Dedication: For Tara, for waiting oh so patiently! I swear, I'll get to Peter!
Author's Note: Um...short. Anything more would have been dragging this out and it wouldn't have worked.
End of All Hope
Neville
There are those who are born to be leaders, and those who are born to be followers. And there are those who exist only to be used by those more powerful then themselves. They are the small ones, the untalented ones. They are the ones that are taken for granted...
//Unassuming.// The word rang round and round Neville's head. He didn't quite understand his role in all of this madness. His skills would be utilized? But he had no skills, and professor Snape had said as much. But he was needed.
It was difficult, to be the quiet one. The small one. The sad one. He had resigned himself long ago to his fate. And now he was told that those very qualities would be his salvation. //They're going to use me.// It was a cold and naked thought, and one he did not relish. He would be used. He was a pawn. That was what they really meant, wasn't it? His talent was his lack thereof.
He would be a spy, or some such. A dupe. But what else could he do? It was more recognition then he would receive elsewhere.
Alone, he curled into himself. The dorm was nearly empty. No one saw him, and no one cared. It had been strange and silent since Harry's death. That was when it truly changed. That was when the darkness had fallen over everything. Losing Dumbledore had been bad, but somehow Harry's loss had hit them harder. Why, Neville did not know. Perhaps because Dumbledore simply disappeared. They had not looked upon his lifeless body. They had not seen the paleness, the stiffness that slowly slid over his features...
Neville shuddered. He could not keep the images out of his mind. True, it had been months past, but it would not sleep. He was sensitive. His grandmother had always said so. Sensitive was another word for weak. That was what it all came down to. He was weak.
//I can't do this.// He had no idea what they would ask of him, but he knew he would not be able to deliver. He would fail, and he would let them all down. Why did they think he could perform? They knew him. They had watched him, watched him grow and learn. And they had seen him fumble, and fall. He had not changed any.
//Canon fodder.// He had read the term, and knew it applied here. He was prime material for suicide missions and things of that nature. But what did he expect? He had never had any great expectations for himself. But this...
//What does it matter?// It never had, and it never would. He knew he was insignificant. What would his death matter? And if he was able to do any good...
//I'm not a soldier. I'm not anything.// He buried his head n his knees, wishing he could make himself so small he could disappear. But he couldn't. He could only wish himself. He wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or not. He had the feeling he would cry, soon.
//We aren't all going to make it.// There had been loss, and there would be more. //That's what war does. It takes. It kills.// Would he make it? He didn't know. Thoughts, harsh and painful, would not rest.
It would be a long night.
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