The question stung like a slap to the face. It was over in an instant, but hung around like the smell of smoke in the nose two days after a camping trip. It was a sour topic to think about, even after six months of trying their best not to think about it. The thought of Harry, Ron and Hermione's deaths left them all feeling bitter and ashamed.
The had felt entirely helpless in that moment. There they all were, a gathering of good Wizards, seemingly nearing victory, all with incredible magical strength and will. The good guys defending their keep, and doing it well. Then in a fraction of a second, their worlds came crashing down around them.
They remembered Hagrid carrying Harry's limp body into the courtyard, and they would forever hear McGonagall's cry echo in their memories. They would smile as they recalled Harry's trickery, and marveled at how Voldemort could have been so stupid as to not realize Harry wasn't actually dead. His rebirth should have sparked a new energy among the defenders, and the battle to follow would have been vigorous and chaotic. Voldemort, however, proved to be too quick.
Their cheers fell flat, and the air dispersed their voices into nothingness as the curse leapt from Voldemort's wand the very moment Harry's feet touched the ground. As they all stood mortified and helpless, staring at their hero's lifeless body on the ground, Voldemort turned his wand on Ron and Hermione, felling them each in turn.
They all felt cheated, and that the Golden Trio was cheated. Their deaths should have been in the heat of battle. They should have died defending themselves with fervor, and not just standing there helpless. They had gone through so much, risked so much, and all for something so inane as what they witnessed? It was unfair, and shameful. As if to add salt to the wound, Voldemort then turned and fled. They just watched him go, unable even to cry out.
They told this tale to Snape, hating themselves the whole time. He sat there and listened, not saying a word, not interjecting any questions or thoughts. His face remained stony without the faintest trace of a frown or a smile. When they finished, he stood and walked around the table, resting his hand on each of their shoulders for a moment as he passed. When he reached his empty chair once more, he faced them and shook his head slowly.
"Those three children risked so much in their lives." He spoke quietly, but his chest welled with pride as he did so. "In their first year, they defied their professors when we refused to acknowledge that they were right. They went into the bowels of the school, and overcame enormous obstacles to defeat a very powerful wizard's attempt at rebirth."
Those who he was addressing straightened up a bit in their chairs.
"Harry destroyed a Basilisk and, quite unknowingly, one of Voldemort's horcruxes in his second year, again accessing a secret area of the school. After that, with Sirius Black on the loose, the three of them survived, and I'm fairly certain rescued an innocent man from an undeserved fate." Snape continued, with his voice growing ever stronger throughout. Those around the table began to feel a emboldened as Snape recounted these deeds.
Snape walked toward the fireplace as he resumed, "Harry was not yet old enough for his O.W.L.s when he traversed the dangers of the Tri-Wizard tournament, and survived a duel with Lord Voldemort. As if that wasn't enough, the next year he taught an underground dark arts defense class, and together, they took on the Department of Mysteries and several of Voldemort's closest followers."
Snape reached into the bucket of Floo Powder on the mantle, and grabbed a handful. Luna and Neville stood, slowly approaching Snape, ever cautious of his intentions. His speech was showing his loyalty to the Order, but his history left them all with reason to doubt him. They moved slowly so they didn't attract his attention.
"They travelled the continent, and found his remaining Horcruxes, destroying them despite their naivety," he continued. "You feel as though they did all this for nothing, and that their efforts were in vain. Remember all they did for the Order. Remember all they did without Voldemort being any the wiser."
He turned suddenly to face them, catching Luna and Neville off guard, and startling them enough to halt their advance.
"Remember this as well." He said, locking eyes with each of them as they continued. "Voldemort had the guts to face his enemies before killing them. The Golden Trio got what they deserved."
He thrust the Floo Powder into the fireplace and backed into the flames.
"Thank you for the meal, Molly." He said in his most venomous drawl. "Number 12." He said loudly, and was gone.
The Weasleys stood at the table in utter shock at what had just unfolded.
George spoke first. "Well, at least he thanked you for the meal, mum."
Molly gave a weak smile, "And at least we know where he went, though I doubt they kept it open long enough for us to follow."
Neville held up his hand, "And we have his wand."
Arthur replied, "We also know who he's been with for the last six months. Voldemort kept him alive on purpose, and they know how weak we are."
Percy answered, "On the contrary, father, they don't know how strong we are."
"Perhaps," Arthur replied weakly, looking toward the fireplace.
"Well, one thing's for certain," Percy said grinning slightly toward George, "He won't be expecting Kreacher."