Kenmare Kestrels

Round 11, semifinals

Chaser 2

Main prompt: Only Power Remains

Bonus prompts: [Dialogue] "Can you please just… go?" - "Why would I do that?" - "I don't want you here right now.", [Emotion] love, [Character] Neville

Word count:1295

Harry laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling listlessly. He ignored the bustle and laughter around him, as the other boys made the most of the last day of school before summer.

"C'mon, I'm hungry!"

"Where's my sock?"

"Me ma's expecting a letter. Barmy, I say! She'll see me tomorrow!"

"Coming, Harry?"

Harry blinked out of his stupor. "What?"

"I'm going downstairs. Are you coming?" Ron repeated patiently.

"Go on," Harry said, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.

The fifth-year boys' dorm had better things for him to stare at, but Harry was bone-tired, exhausted from all the thoughts jumbled in his head. While the other boys rushed around to get ready to leave, Harry took the time to try and clear his mind.

"All right." Ron's voice was reluctant. "See you in the hospital wing?"

Harry hummed noncommittally. He knew he should have sounded a bit more eager to see Hermione, who was still in the hospital wing, but he just didn't have it in him at the moment.

Finally, there was silence and Harry sat up, only to freeze. Neville was sitting on his bed, staring at Harry. Harry stared back until –

"Can you please just… go?"

"Why would I do that?" Neville asked mildly.

"I don't want you here right now," Harry replied aggressively, ready to tear his hair out in frustration. He felt as if he would break down any moment, and how would that look? Harry felt embarrassed even thinking of it.

"We don't have to talk."

"Ugh, fine!" Harry flopped back on the bed. "Why do I even bother?"

There was a few minutes of silence before Harry couldn't bear the guilt anymore. He knew Neville was just trying to be helpful.

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered.

"It's alright."

"No, it isn't. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that," Harry replied.

"I think you're justified."

Harry turned to look at Neville, who was still sitting on his bed, staring at him.

"What are you doing anyway?" Harry asked curiously. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I'll go to the kitchens later. I just don't think you should be alone."

Harry's mood soured again. "I'm not a nutcase, you know."

"Of course not," Neville assured him. "Even sane people need friends. I should know."

Harry couldn't argue with that, so he remained silent, looking at Neville. He remembered the timid boy who ran off with the Hat during his sorting, and he marvelled at the confident young man before him.

If Voldemort had chosen Neville, would Neville have managed? After a moment of contemplation, Harry decided that he would have, probably better than Harry himself. Neville had the ability to succeed in what he put his mind to, and he had more empathy than him.

After all, Harry hadn't managed to be better in Potions despite his dream to be an Auror.

Looking at Neville now, Harry was glad to have him as a friend. Harry himself hadn't been a good friend—he still wasn't—but perhaps he could try to be better.

"You did wonderfully," Harry said suddenly, wanting Neville to know. "At the Ministry, I mean."

Neville's face lit up. "You think so?"

Harry nodded firmly, sitting up. "Yes, I do. And—I'm glad you're here, Neville."

Neville smiled as his shoulders loosened. Maybe he had been afraid Harry would scream at him. Harry didn't know, but he felt guilty.

"I… I miss Sirius. It's a pain right here," Harry said hoarsely, placing his hand on his chest as a stabbing pain pierced through him again. "And—I'm feeling so helpless… and scared."

There, he'd admitted it.

Neville nodded sympathetically before saying, "You know we're here with you, right? We'll be fighting till the end. We won't — none of us — we'll never give up."

"Yes, but…" But the prophecy, Harry completed in his head, but he couldn't say it. Dumbledore had been clear about that.

"But?" Neville prompted, and Harry had an overwhelming urge to tell him everything. Harry would have wanted to have known if Voldemort had chosen Neville…

"There's a prophecy."

"Did you manage to hear it?" Neville asked.

"Dumbledore told me—after we got back."

Neville remained silent, watching him. Harry stared at his hands.

"It basically said that I kill Voldemort—or he kills me." Harry looked up, overwhelmed all over again by the weight of the task in front of him.

Why had Voldemort chosen him? He wasn't anyone special. Could Harry even go through with this all? How was he supposed to lead them all when he hadn't been able to save Sirius, his own godfather?

"How do I do that, Neville?" Harry asked helplessly, his voice rising with uncertainty. "Voldemort has got years and years of experience, and what have I got? Nothing! Except for love, apparently."

"Love is not nothing," Neville said fiercely. Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"It's not," Neville reiterated, seeing Harry's look. "It's love that gave me the courage to join up. Love that made me determined to learn in DA. Love that kept us all going when everything seemed hopeless in the Ministry. Love is the reason we all stand with you, Harry. Love is not nothing."

"That's what Dumbledore said," Harry said after a moment. "And that it was my mother's love and sacrifice that kept me alive. It burned Quirrell in our first year too."

"There you have it!"

"But… sometimes I wished it hadn't. I—I wish she'd stepped away and saved herself instead."

"I know what you mean," Neville said, looking sadly at him. "I feel the same way about my parents. But I reckon… that they would feel the same if they had been in my place."

"Yeah," Harry said hoarsely, not having thought of that before. "They would have."

"And remember what Luna said? We'll see them again—all of them. Mum and Dad, sane and well, and your parents and Sirius and Luna's mother…"

"Do you really think so?"

"I do." Neville nodded empathically. "Luna knows what she's talking about. Well, except when it comes to her strange creatures…"

Harry managed a small smile, appreciating Neville's attempt to lighten the mood. "Yeah, Luna and her creatures. Sometimes I think she makes them up just to distract us."

Neville grinned, sensing the shift in Harry's mood. "Could be. Still, it's nice to think about, isn't it? A world with Wrackspurts and Nargles."

Harry chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Imagine if there really were Wrackspurts flying around. It would make sense, considering how fuzzy my head has been lately." He batted his hand around his face as if chasing bothersome flies away.

They looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

Harry's stomach grumbled and he suddenly remembered he had missed lunch. "Kitchens?"

Neville nodded in agreement. "I'm famished."

They went out to the common room and through the portrait hole, walking in silence, until Harry remembered something.

"You know the prophecy I was talking about?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes?" Neville furrowed his brows.

"It referred to both of us—until Voldemort chose me."

Neville was silent for a long time, and Harry started wondering if he should have kept that to himself.

"I'm glad it was you, then," Neville said shakily. "I'm not brave like you, or talented."

"You—" Harry protested, but Neville shook his head.

"I'm not, Harry, and I'm not ashamed of it—not any longer—but we can pretend it's both of us. It's both of our responsibility, got it? You don't have to do this alone."

Harry remained speechless, staring at Neville. "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't." Neville bumped his shoulder. "I know you'd have done the same for me. That's love."

If that was love, then love was just as powerful as Dumbledore had always believed.

Harry was glad he hadn't managed to push Neville away. His steps had a spring to them as they walked to the kitchen, feeling hopeful for the first time since Sirius died.