Not All Heroes Come from Gryffindor

His tattered robes hung loosely about his shoulders as ribbons of blood streamed down his exposed chest. Black hair matted against his neck. A coarse beard irritated his pale skin, though he refused to complain. There were much worse matters to resolve. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, he gripped his wand even harder. Glittering stones of onyx darted back and forth across the battlefield, assessing the situation.

Raising his wand, he saved Miss Weasley from death's grasp again. "Accio!" With a sharp glance, the red-haired witch scrambled to the mediwitch tent. "Children," he muttered under his breath. Glancing up the steeple of his beloved Hogwarts, he gathered what was left of his strength. It was a curious sight to see pure determination adorn his tired features, like a tarnished badge of honor.

A true hero.

It had been two tedious weeks since this bloody war had started. Voldemort and his cronies decided to attack Hogwarts. "I believed Voldemort to possess a mite of creativity. However, this by far proves otherwise. We are well prepared, and shall deal with this minor disturbance easily," he told me at dinner. However, that was a fortnight ago.

Worry etched his eyebrow, though he tried to hide it. Of course, to the children, he seemed undaunted as ever. If only they could see under the mask. Then again, I guess it is best the way things are. If they saw his vulnerability, they might die of shock.

Walking across the field, he avoided tripping on the corpses. One man, not quite dead, shot profanity at the professor. Crouching down, he administered a potion, which immediately restored the man's health. However, the battered victim showed his gratitude by spitting in the professor's face. "Death Eater!" He accused. The poor man. Disliked by the very people he chose to save.

A flash of green lighted behind me, and I turned around as fast as I could. But as I looked at her motionless body, I knew it was too late. I brushed a brown curl away from her face, and tried not to cry. Not another one. It seemed that all of Hogwart's youth were doomed to die in this atrocity.

Once I had reigned in my emotions, I noticed something quite curious. The young girl's eyes stayed open as usual, but there was something different about her than fellow victims strewn across the Quidditch field. She was smiling. Also, she was not staring pointlessly, but across the field. At him.

It was only a matter of moments until he came charging towards the two of us. Pushing me aside, he gathered the young girl in his arms. Silent sobs wracked his body as he gazed furtively into her eyes. He reached for her hand, only to find a piece of tattered parchment. He read it, and then closed his eyes. Whatever it said seemed to strengthen him. Standing up, he walked over to me.

"Please take care of her body. I intend to have a proper funeral afterwards," he pleaded with me. I nodded slightly, unable to speak. He was going to fight for her.

"And take this." It was the parchment.

Severus,

If I die before I get the chance to tell you, please know that I love you. Yes, you sarcastic, self-hating git, I love you. I will always love you, no matter what happens. Please remember that. If even you do not love me back, just remember that you were loved. By me.

And if you do love me, do not stop fighting because I died. Just keep battling. I promise you that it will pay off someday. And know that I will always be with you. Because you kept me alive in your heart.

I love you.

~ Hermione

I looked up into his expectant eyes and told him I would take care of his angel. I then watched solemnly as he trudged back to the field, battle-ready as ever.

A true hero. As I adjusted my spectacles, I chuckled to myself. I guess they don't all come from Gryffindor.