Fic: Sunlight
Title: Sunlight
Author:
that_september
Rating: PGish.
Characters/Pairings: Ron, Hermione, Harry. Mentions of R/Hr.
Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's characters, plot, or, unfortunately, brain.
Author's Note: Another one of my personal favorites. It's not DH compatible, but I love Hermione and I still think that she needed Gryffindor to become who she was.
Summary: Some wondered why she wasn't a Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor brought Hermione sunlight. Written pre-DH in October 2006.
I never have seen myself as smart, and I don’t believe I ever shall. People would often wonder aloud why I hadn’t been made a Ravenclaw, and I’d smile quietly. It had nothing to do with brains, the others just didn’t realize it.
That was a strange way to begin a story, wasn’t it? Or at least, it’s a strange start to the story I’m about to tell. I guess that my primary goal is to make you understand why I am who I am, and how I became that way.
Now, I’ve always been very focused on school work from the time I had any to worry about. Teachers praised me to the heavens, and other kids found me strange or intimidating, so I was always left mostly to myself during my elementary school days. Kids could sense a strangeness to me that went beyond my intelligence: I had once been caught doing homework when I thought I was alone by a classmate, and I’d been sitting there, head in hands, absentmindedly staring at my pencil as it flew across the page and I dictated my answers aloud.
Maybe that’s what started it all, me being left alone to begin with. I didn’t have friends to worry about, so I cared about school work and pleasing my teachers and parents. I liked books, so I read as much as I could. Knowledge was power, and with power, I could do anything. The mind, I realized from very early on, is the best weapon-the hardest to defeat, and the easiest to use.
I was not unduly surprised when my letter came from Hogwarts; not much ever staggered me. It confirmed what I and everyone else had always known: I was different. My parents were shocked, however, though I honestly didn’t see why. I was too young at that point to understand that grown Muggles stopped believing in magic, that they were certain it belonged in fairy stories and childish dreams.
And when I went to Hogwarts, I hadn’t hoped for much. Perhaps, I thought, the other children wouldn’t be different from the Muggles I’d grown up around. Conceivably they’d find me strange, too, and I’d have only my schoolwork. When I read about the four different houses in Hogwarts, A History on the train to school, I immediately knew which one I’d be put in. It was obvious: Ravenclaw. From the brief description in the book, it sounded as if they were a studious lot that kept to themselves and did as they were told. That was what I felt I was, so I ceased worrying about whether I’d fit in. At least I’d be around my own kind, I thought.
The others seemed so nervous and worried while we cued up to be Sorted, but I was a bit like Malfoy in the sense that I knew where I was going and didn’t waste time worrying about why. When my name was called, I did not walk shakily to the stool. I strode confidently, sat up straight, and waited for the Hat to yell out what I already knew. The Sorting Hat slipped onto my head, and I closed my eyes automatically at the darkness.
Well, now, a voice whispered, you’re a clever one. I couldn’t help but sigh-it seems self-centered, but I’d heard it so much at that point, it had gotten a bit old.
I suppose, I acknowledged.
Yes, dear, the Hat chuckled. I see you think I’m going to put you in Ravenclaw. Would you like that?
I don’t know, I admitted.
You don’t? asked the Hat. Well, I expect this is a first. It chuckled a bit again. Now, dear, we both know there’s more to you than brains. I see a great courage in you, a drive that pushes you to do your best and succeed no matter what. You do not see mere rules; you see what is right, and what is wrong-I expect you’ll have a few detentions in your days here!
Detention? I was aghast. I certainly don’t intend to break rules!
We’ll see, the Hat murmured in amusement. Well, there is no doubt you’d make a fine Ravenclaw. But you, dear, are all about being better than fine. You would never flourish there; you’d be about your books and studies and nothing else. It too sighed, but happily as opposed to my weary one. You need sunlight, my girl.
But…where shall I go, then? Now I was as uncertain and fearful as the rest had been. Surely not Slytherin?
Oh, you make it sound like a death sentence! The Hat was now more amused than ever. But no, girl. Not Slytherin. You will have some hard times, now, but you’ll also shine more brightly than you ever could have imagined. I’ve made my decision, cease your worrying, you’ll be better than fine, far better-
“-GRYFFINDOR!”
There was a wild applause from the left, and a blinding light as the professor woman ripped the Hat off my head. I blinked dazedly and stood shakily, for once shocked. Gryffindor? That was for brave people. People who thought with their hearts, not their brains. I was almost put out, but I decided the Hat probably knew what it was talking about. It had done this for years, hadn’t it?
And so I was a Gryffindor, and I was as strange a Gryffindor at that. I worked hard at school, and for a long time, it was all that mattered. Friends-who needed them? They were for…for Hufflepuffs. They were shoulders to cry on when you were weak, that was all.
But I wasn’t prepared for Ron Weasley’s comment the Halloween everything changed. A nightmare? That’s what they thought of me? That was why nobody wanted to sit next to me or talk to me or even ask me how I was liking school so far? At once, I was devastated and furious-how dare this thickheaded, jealous little boy pass judgment on me? How dare he talk about me like I didn’t have feelings? But perhaps that’s just it, said an annoying little part of my brain. Perhaps you don’t.
And so I spent my first Halloween feast in the girl’s bathroom in a flood of tears, varying between self-loathing and the desire to find Ron Weasley and hex him until he begged for mercy. Then the troll came in, and I panicked. At first, I thought it was a noisy student or something foolish like that, until a sink went flying over my head and crashed against the wall behind me. When I peered out of the crack in the stall door, there was a giant monster-thing swinging a club and roaring it’s head off. I froze in absolute terror-was this how it would end, as I huddled in a tiny stall in a dreary bathroom?
No, I was determined that wouldn’t happen. I crept out and ducked beneath a sink in an attempt to get closer to the door.
That was the stupidest idea I have ever had.
The troll was going crazy at this point, and the club was breaking more and more things close to my head. I had just resigned myself to certain death when the door to the bathroom burst open, and in charged a horrified Harry Potter and, surprises of all surprises, Ron Weasley.
It was a blur, what happened next, and to this day I remember very little except Ron hollering, “Wingarduim Leviosa!” (I was pleased he had actually paid attention when I corrected his pronunciation) and the troll’s club flying up and knocking it out. I could barely thank them before Snape and McGonagall burst in. Harry and Ron, I could see as McGonagall lectured them, were about to get into huge trouble for not paying attention to the orders they’d been given. I frowned. That wasn’t right; they’d just saved my life! I couldn’t let them be punished for that. So, hesitantly, I opened my mouth and lied, saying it was my fault all three of us were in here in the first place.
I’ve never seen a teacher look so shocked-it was as though I’d just admitted to Professor McGonagall that I got my grades by cheating. I got points taken away from Gryffindor, but the points Harry and Ron got for saving me more than made up for it.
I can’t say why, but from the on, we were friends. I hadn’t expected that my two closest friends would be boys, but then again, I’d never expected to get into Gryffindor. It just seemed to make sense: they’d cared enough to save me, I’d cared enough to get them out of trouble for saving me. It was just how it was supposed to be.
I grew to love Harry and Ron. Harry, to me, was like a brother, the boy who I could count on. He loved Quidditch and candy and wandering the halls of the school at night, and at first this surprised me about him. I’d read about the Boy Who Lived, and I’d have thought a hero was supposed to follow the rules and be brave and important. Harry was brave, yes, but he was a regular kid like me. Like everyone. He cared about ordinary things as much as he cared about strange ones, and all he really wanted was to fit in and have a regular life. That was part of what made it so easy to be his friend; Harry had dealt with more horrible things than anyone I knew, and he didn’t want any of the attention he got because of it. He just wanted to be a kid.
Ron was a far, far more complicated matter. He was funny and good at chess, he was temperamental and thick as could be, he was bashful and self-deprecating and more than a little jealous. The thing I’m trying to get at is, he wasn’t perfect.
To understand why this was so strange to me, you’d have to know that I always thought the boy I’d fall in love with would be just that: perfect. He’d like the same things as me and treat me like a princess and be sweet and kind and never cruel. He’d have long intellectual debates with me and rub my shoulders when I was tired, and he’d help me with my homework if I ever needed it.
Ron was not sweet. He was not particularly kind most of the time, and he has never treated me like a princess. He was never prone to intellectual debates, and to be frank, it was me who gave him help with his Potions essays on late nights. But, I realized over the years, you don’t love somebody in spite of their imperfections. You love them because of them.
I loved Ron because he yelled his head off for no reason. I loved him because he could be jealous and insensitive, because his ears turned red. I loved his crooked smile, and I loved his fierce, unwavering loyalty. I loved his messy hair, and his countless freckles, his height, how gangly and clumsy he could be. I loved his sincerity and his apologies, how ever frequently he gave them. He wasn’t romantic, but then again, neither was I.
Gryffindor gave me my boys, my brother, and the only boy I’ve ever flat-out loved. Perhaps that’s part of what the Hat meant, how I would never flourish in Ravenclaw. I would have been too wrapped up in my studies to meet Harry and Ron, I wouldn’t have had many classes with them or seen them in the Common Room. I never would have gotten to know or love either of them, and just the thought of that panics me. And then, of course, I wasn’t meant for rules and discipline and days spent buried in books. I was meant for adventures and evenings by the fire, arguing with Ron and doing my homework, while Harry laughed and carried on about how much he hated Snape or Malfoy, or whatever it was we all hated that year. I read and I worked and got the best grades of my year, but that wasn’t all there was to me. I had two wonderful best friends. I had a purpose. I had something I’d never known before: beauty.
Yes, I was beautiful because of Gryffindor, the courage I discovered I had and the friends I made. I always had considered myself homely, even ugly before Hogwarts, but I think it was because I was constantly having to suppress who I was. You can’t put a flower in a dark room and expect it to bloom. Maybe if you give it water it will grow a little, but flowers need sunlight, and so did I. And so as I’ve explained before, I was meant for this.
It is no accident that I’m standing beside Harry with Ron on my other side, and the most evil wizard in the world is standing in front of us, a ring of five or six Death Eaters behind him. The stench of death is stronger than ever as he leers at Harry, saying,
“Potter, you know I could kill you right now.”
“Yes, Tom,” Harry whispers, his eyes burning a dark emerald. “I know that.” Voldemort hisses with fury at the sound of his given name.
“I could kill this little girl.” He points at me. “Would you like for me to do that, Potter? Would you like for your pretty little friend to die a slow, agonizing death right before your eyes?” Ron is seething; his hand slides into mine and he squeezes hard.
I won’t let it happen, that hand squeeze seems to say. I won’t let him get you.
I know, I squeeze back sadly.
“Leave Hermione out of this.” Harry says this coldly, and I realize, with slight surprise, that he is not afraid. “Do what you want with me, but don’t bring anybody I love into this more than you already have.”
“I am disinclined to pay heed to your demands,” Voldemort dismisses. “You have two options, Potter, one of which is to bow down before me and admit defeat-perhaps I shall even spare your friends if you do this. The second is to try to fight me, and when you die, I will not waste time taking pity on Mudbloods and blood-traitors.”
“It’s too late to fight, Tom,” Harry tells him calmly. “I’ve already won.”
“What?” Voldemort, for once, looks startled. “Impossible.” He narrows his horrible eyes. “I have spoken idly here too long, half-blood. Time to die, now.” Smiling, he raises his wand. Harry nods at Ron, who squeezes my hand again as hard as ever.
“Avada Kerdava,” the three of us yell simultaneously. A part of me can scarcely believe I am doing this, using the Killing Curse. The larger part is proud of me, proud of the way I’ve survived a long, bloody battle, and I’m standing beside the boy who was prophesized to save the world. Trust Trewlaney to leave out he’d have some help.
Voldemort dies, of course. Harry had killed Nagini, the last Horcrux, and somehow he hadn’t automatically known. That struck me as odd at the time, that he wouldn’t immediately realize his last link to immortality had been obliterated, but perhaps he had already lost too much soul to feel it anymore.
Ron, Harry, and I stand in the center of the field, our wands still held high. The sun is coming up from behind the trees, pale light drifting across the blood-soaked earth. The remaining Death Eaters stare at us in shock and horror, and then the first one rips off their mask, throws down their wand, and falls to their knees weeping-Bellatrix LeStrange. The others follow suit, and we stare at them coldly. Aurors who survived the battle are already rounding them up silently, calling the Dementors to administer the Kiss.
And finally, we break down, all three of us. We hold each other and we sob, with joy, with fury, with grief, with liberation. Voldemort is dead at last, we’re safe and we’ve done it-but half the Weasley family is dead, along with almost all of our friends. Despite the fact that Voldemort has been defeated, we have still lost so much, more than we ever could have imagined. We hold each other and cry and rock back and forth, until Harry kisses my forehead and Ron kisses my mouth. We are silent for a few moments, and then I whisper,
“It’s over.” Harry looks up, and smiles shakily, tears still streaming down his face.
“Yes, Hermione,” he agrees, “it is. It really, really is.”
Ron is still holding me to him, as though he can hardly believe we’re both alive. I tell him quietly,
“It’s ok, Ron.” He smiles as crookedly as always down at me.
“I know,” he answers. “That’s the best thing of all.”
And so we walk off of that field, that desolate, horrible field that was once the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts, and head for the gates. The sun has almost risen now, and I can’t help but smile through my tears. I’ve really made it. I’ve thrown myself out of my comfort zone of knowledge and common sense, I’ve helped defeat the darkest wizard in the world, I’ve loved and I’ve hated and cried and laughed and argued and screamed.
People may still wonder about why I’m not a Ravenclaw. The brains, they’ll say. The thirst for knowledge. She should’ve been with her own kind.
But the Sorting Hat was right, I know, as the three of us walk off down the road to Hogsmeade to face Merlin only knows what.
I never would have been as radiant in Ravenclaw as I am now: covered in the blood, dirt, and sweat of a battle, with enough courage left in me to make Godric himself proud.
Author:
that_september
Rating: PGish.
Characters/Pairings: Ron, Hermione, Harry. Mentions of R/Hr.
Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's characters, plot, or, unfortunately, brain.
Author's Note: Another one of my personal favorites. It's not DH compatible, but I love Hermione and I still think that she needed Gryffindor to become who she was.
Summary: Some wondered why she wasn't a Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor brought Hermione sunlight. Written pre-DH in October 2006.
I never have seen myself as smart, and I don’t believe I ever shall. People would often wonder aloud why I hadn’t been made a Ravenclaw, and I’d smile quietly. It had nothing to do with brains, the others just didn’t realize it.
That was a strange way to begin a story, wasn’t it? Or at least, it’s a strange start to the story I’m about to tell. I guess that my primary goal is to make you understand why I am who I am, and how I became that way.
Now, I’ve always been very focused on school work from the time I had any to worry about. Teachers praised me to the heavens, and other kids found me strange or intimidating, so I was always left mostly to myself during my elementary school days. Kids could sense a strangeness to me that went beyond my intelligence: I had once been caught doing homework when I thought I was alone by a classmate, and I’d been sitting there, head in hands, absentmindedly staring at my pencil as it flew across the page and I dictated my answers aloud.
Maybe that’s what started it all, me being left alone to begin with. I didn’t have friends to worry about, so I cared about school work and pleasing my teachers and parents. I liked books, so I read as much as I could. Knowledge was power, and with power, I could do anything. The mind, I realized from very early on, is the best weapon-the hardest to defeat, and the easiest to use.
I was not unduly surprised when my letter came from Hogwarts; not much ever staggered me. It confirmed what I and everyone else had always known: I was different. My parents were shocked, however, though I honestly didn’t see why. I was too young at that point to understand that grown Muggles stopped believing in magic, that they were certain it belonged in fairy stories and childish dreams.
And when I went to Hogwarts, I hadn’t hoped for much. Perhaps, I thought, the other children wouldn’t be different from the Muggles I’d grown up around. Conceivably they’d find me strange, too, and I’d have only my schoolwork. When I read about the four different houses in Hogwarts, A History on the train to school, I immediately knew which one I’d be put in. It was obvious: Ravenclaw. From the brief description in the book, it sounded as if they were a studious lot that kept to themselves and did as they were told. That was what I felt I was, so I ceased worrying about whether I’d fit in. At least I’d be around my own kind, I thought.
The others seemed so nervous and worried while we cued up to be Sorted, but I was a bit like Malfoy in the sense that I knew where I was going and didn’t waste time worrying about why. When my name was called, I did not walk shakily to the stool. I strode confidently, sat up straight, and waited for the Hat to yell out what I already knew. The Sorting Hat slipped onto my head, and I closed my eyes automatically at the darkness.
Well, now, a voice whispered, you’re a clever one. I couldn’t help but sigh-it seems self-centered, but I’d heard it so much at that point, it had gotten a bit old.
I suppose, I acknowledged.
Yes, dear, the Hat chuckled. I see you think I’m going to put you in Ravenclaw. Would you like that?
I don’t know, I admitted.
You don’t? asked the Hat. Well, I expect this is a first. It chuckled a bit again. Now, dear, we both know there’s more to you than brains. I see a great courage in you, a drive that pushes you to do your best and succeed no matter what. You do not see mere rules; you see what is right, and what is wrong-I expect you’ll have a few detentions in your days here!
Detention? I was aghast. I certainly don’t intend to break rules!
We’ll see, the Hat murmured in amusement. Well, there is no doubt you’d make a fine Ravenclaw. But you, dear, are all about being better than fine. You would never flourish there; you’d be about your books and studies and nothing else. It too sighed, but happily as opposed to my weary one. You need sunlight, my girl.
But…where shall I go, then? Now I was as uncertain and fearful as the rest had been. Surely not Slytherin?
Oh, you make it sound like a death sentence! The Hat was now more amused than ever. But no, girl. Not Slytherin. You will have some hard times, now, but you’ll also shine more brightly than you ever could have imagined. I’ve made my decision, cease your worrying, you’ll be better than fine, far better-
“-GRYFFINDOR!”
There was a wild applause from the left, and a blinding light as the professor woman ripped the Hat off my head. I blinked dazedly and stood shakily, for once shocked. Gryffindor? That was for brave people. People who thought with their hearts, not their brains. I was almost put out, but I decided the Hat probably knew what it was talking about. It had done this for years, hadn’t it?
And so I was a Gryffindor, and I was as strange a Gryffindor at that. I worked hard at school, and for a long time, it was all that mattered. Friends-who needed them? They were for…for Hufflepuffs. They were shoulders to cry on when you were weak, that was all.
But I wasn’t prepared for Ron Weasley’s comment the Halloween everything changed. A nightmare? That’s what they thought of me? That was why nobody wanted to sit next to me or talk to me or even ask me how I was liking school so far? At once, I was devastated and furious-how dare this thickheaded, jealous little boy pass judgment on me? How dare he talk about me like I didn’t have feelings? But perhaps that’s just it, said an annoying little part of my brain. Perhaps you don’t.
And so I spent my first Halloween feast in the girl’s bathroom in a flood of tears, varying between self-loathing and the desire to find Ron Weasley and hex him until he begged for mercy. Then the troll came in, and I panicked. At first, I thought it was a noisy student or something foolish like that, until a sink went flying over my head and crashed against the wall behind me. When I peered out of the crack in the stall door, there was a giant monster-thing swinging a club and roaring it’s head off. I froze in absolute terror-was this how it would end, as I huddled in a tiny stall in a dreary bathroom?
No, I was determined that wouldn’t happen. I crept out and ducked beneath a sink in an attempt to get closer to the door.
That was the stupidest idea I have ever had.
The troll was going crazy at this point, and the club was breaking more and more things close to my head. I had just resigned myself to certain death when the door to the bathroom burst open, and in charged a horrified Harry Potter and, surprises of all surprises, Ron Weasley.
It was a blur, what happened next, and to this day I remember very little except Ron hollering, “Wingarduim Leviosa!” (I was pleased he had actually paid attention when I corrected his pronunciation) and the troll’s club flying up and knocking it out. I could barely thank them before Snape and McGonagall burst in. Harry and Ron, I could see as McGonagall lectured them, were about to get into huge trouble for not paying attention to the orders they’d been given. I frowned. That wasn’t right; they’d just saved my life! I couldn’t let them be punished for that. So, hesitantly, I opened my mouth and lied, saying it was my fault all three of us were in here in the first place.
I’ve never seen a teacher look so shocked-it was as though I’d just admitted to Professor McGonagall that I got my grades by cheating. I got points taken away from Gryffindor, but the points Harry and Ron got for saving me more than made up for it.
I can’t say why, but from the on, we were friends. I hadn’t expected that my two closest friends would be boys, but then again, I’d never expected to get into Gryffindor. It just seemed to make sense: they’d cared enough to save me, I’d cared enough to get them out of trouble for saving me. It was just how it was supposed to be.
I grew to love Harry and Ron. Harry, to me, was like a brother, the boy who I could count on. He loved Quidditch and candy and wandering the halls of the school at night, and at first this surprised me about him. I’d read about the Boy Who Lived, and I’d have thought a hero was supposed to follow the rules and be brave and important. Harry was brave, yes, but he was a regular kid like me. Like everyone. He cared about ordinary things as much as he cared about strange ones, and all he really wanted was to fit in and have a regular life. That was part of what made it so easy to be his friend; Harry had dealt with more horrible things than anyone I knew, and he didn’t want any of the attention he got because of it. He just wanted to be a kid.
Ron was a far, far more complicated matter. He was funny and good at chess, he was temperamental and thick as could be, he was bashful and self-deprecating and more than a little jealous. The thing I’m trying to get at is, he wasn’t perfect.
To understand why this was so strange to me, you’d have to know that I always thought the boy I’d fall in love with would be just that: perfect. He’d like the same things as me and treat me like a princess and be sweet and kind and never cruel. He’d have long intellectual debates with me and rub my shoulders when I was tired, and he’d help me with my homework if I ever needed it.
Ron was not sweet. He was not particularly kind most of the time, and he has never treated me like a princess. He was never prone to intellectual debates, and to be frank, it was me who gave him help with his Potions essays on late nights. But, I realized over the years, you don’t love somebody in spite of their imperfections. You love them because of them.
I loved Ron because he yelled his head off for no reason. I loved him because he could be jealous and insensitive, because his ears turned red. I loved his crooked smile, and I loved his fierce, unwavering loyalty. I loved his messy hair, and his countless freckles, his height, how gangly and clumsy he could be. I loved his sincerity and his apologies, how ever frequently he gave them. He wasn’t romantic, but then again, neither was I.
Gryffindor gave me my boys, my brother, and the only boy I’ve ever flat-out loved. Perhaps that’s part of what the Hat meant, how I would never flourish in Ravenclaw. I would have been too wrapped up in my studies to meet Harry and Ron, I wouldn’t have had many classes with them or seen them in the Common Room. I never would have gotten to know or love either of them, and just the thought of that panics me. And then, of course, I wasn’t meant for rules and discipline and days spent buried in books. I was meant for adventures and evenings by the fire, arguing with Ron and doing my homework, while Harry laughed and carried on about how much he hated Snape or Malfoy, or whatever it was we all hated that year. I read and I worked and got the best grades of my year, but that wasn’t all there was to me. I had two wonderful best friends. I had a purpose. I had something I’d never known before: beauty.
Yes, I was beautiful because of Gryffindor, the courage I discovered I had and the friends I made. I always had considered myself homely, even ugly before Hogwarts, but I think it was because I was constantly having to suppress who I was. You can’t put a flower in a dark room and expect it to bloom. Maybe if you give it water it will grow a little, but flowers need sunlight, and so did I. And so as I’ve explained before, I was meant for this.
It is no accident that I’m standing beside Harry with Ron on my other side, and the most evil wizard in the world is standing in front of us, a ring of five or six Death Eaters behind him. The stench of death is stronger than ever as he leers at Harry, saying,
“Potter, you know I could kill you right now.”
“Yes, Tom,” Harry whispers, his eyes burning a dark emerald. “I know that.” Voldemort hisses with fury at the sound of his given name.
“I could kill this little girl.” He points at me. “Would you like for me to do that, Potter? Would you like for your pretty little friend to die a slow, agonizing death right before your eyes?” Ron is seething; his hand slides into mine and he squeezes hard.
I won’t let it happen, that hand squeeze seems to say. I won’t let him get you.
I know, I squeeze back sadly.
“Leave Hermione out of this.” Harry says this coldly, and I realize, with slight surprise, that he is not afraid. “Do what you want with me, but don’t bring anybody I love into this more than you already have.”
“I am disinclined to pay heed to your demands,” Voldemort dismisses. “You have two options, Potter, one of which is to bow down before me and admit defeat-perhaps I shall even spare your friends if you do this. The second is to try to fight me, and when you die, I will not waste time taking pity on Mudbloods and blood-traitors.”
“It’s too late to fight, Tom,” Harry tells him calmly. “I’ve already won.”
“What?” Voldemort, for once, looks startled. “Impossible.” He narrows his horrible eyes. “I have spoken idly here too long, half-blood. Time to die, now.” Smiling, he raises his wand. Harry nods at Ron, who squeezes my hand again as hard as ever.
“Avada Kerdava,” the three of us yell simultaneously. A part of me can scarcely believe I am doing this, using the Killing Curse. The larger part is proud of me, proud of the way I’ve survived a long, bloody battle, and I’m standing beside the boy who was prophesized to save the world. Trust Trewlaney to leave out he’d have some help.
Voldemort dies, of course. Harry had killed Nagini, the last Horcrux, and somehow he hadn’t automatically known. That struck me as odd at the time, that he wouldn’t immediately realize his last link to immortality had been obliterated, but perhaps he had already lost too much soul to feel it anymore.
Ron, Harry, and I stand in the center of the field, our wands still held high. The sun is coming up from behind the trees, pale light drifting across the blood-soaked earth. The remaining Death Eaters stare at us in shock and horror, and then the first one rips off their mask, throws down their wand, and falls to their knees weeping-Bellatrix LeStrange. The others follow suit, and we stare at them coldly. Aurors who survived the battle are already rounding them up silently, calling the Dementors to administer the Kiss.
And finally, we break down, all three of us. We hold each other and we sob, with joy, with fury, with grief, with liberation. Voldemort is dead at last, we’re safe and we’ve done it-but half the Weasley family is dead, along with almost all of our friends. Despite the fact that Voldemort has been defeated, we have still lost so much, more than we ever could have imagined. We hold each other and cry and rock back and forth, until Harry kisses my forehead and Ron kisses my mouth. We are silent for a few moments, and then I whisper,
“It’s over.” Harry looks up, and smiles shakily, tears still streaming down his face.
“Yes, Hermione,” he agrees, “it is. It really, really is.”
Ron is still holding me to him, as though he can hardly believe we’re both alive. I tell him quietly,
“It’s ok, Ron.” He smiles as crookedly as always down at me.
“I know,” he answers. “That’s the best thing of all.”
And so we walk off of that field, that desolate, horrible field that was once the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts, and head for the gates. The sun has almost risen now, and I can’t help but smile through my tears. I’ve really made it. I’ve thrown myself out of my comfort zone of knowledge and common sense, I’ve helped defeat the darkest wizard in the world, I’ve loved and I’ve hated and cried and laughed and argued and screamed.
People may still wonder about why I’m not a Ravenclaw. The brains, they’ll say. The thirst for knowledge. She should’ve been with her own kind.
But the Sorting Hat was right, I know, as the three of us walk off down the road to Hogsmeade to face Merlin only knows what.
I never would have been as radiant in Ravenclaw as I am now: covered in the blood, dirt, and sweat of a battle, with enough courage left in me to make Godric himself proud.