A/N: All right, go to youtube, look up "Hedwig's Theme", and listen to it while you read.
In the castle, Neville Longbottom was silently pacing his study, trying to decide whether he should cast silencing spells around his mandrakes instead of giving his students earmuffs, when his pocket felt suddenly and inexplicably warm. He froze.
It was not that Mr. Longbottom did not enjoy his life as a Hogwarts professor. He really did. He loved his wife. He loved his children. He loved his job. He loved the peace of mind that came with knowing everything was okay, and everyone was safe, and no one would have to go through the pain and suffering that rent his family ever again. But there was more to Neville Longbottom than that.
Neville was not particularly cunning, and this was well known by everyone throughout his life. However...
Neville was, when granted the right opportunity - that is to say, when placed within his area of expertise, which was obviously herbology - Neville was absolutely brilliant.
Neville Longbottom was not a Ravenclaw.
Neville was loyal, and a good friend to anyone who needed him to be, regardless of who they were, or what their background was, or their blood status.
Neville Longbottom was not a Hufflepuff.
Neville Longbottom was a Griffindor.
Luna Lovegood sat at her magical typewriter, finishing up the last "Have You Seen..." article on Crumple Horned Snorkack dung, which was known amongst those who studies Snorkacks to possess the same properties of kneazle snot. The idea was that every week, the "Have You Seen..." would describe some body part of some creature that had magical properties, and readers could write in to say where they knew one to be located. Unfortunately for Luna, few people knew how to identify Crumple-Horned Snorkack dung.
It was then that Rolf walked into the room, carrying some sort of object in his hand. He lay it gently on the desk next to Luna where she stared at it for a moment. Then, her eyes lit up, and her face broke into a wide grin.
"And then, of course, I figured that these would just be faster," Hermione was saying to Kingsley Shacklebolt as she sat across from him, motioning to the object on the desk. Shacklebolt, however, was staring at the object with wide eyes, and Hermione looked down to see glowing numbers rearranging themselves on the shiny golden surface.
"Oh."
She looked back up to where Shacklebolt was sitting, his fingertips pressed together under his chin. He stared at her with an intensity she had only seen a few times in her life.
"It's starting."
Working for Ginny Weasley was not something Jordan had imagined himself doing when he was at Hogwarts, but of course, it seemed like the perfectly logical job for someone who loved Quidditch but wasn't much of a player himself. Occasionally he still announced games as a guest, and Ginny did give him a bi-weekly opinion column in which he could rant about the sport, but it was still a long way off from what he had hoped to be doing with his life.
He had typed one whole sentence, after which he had stared at his typewriter for at least an hour. No words were coming to him. He glanced over to his right, where a cupboard sat below the counter. It was dusty. The handle had not been touched in years. It didn't need to be, and the less it was, the better. Even good old Kngsley had agreed that the time in their lives was over. But Lee Jordan couldn't help but feel the oddest sensation picking up in the pit of his stomach. It was as though everything was not over, that there was something in the atmosphere waiting, warning...
He stood up, looking around. Of course no one was home. He was all alone. It wouldn't hurt, right?
He walked silently over to the cupboard, reaching his hand out and placing it on the handle. He was nervous, and didn't know why. But the apprehension and nerves and excitement all mingled into one single sensation in his body that expanded and grew into a need that was formulating itself into words in his brain. He pulled open the cupboard, gingerly taking out the machine inside and setting it on the counter top. Carefully, he unwrapped it from the dirty sheet it had been encased in.
The radio was still in perfect condition, as was the microphone that protruded from the top. He ran his hands along the sides, eyeing the button that would record his voice.
Molly Weasley was in the kitchen chopping potatoes when the radio clicked on.
"Good evening, folks, and welcome to Potterwatch."
So shocked was Molly that she accidentally dropped a knife, slicing open the thumb on her right hand. She swore loudly, pressing a towel to the wound as she stormed over to the radio.
"ARTHUR!" She hollered.
"River here, faithfully announcing the news from the underground."
At his wife's screams, Mr. Weasley came running downstairs, skidding to a halt beside her.
"What is it? Ah," he spied the wound.
"What the hell did you do?" Mrs. Weasley screeched. "You've been enchanting things again, haven't you? HAVEN'T YOU? First the car, and now the radio!"
"Radio?" Mr. Weasley looked confusedly between his wife and the radio.
"There, er... there seems to be no news, actually, at the moment..."
He and Molly both jumped. They looked sideways at each other and leaned in, Mr. Weasley reaching out to turn up the volume.
"I apologize for the recent absence from the airways, folks, but as you know, it's been twenty five years since we've even had news to share."
"Arthur... Arthur, when it came on it said Potterwatch..."
"Could it be?"
"So, seeing as there really is no news, I think we ought to settle instead for a nice moment of silence in honor of all those who have died in the battle against the Dark Lord. We lost a lot of good ones, folks, Remus Lupin for one, who was a very nice man and a great hero and anyone who says otherwise can come over here and say it to my face; and his wife, Nymphadora Tonks. The couple left behind a young son who went under the custody of his Godfather, Mr. Potter, until he came of age. We lost mad-Eye Moody, a few good Aurors. Hogwarts lost a good number of students and a teacher or two. We all lost friends, we all lost family."
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Weasley spoke. They didn't even dare to breathe.
"I, myself, lost a very good man and one of my best friends, Fred Weasley."
Molly broke, turning into Arthur's shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.
"So let's take the next minute as a moment of silence, folks, for everyone we've lost."
Molly's sobs were the only sound for a full sixty seconds. Then, Jordan continued.
"Yes, indeed, the war was a vicious one, but we need to remain strong. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
They jumped.
"That is what Mad-Eye Moody would be saying right now, if he were here. Yes, folks, constant, constant vigilance. Unfortunately, seeing as there's not much news, Potterwatch will not be - oh. Hey, what's this?"
Molly looked at Arthur who shrugged. There was a moment of silence, and Lee's voice came on again, suddenly full of fire.
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. Potterwatch will be implementing the password system again. The code for the next show is 'Dumbledore's Army'."
Would you like to know what I think? I think that Harry Potter is so popular because everyone actually wants to be him. Everyone is secretly, deep, deep down in their hearts, living in a broom closet under the staircase. And deep, deep down in our hearts, we all wish we had a magical castle boarding school of witchcraft and wizardry we could go to.
