Giving Notice

WHEN YOU SAY NOTHING AT ALL.

"You say it best when you say nothing at all..." ~ Ronan Keating, "When You Say Nothing At All"

***************

I'm awfully ashamed to admit it now, really I am. But I was a little bit jealous of Harry.

Not a lot jealous - after all, he was my friend, and he was one of those people you can't really hate, even if you try. Not that I hate people a lot, or try to, but I think you know what I mean to say. I really don't know how Professor Snape and Malfoy could hate him so much.

I don't know WHY Professor Snape hated him, come to that. I knew why Malfoy hated him - the same reason he hates Hermione. He hated Harry for eclipsing him, putting him in second place, in the shadows. He wasn't used to being eclipsed, in any way.

I'm more than used to it. After all, it's who I am.

But still, I was just a tiny bit jealous, deep down, because Harry seemed to get everything so EASILY. He was so famous, he beat You-Know-Who singlehandedly more times in his fifteen years of life than most wizards dare to even say the name in fifty years.

"Vol... V-VOLDEMORT!" See, I can do it, if I try. Now I just have to open my eyes and un-scrunch my fists. Not too hard.

He was totally fantastic at Quidditch - and he was the Seeker, the toughest job on the team. And he never lost a game, unless you count the Dementors coming onto the pitch and pushing into his memories. And I don't. I mean, it's like... well, I don't like the word any more than the concept, but it's like a kind of rape, only worse, because it's your mind - what makes you YOU. And if someone was raped in the middle of a game of anything, you wouldn't blame them for losing, would you? Of course not.

He wasn't a genius in classes or anything, but he did well enough not to get into trouble much (well, except for Professor Snape, but even Hermione gets into trouble from him). He got good marks - good enough anyway. HE never got Howlers from home, screaming about his latest screw-up at breakfast, loud enough for the entire Hall to hear about how he was hopeless, a let-down, a disgrace to his family. HE never got them, just because he was Harry Potter...

I'm sorry - there I go again. Being mean and bitter to Harry when he isn't here to defend himself. It's that sort of thing that makes me think that Gran and Professor Snape and Malfoy are all right about me - that I really am worthless. Not for the reasons they think, but for doing something unfair like that.

Speaking of Professor Snape... oh dear, I'm going to be late - again...

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry was nice to me - really, he was brilliant. I mean, I'm pretty much the loser of Gryffindor - and I'm not saying that out of self-pity, it's just a fact - and I've probably lost more points for us than the rest of our year's Gryffindors combined. You just don't expect the school hero to pay an attention to the school loser, unless it's to tease.

But Harry was a good friend to me. Really good. Even after I tried to stop him and Hermione and Ron from sneaking out that night, he didn't hate me. None of them did - and I could have gotten them caught. The delay might've even gotten them killed for all I know, really - who knows what Professor Quirrell actually did? Nobody really knows the details except for the Headmaster, and Harry, and neither of them ever said. Well, that was fair enough. There are some things you just don't want to talk about, it's too complicated to explain or it sounds too weird or it's just too hard to talk about.

Harry still got a lot of pity mixed in with the admiration, though - another thing I couldn't help feeling was unfair. I mean, he wasn't the only one who lost his parents, ever... Hannah Abbott, she's a Hufflepuff in our year, she was orphaned by the Death Eaters. A few others too - even Millicent Bulstrode from Slytherin lost hers during a big fight between Death Eaters and Aurors, though which side her parents were on, I couldn't say. I've never asked - that's not my business, and it would be really unfair to assume anything just because Millicent is a Slytherin. There ARE Slytherins who don't end up Dark. For all I know, her parents might have been really really great Aurors. I mean, I once heard Professor McGonagall say that Mad-Eye Moody - oops, sorry, I guess I should still say Professor Moody - was a Slytherin, but he was a Light Wizard and one of the strongest Aurors. My parents - well, they were Gryffindors, but Dad was a great Auror too.

The best, Gran always said.

Harry's parents were dead, at least he had that much - what's it called - closure, you know? I have to visit mine, and they still don't recognize me. Never have for as long as I can remember, and never will again. I know that. But I can keep trying, right?

Harry talked to me once, around the start of this school year. I was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, humiliated after getting ANOTHER Howler from Gran, in the middle of the Hallowe'en feast, of all times. I was so embarrassed, I left the Great Hall right away with it, but I'll bet people still heard her calling me "useless" and "a disgrace to my parents' memory" and a bunch of other things I don't want to remember. Once it burned away, I just sat in the common room looking into the fire, busily ticking off all my faults one by one in my head - and trust me, that is a long list.

And then the portrait swung open, and Harry was there with a small plate filled with treats and two mugs of hot chocolate. He said "Hi, Neville," very gently. I remember I muttered "Hi Harry," back, not very enthusiastically. I didn't want pity, I REALLY didn't. I already felt bad enough. So I turned back to look at the fire and didn't say anything else.

He put the things down on the table in front of us and sat down next to me. He didn't speak, or try and make me eat. He didn't touch it himself either. He just sat there with me, for a long time.

After a while, I gave in. I hadn't gotten to eat much before the Howler came and the smell of the hot chocolate was just too tempting. I took hold of one of the mugs and picked up a sandwich, and we ate our own little feast together. And while we ate, we talked.

Harry told me that he'd found out about my parents - he said hurriedly that it had been in Dumbledore's office, and he'd found out by mistake, while the headmaster was out, and that Dumbledore hadn't told him or anything. I hadn't thought that Professor Dumbledore ever would, but it was awfully nice of Harry to be so concerned about keeping him clear of blame. I couldn't help it - I cried a bit, in relief that someone actually knew about it, that I had someone to go to if it all became too much sometimes, like it does. I cried and I talked, and he listened. I mean, really listened, took everything I said inside himself.

And he told me that he understood how I felt, a little bit, he told about his relatives, and how much they yelled at him and how dreadful they really were to him - everyone knew that he lived with Muggles that he really didn't like, but I'd never known that they were anywhere near like that until then. Harry never complained much - it was the pity others poured on him that made it seem like his life was so tragic. It was tragic, really, but the most ironic thing of all was that he understood better than anyone that he wasn't the only one who had it hard. He just couldn't get everyone else to realise that.

The best thing he did, though, wasn't the sharing about his own life and his own private sadnesses. It wasn't even the listening, though I really needed both of those things. The best thing he did was sit down next to me and just be there. Having a plate of sandwiches and a mug of hot chocolate - that he didn't touch 'til I did - and sitting quietly next to someone who was having a major case of the sulks, when he didn't have to. He could have been down at the feast, enjoying all the goodies and chatting with everyone - especially Ron and Hermione. But he stayed with me, not talking, not pushing, not anything. He just - was. He just sat there, being there.

It just feels so, so wrong to think that he's not ever going be there, ever again. I can sort of understand why Ron's gone like he has - once I was old enough to understand what happened to my parents, I thought that surely they'd get better one day, it couldn't last forever. Just like Ron, thinking that Harry's going to be back next year and winning at Quidditch and sitting right there in that empty chair he's supposed to be in now, getting yelled at by Professor Sn-

"LONGBOTTOM!"

"Ahhh!" Jumping, I bang my knee into the desk - hard - and bite back a bad word. I'm already in enough trouble. I can already see the points draining from the hourglass - twenty at least. I don't want to make it thirty.

Oh dear... he's REALLY mad... I follow his gaze down to my desk and jump to see my quill and parchment smoking and dissolving - I spilt some of my potion when I banged my leg, I guess this isn't exactly an Ageing Potion...

"Idiot boy -" I can't listen. I just can't. Miserably shrinking down into a huddle, bits and pieces of what he's saying float down to me. The usual stuff, really. It's weird how the Professor can say the same insults running for five years and they still hurt just as much. The other Gryffindors are standing up for me - or trying to - but the Professor isn't listening.

"- of all the absolute moronic -" "- added far too much wolfsbane -" "- totally forgot the Mandrake juice -" "- made a bloody poison -" "- stupid, brainless, shoddy work -" "- testing it at the end of class -" "- what did you think would happen, are you trying to get yourself KILLED?"

I guess his lecture finished there, because he'd just stopped talking. Tentatively I look up, and that's funny, because he's looking at me kind of strangely - is a person's face supposed to be able to go white like that? I look around - Hermione'll know what's wrong, or someone else will - but everyone else is looking kind of frozen too. Even the Slytherins look uncomfortable -

Oh. OH. The Professor said something about someone killing themselves, right after... I've got to break this weird, tense atmosphere, nobody else is going to, they're all looking at each other, but no one's SAYING anything. "I'm really sorry, Professor," I say, as apologetically as I can. "I didn't mean to - I'll clean it up right now..."

Funny, normally I'd get a detention and lots of points off, but I didn't get either this time. He just told me to clean it up quickly, and that was it. I guess he must have felt bad about saying what he did - it was only a figure of speech, but he couldn't have picked a worse one, and though he's a strict teacher and often unfair, and I'm scared of him, I honestly can't believe that he'd ever be so deliberately cruel as to make fun of Harry when he's dead. In fact, he seems a little lost now that he can't pick on him. Besides, you can see it in his eyes, he's trying to tell himself "It was only a figure of speech..."

And in front of Hermione of all people. Between handling Ron and being a big-sister figure for Ginny and a lot of the other girls to talk to and cry on throughout all this, as well as her own grief, she's got it very very hard right now.

You can tell by the eyes. Harry would have known it too - if he was here.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Cleaning the mess up took a little bit more time than I originally thought - dinner had already started by the time I got to the Great Hall. I hurried to my seat, trying to be inconspicious - I've had a lot of practice at sneaking in late to meals.

Now that's awfully weird... a hand actually comes up, waving me to a seat - as if they were waiting for me. "C'mon, Neville, we saved you a spot." Dean? And Seamus? They slide apart, indicating that I should sit in between them. This is weird... but I am kind of hungry and it was nice of them to do this.

"Thanks," I say as I sit down, wishing for the millionth time that the benches were made of something a little softer than solid wood. No sooner had I taken my place then it seemed like all of fifth-year at our table started pushing the dishes of food towards me. "Hey, Neville, do you want some lamb? It's really tender..." "Here, Neville, some mash?" "Want a corn cob, mate?"

Bewildered but pleased, I fill up my plate, thanking them all, a little bit embarassed at all this attention. What's going on... oh well, better eat up before it gets cold. I take a mouthful of lamb - Parvati was right, it IS good - and try to take a look at Hermione and Ron without looking like I'm staring. Subtlety is not exactly my middle name, but I do okay.

Ron looks the same as he always does - I wonder what it's like for him? You know, for everything to be just fine, but the whole school's crying and talking about something that just isn't true - at least, that's what he must feel like. He keeps on looking at everyone like they're all touched in the head, and most of the school looks at him the same way. It's so cruel - Ron can't let go, he's literally UNABLE to realise Harry's not coming back... at least for now. When he does finally realise it... it scares me, what might happen to his mind, his heart. They were just so close...

But for now, he's certain that Harry's just off somewhere else, and is coming back any day now. Sometimes he's so convinced, it almost convinces me... I mean, Harry's come back from impossible situations so many times...

But then I look at Hermione and I know it's true, however much I wish it wasn't. She looks dreadful. Oh, I'm not saying that in an insulting way, please don't think that! It's just... well, I'm no expert at how much a girl should weigh, but I can tell she's lost weight and I think she's too thin. Her face is kind of haggard, her hair is all straggly, and her eyes are too old. And I haven't seen her study since we heard the news - not once. Sometimes she doesn't even take notes in class. I think everybody is so worried about Ron that they forget about Hermione. And that includes Hermione herself.

"-ville?"

"Hmm?" Coming back to myself, I realise that Seamus just said something to me. Oops. "Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't... um, could you repeat what you just said?"

"I said, Dean an' me, we were hoping you'd come and play a game of Quidditch with us tomorrow. It's just a casual game, y'know - the Hufflepuffs have a team all set up, and we need another Chaser... care to join us?"

I blink. "Me... play Quidditch?" It took the entire first year just for poor Madame Hooch to teach me to stay on the broom and make it go where I wanted it to. I couldn't help but laugh a bit when I remembered our very first flying lesson. I ended up with a broken wrist, and a moderately damaged school broom. "Um, I don't think so. Remember flying lessons?" I had another laugh at their faces. Oh yeah, they remembered now. "I'm no good."

"Now, now, don't be saying that!" Gee, he said that awfully fast.

"Yeah, you've got plenty of things you're good at!" Dean jumped in.

Well, gee, I was only talking about flying, but it isn't like I'm exactly good at much besides Herbology. Plenty of things? I couldn't help it, I know I had a 'yeah, right' look on my face. "Like what?"

"Herbology!" They said it at the same time. "And, ummm...." Seamus was searching for something more to say, "and there's Trevor!"

"Yeah! You're great at taking care of him - I wouldn't know how to look after a toad! And... and..."

"Remember, back in first year? We wouldn't have won the House Cup if it hadn't been for your points. And Dumbledore gave them to you for having the courage to stand up for what you believed was right." Hermione's quiet voice came from across the table, startling me when it contrasted with Seamus and Dean's excited rambling. I blinked.

"I, uh..." oh no, I HATE it when I blush... "well, gee, thanks, Hermione..."

"And you're a great friend and a great guy, what's not to like?" finished Dean triumphantly.

"Well, um..." Great, now my entire face was bright red. "Er..."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me!" Seamus said suddenly. "I was hoping you'd come visit for a while over the summer - you'd love my place, Dad and Mam would be thrilled to see you, d'you want to come?"

"Oh!" For a moment I was quite excited - I've never been invited to anyone's place before! But then I remembered - Gran. I'd have to ask her permission, and she wouldn't like it. She preferred me to stay at home - 'where I can keep my eye on you' - and so we could visit my parents more regularly than I could when at Hogwarts. "...oh. I'd love to, really I would... but I can't. I don't think Gran would like it." The thought of asking her to go visit 'a friend from school' while she stared at me as if I were talking in Parseltongue, the same way she always seems to when I mention the words my and friends in the same sentence... oh no. I shivered. No way, I couldn't possibly.

Besides... I think I'd miss her, and Uncle Algie and everyone. In their funny way, they do love me, I'm sure of it. They just have trouble showing it in normal ways like other people's families.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Trevor? Trevor, where are you?" A few seventh-year Ravenclaws were walking past as I looked for Trevor, but they didn't spare me more than a glance. After five years, just about everyone in the castle by now was used to the sight of me wandering around in the weirdest places, trying to find Trevor. He just seemed to enjoy getting lost. I guess he found it fun - from a toad's point of view, Hogwart's must have seemed really exciting and just full of places to look - and it was usually somewhere down in the dungeons where it was all damp and cold and Professor-Snape-is-going-to-catch-me-at-any-moment-I-just-know-it. You know what I mean, that funny feel in the air that makes your stomach take a vacation.

But I didn't find him in the dungeons this time. I saw him -

"Trevor? Trevor, come back here! This instant! No, DON'T GO IN THERE!" -

Going into the Owlery. Do owls eat toads? I wasn't about to find out if I could help it.

Dashing in to the Owlery, I took the corner too fast and stepped on a pile of - well, you know. Owls have to use the bathroom too. My foot slipped and went forward, and the rest of me skidded along with it before landing in some hay. I guess it's there in case the owls want to make a nest and lay eggs. In any case, I was glad it was there - at least it was soft and clean to land in.

When I picked myself up, I found myself looking straight into the face of a startled owl, snow-white feathers around the amber eyes telling me exactly which owl it was.

"Hullo there, Hedwig," I said softly. Hedwig gave a sad hoot and bobbed her head. After all, Trevor always seems to understand what I say, so why shouldn't I talk to Hedwig? A fluttering at her side revealed another owl that had been hiding behind her for a few seconds - a tiny owl. Ron's owl - what was his name? "Pigmalion" or something long and complicated like that. I knew the nickname was "Pig", anyway. "Hullo to you too, Pig."

Pig hooted in reply before going back to twittering around Hedwig, preening her feathers gently with his beak, tenderly giving out soft hoots, totally unlike the way he acts when Ron tries to send a letter. He was still beside himself, only this time it was because he was confused, I could tell.

Somehow, Hedwig knew that something dreadful had happened to Harry. And Pig somehow knew she was sad, and was trying to ease her mourning, the only way he could think how.

*CROAK!*

I jumped. "Trevor?" And there he was, sitting on the hay. He must have hopped on while I was distracted. I reached out for him, but he jumped away from me, towards Hedwig and Pig. I watched, not daring to move in case Hedwig or Pig turned angry in their sadness - or decided they were hungry.

He looked up at the two birds directly before him, throat pulsing as always, his yellow eyes meeting theirs. Hedwig blinked, head jerking back in surprise. Pig hooted uncertainly.

And Trevor croaked again, gently, before doing something I didn't expect at all. He placed one of his clammy little flippers on Hedwig's taloned foot in a little gesture that... well, it was almost... human. Hedwig keened, a long, mournful sound of pure grief as Pig nuzzled up against her affectionately. It was like they were comforting her, the way people would comfort someone who'd lost a loved one.

And somehow, seeing them comfort one another... well, it made me feel a little better too.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Carrying Trevor back up to the Gryffindor Tower, I scolded him. "You know you're not supposed to run off like that... I don't know HOW many times I've told you!" Oh dear... now I sound like Gran. "Oh Trevor... even Hedwig's hurting. Ron's hurting so much he doesn't even know he's hurting. What can we do? So many people miss him..." Trevor just blinked and croaked at me.

Stepping up to the portrait of the Fat Lady, I was surprised to see her sniffling into a lace hankie. Of course, I forgot - the paintings are people too! "Um, Niminy-piminy. A-are you okay, ma'am?" I wasn't sure what else to say.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes dearie. Just... it's a little distressing in there. Watch yourself." She sniffled again and mumbled something that sounded like "too young, poor child..." as she opened for me. Stepping in unsurely, I felt for a minute like I'd entered the middle of bedlam.

The common room had just about everyone in it. Including Professor Dumbledore.

But the weirdest thng was seeing Ron argue with the Headmaster.

"Professor, really, Harry's going to hate it if he comes back to find that his stuff's all been taken -"

"Mister Weasley." Dumbledore looked really tired - and for the first time I'd ever seen, he actually looked OLD. "It is but a few days until the end of term. I can assure you, Harry will not be returning before the end of school. Therefore, appropriate arrangements must be made for his things." He gestured to one of two piles of things on the floor.

"It's okay, just send 'em to our house, we'll look after them for him till he comes to get them. Honestly, that great git, the trouble he puts everyone through, I'm going to kick his arse when I see him!"

"W-what's going on?" My own voice sounded like a tiny kitten squeaking or mewing next to loud, full-grown cats, after Ron had finished talking.

"Neville!" "There you are!" Lots of murmurs filled the room as everyone started to talk, but it was the Headmaster that I listened to.

"These," and he pointed to one of the piles on the floor, "are Harry's things. They are being taken care of, as Harry will not be taking them from Hogwarts this year. The other pile is for any items that you wish to give as a tribute to him." Glancing at Ron, he lowered his voice. "They will be placed in a special memorial, just as Harry himself will be interred on Hogwarts grounds."

Nodding, I looked first at the pile of Harry's things - his school trunk, open with all his books in it. His wand. His Firebolt broomstick. His school uniform, dress robes and Quidditch robes, everything like that. And his personal stuff, like his own clothes, and a photo album and... well, that was it.

That was it? Aside from a few new-looking shirts and things I guess he must've bought for himself, everything was, well... Gran would never let me wear clothes like that inside the house, let alone be seen outside the house with them. They weren't even decent clothes - they looked like they'd been given to him by someone much, much bigger - and someone who didn't take good care of them, at that. His cousin's clothes? Had to be. Why didn't I ever see that before?

Because I wasn't looking at his clothes. I was either looking at his scar, or looking at his face. I was looking at "Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived", or I was just looking at Harry. I never bothered to look at how he was provided for, I'd always assumed he'd be looked after. But he'd never been provided for properly - and I guess he was used to second-rate clothes once he got to Hogwarts, didn't really think to go buy any new ones much.

The other pile was a funny mishmash of stuff. There was a photo album in there, filled with photos of Harry - hey, wasn't that Colin Creevey's? And there was a bunch of other things too - a book that looked like a diary of some sort, a copy of "Quidditch Through The Ages", and a little teacup that looked like it had been taken from our Divinations classroom... And one of the Weasley twins was setting down something that looked like a Golden Snitch.

What could I give? What did I possibly have that was worth giving? Sure, I had things I valued - but I couldn't give Trevor! And none of the other things that Gran had ever sent me had meant all that much to me, except maybe...

"Could you hold on a minute, Professor? I want to get something." At Dumbledore's nod, I quickly stumbled up the stairs, nearly tripping on my robes, and set Trevor down on the bed, where he settled down quite happily. Rummaging through my trunk, I found it at last, down the very bottom.

My Remembrall.

I hadn't been there to see it, but I'd been told that Harry had stood up to Malfoy for me and risked expulsion during our first flying lesson in order to save my Remembrall, which I'd dropped when I, ah, had a few problems controlling the broom. He hadn't even really known me, but he stood up for me and wouldn't let it get destroyed or lost. He could've got into trouble too - lucky it was McGonagall who saw him catch it and not anyone else, or instead of becoming Seeker, he might've just been thrown out.

Hurrying back down the stairs, I slipped the Remembrall onto the pile of tributes, each one a little memory of what Harry had meant to someone. It remained brilliantly clear, not turning that dreadful Howler shade of red anymore.

I'll never forget you, Harry. I'll always remember you and what you taught me. I'll never need this to remind me of it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Fred - or was it George? - Weasley held the portrait open for Professor Dumbledore while he carefully levitated the two piles through the doorway. Nodding his thanks, the Headmaster bent his head for a quiet word and pushed something small into George - or Fred's - hand before leaving. Looking at it for a moment in confusion, his face twisted up, and he ran up the stairs to the dorms as the portrait closed, his twin hurrying after him. "Hold up there, George!" Oh. So it WAS George, and that was Fred. Ginny ran after them, followed by quite a few of the older students who knew the twins, and the younger years all seemed to dissipate - probably to their own dorms, I think. It was mostly us fifth years who were left downstairs - us and a few fourth years like Colin Creevey and his little brother Dennis, who was in second year.

It was an uncomfortable atmosphere - just like in Potions class, except this time it wasn't normal. I mean, it was normal to be miserable and not to know what the heck you were supposed to do in Potions, but in the common room?

Which was why I was so startled that I fell on my behind when Hermione flew up right in front of me and screamed, "Well, were you?"

"OW!" Rubbing my sore rear, I looked up into Hermione's face - and froze. Her eyes were all surrounded by black circles and they were kind of bloodshot and wild. She was breathing funny, pulling the air in and out like it was really hard. It was scary.

"W-was I what?" I really wished I knew what she was so upset at me about...

"You know exactly what I mean! WERE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF IN POTIONS OR NOT?!" she screamed, so loud I'm sure that the whole castle heard.

"Huh?" And suddenly everything sort of clicked - the way Professor Snape had looked, all white-faced and - frightened. What he'd said had scared him... because he thought I might have been trying to do it? Then at dinner everyone had been paying all that attention to me, pushing over the nicer dishes, praising me, inviting me over...

"No, I wasn't!" The volume of my own voice makes me jump a little - but I'm really upset at that. In fact, my voice sounds almost scary to me, because it sounds so indignant and cross and un-me. "I wasn't. I just made a mistake, the way I usually do. I wouldn't do that on purpose, I haven't even thought about it in years." Standing up, I look into Hermione's face, and all of a sudden I realise just how close to crying she is... and she needs to. And she won't, I know she won't. "Why? Did you want me to?"

Ouch. That was mean. But I had to. Sorry, Hermione...

OUCH! Okay, I should have expected a slap. I deserved it... but she plonks herself down on the couch and starts crying, and I sit down next to her. No one else has moved, I think they're still a bit stunned. In another time and place, the looks on their faces might even be funny.

"I didn't mean that, Hermione. I'm really sorry... but I can't say that I didn't mean to make you cry, because I did. You need to, and you weren't." I shouldn't say anything, I should just be there quietly as Harry was for me until she's ready to talk. But she needs to know I didn't want to say such a cruel thing. She puts her head on my shoulder. Uh-oh. There's ice in my stomach and my hands feel cold and it's good that she's crying, but now there's a girl crying on me and what on earth am I supposed to do about it? Harry would have known. Hesitantly I pat her head, feeling like an idiot for treating her like a pet, but what else can I do?

The rustle of clothes and the sound of sniffles lets me know others are coming closer, and soon people have their hands on us, saying stuff that doesn't mean anything and crying themselves. I think they're relieved for Hermione too, but Ron's a bit scared, keeps asking what's wrong. Please let him realise soon, he needs to cry too...

"What did you mean, you haven't thought about it in years? So you *have* thought about it?" Oops. Parvati caught me on that one.

"Well... sort of. When I came to Hogwarts, I was so happy... I thought that everything would be better and I'd stop being slow and clumsy and all that. I thought I'd just become clever and good at everything, but I didn't. I couldn't fly, couldn't do anything right... I felt like such a terrible failure. I was going to run away to some other country and live as a Muggle or something, where no one would laugh, because no one would care. But then one day, when I was feeling bad about something Malfoy had said, Harry told me I was worth twelve of Malfoy. And I didn't know him very well back then, I only knew the Boy Who Lived, so I started to think - if Harry, the Harry Potter, thought so... well then, maybe I was worth something, after all." It always seems to come back to Harry. How much he meant to all of us. How much he did for us, and we never noticed it.

I feel really terrible. Harry saw me slip out of the Great Hall - but I didn't see him slip away from us. And I should have. Right after he fought You-Know-Who again, he was suddenly so up-and-down all the time, snapping at people, eating a lot or not eating at all, doing everything with a weird possessive air, as if he thought someone would stop him. Then, he just seemed to go all calm, resigned, empty. The least I could have done was sit with him and talked. Or rather, not talked. Just been there.

He was there for me. I wasn't there for him.

I feel terrible.

Even a Gryffindor can't be brave forever.

END.