The Gryffindor
It was painfully cold and the stars were dead.
I was shivering, and I missed the stars. I knew they were still there, somewhere, I knew darkness hadn't stolen them completely, but I had no way of knowing when they'd be back, or if they would ever be as bright. I pulled my robes around me, cold fingers hovering over the Gryffindor emblem emblazoned there. I didn't feel any warmer, and I didn't feel like a Gryffindor. In fact, my knees felt an awful lot weaker than was safe on the slimy slopes of that steep hill.
I knew I didn't belong here. Hermione had told me to stay put, that we had to stay put. But we had all fled after he killed her. The Dark Lord killed her, was going to kill us all, one by one. We had fled, Harry, Ron, and I, to this spot, chasing him. Where had Hagrid and Mad-Eye gone? They had left us, left us and Hermione was dead. I felt vaguely ill, which was swiftly remedied when my stomach emptied itself onto the ground in front of me. It blended well with the filth of the hill. I felt guilty about falling behind, guilty about being afraid. I didn't want to look up, to see Harry ducking and hiding, to hear him scream about his parents and about Sirius, about Hermione, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, Ginny, Luna… About Mad-Eye. Had he died? All those things to scream about, I felt them all tearing at my insides again. How did it come to this? And did the Dark Lord make the same mistake again- how much did the dead love the boy who lived?
I shook my head and tried to creep around the hill. It was slippery and I fell. Someone near the top heard me and came rushing down, someone in a dark cloak and a white mask. I looked up at him, willing him to come to me, to kill me for being stupid enough to come, slow enough to be alone, clumsy enough to fall, but whoever it was whipped past me, throwing a swift look not quite at me. What appeared to be a male form hurried along the ridge at the back of the hill, coming down where a woman had just appeared, with a bird. I made to scream her name, but Professor McGonagall held a finger to her mouth to silence me. The cloaked man in the mask looked back over his shoulder and shook his head. I couldn't see the bird anymore.
It took me a while to realize I was still on the ground, sliding ever so slowly toward the base of the hill. I focused on my feet as I tried to right myself, all the while cursing my own worthless mind to immense suffering and guilt for coming here to be a liability. I thought of my father, of my mother. I thought of Gran and knew she would have told me to stay home, to be a good boy and not go messing things up. She may have been hard on me, but from this side of the hill it looked like she was saving more lives than she was hurting. And I didn't belong here.
As I fumbled through my robes for my wand, my mother's now, as I had already lost my father's, I felt a sharp pain in my left hand. I was still sideways on the ground, without the energy or spirit to lift my upper body and progress around the hill to whatever death suited me best. Someone had trod on my fingers, and hadn't yet moved a rather light but pointed shoe. I looked up and saw a woman's boot pressing my bloodied fingers deeper into the muck. I jerked them away, which, though painful, was a matter of pride. I heard her voice.
"Well, well, well, here is something that does not belong."
I felt her grinning, felt my own face go red as I struggled to my feet. I had nothing to say, no retort- I truly did not belong here. Her white mask shone too brightly against the starless night, competing only with the full moon. Her cloak quickly swept over her boots, her wand was drawn. I knew it was pointed at me, knew it was pointless to stand up. What had I been thinking, coming here? Well, at least this woman wouldn't be a part of someone else's hell.
"Your mother cracked first, Longbottom. She couldn't seem to stand watching her worthless husband writhing like an animal..."
I knew it was a waste to stand, knew I would only fall, but I got up to look her in the empty eyes behind that mask. Her voice was so vicious, so heartless. Very much unlike any other woman. A lock of her hair had escaped the hood, but it hardly mattered. It was just as black.
"She blubbered an awful lot about you…"
I could tell I was crying, fuming. I could tell I was losing control. It was that Lestrange woman, that- that evil- there were no words and I knew it. I remained silent as ever. I had nothing to say. She was shaking her ugly, masked face at me, taunting me like some stupid animal. Her voice was demented by the mask over her mouth, her eyes were shadowed, deep pits in the soft mask. Black holes. Windows to a soul that I knew wasn't there. Hand her to the dementors? No soul…
"What?" she asked me, almost as though she wanted an answer. I kept my lips shut tight. My face was soaking now. "Aren't you going to return the favor- blubber about her before you die?"
She stared at me, her eyes still empty. I tried to see myself in them, but there was nothing.
"No," I choked out, the single syllable all twisted and breathless.
"What was that, boy?"
"No." I said it with more resolve this time, still quiet but stiff. She stroked her wand, possibly grinning. I wouldn't know.
"No!" My wand was out. She took an inadvertent step back before regaining that Death Eater composure. She stuck her face out at me, offering me the first shot. She laughed her ugly laugh. I brought the wand over my head, immediately thinking of Harry- what he would have done, what he had taught me…
"NO!"
The wand came swishing down, my mother's wand. Bellatrix Lestrange screamed. I held the wand on her, unaware what curse I was working. She tried to look at me; her eyes were rolling madly. Her legs were bent and her hands were clenched at her sides, unmoving. She did nothing but her eyes were moving wildly, protruding and shining white, finally visible behind her mask. I tried to stop, but the wand held its ground. As I pulled my arm back my fingers slid to the very end of my mother's wand, and, unwilling to drop it, I held on. Blood was dripping down her mask now, like tears. The white was stained by rose red trails ending in dirty red droplets.
And then she was on her back. I moved toward her; the wand pulled itself right to her throat. And when I took the next step, toward her clenched hand, I saw her eyes, the black holes, giving off all the life that their emptiness had stolen, all the hell her soul-less self had wrought now dripping from her deep-set eyes. Her hands were freed from their bind, and they slashed madly. One caught me in the calf.
It was just then that I knew I was falling, loosing my mother's wand. It held firm at the throat on which it sought revenge. I toppled backward. My feet left the slippery slope of the hill. I was over the ridge behind it, there was nothing bellow me for a few yards. I watched the moon shrink away, watched Harry dodge another curse, watched Bellatrix flail blindly, trying to grasp her own fallen wand, or the one cursing her. I watched it all in half an instant, expecting the sickening squelch of impact, expecting some Death Eater to find me.
A woman screamed, "RON!"
I turned to see who it was, where it had come from, and saw nothing but the headstone bellow me. Bellatrix finally managed a blood curdling scream. The stone did not need to brace for impact, and I could not. I tried to kick out, to right myself, but before I could, my legs were gone. I felt my upper body slinging itself over the back of the headstone. My legs were gone. There were no stars to watch me. And I thought of my mother and my father, who's bodies were untouched. I had my mind. For whatever that was worth…
And time froze as the world ended.
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~*~ A/N- Told you it was dark. I am considering a rating change- much appreciation to anyone so kind as to give me advice on this issue and any others in a review. Okay, the stars are symbolic, to Neville at least, of his parents. He hits the tombstone and breaks his back- he's paralyzed. And the first Death Eater to run by? We shall see, we shall see. Up next is The Deputy Headmistress. Thanks for reading! ~*~