Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Written for Laura (Someone aka Me) courtesy of the Gift-Giving Extravaganza 2014. I hope you enjoy it!
When Harry comes back, you're terrified.
It's a good thing that he's returned, of course. The fact that he's alive - the fact that the D.A. will be able to rise up against the Death Eaters - is wonderful. You and the rest of the D.A. have waited a whole year for this. You've been through hell and now you're ready to fight.
That doesn't mean you're not scared. You can feel yourself trembling as you stand amongst the crowd of D.A. members, and you slip your hand into Lavender's for comfort. She squeezes it, and you move just a little closer to her as Harry talks. Just because you want to fight against the Death Eaters doesn't mean you're ready to die. You're not. You're only eighteen years old. You've spent your life in school - you haven't truly lived.
You don't want to end up another war casualty, another person who's fallen to a Death Eater's wand. Even stronger, though, is the desire to not be a coward. You don't want to be another person who turns tail and runs when the Death Eaters come, another person who turns their head when atrocities are being committed just so they're safe.
You're a Gryffindor - and bravery doesn't mean the lack of fear. It means standing tall even when you fear something - it means pushing past that fear.
It means fighting in this battle.
o0o0o0o
You're running on instinct.
For the past school year, you and the other D.A. members have been learning everything necessary to defend yourselves in a duel. You've been practicing the spells - the curses, the hexes and jinxes, the protective spells, the defenses - and even the mechanics of dodging adversaries' magic and getting out of the way. It's ingrained into your mind now, and you rely on that. Over-thinking will only trip you up. Over-thinking will only get you killed.
In the back of your mind, though, you can't help but notice how real this is. It seems like such a stupid thought - this is really war. It still shocks you, though, when you see one of your fellow D.A. members cast a Killing Curse, and her opponent falls to the floor, blank eyes reflecting green light for a fraction of a second. This isn't just practice anymore - this isn't just throwing around minor hexes and pretending it's real.
A spell jet whizzes by your face, grazing your ear, and you realize you need to stop thinking about everything. The reality of the situation will hit you later, even more. You force yourself to act instinctively again, like an animal defending its territory.
You hear a body fall to the ground farther down the hallway, and you wonder which of your friends have fallen to the Death Eaters so far tonight.
o0o0o0o
You-Know-Who - oh, what the hell, Voldemort - makes his announcement, telling everyone to give up fighting and hand over Harry Potter, and the Death Eaters retreat. You lean against the wall for a moment, catching your breath. The adrenaline is still rushing through your system, but the effects of the battle are starting to catch up to you.
You're not severely hurt - not as bad as you could have been, anyway. You have a few small cuts and burns, and you know for a fact there's a bruise or two forming from when you fell backwards down the last four stairs, but you're not in terrible shape. Merlin knows you've had worse from the Carrows over the course of the past year.
You take a deep breath and head to the Great Hall - everyone's going there, regardless of their condition. All of the injured are being treated there. All of the dead are being brought there, too, which scares you even more. You don't want to see who's among the dead, but you have to check.
You can't help but feel a twinge of happiness that you're not one of them.
The Great Hall is crowded with people, and familiar faces swim by you. You look around, registering them in your mind - Seamus. Padma. Romilda. Ginny. Many more - there's more alive than there are dead, which is a small glimmer of hope. You wander over to the area with the injured; maybe you can do some good, since you're in decent shape.
It's there that you see her - Lavender.
You were so busy worrying about yourself - worrying about the possibility of your own death - that you hadn't even considered the possibility of hers. The idea of Lavender dying is as foreign to you as the idea of the sun not shining. Lavender is one of those people who just has to live - the world wouldn't be the same without her. You wouldn't be the same without her.
You drop to your knees beside her. She's still alive, but even your untrained eye can see she's in terrible shape. Long scratches ravage her torso, a couple on her face, and there's a few gruesome bite marks. You stare at her, sliding your hand into hers again. Madam Pomfrey's fussing over her, mumbling under her breath, trying to heal her wounds.
"She's going to be all right?" you say. You want reassurance more than anything. You want someone experienced to tell you that Lavender's injuries are treatable. You want Madam Pomfrey to fix her right now.
Madam Pomfrey barely spares you a glance as she responds; she's too fixated on helping Lavender, so you're not even slightly offended. "It could go either way," she says. "I don't have all the treatment that St. Mungo's does - really, she needs to be there, but there's no way we can get her out right now. She's a strong girl, though. I'm not losing her yet."
In that moment, you hate being an adult. You hate the fact that you're old enough to hear realism and truth. You don't want realism right now - you want reassurance that the person you love the most in the world is going to live. You want happy lies and optimism. You long for the days of childhood, when 'Everything will be okay' was the mantra repeated over and over again regardless of the situation. That's what you want to hear now.
You lean down a little bit, so your face is closer to Lavender's, and you whisper, "Hold on. Hold on for me. Don't you dare die on me, Lavender Brown. I love you, damn it."
You're not sure, but you swear that you feel her hand lightly squeeze yours again.
o0o0o0o
When the battle finally ends, Lavender is still alive.
You're there with her almost the whole time. She's not well, by any means, but she's holding on to life, and she's one of the first people to be transported to St. Mungo's. You go with her, and the Healers don't protest when you wait in the chair right outside her room while they treat her. You haven't slept in a full day, and you're both physically and mentally exhausted, but you can't sleep - not until Lavender's fate is known.
One of Padma's friends - Morag - brings you some coffee from the cafe downstairs when she sees you're still up. "You're waiting for someone, too?" she says when she hands it to you. You nod - you fear that if you start talking, you'll just start crying. You take the coffee and sip it. Normally, you don't even like coffee, but it helps with staying awake, and so you finish it all.
It's hours before the Healers come out of Lavender's room. You stand up as soon as they do, knocking the now-empty cup to the floor. "Is she -" is all you can say, because you cannot bring yourself to speak the word 'dead'.
"We saved her," says a matronly-looking woman in her late forties. "You can go in and see her, if you'd like - she's awake. She is on several potions, though, so she's a little bit out of it."
You have to restrain yourself from crashing through the door. It's the hardest thing you've ever done, walking over and pushing the door open quietly, stepping inside gently so that she doesn't startle Lavender. There's a chair by the bed, already set up for you, and you sit down. Lavender looks over at you and tries to smile. "Ow," she mumbles. "M'face hurts."
"Don't talk if it hurts," you say. You feel like crying again, although now it's tears of joy. "Merlin. I'm so glad you're alive. I was so worried about you." You reach out and touch her shoulder. She doesn't wince or react, so you let your hand rest lightly there. You can see her eyes light up ever-so-slightly. "You're going to be fine," you say.
"Mm," Lavender says. She wiggles her hand slightly, gesturing you closer. You lean over, bringing your head close to hers again like you did in the Great Hall. "Heard you," she whispers, and you pull back, confused.
"You heard me? Heard me what?"
She tugs on your sleeve, pulling you closer again. When she whispers, it's slow, each word incredibly deliberate. You hope she's not hurting herself further. "You said...don't die. Hold on. Love you."
You stare at her. She heard what you said in the Great Hall? You didn't think she could have ever heard that - she didn't seem conscious. You feel some heat rise to your cheeks, but Lavender just offers up a tiny little smile, her eyes bright. "I didn't think you could hear me," you say quietly.
Lavender reaches for your other hand, and you let her take it. She squeezes it again, her eyes drifting closed for more than a few seconds at a time as the potions start to kick in and make her drowsy. Just before she drifts off to sleep, she whispers, "Love you too."
You smile and curl up in the chair, resting your head on the arm of it. Soon enough, you'll have to deal with the consequences of the battle - the deaths and injuries and the remaining Death Eaters and rebuilding Hogwarts. But right now, you think, everything about the world feels perfect.
You fall asleep only a few minutes after Lavender does, and despite all the things you've witnessed, you have pleasant dreams.