Revolutions

Interlude: Breaking of the Best

By Seadragon

~

Things weren't getting any better, but they weren't really getting worse either. How they had gotten this bad, he didn't know. This wasn't the sort of thing you lost friends over. It was the sort of thing that caused discomfort, and awkwardness, and maybe a week or two, a month at most, of the cold shoulder. It definitely wasn't supposed to be the cause of this much pain.

He hadn't expected this. It would be lying to say he had seen it coming. He should have, he really should have. But he had been blinded by the fact that he thought his friends truly cared for him. But if they did, why were they putting him through this hell?

In all fairness to them, they were currently standing outside his door, hoping he would answer this time. He wasn't sure if he would, or just leave them to wait in the cold until they gave up. Just like he had that last five times.

So who was at fault here? Was it them, for starting it? Or him, for not ending it? That was a question everyone would like answered, but it probably never would be. It was hard to say if this would ever get better, if things would change. If any of them would grow enough to see that this was all folly.

If past experiences proved anything, then this was doubtful. Each one of them was stubborn. And each one of them would deny their stubbornness if questioned. Outsiders had tried everything to get the three to reconcile, but all they had received for their efforts was the bitter taste of failure. One all three had come very accustomed to.

Inside, all three hungered for reunion. But, as before mentioned, each was too stubborn to admit it. They would linger a while until the chill of both the weather and the attitude became too much to bear. Then they would turn their backs and walk away. And only then would he open the door to the outside world.

If there was anything ironic about this predicament, it was the man who was the base of it. Someone who should be seen as something of a hero to the people. But they were blinded of his dim glow by the burning sun that overshadowed him. And so, only the recognition of something good far beneath the surface would bring this shut out to its end.

But that glimpse can be hard to see when the door to it is locked and barred. It would take time for this to end, but there was plenty of that. With the war over, there was only rebuilding, and celebration, to see to.

And against his better judgment, Harry found himself reaching for the door.

~

Doors slammed loudly in their wake. One following the other. There was a desperate scramble after each slam as the chaser tried frantically to get through one door before the runner disappeared through the next.

"Neville! Wait, you just have to listen to-"

"What? Listen to you? Why in hell should I Harry? You had a choice. But you made the wrong one. You could have saved lives, but you didn't. You saved nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Oh, is that what he is to you then? Nothing?!"

"Yes, actually, he is."

They had finally caught up with each other, and now they had settled for glaring across a room. There was pain in these gazes, pain that would never be healed.

"Is it so hard for you to believe that people change? You're supposed to be a Gryffindor!"

Their voices escalated slowly, until they were engaged in a screaming match. It was somehow appropriate, with emotions running this high. It was a vent, a channel for all the ferocious energy both were feeding on. When emotions such as these were bottled up, it was only so long before an explosion brought everything crashing down.

"Were. Not are, never are. Were. You of all people should know those barriers disintegrate the moment you graduate. And I can believe people change. You certainly have." He said coldly, matching Harry inch for inch, not backing down at all. "And I think it was just a little too convenient for him to pass out just as he turned."

Anger coursed through every vein in his body. "How can you even think that?" His voice was a low, dangerous, growl.

"It's really not all that hard, I'll have you know! There are plenty of other people who think the same thing. Ron and Hermione for example." Neville's voice was strangely urgent, like he was trying to prove something by dragging his supposed 'best friends' into this.

All he achieved was a malevolent look. "Well isn't that just peachy for them! How can you people not have realized by now that I don't need other people to approve of everything I do? I thought you knew me, but I guess I was wrong." It was all true of course. Even when the Daily Prophet had published complete slander about him, he had been able to walk around with his head held high. After all, he had had nothing to be ashamed of.

But this time, he just might. What Neville had said was true also. He had made a choice. Whether it was the wrong one or not would be known soon. But could saving human life ever be the wrong choice? He supposed it could, when the life you were saving was that of nothing.

He had chosen one person over at least ten. But he was feeling little or no regret. This wasn't because he didn't care, because, oh, he did. He cared so much that it would have hurt. But as it was, he couldn't feel. He couldn't absorb the feelings rushing through him. All they could do was influence his decisions, they failed to actually register. They failed to seek the counsel of his conscience.

And a human with the power to kill, and nothing to stop them from doing so, is a dangerous human indeed.

~

She had shed few tears over this before this day. It was like the floodgates had finally opened, and every last tear was going to fall. She had kept careful control up until and, damn, she was going to cry if she wanted to!

She shoved what little she had decided to take into her knapsack, the first shreds of uncertainty and fear breaking through the iron will of her resolve.

There was nothing for her here. Everyone had someone else to turn to, and in the heat of it all, she was missed. Lost amongst people who had once turned to look when she had walked into a room. People who had once acknowledged her as a friend. As a confident even.

But that had changed once the war had begun full out. And that had been almost three years ago now. And it had taken her this long to decide what she really wanted. What she really needed. What she needed, was to get away from here.

And now she even had a reason. What more did they want?

She knew what they would want. They would want her to come back. And maybe that was why she had waited so long. So that she wouldn't want to come back. She had felt the pain and constraints of this life for so long now, she didn't think she would ever forget. Even if they begged her, pleaded her, she wouldn't have the will to return.

An ordinary life would do her good. Maybe burn away the feelings induced by those around her, or at least numb them beyond recognition. She was willing to take the time it would need for these wounds to heal, whether that be days, weeks, months, or even years. Whatever it took to put this all behind her.

Her room was blurring around her, she set the knowledge aside and blamed it on the tears. The sooner she was out of here, the better. Then the tears would cease, and she could get on with the rest of her life. It was waiting for her, right outside the door of this place. Waiting for her to come and grab it. Waiting for her to come and make it her own.

But if she wanted it so badly, what was taking her so long? If she couldn't wait to get away from here, why did she cry?

These were mysteries that may never be solved, but it didn't trouble her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When her eyes snapped open again, she was ready for whatever the world may throw at her. The world might not be fair, but she was ready to take her chances in it.

But if there was nothing left for her here, than why did she feel like she was leaving so much behind?