and over again, finding the Psalms where David thought that all was lost. Keep banging on his door. And so when words for his own prayers wouldn't come, he would pray the words of David, who seemed to understand.
"Why do Neville and Ginny get all the attention?" Michael said suddenly, and Anthony nearly dropped his book.
"And Luna," he added. "I suppose because they seem to be doing most. They've certainly been doing most of the planning for the attacks."
"But, well, what about us? Why can't we?"
"I don't see why we can't. It might cost us a lot, though."
"It doesn't matter," Michael said with more stubbornness than Anthony had seen him with in all their years of friendship. "I'm not going to wait for luck. We can beat this - the war, the world. We can do it. I don't need to wait for the D.A. coin to warm my pocket to act."
"Just... just, be careful," Anthony said. "We're Ravenclaws. Don't leave your brain behind."
The next day, the D.A. planned a rescue mission to free Michael from his chains. Battered, his face bloodied and bruised, his hands ripped open along the knuckles; his cries were anguish. He limped toward Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing between Anthony and Padma. "Where did you leave your brain?" Anthony asked, all concern of a friend, and no accusation at all.
"You should hear the things they say, those Carrows. It's just... I get Seamus, now. You can't help but talk back. Even when they torture you."
"Be sure to draw a line, though, mate. I know you want to make it into some kind of Hall of Fame, but please don't let it be as a martyr."
Before he had the chance to respond, they reached the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey ushered him in, shooing Anthony and Padma away.
It never got better, not even for a second. Losing Luna on the train home for Christmas hit the Ravenclaws especially hard, and seemed to make them especially vicious. To Anthony's dismay, Michael was getting himself in nearly as much trouble as Seamus, though neither could compare to Neville and Ginny.
"I want to, though," Michael said one day. "Do you think Harry left Neville in charge? I doubt it. I mean, he's Neville. We know what he was like. I could've done it, Anthony. It could have been me sending out the message, rallying everyone together. For Britain. For Hogwarts. For each other. I could've done it, I know I could've done it." He paused, nursing a bruised elbow from two days before. Their entire Muggle Studies class had been taken down under Alecto's mad Crucios. Madam Pomfrey had healed them all, but then just yesterday they had to fight a close battle to keep her; the Carrows seemed to realize they would never win with her around.
She didn't go down without a fight, but when faced with their first real chance for battle, the D.A. had lost. Anthony was a Ravenclaw; this fact was not lost on him. That evening, Padma buried her face in his shoulder and cried, while he prayed over and over again for strength of his own so he would have some to give her. "I'll have to be Healer now, for us," she said. "Susan and I."
"Yes," he answered, for there was nothing else to say. "But you can do it."
They were in the Room of the Requirement, all banished there after a rescue mission, a hallway Battle. Hammocks slung around the room, everyone sitting around, wondering what could be done next. Seamus came through the entry, battered, and Susan was immediately at his side, helping.
Anthony didn't know about the others, but the lack of privacy, the constant togetherness, was wearing on him. He missed his bed with its curtain, the times he could spend alone, reading the Torah, just being by himself. Even Michael didn't seem to like it, but his reason was different. "Why do we keep looking to Neville like he's our hero? Sitting around, waiting for luck? Waiting for Harry Potter to come back?" he hissed one day before dinner, when Neville was at the Hog's Head arranging for food.
"It'll be me on the walls in the hall of fame, just wait."
"Michael, be careful. Watch what you say. Look at Harry, look at Neville. They're being hunted like animals. Is that what you want for yourself?"
"If that's what it takes to beat them. I don't think Harry's coming back. We need to do this ourselves."
That night, Harry came back, and the Battle for Hogwarts began. In the chaos, Anthony was separated from both Padma and Michael, doing what he could to fight. He didn't keep track of the number of lives he was responsible for ending. He didn't look down to see the vacant stares of dead classmates, dead teachers. He didn't think of Harry even when he was asked to. He wasn't fighting for Harry.
He fought for England. He fought for Hogwarts.
He never wanted to be an Auror, a warrior of any kind. He was content to be a student, maybe to be a teacher or a preacher one day. It surprised him how much he picked up because of the D.A. They taught him to be a champion.
Every kind of future disappeared as curses flashed and wounds bled and were ignored. There was only now, and in that moment, he understood Michael's obsession. He could be a champion. He could, maybe, join the hall of fame, too.
In the aftermath of the battle, in the cold bitter sweetness of a war won and lives lost, Anthony found Padma first. She was doing what she was meant to do, running around with Susan, Healing those she could, comforting the friends and family of those she couldn't. She didn't approach her twin, who lay fretting over Lavender's body. Anthony couldn't blame her; it was so much easier to comfort strangers, acquaintances. Finally, her work seemed to be complete and Anthony felt like it was time to approach her.
"Padma," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "You've done brilliantly."
"So have you," she said, leaning up to plant an innocent kiss on his lips. "I saw you fighting. I didn't know you had it in you."
He shrugged. "Neither did I. But I can see now why Michael likes the idea of it."
Padma's face contorted. "Oh, no. You haven't seen?"
"Seen what?"
"This way," she said, taking his hand and walking with purpose through the Great Hall.
He knew before they got there. He knew and broke away from Padma, rushing to Michael's lifeless side. A young boy clicked his camera as Anthony knelt over the body; Anthony ignored it. There was nothing outside this moment, nothing outside the triumphant look still lingering in Michael's eyes. He knelt, and he wept.
Padma's footsteps approached him, and she knelt beside him, arms around him the way she had already comforted so many others. "Anthony, maybe it would be better if you..."
"It's okay, Padma. I'll be back in a minute," Anthony said. The words were hard to get out; his throat felt like it was being squeezed together with all the effort it took to keep his eyes in check. It really did feel like choking. Padma nodded and walked away. He had always been told that God's door was open for banging on at all hours, but now? Here at the body of his best friend? "Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death..." it was the closest to a prayer he could manage, spilling out the words of David like a eulogy over Michael's body. "You'll be on the walls in the hall of fame, mate." Just like he wanted, Anthony thought to himself. Just like he wanted.
Sure enough, months later, Anthony Goldstein stood onstage beside Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, holding in his hand an Order of Merlin, Second Class for himself, and an Order of Merlin, First Class, for his best friend.
As life continued and Anthony grew older, he found himself visiting the war memorial on occasion, tracing his fingers over the letters of his friend's name. When Padma and Anthony had their first son, it was no question what they would call him.