Author's Notes: Here it is: the first never-before-seen chapter! I'm working on the next, but my interest in HP is still a lot lower than it used to be and I can't guarantee I'll be updating all that often. I thank you all for being patient with me throughout the long, arduous process of editing this monstrously long fic. I'm a lot happier with the story the way it is now, which makes it flow a lot better for me while I'm writing.
About the lyrics—I'm using song lyrics in this chapter, but they are MINE. I made them up, they are NOT copyrighted, they belong to ME, and therefore they are NOT against the rules.
Thanks to everyone who sent abuse reports about Anapplefromatree's bit of plagiarism; she's gone now. I really appreciate the support.
Adriana Blanco has been translating this fic into Spanish, for anyone who's interested; she's been doing a wonderful job.
And now—on with the war!
Chapter Forty-three
Oliver's Last Stand
Ginny lay in the nice, comfy place between sleep and wakefulness, where everything was hazy around the edges and nothing seemed to matter. She was drifting aimlessly, almost in a meditative state… everything was okay… she was relaxed and calm…
There was a simple spell placed on the dormitory to keep the sound of alarms from waking up the entire girls' dormitories when an idiot guy tried to sneak in during the middle of the night, put in place in the early sixties when boys were getting particularly stupid. Thus Ginny did not hear the alarms, didn't know that a tutu-clad Malfoy was now being carried up the stairs by a group of sweaty first-year girls, didn't know that the Save the World Club was about to intrude into her happy bubble. It came as a complete shock when Hermione's masked and cap-covered head suddenly filled Ginny's blurry vision and the yell of "HI GINNY!" shattered the peacefulness with the same sort of finesse as throwing an antique Tiffany lamp off Mt. Everest.
Ginny stared, horrified and not a little annoyed. Before she could say anything (such as, "Get the hell out of my room until you sober up, you whack job!"), a stuffed, slightly moth-eaten eagle came into view, glued firmly on top of a blond afro by some spell or another.
"Hello," said Luna. Ginny gaped at her, then shook her head and rolled her eyes; she couldn't even pretend to be surprised that the first person Hermione would join forces with under the circumstances would be Luna.
"Hi, Weasel Junior!" yelled another voice, and a hand began waving in Ginny's face. Ginny batted it away and turned to look in its general direction, only to see Draco, tutu and all, born aloft by five irritated first years, like a crack head's version of a fairytale princess being carried about by her adoring slaves.
"Potter paid us," said one by explanation. She was standing on Draco's cloak, which was dragging the ground.
"Damn rich people," Ginny growled.
"Gin! It's time to induct you into the Save the World Club!" Hermione said cheerfully. She pulled out her wand.
"No," Ginny growled, snatching the wand away and tossing it across the room. That was a mistake, and she knew it; she should have held onto it, snapped it if possible. Now it was retrievable.
"But we need you," Luna said absently, idly inspecting her butterbeer-cork dress.
"The gang isn't complete without you, Ginny," Hermione agreed. "Me, Luna, Neville, Harry and Malfoy. Doesn't sound nearly as cool as me, Luna, Neville, Harry, Malfoy and Ginny. Six is a much better number for a superhero team than five. Just look at Power Rangers."
"Who?" Ginny asked, frowning in confusion.
"Power Rangers! They always add in a sixth member. Almost always, anyway. Besides, we need you, Ginny. We can't remember who Anti-Spider Boy is, and we can't kill him if we can't remember him."
Ginny sighed. This was the first time that she had needed Hermione and truly couldn't go to Hermione for advice. It was a disturbing feeling, not having Hermione's solid support and logic. Still, no matter how alone and lost Ginny felt, she wasn't about to end up in the Save the World Club.
"I could totally get used to this," Draco said happily from the arms of the first years.
"Don't," said one of the first years blackly.
"I rather like this dress," Luna said contemplatively. "It's surprisingly comfortable."
"Hermione, dear," Ginny said sweetly, "I tell you what. I'll tell you who Anti-Spider Boy is, and then you can go kill him, and I can go back to sleep, okay?" If Ron wanted to be an idiot about things, then Ginny had no qualms about dumping the mess he'd created right back on him.
"No, Ginny, you need to be in the club," Hermione insisted.
"Oh, I'm already in the club," Ginny assured her. "I'm just… out of uniform right now."
"Really?" Hermione stared at her. "Oh. I had no idea."
"What's your superhero name?" Luna asked.
Ginny shot her a dirty look. Luna wasn't under the influence and therefore she had no right to complicate things. "Superhero name?" she repeated cautiously.
"Yes. I'm Weird but Helpful Chick. And Neville is Clumsy Plant Man."
"Neville?" Ginny hissed. Great. Ginny had a rather large soft spot for Neville; he was, after all, another person just like her—close to Harry, Ron and Hermione and yet never part of their circle, always in their shadow. The thought that he had been sucked into this mess because Ginny had sent him after Harry and Hermione was a disturbing thought.
"I'm The Sane One," Ginny told Hermione slowly, thinking fast. "I am exhausted from previous battles with Anti-Spider Boy and therefore I need to rest more so that my secret powers of, um, X-ray vision will recharge. So, I ask that you try to take him on yourself. I'm unable to fight myself at the moment. I'll tell you who he is, and you can go get him, okay?"
Hermione nodded eagerly, and Ginny opened her mouth, then stopped. On a normal day, Ron was no match for Harry or Hermione, though he was probably a match for Draco, Neville or Luna alone. She could bet that Neville and Luna, despite their odd induction into the club, wouldn't have any part in the assassination attempt. Still, Ginny doubted Ron could take on Harry, Hermione and Draco, even in their psychotic state. Their current madness would lend an edge of unpredictability, and a no-holds-barred duel was not something Ginny wanted to see Ron on the end of. However, Ginny also doubted she'd be able to get the Save the World Club to back off, and therefore she had to send them after someone. But who did Ginny dislike that much?
Wood. The answer came to her out of nowhere. She did owe Wood one or two problems, and he wasn't particularly innocent in this whole mess. Besides which, he was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; Ginny didn't think sending them after Dumbledore would work out, so by all rights she should send them to Wood. McGonagall was too unpredictable, and Snape probably wasn't in the castle. So Wood was the next best thing.
"Oliver," Ginny said. "Oliver Wood. Go get him, eh? Oh, and you might want to send Neville into the room first," she added as an afterthought.
"Good idea," Luna said. "His vines of enchanted Devil's Snare can trap Professor Wood before he can escape."
"Exactly," Ginny said gratefully, then glared at Luna. "Hey. Weren't you supposed to put an end to this yourself?"
Luna shrugged. "Everyone else ran off or got cursed; I figured you'd be proud that I'm at least keeping an eye on them instead of running around screaming or hiding," Luna said sternly, as though Ginny was being ungrateful.
Ginny stared at her for a long moment before dryly replying with, "Gee. Thanks, Luna."
Oliver was having one of the best mornings he'd had in ages. Apparently the only way to avoid the insanity that was Hogwarts was to hide. So far, it was working perfectly. He was lounging around in his room, sitting on his Firebolt 2 for no reason other than he felt more comfortable on it than he did in a chair, floating at his writing desk, grading papers and singing along to Fenrir's Offspring, his favorite band. The loud, harsh song made him feel like his old self, the carefree self that—even in the midst of a grueling Quidditch season and a depressing war and his missions for the Order of the Phoenix—could still go out on Friday night and party at a club with the guys.
"'Love is like theCruciatus,'" he half-shouted as he corrected the spelling of "Expelliarmus" on a first year's essay, "'it's so excruciating… I wish you and I had never been Us… I wish I could cut you out… I hex your very name… I wish I could banish you… your curse is nothing but pain…'"
Someone knocked on the door, the sound barely distinguishable beneath the music. Oliver stopped singing, for no reason other than he knew his voice sucked, but he didn't get off the broom or otherwise halt his actions. Whoever was at the door, they'd go away eventually. Like McGonagall had when she'd tried to reach him through the Floo Network and he'd just hid behind a bookcase until she'd given up. The only creature to have interacted with him today was a house elf who'd brought him his breakfast.
"Professor Wood?" called the voice of Neville Longbottom, his tone desperate and long-suffering and all the things that Oliver wasn't because he was very emphatically hiding, thank you very much.
Oliver didn't reply. He started singing softly again, hoping Neville would be gone by the next verse. "'Love is like the Cruciatus… nothing but suffering… never again will you and I be Us…'"
"Oliver? It's me, Neville."
"'I will find a way to quit you…'"
"Remember that time when you were in fifth year and I was in first and you stopped those sixth-year guys from beating me up and healed me so I wouldn't have to go up to the hospital wing all bloody?"
Oliver swallowed, trying to force down the thought of "Poor kid" that wandered through his brain. "'I'll erase your very name…'"
"And that time when I was in third year and you made those guys outside the greenhouses stop cursing me with all those horrible spells?"
"'Find some way to banish you…'"
"I need that kind of help again. Please?
"'Your curse is nothing but pain…'"
"Um, I know where you can get some Kikanto Root?"
Oliver dropped his pen and looked round at the door in horror. Neville Longbottom had just offered him, a teacher, access to a plant that was banned at Hogwarts and in several countries. Oliver wasn't sure what was more shocking—that Neville knew how to find that plant, or that Neville was desperate enough to risk getting kicked out of school or worse just to get Oliver to open the door.
Don't do it, groaned the part of him that was just as long-suffering as Neville currently sounded.
Oliver sighed. He had to. It was Neville. Neville, whose grandmother had played Bridge with Oliver's grandmother. Neville, whose father had been Oliver's father's favorite cousin. Neville, whose parents had sent Oliver a Pocket Sneakoscope for Oliver's fourth birthday that Oliver still treasured. Neville, who made for some great comedic relief whenever the two branches of their families got together, even if most of it was by accident. Neville, who had once healed Oliver's cat with an herbal concoction that even the experts at Magical Menagerie hadn't thought to try. Neville, who Oliver had tried to watch out for during the three years they'd been at Hogwarts together, even going so far as to remind anyone who ridiculed Neville that Neville had scored Gryffindor the House Cup in his very first year. They weren't exactly friends, and they weren't close family, but Oliver knew and liked Neville well enough that he couldn't leave him out in the hallway after Neville had basically offered to sell his soul in exchange for relief from whatever nightmare was on the other side of the door.
With a flick of his wand, the music was silenced, and Oliver hopped off his broom. He kept the broom in his hand, mostly for comfort, though he told himself that he was not the sort of wanker who needed a security blanket and that whatever might be on the other side of that door could be something Oliver would need to run from and fast, given how often he'd had to retreat over the past few days.
Oliver started to head for the door, but then decided it might be best to keep his distance. He raised his wand and lifted the numerous locking spells he'd placed upon it. "Come in," he called.
Neville burst into the room and threw himself against the door, closing it firmly and leaning against it as if afraid others would barge in at any moment. "Oliver… you've got to help me," he whispered urgently.
Oliver stared at Neville incredulously, taking in the loincloth and the wreath on his brow. "Is that… is that Devil's Snare round your wrists?" Oliver demanded.
"It's enchanted," Neville said absently. "It'll only attack on my command."
"Why the hell are you—?"
"Harry, Hermione and Malfoy. They've completely lost it. From what we can tell, Fred and George hit them with some really powerful Euphoria Charms; I haven't seen anyone that addled since Ron in the Department of Mysteries and he was so out of it that he Summoned that brain that nearly killed him… they're calling themselves the Save the World Club, and they made these freak costumes and put me and Luna in these stupid outfits and they're out to kill Ron, only they were calling him Anti-Spider Boy and they forgot that Ron was Anti-Spider Boy—"
Oliver erased the mental note to get Fred a good Christmas gift for the cherry thing. "Take them up to the hospital wing," he interrupted. "Poppy will sort them out."
"I can't. See, Ginny organized a bunch of us to stop them and they completely slaughtered us. The only reason Luna and I didn't get hexed into oblivion is because we pretended to go along with it. If they think I'm not with them, they'll hex me too. And for some reason when they went to go get Ginny to help them remember who Anti-Spider Boy was, she said it was you."
Oliver gaped at him. "Me?"
"Yeah. I guess she thought you could stop them. She told them to send me in first, I guess to explain. I'm supposed to subdue you with the Devil's Snare, so I figure you and me can come up with a plan and then we'll let them in and get the drop on them…"
Oliver shook his head and stared at Neville with increasing horror. "Neville… let me get this straight. You're telling me that there are three people in that hallway. One is the son of You-Know-Who's right-hand man. The other two killed You-Know-Who and several Death Eaters. All three of them are stoned out of their minds, and they're here to kill me?"
Neville nodded apologetically. "Yeah. There's Luna, too, but I'm not certain if she'll help them or us or just sort of, you know, stand there blankly."
"Well, that's justgreat," Oliver growled. "Just great! This is sotypical!"
"…Typical…?" Neville repeated faintly. He was not sure any word could be less applicable to their current situation.
"Three and a half years, I've been friends with Hermione. Friends with benefits, really—"
"You have?" Neville asked, startled.
Oliver ignored him. "—and every time I hung out with her there was alwayssomething going on, some freak accident or dangerous intrigue. Even in the summer, when she'd try to just be with her little Muggle friends and pretend she was a normal Muggle girl with no magical powers it was alarming to see just how extraordinary she was, always wrapped up in something, inside information on the Order and Harry's scar is some sort of conduit and of course I can do a spell that you didn't learn until you were halfway through your seventh year and of course there's nothing creepy about being roommates with Sirius Black he's a lovely man really and I really love rules but this one time I freed a hippogriff from Ministry execution and even though that could put me in Azkaban for up to five years I'm sure no one would ever find out and I'm sorry I can't see you over Christmas Oliver but didn't you hear from the Order that Harry psychically deduced that Mr. Weasley's been almost eaten by a giant snake and I have to spend the holidays at headquarters but I'd love it if you'd drop by and damn it Neville I'm sick of this!"
Neville, who had never known that Oliver had any connection to Harry, Ron and Hermione save Quidditch and his friendship with the Weasley twins, was rather taken aback by this outburst. Moreover, he couldn't really see what Oliver's problem was. Hermione was unusual, yes, but that was part of what Neville and everyone else who called her a friend liked about her.
"I'm not sure I understand," Neville said slowly.
"Of course you don't!" Oliver bellowed, gesturing so wildly with his broom that Neville ducked. "You're one of them! You let yourself get sucked in and you surf through the chaos with them until they let you go back to sitting on the beach but that doesn't happen to me, Neville! When they suck me in, I can't get out of the water until I'm half-drowned! I can't surf, Neville!"
"Surf?" Neville repeated blankly. Surfing was a Muggle invention, and as a pureblood Neville had never heard of it. Oliver, however, had chatted up a few of Hermione's friends about the subject.
"It's always the same with them! I just wanted a Seeker and instead I got some bizarre kid predestined to fight dark wizards and always end up in the hospital wing come Quidditch Cup time! There's never a normal moment around those three; what made me think I could actually date her? She's like that teacup ride at the Muggle carnival she took me to—it might have been fun at first, but pretty soon it just makes you queasy. I—"
Neville sighed and cleared his throat. "Look, Oliver… do you mind?"
Oliver blinked. "Huh?"
"I understand that you're having some sort of breakdown, and I feel for you, I really do, but I'm wearing a loincloth. Can't you go ahead and break down after we sort this out?"
Oliver stared at him, a little outraged. This was not very supportive of Neville. However, given the fact that Oliver had, over the course of the prank war, let slip two of Hermione's secrets (her tattoo and her relationship with him), abandoned her during Quidditch practice, gotten drunk and terrorized the twins and Ron, cracked up when trying to help Hermione clean herself after the food fight, upset Harry badly enough to make him inflate Draco's head, and most recently hidden in his room at the first sign of impending weirdness, Oliver didn't really think he could fault Neville for not wanting to hear Oliver whine. Oliver could at least place partial blame for his problems upon himself, whereas Neville was innocent and suffering. Not to mention the fact that Oliver was a teacher, and was behaving quite poorly—not only had he played favorites and allowed students to get away with things they shouldn't, he'd ignored Harry and Hermione this morning and he couldn't ignore Neville now, not when Oliver had turned a blind eye and let it get this out of control.
"Sorry," Oliver said, taking a deep, calming breath. "I've just been a little… out of sorts… lately."
"I understand. And, um, once this is over, if you want to talk—"
"Neville?" called Hermione from the other side of the door. "Have you restrained Anti-Spider Boy yet? We're bored!"
Neville sighed pathetically and began to reply, but Oliver motioned at him to keep quiet and step away from the door. "Hermione? Is that you?" Oliver shouted, injecting a note of hopefulness into his voice. "You've got to help me, Neville's gone crazy—"
The door flew open and hit the wall with a bang. Harry marched in, dressed like a superhero designed by a drug addict, hands on his hips. "I, The Immortal, have come to destroy you, Anti-Spider Boy!" Harry yelled.
Oliver stared at him. There wasn't really much he could say to that.
Harry ran straight at him and suddenly Oliver felt incredibly silly. Between Harry's outfit, Neville hiding behind Oliver's desk, and every ludicrous occurrence that had led up to this situation, Oliver simply couldn't take this seriously. This wasn't The Man Who Triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named charging at him valiantly with righteous justice in his eyes. This was a cracked-out kid who Oliver used to wake up at five in the morning for Quidditch practice, now thrown into Oliver's path at a time when the entire world had gone mad.
Oliver didn't even bother raising his wand. Instead, he hefted his broomstick, waited for Harry to come within reach, and rapped the Firebolt 2 across Harry's forehead. The biggest hero the wizarding world had ever known dropped like a sack of bricks.
Hermione and Draco had just crossed the threshold into Oliver's room. Hermione gasped at the sight of Harry. "Look, Evil Bastard! Anti-Spider Boy has killed The Immortal!"
"Good on you, mate," Draco said, deeply impressed. "You have no idea how many people have tried and failed to knock Potter off. If you'd managed to do that a year ago, the Dark Lord probably would have made you king of Asia or something by now."
Hermione smacked his arm. "Mal-foy! We're a team, remember? The Save the World Club? You're not supposed to be happy that Oliver's killed Harry!"
"Oh, right," Draco said apologetically. "Habit, you understand."
"Of course. You're forgiven." Hermione tossed her hair back and leveled her wand at Oliver. "Now, then," she began as Oliver cautiously approached. "You, Anti-Spider Boy, are going to be destroyed, for numerous reasons, most of which I forgot by the time we got here, but most recently for killing The Immortal and—OUCH!"
Hermione didn't get to finish. Draco had been grinning happily down at Harry's unconscious form and hadn't noticed Oliver come around to Draco's side and raise the broomstick. Draco had also crumpled, and his descent to the floor had yanked painfully on Hermione's wrist. Before she could regain her balance, Oliver had raised the broom once again. One more swing, and the once-crazed wannabe superheroes were nothing more than shallowly-breathing piles on his sitting room floor.
"Well," came Luna's dreamy voice from the doorway. Oliver jumped and raised his broom instinctively. "I'm glad that's over, then. It was getting a little dull." With that, Luna turned and drifted away.
Oliver returned to staring down at the three hexed students on his rug, an odd sense of closure stealing over him. Then he held his hand out to Neville. "Give me your wand."
Neville mutely handed it over, staring down at the fallen heroes in a sort of numb shock. Oliver swished Neville's wand through the air and Harry, Hermione and Draco rose gently up until they were floating eerily at shoulder height. Oliver directed them out into the hallway, then handed the wand back to Neville. "There. Enchantment should last long enough to get them to the hospital wing. Give Madam Pomfrey a full report and then go ask Professor McGonagall to de-transfigure your clothing."
Neville nodded and left. Oliver smiled to himself and flicked his wand, filling his room with the blaring hard rock music of Fenrir's Offspring.
"Finally," he breathed. "Peace and quiet."