A/N Don't own them, ya, right, you know, standard disclaimer stuff.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. -Alexander Pope
Stupid Gryffindor bravery, stupid Gryffindor courage. That was what all of this boiled down to. That was what she had to blame. She tried to dry the tears that kept on falling, every bit as stubborn as she was. He was gone because of some stupid maligned sense of courage, gone because of some stupid, foolish sense of bravery that he had to live up to. Gone because of stupid bloody Gryffindor.
It wasn't bravery. It wasn't courage. What he had done wasn't an act of heroically sacrificing himself for the good of others. It was an act of stupidity, of foolishness. Why couldn't he see that before he had done it? He'd gone in hoping, wanting, wishing to play the hero, and he had gotten killed for it. Sure, he took out a bevy of Death Eaters with him, but he was still gone. All because of wanting to make something of himself.
That was all he wanted. To get out of the shadows of five older brothers, each of whom had their own legacy, were heroes in their own rights. He was the youngest one of them all, and he wanted to be the greatest. He wanted to live up to being more than Bill, more than Charlie, more than Percy, more than the twins, he wanted to be the best of them all. And so he tried to play the hero. And he had failed. He mustered up all that Gryffindor courage, and blindly, courageously went in.
Sure, he may have died a hero, but that didn't make things easier to bear. The order of Merlin, first class, wasn't any use to her. Wasn't any use to him either, now. The Order of Merlin was simply a reminder of what an idiot he had been to even try it. He shouldn't have gone in there, in the first place. He should have been more sensible, more practical. But those were never traits of a true Gryffindor.
She didn't want to cry, it felt wrong to cry over someone who had so foolishly taken their own life by rushing in. He always wanted to die a hero, go down in a blaze of glory, and he had gotten his wish. It's just that his death came far too soon. He was so young, still had so much to live for. It may have been a trite, cliché thing to say, but it was true.
He shouldn't have died in such a foolish way. She wanted to find someone to blame, but the only person she could blame was him, for doing what he did. Him, and Gryffindor. Blame Gryffindor for what it had done to him, for turning him into a reckless fool. If he'd only been sorted into Ravenclaw, to Hufflepuff, even to Slytherin, he'd still be alive. It was that he was a Gryffindor that he had this stupid sense of courage, and that was what had gotten him killed. She hated the house she had been sorted into. It was the only thing she had to blame for killing her best friend.