[name] athena
[words without A/N] 1055
[cabin] mckinnon
[prompt] write about a character stuck in a hopeless situation with no way out — for iwsc summer camp — kayaking/up the creek without a paddle
[warnings] canon character deaths, descriptive death, manipulation, brief description of torture
[rating] t
[summary] voldemort says harry is dead. ron and hermione believe it. but neville has always known that harry has a plan, harry will save them. right?
The Boy Who Believed
Neville's heart pounded.
The wand in his hand felt slipper with the sweat and dirt from the battle pooling on his arm, his sweater torn and stained with vomit that didn't belong to him. Next to him, Luna's air of perpetual dreaminess was dulled, her hair mussed with twigs and stained a dull brown with dried blood.
Voldemort's voice echoed through the air, and even the soft whimpers and groans from the injured were quieted— out of fear or respect, however, Neville didn't know, nor did he want to.
"Harry Potter is dead," Voldemort boomed.
The silence in the Great Hall was tense, palpable. A few students let out broken, panting sobs, and Neville's blood turned to ice as he heard the rest of Voldemort's speech.
Harry… oh God, Harry. Not an hour ago he had talked to Harry, not an hour ago he had tried to assure Harry that they would win the war, and now… no. No, Harry would never abandon them like this. Not without a plan.
The hope in his chest, weak though it was, swelled brightly as Neville turned behind him, waiting to see a smirk dancing on Hermione's lips or a proud grin brightening up Ron. Instead he only saw a horrified grimace on Hermione as she turned around, crumpling in Ron's arms — Ron, who had no light in his eyes, Ron, who looked as though his world had been shattered.
Neville swallowed, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach as he walked toward the open doors of the Great Hall, seeing an army in front of his eyes. Behind him, a heart-wrenching scream of pain that he never imagined he would hear from Professor McGonagall. It was the catalyst of rebellion as yells and gasps filled the air, all eyes on Harry Potter's body.
Hagrid, the half-giant carrying Harry's body, could only be described as horrified. The Death Eaters surrounding them laughed at everyone's misery, and it was all Neville could do to keep the light of hope in his heart.
"Silence!" Voldemort ordered, and the scream that was about to break past Neville's lips was swallowed, the sobs and tears from the army abruptly stopped. Voldemort continued talking as Hagrid set Harry down at Voldemort's feet, yet a sort of ringing in Neville's ears blocked out all sound of what was happening.
Neville stared fixedly at Harry's body, waiting for the wink, for Harry to jump up and destroy Voldemort, for something. Instead, all that happened was hearing Ron yelling a sentence, and Neville swallowed; Harry would come back, of course Harry would, what was he thinking. And yet, why wasn't Harry moving, why wasn't Harry breathing — no, it was Neville's memory. Harry was alive, Harry was simply waiting for someone to distract Voldemort. Neville was more than happy to be that distraction.
Letting out a savage yell, Neville ran toward Harry, surprised at how he could hear the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Death Eaters raising their wands, pointing them at Neville, but he simply continued running — Harry wouldn't let them hurt him, at any moment now Harry would stand up and perform something marvelous that would destroy Voldemort.
Before he could reach Harry, however, he heard Voldemort let out a laugh and saw a flash of red light, letting out a small grunt of pain as he stumbled and fell. Voldemort was talking, the high voice shrill to Neville's ears, but it was something that Neville could not hear.
As Neville pulled himself to his feet, Voldemort was all at once in front of him, laughing coldly.
"Ah, Longbottom. You still respect Potter, who's shown time and time again that truly, the only thing he cares about is his own skin? You still believe that Potter is alive, perhaps?"
"Don't say his name," Neville growled. "Harry is alive, and so is Dumbledore's Army."
A roar of cheers rose from the crowd, and Voldemort laughed loudly.
"It seems that you are as delusional as your parents are, Neville. Perhaps you need a lesson, I say." Raising his wand, Voldemort smiled hollowly, yelling 'Crucio!' loud enough for the crowd to let out a horrified gasp.
Neville's body rose into the air, jerking and twitching as pain overcame his senses. A moment, or maybe an hour, later, Neville felt his body slam to the ground with a thud. A cold hand wrapped around his neck, and Neville let out a sort of choked yell, only to hear a laugh high above him as his body was dragged to Harry's.
Voldemort dropped Neville's body next to Harry's, Neville's head pressed to Harry's chest by a thin hand.
He feels a cold breath in his ear, only to hear Voldemort's voice hissing, "Tell me, Neville, do you hear a heart in the Boy Who Lived?"
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
Neville's chest swelled, and he laughed weakly, unable to breathe. Harry is alive, oh of course Harry is alive, he never should have doubted Harry, now they'd be able to overthrow Voldemort.
Voldemort smirked, still whispering in Neville's ear, his words too soft for anyone but Harry and Neville to hear. "You see, I knew that Narcissa was a liar. She'd put her family over her Lord any day, and unfortunately, I can't let that happen, Harry."
The weight pressing on Neville was gone, and for a split second Neville rose, tightening his hands into fists.
"Neville should be proud. He will die for a glorious new age that will rise once more!"
Voldemort's voice was louder than ever, addressed to everyone, and Neville heard the gasps and screams of the crowd too late.
Voldemort studied a sword in his hands, conjured by none other than Bellatrix. It was the Sword of Gryffindor, though it wasn't like Neville or Harry would be alive long enough to appreciate the irony of it.
In one swift motion, he plunged the tip of the sword into Neville's head, thrusting it downwards as it sliced through Harry's heart, piercing the grass below the two now-dead bodies. Neville's body, which had slowly been rising up to try and fight Voldemort once more, had now fallen to the ground again. Harry, too, was dead, his chest unmoving and his eyes seeing no more. Blood spilled out from the two of them, dying the grass maroon. Voldemort laughed once more at seeing the horrified silence of the crowd, his feet colored red with blood as well. He pulled the hilt of the sword and raised it above his head, not caring about the blood from the tip of the sword running down his arm.
"Behold, the Boy Who Lived!"