A/N: Here we are… the final part of my story. The companion track for this chapter is "Lion/Lamb" by Low. It is simple, but when I first heard the song, I instantly visualized Harry's walk into the Forbidden Forest and I cried. Originally this chapter was going to be Harry's perspective, but Kellen pointed out to me that it was already written… by JKR! Yeah, so I'm not going to even try to measure up to that. After much discussion, I realized that there is another Gryffindor's perspective to write from… Neville Longbottom! Now, I don't really understand Neville's character very well, but I did a lot of reading and research (went to the library as it were… hehe) and this is the end result. Without further ado, here is the conclusion of Gryffindor Spirit.

A hush had fallen over Hogwarts. Halls that had once reverberated with the chaos of war; now lay in silence. Yet no matter how hard he tried Neville was unable to stop the ringing in his ears; the remnant of past explosions. He had to get back to work. Voldemort's cease fire probably wouldn't last long and the bodies needed to be moved out of the way. Yes, these fallen warriors were dead, but they were loved and lost. The least they deserved was not to be trampled in further battle.

His eyes scoured the destroyed courtyard and fell on what appeared to be a crumpled Gryffindor house robe. A lump formed in his throat. As he approached, he quickly realized that the robe was a person- the small body of Colin Creevey. He knew that Colin had been expelled from Hogwarts this year because he was muggleborn.

"He wasn't supposed to fight… he was supposed to be safe. He and his brother were in hiding. He must have snuck back in. But, really… I would have done the same thing. There's no way I would stop fighting."

He and Colin were Gryffindors. They couldn't run away from their friends, their family, or their school. It just couldn't be done.

"Do ya' need a hand?"

Neville spun around to see Oliver Wood. He remembered him from his first year at Hogwarts. Oliver had been the seventh year Gryffindor quidditch captain. He had been strong, tall, and brave… everything Neville thought he never could be when he grew up. But now they found themselves in the same place. War seemed to do that to people. It was the great equalizer.

"Yeah… sure…" Neville mumbled and cleared his throat.

"Did ya' know him?" Oliver questioned as they simultaneously stooped to lift Colin; Oliver at his feet and Neville at his shoulders.

"Yeah… we were both members of Dumbledore's army. He loved taking photographs of all of us." Neville couldn't help but give a quiet snort at this memory.

"I think he got a little carried away his first year. He would always hassle Harry for signed photos. But when people doubted Harry, he stood by him. Insisted that he and his brother should join the DA the moment he heard about it."

Oliver gave a curt nod. "Sounds like a good kid."

Neville felt his eyes glass over. He cleared his throat against the lump that persisted there. They carried Colin in respective silence until they entered the castle.

"You know what? I can manage him alone, Neville," said Oliver, and he heaved Colin's small body over his shoulder and carried him into the Great Hall.

Neville was tired. He took a moment to lean against a nearby door frame and gather his thoughts. He wiped his trickling forehead before any liquid could get in his eyes. A mixture of dirt, sweat and (hopefully) his blood were on the back of his hand. He would need to find Madam Pomfrey at some juncture to repair the more serious of his injuries. Now was not the time. After a quick mental inventory of his injuries, he realized that he had come out of the battle pretty much unharmed. ("I mean, what's a couple more cuts and bruises?") He had a slight limp from the sharp way he had twisted his knee, but he was still able to walk on it.

His thoughts went to the bodies now laid to rest in the Great Hall. Colin was the newest addition to a long list of friends and family he had lost. How much more loss could he sustain? He thought of his parents and was reminded anew of what could have been. It was because of Voldemort that he was practically an orphan. It was because of the Death Eaters that his parents seemed unaware that they even had a son.

He had always been proud of his parents; proud to be their son. But growing up, sometimes he wished that it was all a great mistake. Maybe his real parents were squibs and Frank and Alice Longbottom only took him in out of the goodness of their hearts. The evidence had been there. How could someone so ordinary, so untalented come from two of the bravest and most skilled Aurors? He was shocked when he performed his first bit of magic. ("He bounced! I swear he bounced!", his uncle had cried out.) He was relieved when he received his letter to Hogwarts, but he resolved to keep his head down and go unnoticed for his seven years of education. It was not to be, however, the moment he found that none other than Harry Potter was a student in his year.

The greatest shock came when he was sorted into Gryffindor house. How in the world did that happen? He had argued, begged, and pleaded to not be in Gryffindor. ("…Hufflepuff! Yeah, that's right… why not Hufflepuff? I belong there!") But the Sorting Hat would not recant its decision and he was "stuck" as a lion. "So much for laying low at school."

For the next seven years, he dealt with Malfoy and his thugs bullying him and Snape's scathing remarks about his abysmal skills. But he also found friends in Godric's house. He found bravery inside himself that he never knew existed- especially leading the DA this last year. He seemed to thrive as a teacher. He enjoyed teaching the younger students the basic defense spells he had learned his fifth year. He was no longer the (possibly) adopted child of two Aurors who had been driven to madness. He finally felt like he had inherited their spirit and their strength.

He patted his breast pocket where his Gran's letter lay. "'I'm proud of you… Your parents' son…' that's what she had written."

He was becoming more and more aware of how his body ached the longer he leaned against the door frame. It was time to move. He stood up straight and headed outside to recover more bodies. He bent down to recover another body from the rubble when he heard his name called from behind him. His heart raced a million times a minute and he whipped around. He realized then that the voice did not come from any foe, but from a familiar source.

"Blimey, Harry, you nearly gave me heart failure!"

The Invisibility Cloak was pulled away to reveal none other than Harry Potter. Neville surveyed the courtyard. "No Ron… no Hermione… why is he alone?"

"Where are you going, alone?" Neville asked suspiciously.

"It's all part of the plan," said Harry. "There's something I've got to do. Listen… Neville…"

"Harry!" He remembered Voldemort's goading ultimatum and knew Harry had a compulsion to sacrifice himself for his friends.

"Harry, you're not thinking of handing yourself over?"

"No, course not… this is something else. But I might be out of sight for a while. You know Voldemort's snake, Neville? He's got a huge snake… Calls it Nagini…"

"I've heard, yeah… what about it?"

"It's got to be killed. Ron and Hermione know that, but just in case they…" Harry paused and Neville tried to force the words dead and killed out of his mind to no avail.

Harry continued, "Just in case they're… busy… and you get the chance…"

"Kill the snake?"

"Kill the snake," Harry confirmed.

It seemed odd. As if Harry were giving some sort of last mission. Harry had always been the leader. However as Neville looked at "The Chosen One", he was shocked to feel he had a kindred spirit in Harry. They were "the lost boys" of Hogwarts. Both of them had had their parents forcibly ripped from them by Unforgiveable Curses during their infancy. They both knew what it was to have lost something so precious, but only have a feeling of what was truly lost. They were both avenging a horrific atrocity. It was a tragedy that they could not really remember besides in their nightmares, yet they lived the injustices of it every day. And here they were- by all rights, they should have been staying as far from danger as possible; not running into the line of fire and facing the darkest wizards and witches. He swelled with pride. Neville Longbottom- the pudgy, clumsy oaf of a boy was counted as a valuable member of Dumbledore's Army. And more importantly, he was considered a loyal friend. He was Harry's friend.

Neville searched Harry's face. He looked older than he had ever seen him; tired and sad yet resolute.

"All right, Harry. You're okay, are you?"

"I'm fine. Thanks, Neville." Harry's eyebrows knit together in concentration. He seemed urgent about something.

Neville may be naïve at times; however he knew there was a possibility that his friend may not make it. The "boy who lived" could only survive so many times. Hell… he knew he would probably die today. But he resolved to meet his death head on and take some Death Eaters down in the process. The cause and the mission were too great to end if and when Harry and he were no longer breathing. Before Harry could leave him, he felt a strong urge to bolster his friend. Seizing his wrist, Neville tried to state his confidence in Harry as forcefully as possible.

"We're all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?"

"Yeah, I…"

The end of Harry's statement trailed off into silence. Neville patted him on the shoulder. An understanding seemed to pass between them. Nothing else needed to be said. He released him and turned to get back to work. He heard a fluttering of a cloak and he glanced over his shoulder to find nothing there. Harry was gone.

A/N: So there it is. I want to thank the people who gave this story a chance. If you would like to post a review, it would be appreciated. However, I'm not going to demand it. I am just so pleased if you have read it. I think this might be my only story, but I've recently had some ideas about another HP fic so I'm not sure what I'll do in the future. Thanks again!