You all perform your duties without question, you take it upon yourselves to rebel the demons that have invested your beloved school; what was once your safe haven, now is Hell. You do this with both courage, bravery, and loyalty far beyond your years. Sometimes the simple acts, such as juvenile graffiti on the walls, or Nibblers in the Headmaster’s office are the most satisfying. It’s knowing that you caused the twitch in the lip, were responsible for the new age lines on the brow, that assures you that you’re doing the right thing. This is your war, just as much as it was your parents' war, and you will continue to fight for a future that may not even exist anymore.
You remember the night-time crying; the younger refugees trailing the elder students like lost little puppies; everyone on the verge of a breakdown. As your friends and classmates begin disappearing - Luna was taken from the train during Christmas, and Ginny never returned after Easter - the acts of defiance become less frequent and you are all just robots, waiting for someone to flick the off switch, to put you out of your misery.
And still, even when you have no reason to, you hold on to the last threads of life, so thin and fragile that you fear they will break any day now. Harry will return, you assure the others. It’s only a matter of time before he saves the day again. Nobody says anything, but you know they don’t believe you, they won’t allow themselves that luxury. Seamus just looks at you (one of many) and forces a grim smile, which he immediately drops with a grimace as the bruises and lacerations on his face protest. Others turn away, ashamed they could not be so positive about The Chosen One’s return as you try to be.
So you continue, in the name of all you’ve ever loved who have been hurt by this war. You continue on for your parents, who would be proud of the maturity you’ve possessed; you fight for Gran, who raised you and means so much to you; and last of all, and most importantly, you contest so that you may know happiness once more. You persevere in the names of Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley (who you pray are still alive) and for Harry and Ron and Hermione (wherever they are) and all of your friends and family; in honour of people around the world, so that they may never know the evil of Lord Voldemort again. With just the thinnest sight of hope and of love on the horizon, you carry forward, blind and unsure of where it will take you and what you’ll see when you arrive.
With this thought, this motivation, in mind you reflect back to months before. Before Luna and Ginny left you, when there was always hope just because they were there. They guided you along and encouraged you whenever you wanted to give up. You remember the three of you reorganizing Dumbledore’s Army (the group of students who all wanted to be able to defend themselves against evil). You can see a picture-perfect vision of the first meeting of the new year; maybe not happy, but eager faces shining up at you three, the ringleaders, with eyes full of faith. There were times of utmost terror as well, like when a first year was chained in the dungeons and Michael Corner rescued him, and when you got the “brilliant” idea in your head to steal Gryffindor’s sword from right under the greasy git of a headmaster’s nose. But when the two girls who were the light of your life, the beat of your heart, were taken from you, that was when you lost your certainty; your fool’s paradise.
Just two small words; a cry of “they’re here!” in the high-pitched voice of a little girl shake you back to your senses and alerts you to the real world again. You spin around on the spot, taking in the small group of kids that are mobbing around a tiny portrait on the wall, and join them. Ariana is standing there waiting for you, her porcelain-doll face alight with excitement. She speaks as you walk up to her portrait.
“Neville! There are people on the other side; Abe told me to get you.”
“Thanks Ariana. I’m coming,” you say, as you climb in to the secret passage that leads to the Hog’s Head.
You limp slowly down the tunnel, favouring one leg over the other, and when you climb through the other end, no words in any language on the planet can convey what you feel right then. Harry, Ron, and Hermione - the ones who hold the only chance for the light side to win this war - are there, looking the worst for wear, but still very much alive. Hope, faith, love, courage, bravery, chance. . . They were never gone, just hiding, and you can practically see their strands thicken in front of you. They are reminding you of all you still have, and all that is yet not lost.
Just hours later, you understand. You understand why you had to live through the worst year of your life. You realize that you are, in body, mind, and spirit, a true Gryffindor. You always thought you would be better off in Hufflepuff, but once again you have overcome the imagery that you built up through the years of who you are. Barely four hours after The Chosen One returned - as you always knew he would - you stand. You stand proud and strong in front of your army, wielding the sword of Gryffindor and facing the possibility that if you fail, one of the most terrifying possible futures you know of will be the end result.
And then, with one act of total ruthlessness and the weight of the Wizarding world on your shoulders, you swing your arm and bring the shining sword in your hands swishing through the air. With one swift slice, the snake’s head falls to the ground. Blood flies, a sharp contrast to the bright blue sky, and Voldemort roars with rage.
And as the thud of the snake’s severed head on the ground reaches your ears, you know with a certain clarity that the end is not far off, and it will be a good end. The grief over all of the ones you’ve lost may never heal absolutely, the scars will never fade, but you can see the sunrise of a new age and it is the most beautiful thing in your world. The fight never left you, not entirely, and for that you will be rewarded with new found hope, love, peace and finally. . . Freedom.