The Longest Night

"And so the journey of the night descends, when all the shades are gone."

Loreena McKennitt ("The Mummer's Dance")

I can't sleep. On this of all nights, there is no way that I can close my eyes and allow myself a moment's pause from the weariness, from the worry, from the heartache. How can I find relief in sleep when so many others are struggling against Voldemort tonight, fighting and perhaps even dying? I wish I were with them. It took a lot of persuading on the part of Dumbledore and McGonagall to convince me that my place was here at Hogwarts and not out there on the battlefield. I am Head Girl - my responsibility is to the school and to those students who remain within the castle. Of course, that's not all of it. They are too polite to voice the other reason, the other concern. Some people are not suited for battle, they have not the temperament for it; nervous disposition, delicate nerves, call it what you will it is a fatal weakness. And so the battle, the final battle in this terrible struggle rages on without me.

The last great battle...the War to End all Wars - capitalization please! That's actually what the Ministry has taken to calling this little problem with Voldemort. Can't you hear the bugles sing when you read that? Does it make your blood thrill with a valor previously unknown? Do you envision yourself performing heroic deeds, perhaps even making the ultimate sacrifice for the greater glory of our cause?

Idiots. Wizards are no brighter than their Muggle brethren when it comes to swallowing propaganda, especially when served in heaping spoonfuls smothered with generous dollops of misinformation for good measure.

The Muggles had a War to End all Wars almost a century ago. I should know since I am Muggle-born. Since the end of that war, they have managed to wage more wars than I can possibly list here. They never tire of killing each other and they are surprisingly creative in dreaming up new and ever more horrible methods of doing so. I only hope that we don't follow their example. And yet, I find myself worrying over this possibility more often than I care for. It haunts me in the deepest part of the night and in the hard brightness of noon. How do we fight evil without becoming evil ourselves? If we use the same methods and weapons that they do with the same results but offer a different justification for doing so, does that somehow make it right? Is it suddenly right because we say it is right?

And having once done the unthinkable, the unforgivable, can we ever return to our former selves?

It hurts so much to think about him, especially tonight. His name brings up an ache so sharp, a longing so powerful, and a regret so strong I can taste it. A bitter, burnt copper taste that is tonight tinged with fear.

He's been gone so long.

Twenty-five months, in fact. That's one hundred-eight weeks...seven hundred sixty-one days...ten thousand, six hundred sixty-four hours...six hundred thirty-nine thousand, eight hundred-forty minutes...

Oh, hell! This is pointless. To continue on in this fashion is to invite madness. And if there is one thing I pride myself on, it is my ability to think clearly, sanely. No nerves here! I am not nervous, not anxious, not worried. My heart does not flutter, it does not pound, it beats steadily, slowly, calmly. I am, and always have been, in complete control. I am in control...I am in control...I am in control.

We - that is Ron and I - haven't heard from Harry since he left Hogwarts on that terrible night.

I understand.

At least I think I do. I tell myself that secrecy is of the utmost importance. For his own safety, and ours, he had to cut the lines of communication. He had to make a break so clean, so bloodless, that no one would suspect he still cared. Harry's prolonged silence has nothing to do with the way we three parted company, nothing at all, and I snarl at the insidious voice in my head that dares to suggest otherwise. It was an argument, a disagreement among friends, a misunderstanding and nothing more.

I find myself watching other people far more closely than I used to. I wonder what they know, if they know. No one ever said anything to Ron or me about Harry's absence. In light of past events they probably assumed we were playing our parts, going along with the ruse. Oh, we played our parts all right. Only too well. And the price we paid, the price we still pay, was everything. We lost each other when we lost Harry. Harry was the glue that bound us together. And with him gone, a great light, one that shone so brightly and so constantly, has flickered and dimmed. The shadows seem longer, darker, more sinister...and they whisper.