Disclaimer; I do not own Harry Potter; I merely own most memorabilia, books, movies, and posters.
A/N; This is told from Neville's POV.
Of the brightest memories I have left, many are of my fourth year.
It was one of the best years of my life, but it was one of the worst.
I don't remember it as well as some of the others- Hermione, perhaps, or Harry could tell you everything important, or Luna to learn of the trivial things, like what days Hannah or Ernie or Crabe were sick or when exactly Honeydukes got a shipment of brand-new licorice snaps - but I've never been known for my memory. But some things- small things, random things that will never go down in the history books or be retold throughout the centuries as people speak of the great Harry Potter and his battles or be laughed about at reunions because very few were there- stick out in my memory, like a thumb that's been smashed by a Muggle hammer, like the brightest star in the night sky. History will overlook the small things- maybe it'll forget Ron's great fear of spiders, or Dumbledore's love of lemon drops or perhaps Luna's snorgacks or perhaps Smith or Mrs. Norris or Professor Sprout or all the others who stood and watched as Harry Potter became the hero he was born to be will fall into darkness or maybe Parvati will fade into Ginny or Luna or Hermione during the champions' dance- but those who lived through remember correctly. Our forth year... Very few things do I remember now, but those I do are as clear as glass.
Mad-Eye Moody.
He came in during the opening feast and I knew there was something strange about him- not that I saw through his disguise or saw him for what he was or anything of the sort. In a flash of lightning, this nutcase walked in and we were left to stare, light upon our retinas and a strange feeling rushing along our back. Later, when I saw the true Mad-Eye, the same feeling would rush over me like a waterfall: this man had been hurt by the Death Eaters.
I hated Death Eaters, and still do. The Death Eaters had made my parents so lost inside themselves they didn't know who they were or who I was. However, these Death Eaters were the ones who had supported the greatest evil, just as I- and many others- supported Harry, the greatest good; now I sometimes wonder if my hatred was misplaced- that perhaps all wizards were in some way the same. They were the shadows to our sunshine, the darkness to our light.
The Cruciatus Curse.
Barty Crouch Jr.- Professor Moody, as I knew him as at the time- showed us the three Unforgivable Curses. At first I had thought that perhaps it would be better for me to see it, to look evil in the eye when it reared its ugly head. But I was wrong. It chilled me to the bone- This was what my parents had lived through?
Barty Crouch Jr.
I hated him.
I hated him with every ounce of hate I could muster. This man was one of those who had tortured my parents, left them to know nothing and no one, faded, broken creatures alone in their own little worlds, shutting me out and leaving me with nothing of them but a few broken memories and hospital visits- nothing real. I think now that he showed us the curses just to torture us- Harry, me, and the others who'd lost people, lost friends, lost family, to these curses, so unforgivable, so cruel, and so inhuman.
Ginny.
I think the Yule Ball was the first time any of us ever really saw her. Sure, she was in the halls or in your Potions class, but she was just a faded figure just like anyone else, a nothing. In that, we were alike. For so long, I had been a nothing, perhaps a punching bag or a spell tester, but never a human, a person, to anyone but my few friends.
Maybe no one would have seen her in a forever if Victor Krum didn't ask Hermione to the ball. Maybe everything would've turned out differently and I would've gone to the ball with Hermione just so I didn't look pathetic, and Ginny Weasly would stay a faded nothing, just like me.
But Krum did ask Hermione to the dance, and Hermione did say yes before I asked and I did ask Ginny and she did say yes.
I regret to this day that I told her she was back-up. I remember the small dawning that came into her face- she was second best. She was not my first choice. And I think that was the moment when I first saw Ginny: before the Ball, before the music and the dress. It was the first time I saw her glory, her radiance, her shinning soul. And it was that moment I fell in love with Ginny Weasly. Perhaps she would never know it- perhaps it would stay inside me. Maybe my face was destined to be red when ever she was near, my heart would thump in my chest when she spoke, and my soul would long to cry out to her, "Ginny, I love you!" and never do it. Maybe I would watch her fall in love with someone else, marry him, have children with him, and die with him and maybe I would do nothing and let her. Or maybe I would find the courage and tell her, and she would see my glory, my radiance, my shinning soul and maybe she would fall in love with me and marry me and have children with me and die with me.
The Yule Ball.
It was beautiful- the hall was beautiful, the people were beautiful, Ginny was beautiful.
We danced- Ginny, her red hair sleek, red-and-green robes flowing around her, dainty feet stomped on by my clumsiness, and me, a clumsy, blushing fool who couldn't get one step right, a faded nothing compared to the radiant being next to me, the glowing maiden, a true Christmas angel. She didn't mind when I trod on her feet, she just laughed, her laugh like the ringing of a thousand bells, like the winter snow falling quietly outside, like a harp played by angels. She didn't care when we ran into Angelina and Fred, punch spilling all over her dress, she just laughed that angel laugh, that bell laugh, that snowy laugh.
And the magic never stopped, the true magic, the musical magic that kept us alive and happy and dancing, singing out to the Weird Sisters' songs, letting ourselves be free and glowing before going back to the faded nothings that we all were sure we were meant to be, before we went back to the lies and the blank faces.
But we weren't made to be faded figures meant only for the crowd or hallways, watching, waiting for a hero to come and save us from this; the faded picture of black and white so many saw, forgetting the radiant being we let loose at the Yule Ball, surrounded by the music and color and light and laughter, letting that shinning self stay inside it's cold, dark box somewhere inside ourselves. We were the heroes, the glowing faces, the bright light in the darkest of times, the candles flicking in a cold night; we were not these faded, broken creatures, like a plant without sunlight.
Was it Ginny who taught us that, the faded angel behind Harry Potter, second best forever and for never, the one who would be the first to follow the hero down the path of radiance, the first to let the singing girl in the green-and-red robes out forever, a true hero of the shinning souls within?
Or was it Luna, her light shinning forever, unnoticed behind veils of oddity, the one who had never hidden the girl in the lion hat, the dancing, singing girl of radiance, her silver eyes shinning like polished glass, like her soul, and from deep within her eyes one would always find peace jumping upon them, like a pouncing tiger from within this laughing young girl with the raven on her head, the lover of humanity, seer of their lights?
Was it Harry, the brightest light in the darkness, a hero, but one of us as well, one of those faded mask-wearers, one of the simple people, one of the dancers hidden inside, with his calm mask making us believe, even as some lay dieing and thought nothing of themselves, they just wished that he would win, their last breaths gasping, "Victory for Hogwarts!", their eyes going milky, their last thoughts on the tomorrow that hey would never see, Harry's perfect, glowing tomorrow?
Or Ron, the laughter in his chest never died, a happy light shinning from deep within his soul, forever glowing, eyes showing the embarrassed dancer wanting to spring forth, a lion in a cat's body, the loyal one, the unwavering trust in the radiance?
Or was it Hermione, an angel in her own way, a glowing witch, finally letting the dancing girl out, her faded face glowing as it did on night as she danced with Victor Krum, letting herself shine the way it did when her love held her, letting it shine like that always, even when Ron was not near, letting us all see that glow, letting us understand her, letting herself be an open book?
Or was it me, the faded, jaded figure paling in comparison to the sparkle of Ginny Weasly as we both sang out in time to the music, who would never be the best but would someday learn to shine, like the sun, like the moon, like a shooting star across the midnight sky?
We would never know where that light came from, the shinning light that made us go on, that made us fight for our forever, our future. We would only watch as the darkness was vanquished by our growing light.
Year four.
It was the best year of my life, but it was the worst. It was the year Neville, the faded, broken, talentless boy died, and the year Neville, the glowing one, the dancing one, was born, and took the first step down the path of radiance.
And then, that joyful Neville began to dance.
A/N: And... We're done! Please review, constructive criticism is much loved!