Some Hero
Title: Some Hero
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Characters: Harry, Weasleys, Luna Lovegood, Dennis Creevey
Pairings: none
Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything related to Harry Potter.
Summary: The battle is over: now’s the time to mourn the dead and learn what it really means to be a hero. Post DH.
Some Hero
By Spectral Scribe
----------------------------
There were bodies lined up throughout the Great Hall as students had been lined up on benches at their House tables; as the individual desks had been lined up for OWLs during fifth year; as the books were lined up in the library: in scrupulously neat rows. It was certainly not the body heap that one would expect in a battle scene.
But it was no longer a battle scene; tears mingled freely with laughter as the living mingled with the dead, creating cacophonous confusion in the large room. Was the atmosphere rapturous or grief-stricken? It was no longer possible to tell one from the other.
The Order of the Phoenix-or at least, the remaining members-had gathered up a removal squad comprised of a wide diversity of wizards and witches who had volunteered for the distressing task of taking the fallen to a more suitable place: in more unpleasant terms, the morgue.
Because of this new development, the rapture was quickly becoming overwhelmed by sorrow as loved ones clung to their dead and wept their last goodbyes. The Weasleys stood out above everyone, perhaps due to the nearly comatose state of grief and shock among the family members, perhaps due to the flaming red hair. Mrs. Weasley had, upon sight of the removal squad, thrown herself upon Fred’s body and immediately began weeping hoarsely. A devastated Ginny clung to the hand of her equally, if not more so, inconsolable brother, George; indeed, George’s complexion had taken on the sickly pallor of a corpse, a waxy and nearly translucent gray, and his eyes were dark and hollow like two brown pebbles. He looked on the verge of either passing out or throwing up. His hand was clamped over the hole where there once had been an ear, as if in a bizarre tribute to Fred. It might appear that his twin brother was, like the severed ear, a necessary appendage that had been unexpectedly ripped from his body, as though Fred had been every bit a part of him as his long-lost ear…
On George’s other side stood Percy, his face a perfect mask of shock as one who has been slapped for apparently no reason. Ron stood next to his father, clutching his shirtsleeve as though afraid it would disappear; his other arm was wrapped around Hermione’s waist, the latter having buried her face in his shoulder, her expression hidden behind tangles of bushy brown hair.
Here they stood (those who had not joined the removal squad): a perfectly self-contained unit of love and grief.
And there, unsurprisingly on the fringes, wandered Harry Potter, the Boy Who Continued to Live. The Boy Who Continued to Weasel Out of Trouble, the Boy Who Continued to Avoid Death by the Skin of his Teeth, the Boy Who Continued to Sacrifice Others Instead of Himself.
Yes. That Harry Potter.
Needless to say, he had been unable to join the Weasleys in their last-minute show of despair. If Ginny had extricated herself from George and looked to Harry for comfort, he would not have been able to stomach it; it would have been like Peter Pettigrew patting Harry on the back and offering reassuring words about his deceased parents.
So Harry wandered between the living and the dead.
He was stopped by a somewhat unusual sight. Dennis Creevey had at some point gotten back into the castle, and was now seated on the floor next to his brother, looking stricken. One hand lay on Colin’s chest as though waiting for the moment when his heart would start beating again. Luna Lovegood’s hand lay atop Dennis’s in a sweet gesture of compassion. Her soulful blue eyes stared unblinkingly at the younger man on across from her, a soft and gentle smile pulling at her lips.
Harry had a sudden thought and wondered why he hadn’t realized it before: they must have known each other.
Colin and Luna were, after all, in the same year, and were bound to have had some classes together. And suddenly, Harry had a thought that was so unpleasant he almost had to sit down.
Colin Creevey would never take another photograph again.
He did not know why this, over the visible death of Fred and Lupin and Tonks and all the others, would trigger such a gut-wrenching reaction, and did not bother to probe the thought in search of explanation. Still, his mind returned as though stuck to it by Spell-o-Tape.
Colin Creevey would never take another photograph again.
It must have been the sight of Luna’s hand gently patting Dennis’s that triggered the very vivid vision of a future that would never be: Luna and Colin venturing into the distant wilderness in search of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or some other exotic (and possibly imaginary) creature. Once they found it, Luna would write a quirky article for the Quibbler, and Colin would snap the pictures to supplement the writing. And off they would go, smiling at their success.
But, Harry’s aching insides reminded him, this could never be, for Colin Creevey would never take another photograph again.
It did not seem possible for one’s heart to sustain such a large hole. It was the same empty pit that had bloomed after Sirius’s death, and it seemed to be growing, eating away at every happy memory within him like a hungry dementor. Surely when the hole got this large it would swallow the heart whole, leaving nothing left? Surely one person could not feel this much pain and guilt without sustaining massive coronary injuries?
Luna’s protuberant blue eyes were suddenly upon him. “Harry,” she called, somehow waving him over without moving a single body part. Having no alternative, he moved forward and stood awkwardly above the squatting duo, hands in his pockets.
Dennis seemed thoroughly unaware of his presence-or of the presence of anyone else, for that matter.
“Do you know Dennis?” Luna inquired serenely.
Harry jerked his head in what he hoped resembled a nod.
Luna smiled-not in a blatantly cheerful way, but in a way that seemed somehow appropriate amid all the crying in the Great Hall. “How lovely. I didn’t know him at all before today. Of course, I knew Colin, we had Transfiguration and Astronomy together this year. But I’ve gotten to know Dennis now as well.”
She was so nonchalant that Harry found himself tuning her out, for he had just realized that Colin’s parents weren’t there. Surely they would have arrived by their dead son’s side? But then he remembered that Colin’s parents were Muggles. They probably knew nothing of what had happened tonight. They, perhaps, were not even aware that their son was dead. Harry tried to swallow but it was suddenly painful. They probably didn’t even know. And Colin would never take another picture…
“Do you know who Dennis’s hero is?” Luna asked, and Harry had the urge to shake her, to make her realize that she was sitting over the body of a boy her age, that this was no time to be discussing silly things like heroes, but he was unable to speak. Luna answered her own question: “His brother.”
Harry did not want to hear this, especially because he had a faint and nauseating idea of what she was going to say next.
“Do you know who Colin’s hero was?”
Harry shook his head, hoping abjectly that she would not answer herself this time because he could not bear to hear it.
But she did.
“You.”
To his surprise, a bitter laugh escaped him like air hissing out of a deflating balloon. “Oh yeah? For what, exactly? For letting people die in my place? For being a coward and waiting to the last moment to go to Voldemort? For not even being able to sacrifice myself? Oh, yeah. Some hero.”
“I agree. You are some hero.”
Harry was unsure whether Luna had not heard or chosen to ignore his sarcasm. “Oh yes, quite some hero,” she continued with placid earnestness. “You sacrificed yourself and still returned to finish off You-Know-Who.”
Harry shook his head. “But that’s just the thing. I didn’t sacrifice myself. I tried, but I couldn’t even die properly. All these people-” he gestured vaguely to the dead being slowly removed from the Great Hall “-didn’t have to sacrifice themselves, but they did anyway. And now they’re paying the permanent price. Me? I did have to. But here I am, still alive. I get another chance-what about them? How is that fair?” The words tumbled out of him faster than he could stop them, but he didn’t care. It was the truth, and it was crushing his lungs, and it suddenly seemed imperative that he convince someone of this-that someone being, at the moment, Luna Lovegood. “I should have died out there,” he continued, watching two wizards levitate a corpse away from a sobbing family member. “Anyone could have finished off Voldemort after Neville did the snake, really,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Luna’s smile didn’t fade as she commented lightly, “Oh, I didn’t think you were that selfish.”
Harry blinked at her. “What?”
“To leave everyone that cares about you behind like that? Certainly it would have been easier to die. Of course, all these people-” she mimicked his gesture that encompassed the dead “-have it much easier than the ones standing over their bodies.” Harry opened his mouth furiously but couldn’t think of anything to say. “It takes some hero to return to all that suffering when you could just leave it behind.”
Harry stared at Luna with a sort of miserable desperation. Why was she being so kind to him? He didn’t deserve such a show of respect and affection. It almost would have been better had she railed against him for letting all those people die before he went into the woods. The anger would have been easier to deal with than this quiet consolation. He could think of only one thing to say: “Colin won’t take anymore photographs.”
“No,” Luna agreed with a sympathetic shake of her head. “He won’t.”
“Remus won’t get to see his son grow up,” Harry continued. “Tonks won’t ever make that face that always made everyone laugh, the one with the pig nose.”
“No,” said Luna. “They won’t.”
“Fred won’t ever make another creation for the joke sh-” Harry choked on this last one, mind invaded by a hundred memories of Fred and his skiving candies, Fred and his headless hats, Fred and his dragonskin coat and his cheeky grin and his utter disregard for authority. And then there was George. It was like ripping somebody in half.
Harry shook his head, regaining himself. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice cracking on the word. “Some hero.”
“Do you know who my hero is?” Luna asked. Harry shook his head. “George Weasley.” Harry frowned. “And Dennis.” At this, the younger Creevey blinked, his name having momentarily startled him from his silent shock. “And Mr. and Mrs. Lupin’s child. You said it was a boy?”
“Teddy,” Harry mumbled.
“Yes, him.”
“And I suppose me, too?” Harry could not keep the sarcasm from his voice.
Luna’s smile widened. “Yes, of course. It takes an even greater hero to keep living than to die.”
“Thanks and all,” said Harry. “But I’m no hero.”
“Harry?”
He looked around at the sound of his name, spotting Ginny walking over to him with a worried look on her face. His hands were still deep in his pockets, and he watched Ginny without moving in her direction.
“We’re all heading back to the Burrow now for some sleep.”
“Okay,” Harry said blankly, making no connection between the ‘we’ of whom she spoke and himself. He assumed it was the Weasley family who was going back, the family who needed to console one another in their grief. Harry felt a strange sort of detachment, as though he did not belong, and would be intruding upon their sorrow with his presence.
Ginny’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Well, are you coming?”
Harry stared at her, and eventually she closed the distance between them, grabbed him by the arm, and steered him in the direction of the Weasley clan. Harry was quite grateful to see that she was not looking for comfort; that hard, blazing look had returned to her eyes, but now it was a toned-down version, one of commiseration. Harry followed her lead unthinkingly, mind numb.
“There you are, mate. Where’ve you been?” Ron asked upon looking around and spotting him, once they reached the rest of the Weasleys. Fred was nowhere to be found.
“I…” Harry’s voice drifted off as he glanced back at Luna, who had a hand on Dennis’s shoulder as he tried to stop one of the removal squad from taking his brother.
“If you wander off again, Harry, I think my family might just tie you to a chair so we can keep tabs on you,” Ginny said in a quiet, serious voice.
Harry didn’t respond; after all, the last time he’d wandered off, everyone had been-quite understandably-under the assumption that he was dead.
They took Floo Powder to get to the Burrow, and once there, everyone immediately passed out on their beds. Harry, unable to stave off sleep for too long, resisted the tempting heaviness of his eyelids for only a few minutes before succumbing as well. In those last few wakeful minutes, he lay with his hands behind his head, fingers threaded together, listening to Ron’s deepening snores, and he thought about his parents and Sirius and everyone else.
He had idolized his father for years, only to find out that James Potter had been a bigheaded prat when he was a teenager. Some hero.
Albus Dumbledore, though still as wise and seemingly omniscient as ever, had lied to Harry for years and had stayed at Hogwarts because he couldn’t be trusted with power. Some hero.
Colin had bravely joined the battle and had died a quick, unceremonious death of which even his parents were unaware, an unnecessary death overshadowed by all the loss that had occurred. Some hero.
And Harry? Harry was still the Boy Who Continued to Live. Harry was still alive; he had not gotten the rest he so craved, had not gotten to stay with his parents and everyone else he had lost. No, he toiled on. And for that, perhaps, he was some hero.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Characters: Harry, Weasleys, Luna Lovegood, Dennis Creevey
Pairings: none
Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything related to Harry Potter.
Summary: The battle is over: now’s the time to mourn the dead and learn what it really means to be a hero. Post DH.
Some Hero
By Spectral Scribe
----------------------------
There were bodies lined up throughout the Great Hall as students had been lined up on benches at their House tables; as the individual desks had been lined up for OWLs during fifth year; as the books were lined up in the library: in scrupulously neat rows. It was certainly not the body heap that one would expect in a battle scene.
But it was no longer a battle scene; tears mingled freely with laughter as the living mingled with the dead, creating cacophonous confusion in the large room. Was the atmosphere rapturous or grief-stricken? It was no longer possible to tell one from the other.
The Order of the Phoenix-or at least, the remaining members-had gathered up a removal squad comprised of a wide diversity of wizards and witches who had volunteered for the distressing task of taking the fallen to a more suitable place: in more unpleasant terms, the morgue.
Because of this new development, the rapture was quickly becoming overwhelmed by sorrow as loved ones clung to their dead and wept their last goodbyes. The Weasleys stood out above everyone, perhaps due to the nearly comatose state of grief and shock among the family members, perhaps due to the flaming red hair. Mrs. Weasley had, upon sight of the removal squad, thrown herself upon Fred’s body and immediately began weeping hoarsely. A devastated Ginny clung to the hand of her equally, if not more so, inconsolable brother, George; indeed, George’s complexion had taken on the sickly pallor of a corpse, a waxy and nearly translucent gray, and his eyes were dark and hollow like two brown pebbles. He looked on the verge of either passing out or throwing up. His hand was clamped over the hole where there once had been an ear, as if in a bizarre tribute to Fred. It might appear that his twin brother was, like the severed ear, a necessary appendage that had been unexpectedly ripped from his body, as though Fred had been every bit a part of him as his long-lost ear…
On George’s other side stood Percy, his face a perfect mask of shock as one who has been slapped for apparently no reason. Ron stood next to his father, clutching his shirtsleeve as though afraid it would disappear; his other arm was wrapped around Hermione’s waist, the latter having buried her face in his shoulder, her expression hidden behind tangles of bushy brown hair.
Here they stood (those who had not joined the removal squad): a perfectly self-contained unit of love and grief.
And there, unsurprisingly on the fringes, wandered Harry Potter, the Boy Who Continued to Live. The Boy Who Continued to Weasel Out of Trouble, the Boy Who Continued to Avoid Death by the Skin of his Teeth, the Boy Who Continued to Sacrifice Others Instead of Himself.
Yes. That Harry Potter.
Needless to say, he had been unable to join the Weasleys in their last-minute show of despair. If Ginny had extricated herself from George and looked to Harry for comfort, he would not have been able to stomach it; it would have been like Peter Pettigrew patting Harry on the back and offering reassuring words about his deceased parents.
So Harry wandered between the living and the dead.
He was stopped by a somewhat unusual sight. Dennis Creevey had at some point gotten back into the castle, and was now seated on the floor next to his brother, looking stricken. One hand lay on Colin’s chest as though waiting for the moment when his heart would start beating again. Luna Lovegood’s hand lay atop Dennis’s in a sweet gesture of compassion. Her soulful blue eyes stared unblinkingly at the younger man on across from her, a soft and gentle smile pulling at her lips.
Harry had a sudden thought and wondered why he hadn’t realized it before: they must have known each other.
Colin and Luna were, after all, in the same year, and were bound to have had some classes together. And suddenly, Harry had a thought that was so unpleasant he almost had to sit down.
Colin Creevey would never take another photograph again.
He did not know why this, over the visible death of Fred and Lupin and Tonks and all the others, would trigger such a gut-wrenching reaction, and did not bother to probe the thought in search of explanation. Still, his mind returned as though stuck to it by Spell-o-Tape.
Colin Creevey would never take another photograph again.
It must have been the sight of Luna’s hand gently patting Dennis’s that triggered the very vivid vision of a future that would never be: Luna and Colin venturing into the distant wilderness in search of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or some other exotic (and possibly imaginary) creature. Once they found it, Luna would write a quirky article for the Quibbler, and Colin would snap the pictures to supplement the writing. And off they would go, smiling at their success.
But, Harry’s aching insides reminded him, this could never be, for Colin Creevey would never take another photograph again.
It did not seem possible for one’s heart to sustain such a large hole. It was the same empty pit that had bloomed after Sirius’s death, and it seemed to be growing, eating away at every happy memory within him like a hungry dementor. Surely when the hole got this large it would swallow the heart whole, leaving nothing left? Surely one person could not feel this much pain and guilt without sustaining massive coronary injuries?
Luna’s protuberant blue eyes were suddenly upon him. “Harry,” she called, somehow waving him over without moving a single body part. Having no alternative, he moved forward and stood awkwardly above the squatting duo, hands in his pockets.
Dennis seemed thoroughly unaware of his presence-or of the presence of anyone else, for that matter.
“Do you know Dennis?” Luna inquired serenely.
Harry jerked his head in what he hoped resembled a nod.
Luna smiled-not in a blatantly cheerful way, but in a way that seemed somehow appropriate amid all the crying in the Great Hall. “How lovely. I didn’t know him at all before today. Of course, I knew Colin, we had Transfiguration and Astronomy together this year. But I’ve gotten to know Dennis now as well.”
She was so nonchalant that Harry found himself tuning her out, for he had just realized that Colin’s parents weren’t there. Surely they would have arrived by their dead son’s side? But then he remembered that Colin’s parents were Muggles. They probably knew nothing of what had happened tonight. They, perhaps, were not even aware that their son was dead. Harry tried to swallow but it was suddenly painful. They probably didn’t even know. And Colin would never take another picture…
“Do you know who Dennis’s hero is?” Luna asked, and Harry had the urge to shake her, to make her realize that she was sitting over the body of a boy her age, that this was no time to be discussing silly things like heroes, but he was unable to speak. Luna answered her own question: “His brother.”
Harry did not want to hear this, especially because he had a faint and nauseating idea of what she was going to say next.
“Do you know who Colin’s hero was?”
Harry shook his head, hoping abjectly that she would not answer herself this time because he could not bear to hear it.
But she did.
“You.”
To his surprise, a bitter laugh escaped him like air hissing out of a deflating balloon. “Oh yeah? For what, exactly? For letting people die in my place? For being a coward and waiting to the last moment to go to Voldemort? For not even being able to sacrifice myself? Oh, yeah. Some hero.”
“I agree. You are some hero.”
Harry was unsure whether Luna had not heard or chosen to ignore his sarcasm. “Oh yes, quite some hero,” she continued with placid earnestness. “You sacrificed yourself and still returned to finish off You-Know-Who.”
Harry shook his head. “But that’s just the thing. I didn’t sacrifice myself. I tried, but I couldn’t even die properly. All these people-” he gestured vaguely to the dead being slowly removed from the Great Hall “-didn’t have to sacrifice themselves, but they did anyway. And now they’re paying the permanent price. Me? I did have to. But here I am, still alive. I get another chance-what about them? How is that fair?” The words tumbled out of him faster than he could stop them, but he didn’t care. It was the truth, and it was crushing his lungs, and it suddenly seemed imperative that he convince someone of this-that someone being, at the moment, Luna Lovegood. “I should have died out there,” he continued, watching two wizards levitate a corpse away from a sobbing family member. “Anyone could have finished off Voldemort after Neville did the snake, really,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Luna’s smile didn’t fade as she commented lightly, “Oh, I didn’t think you were that selfish.”
Harry blinked at her. “What?”
“To leave everyone that cares about you behind like that? Certainly it would have been easier to die. Of course, all these people-” she mimicked his gesture that encompassed the dead “-have it much easier than the ones standing over their bodies.” Harry opened his mouth furiously but couldn’t think of anything to say. “It takes some hero to return to all that suffering when you could just leave it behind.”
Harry stared at Luna with a sort of miserable desperation. Why was she being so kind to him? He didn’t deserve such a show of respect and affection. It almost would have been better had she railed against him for letting all those people die before he went into the woods. The anger would have been easier to deal with than this quiet consolation. He could think of only one thing to say: “Colin won’t take anymore photographs.”
“No,” Luna agreed with a sympathetic shake of her head. “He won’t.”
“Remus won’t get to see his son grow up,” Harry continued. “Tonks won’t ever make that face that always made everyone laugh, the one with the pig nose.”
“No,” said Luna. “They won’t.”
“Fred won’t ever make another creation for the joke sh-” Harry choked on this last one, mind invaded by a hundred memories of Fred and his skiving candies, Fred and his headless hats, Fred and his dragonskin coat and his cheeky grin and his utter disregard for authority. And then there was George. It was like ripping somebody in half.
Harry shook his head, regaining himself. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice cracking on the word. “Some hero.”
“Do you know who my hero is?” Luna asked. Harry shook his head. “George Weasley.” Harry frowned. “And Dennis.” At this, the younger Creevey blinked, his name having momentarily startled him from his silent shock. “And Mr. and Mrs. Lupin’s child. You said it was a boy?”
“Teddy,” Harry mumbled.
“Yes, him.”
“And I suppose me, too?” Harry could not keep the sarcasm from his voice.
Luna’s smile widened. “Yes, of course. It takes an even greater hero to keep living than to die.”
“Thanks and all,” said Harry. “But I’m no hero.”
“Harry?”
He looked around at the sound of his name, spotting Ginny walking over to him with a worried look on her face. His hands were still deep in his pockets, and he watched Ginny without moving in her direction.
“We’re all heading back to the Burrow now for some sleep.”
“Okay,” Harry said blankly, making no connection between the ‘we’ of whom she spoke and himself. He assumed it was the Weasley family who was going back, the family who needed to console one another in their grief. Harry felt a strange sort of detachment, as though he did not belong, and would be intruding upon their sorrow with his presence.
Ginny’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Well, are you coming?”
Harry stared at her, and eventually she closed the distance between them, grabbed him by the arm, and steered him in the direction of the Weasley clan. Harry was quite grateful to see that she was not looking for comfort; that hard, blazing look had returned to her eyes, but now it was a toned-down version, one of commiseration. Harry followed her lead unthinkingly, mind numb.
“There you are, mate. Where’ve you been?” Ron asked upon looking around and spotting him, once they reached the rest of the Weasleys. Fred was nowhere to be found.
“I…” Harry’s voice drifted off as he glanced back at Luna, who had a hand on Dennis’s shoulder as he tried to stop one of the removal squad from taking his brother.
“If you wander off again, Harry, I think my family might just tie you to a chair so we can keep tabs on you,” Ginny said in a quiet, serious voice.
Harry didn’t respond; after all, the last time he’d wandered off, everyone had been-quite understandably-under the assumption that he was dead.
They took Floo Powder to get to the Burrow, and once there, everyone immediately passed out on their beds. Harry, unable to stave off sleep for too long, resisted the tempting heaviness of his eyelids for only a few minutes before succumbing as well. In those last few wakeful minutes, he lay with his hands behind his head, fingers threaded together, listening to Ron’s deepening snores, and he thought about his parents and Sirius and everyone else.
He had idolized his father for years, only to find out that James Potter had been a bigheaded prat when he was a teenager. Some hero.
Albus Dumbledore, though still as wise and seemingly omniscient as ever, had lied to Harry for years and had stayed at Hogwarts because he couldn’t be trusted with power. Some hero.
Colin had bravely joined the battle and had died a quick, unceremonious death of which even his parents were unaware, an unnecessary death overshadowed by all the loss that had occurred. Some hero.
And Harry? Harry was still the Boy Who Continued to Live. Harry was still alive; he had not gotten the rest he so craved, had not gotten to stay with his parents and everyone else he had lost. No, he toiled on. And for that, perhaps, he was some hero.