[oneshot] war doth make true leaders of us all
Title: war doth make true leaders of us all
Pairing: neville/luna/ginny
Rating: pg13
Genre: slice-of-life, mild romance
Warnings: swearing, lapslock
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: snapshots of the alt!trio during dh. 1,532 words.
it doesn't occur to neville to put the room of requirement into full use once more until the very last minute-namely, when the carrows are chasing him down the familiar seventh floor corridor and the spark of an idea leaps into the sea of pumping adrenaline that is his mind and lights it like a fuse.
he makes the first pass, babbling in his head about needing a room where he could not be found, where amycus and alecto would not be able to find him however hard they tried, where their minions would not find him either. on the second pass, he quickens into a run, the clanking and shouting voices drawing nearer up the stair. when he turns, he sees a flash of cloak out of the corner of his eye and sprints as fast as he can, reducto! and crucio! fizzling in bright colors over his head as the blessed, familiar door materializes and he tumbles inside.
the first thing he notices is the squashiness. this may or may not have something to do with the cushions underneath his outstretched body. light, i need light, he thinks, and the room accommodates, lanterns setting the entire place faintly aglow. there is a gryffindor banner hanging from the ceiling and a multi-colored swinging hammock against the far wall. the room is small, but not cramped. comfortable.
i quite like this, he thinks happily, and with a jolt he realizes this is perhaps the first happy thought he has had in a rather long time.
the carrows still haven't figured out the galleons, which is either a testament to hermione's absolute brilliance or the carrows' utter thickheadedness. neville isn't sure which, or maybe it's both, but he figures it's better not to question it. his shoulder still aches from his stint in the dungeons last month after attempt number twelve to steal the sword of gryffindor from snape's office, and the moment he feels the shudder of pain up his lower back, an unlabeled container of balm poofs quietly into existence next to his hammock.
he shucks his shirt and lets it fall to the floor, starts rubbing the balm in smooth circles onto his back while fiddling with his galleon, hoping that the message goes through.
ginny doesn't like to sleep.
she hasn't for a long time, not since first year and the diary and nightmares for months into the summer that her brothers are not there for-and even if they were, what would they do, then? try as they might, they could not protect her from herself, nor the residual shades of handsome, enchanting tom riddle.
so she does not sleep until she absolutely must, has established a very one-sided relationship with coffee and the caffeine pills that hermione begins passing along in mutual silence after the disaster that had been third year final exams. the cocktail of various stimulants and potions has been very good to her up till now, and when she finally passes out after weeks of no sleep, there are no dreams to haunt her in exhaustion.
she runs out of her emergency stash in late october.
later, neville will say he thought it drove her a little crazy, having to sleep and not having coped with the demons in her head yet, not really. she gets sent to the dungeons three times that week, once for being caught in filch's newly renovated quarters, once for trying to relay more messages through the portraits, and once for vandalizing select sections of the walls of the great hall with pro-order propaganda.
it is luna who finds the old potions book in the room of hidden things that has a maximum strength sleeping draught scrawled into the margins, along with a complicated ancient rune for undisturbed rest that gets rid of ginny's manic energy and the sense of something slowly crawling across her skin. ginny does not ask questions, as much as she wants to, just lets luna stroke sweaty strands of her hair back against her forehead and trace the runes with the tip of her wand yet again.
curiously, after the easter holidays when she is forced to go on the run and does not have the luxury of draughts or runes anymore, the nightmares do not come again.
the first act of sabotage luna actively participates in with them is a veritable mosaic of anti-blood-purist graffiti down the third floor corridor in the third week of school, when it's become clear that the school is being run by the ministry which is being run by voldemort. afterwards, they duck into the gryffindor common room, she and neville and luna and seamus, several carrow supporters and filch hot on their heels. "you can't go back to the ravenclaw tower tonight," ginny hisses, "it's too dangerous. they'll be patrolling." she grabs luna's arm and pulls her up the steps to the girls' dormitories, jams her into a violently red and gold four-poster.
"won't you sleep?" luna asks.
ginny blinks. "i don't sleep," she says finally, settling down at the foot of the bed and cracking open a book that luna dimly recognizes from the restricted section of the library.
luna becomes the calm and the voice of reason to their fire. neville takes to saying that if it weren't for her, they'd probably be in the dungeons filling in as crucio practice far more often than they actually were, and it's true-the others have a habit of rushing into things before any well-laid plans can be, well, laid. it's very nice to be needed.
"i'm not sure you should go home," neville tells her seriously when she's hauling her bags onto the thestral carriages, ready to take the train with ginny back to ottery st. catchpole.
"daddy needs me," she says, before pressing a kiss into his cheek. it is the last time she sees his face flush red until the final battle, and the thing that carries her through the long months in malfoy manor. when bellatrix pulls her hair and whispers hot crucios against her ear, they do not hurt her. she has always been very good at compartmentalizing pain.
when she gets out, she sends a crude message via galleon to neville. it turns out ginny's gone into hiding, and a thrill of empathy and fear runs up luna's spine for her. no news is good news, neville sends back. if the weasleys were caught? the ministry would have a field day.
despite his still, placid demeanor, dean thrums and twitches with energy even before his wounds fully heal. "you don't like being trapped here, do you?" luna asks him.
he jumps. "do you?"
"we're no help to anyone like this," she says, spreading her arms out to gesture at the scars on her legs and the half-healed gouge on his back, covered in blood-stained bandages. "plus, all the negativity's going to go to your head and the crumple-horned snorkacks will come, and that's never good."
"er, if you say so," dean says, eyeing her dubiously. he sighs. "i just want to be out there doing something, you know? it's my war too."
"it is," she agrees, patting his hand. "have you still got your galleon?"
"what?"
"your galleon," luna repeats, pulling hers out and resting it on dean's open palm. "the one that hermione charmed. neville's going to call us when harry gets to hogwarts."
"who says he's going back at all?" dean says, eyes shuttered.
"he will," luna says serenely. "he will."
he does. ginny gets the call when she steps out of the rickety old shower at aunt muriel's and feels the familiar heat of the coin in her palm unfurl a mirroring heat in her chest, her fingers twitching immediately to her wand when she's fully clothed again. "fred, george," she yells sharply, pounding down the stairs. they glance up from some potion they're concocting with lee, questioning looks on their faces. ginny holds up the coin. fred dives for his bag and pulls his out as well.
"well," george says, a determined set to his mouth, "i suppose it's high time, innit-"
"-to give old hoggy warty hogwarts another visit," fred finishes, standing up and brandishing his wand.
ginny grabs lee's arm as they apparate into the hog's head. aberforth looks grumpy and ushers them quickly into the secret passageway. the first thing she sees when she bursts out through the tunnel door is harry, looking rather worse for wear, surrounded by hermione, ron, neville, luna, and dean-and she has never been happier to see a group of people, she thinks, in her entire life.
"i'm sorry," she whispers fiercely into luna's ear, "i'm sorry i couldn't stop them from taking you, on the train home-and i'm sorry nev and i couldn't come rescue you, my parents kept saying it was too dangerous but i wanted to, luna, i really did-"
she claps a hand over ginny's mouth and smiles. "everything's turned out alright, yeah?" ginny nods mutely and she removes her hand, leans over to kiss her on the cheek. ginny turns beet-red and luna laughs. "it's the thought that counts."
fin
→ to die, to sleep; george-centric; post-battle of hogwarts; 188 words; for this prompt
he remembers the slight turn of his head when neville steps back and reveals a grimy, triumphant, very much alive harry potter, remembers the customary jerk of his head in fred's direction to exclaim in jubilation and hope, only to find a heavy wall of empty air. he remembers how the absence hits him like a hollow blow to the chest, like one of his limbs' been ripped clean off and he just can't feel it yet.
hey, comes a very small voice from behind him, and when he looks back he sees ginny, face streaked with dirt and a fine coat of dust in her fiery red hair. she tucks her hand in his and they walk into the great hall together, to where the dead lie. he does not weep-he will, later, when no one is around to watch him-just stares at fred's face, twisted into a final laugh, as if he's only sleeping, only dreaming of some absurd, elaborate prank to pull tomorrow.
a fitting end for me, fred would say if he could see himself now. he'd always wanted to die laughing.
fin
→ don't worry; neville/luna; post-war; 377 words; for this prompt
they're at another one of the ministry's endless stream of shitty galas, choking down sticky hors d'oeuvres and drinking wine that shoots up his nose with its intensity, and he is vaguely surprised that he has not fallen to pieces yet. he is very tired and does not understand why there is anything to be celebrated at all, given the rampant disarray after voldemort's brief stint in control of the ministry that's still being suppressed by the papers and the war refugees trickling back into the country and funeral after funeral he is expected to go to and smile bravely at. he does not understand why it is necessary. reconstruction, first, and perhaps light in all the darkness would follow, but neville supposes that the ministry does not care for that, or at least, not the people that count.
luna's hand is warm against his wrist when she pulls him out.
he wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating, the feeling of being choked and the dripping of dank water from the dungeons still real and visceral against his neck, his arm outstretched as if to push alecto away. it is not always alecto-sometimes it is her brother, or, less often, bellatrix lestrange, her wild eyes and wide mouth flashing in the darkness as she administers another easy crucio. there is always a strange calm to her insanity in his dreams, something methodological in her craziness that sends a paralyzing chill up his spine.
luna has dreams, too, and those may even hurt more than his. she does not thrash-merely curls up and falls frighteningly still, and she does not wake when he calls her name or shakes her thin shoulders, but remains trapped in the sort of half-sleep of lucid dreaming that only his fingernails piercing her skin can snap her out of. there is a collection of crescent shaped scars on her upper arm, now, and when he apologizes in the morning she just smiles that one smile-the one he first remembers seeing months before the battle of hogwarts when she stumbled into the room of requirement, narrow rivulets of blood dripping from her temple and clashing with the white-blonde of her hair-and simply says, "this too shall pass."
fin
A/N: UGH IDK, THE ALT!TRIO AND ALL THE OTHER SECONDARY CHARACTERS INTRIGUE ME SO MUCH.
Pairing: neville/luna/ginny
Rating: pg13
Genre: slice-of-life, mild romance
Warnings: swearing, lapslock
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: snapshots of the alt!trio during dh. 1,532 words.
it doesn't occur to neville to put the room of requirement into full use once more until the very last minute-namely, when the carrows are chasing him down the familiar seventh floor corridor and the spark of an idea leaps into the sea of pumping adrenaline that is his mind and lights it like a fuse.
he makes the first pass, babbling in his head about needing a room where he could not be found, where amycus and alecto would not be able to find him however hard they tried, where their minions would not find him either. on the second pass, he quickens into a run, the clanking and shouting voices drawing nearer up the stair. when he turns, he sees a flash of cloak out of the corner of his eye and sprints as fast as he can, reducto! and crucio! fizzling in bright colors over his head as the blessed, familiar door materializes and he tumbles inside.
the first thing he notices is the squashiness. this may or may not have something to do with the cushions underneath his outstretched body. light, i need light, he thinks, and the room accommodates, lanterns setting the entire place faintly aglow. there is a gryffindor banner hanging from the ceiling and a multi-colored swinging hammock against the far wall. the room is small, but not cramped. comfortable.
i quite like this, he thinks happily, and with a jolt he realizes this is perhaps the first happy thought he has had in a rather long time.
the carrows still haven't figured out the galleons, which is either a testament to hermione's absolute brilliance or the carrows' utter thickheadedness. neville isn't sure which, or maybe it's both, but he figures it's better not to question it. his shoulder still aches from his stint in the dungeons last month after attempt number twelve to steal the sword of gryffindor from snape's office, and the moment he feels the shudder of pain up his lower back, an unlabeled container of balm poofs quietly into existence next to his hammock.
he shucks his shirt and lets it fall to the floor, starts rubbing the balm in smooth circles onto his back while fiddling with his galleon, hoping that the message goes through.
ginny doesn't like to sleep.
she hasn't for a long time, not since first year and the diary and nightmares for months into the summer that her brothers are not there for-and even if they were, what would they do, then? try as they might, they could not protect her from herself, nor the residual shades of handsome, enchanting tom riddle.
so she does not sleep until she absolutely must, has established a very one-sided relationship with coffee and the caffeine pills that hermione begins passing along in mutual silence after the disaster that had been third year final exams. the cocktail of various stimulants and potions has been very good to her up till now, and when she finally passes out after weeks of no sleep, there are no dreams to haunt her in exhaustion.
she runs out of her emergency stash in late october.
later, neville will say he thought it drove her a little crazy, having to sleep and not having coped with the demons in her head yet, not really. she gets sent to the dungeons three times that week, once for being caught in filch's newly renovated quarters, once for trying to relay more messages through the portraits, and once for vandalizing select sections of the walls of the great hall with pro-order propaganda.
it is luna who finds the old potions book in the room of hidden things that has a maximum strength sleeping draught scrawled into the margins, along with a complicated ancient rune for undisturbed rest that gets rid of ginny's manic energy and the sense of something slowly crawling across her skin. ginny does not ask questions, as much as she wants to, just lets luna stroke sweaty strands of her hair back against her forehead and trace the runes with the tip of her wand yet again.
curiously, after the easter holidays when she is forced to go on the run and does not have the luxury of draughts or runes anymore, the nightmares do not come again.
the first act of sabotage luna actively participates in with them is a veritable mosaic of anti-blood-purist graffiti down the third floor corridor in the third week of school, when it's become clear that the school is being run by the ministry which is being run by voldemort. afterwards, they duck into the gryffindor common room, she and neville and luna and seamus, several carrow supporters and filch hot on their heels. "you can't go back to the ravenclaw tower tonight," ginny hisses, "it's too dangerous. they'll be patrolling." she grabs luna's arm and pulls her up the steps to the girls' dormitories, jams her into a violently red and gold four-poster.
"won't you sleep?" luna asks.
ginny blinks. "i don't sleep," she says finally, settling down at the foot of the bed and cracking open a book that luna dimly recognizes from the restricted section of the library.
luna becomes the calm and the voice of reason to their fire. neville takes to saying that if it weren't for her, they'd probably be in the dungeons filling in as crucio practice far more often than they actually were, and it's true-the others have a habit of rushing into things before any well-laid plans can be, well, laid. it's very nice to be needed.
"i'm not sure you should go home," neville tells her seriously when she's hauling her bags onto the thestral carriages, ready to take the train with ginny back to ottery st. catchpole.
"daddy needs me," she says, before pressing a kiss into his cheek. it is the last time she sees his face flush red until the final battle, and the thing that carries her through the long months in malfoy manor. when bellatrix pulls her hair and whispers hot crucios against her ear, they do not hurt her. she has always been very good at compartmentalizing pain.
when she gets out, she sends a crude message via galleon to neville. it turns out ginny's gone into hiding, and a thrill of empathy and fear runs up luna's spine for her. no news is good news, neville sends back. if the weasleys were caught? the ministry would have a field day.
despite his still, placid demeanor, dean thrums and twitches with energy even before his wounds fully heal. "you don't like being trapped here, do you?" luna asks him.
he jumps. "do you?"
"we're no help to anyone like this," she says, spreading her arms out to gesture at the scars on her legs and the half-healed gouge on his back, covered in blood-stained bandages. "plus, all the negativity's going to go to your head and the crumple-horned snorkacks will come, and that's never good."
"er, if you say so," dean says, eyeing her dubiously. he sighs. "i just want to be out there doing something, you know? it's my war too."
"it is," she agrees, patting his hand. "have you still got your galleon?"
"what?"
"your galleon," luna repeats, pulling hers out and resting it on dean's open palm. "the one that hermione charmed. neville's going to call us when harry gets to hogwarts."
"who says he's going back at all?" dean says, eyes shuttered.
"he will," luna says serenely. "he will."
he does. ginny gets the call when she steps out of the rickety old shower at aunt muriel's and feels the familiar heat of the coin in her palm unfurl a mirroring heat in her chest, her fingers twitching immediately to her wand when she's fully clothed again. "fred, george," she yells sharply, pounding down the stairs. they glance up from some potion they're concocting with lee, questioning looks on their faces. ginny holds up the coin. fred dives for his bag and pulls his out as well.
"well," george says, a determined set to his mouth, "i suppose it's high time, innit-"
"-to give old hoggy warty hogwarts another visit," fred finishes, standing up and brandishing his wand.
ginny grabs lee's arm as they apparate into the hog's head. aberforth looks grumpy and ushers them quickly into the secret passageway. the first thing she sees when she bursts out through the tunnel door is harry, looking rather worse for wear, surrounded by hermione, ron, neville, luna, and dean-and she has never been happier to see a group of people, she thinks, in her entire life.
"i'm sorry," she whispers fiercely into luna's ear, "i'm sorry i couldn't stop them from taking you, on the train home-and i'm sorry nev and i couldn't come rescue you, my parents kept saying it was too dangerous but i wanted to, luna, i really did-"
she claps a hand over ginny's mouth and smiles. "everything's turned out alright, yeah?" ginny nods mutely and she removes her hand, leans over to kiss her on the cheek. ginny turns beet-red and luna laughs. "it's the thought that counts."
fin
→ to die, to sleep; george-centric; post-battle of hogwarts; 188 words; for this prompt
he remembers the slight turn of his head when neville steps back and reveals a grimy, triumphant, very much alive harry potter, remembers the customary jerk of his head in fred's direction to exclaim in jubilation and hope, only to find a heavy wall of empty air. he remembers how the absence hits him like a hollow blow to the chest, like one of his limbs' been ripped clean off and he just can't feel it yet.
hey, comes a very small voice from behind him, and when he looks back he sees ginny, face streaked with dirt and a fine coat of dust in her fiery red hair. she tucks her hand in his and they walk into the great hall together, to where the dead lie. he does not weep-he will, later, when no one is around to watch him-just stares at fred's face, twisted into a final laugh, as if he's only sleeping, only dreaming of some absurd, elaborate prank to pull tomorrow.
a fitting end for me, fred would say if he could see himself now. he'd always wanted to die laughing.
fin
→ don't worry; neville/luna; post-war; 377 words; for this prompt
they're at another one of the ministry's endless stream of shitty galas, choking down sticky hors d'oeuvres and drinking wine that shoots up his nose with its intensity, and he is vaguely surprised that he has not fallen to pieces yet. he is very tired and does not understand why there is anything to be celebrated at all, given the rampant disarray after voldemort's brief stint in control of the ministry that's still being suppressed by the papers and the war refugees trickling back into the country and funeral after funeral he is expected to go to and smile bravely at. he does not understand why it is necessary. reconstruction, first, and perhaps light in all the darkness would follow, but neville supposes that the ministry does not care for that, or at least, not the people that count.
luna's hand is warm against his wrist when she pulls him out.
he wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating, the feeling of being choked and the dripping of dank water from the dungeons still real and visceral against his neck, his arm outstretched as if to push alecto away. it is not always alecto-sometimes it is her brother, or, less often, bellatrix lestrange, her wild eyes and wide mouth flashing in the darkness as she administers another easy crucio. there is always a strange calm to her insanity in his dreams, something methodological in her craziness that sends a paralyzing chill up his spine.
luna has dreams, too, and those may even hurt more than his. she does not thrash-merely curls up and falls frighteningly still, and she does not wake when he calls her name or shakes her thin shoulders, but remains trapped in the sort of half-sleep of lucid dreaming that only his fingernails piercing her skin can snap her out of. there is a collection of crescent shaped scars on her upper arm, now, and when he apologizes in the morning she just smiles that one smile-the one he first remembers seeing months before the battle of hogwarts when she stumbled into the room of requirement, narrow rivulets of blood dripping from her temple and clashing with the white-blonde of her hair-and simply says, "this too shall pass."
fin
A/N: UGH IDK, THE ALT!TRIO AND ALL THE OTHER SECONDARY CHARACTERS INTRIGUE ME SO MUCH.