Fortitudo

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;

I am dying, I know. I can feel the last of my strength leaving as my blood, a brilliant Gryffindor red, leaks out onto the stone of the floor. I am muggle-born, and a clean death is above me.

In my last moments, I wonder what the others will think of me when my body is recovered. The Gryffindors will honor me, standing firm and courageous until the end. But what about the Ravenclaws, the Hufflepuffs, the Slytherins? They will look at my coffin with a mixture of pity and sadness, and somewhere at the back of their minds they will think, that Gryffindor rashness did her in. Rushing in like a fool with no plans at all.

I wonder if they realize that I lived for that danger? I love it, that warm rush of realness and being alive. I didn’t become an Auror for nothing. If I had thought a satisfactory plan was going to be formed then I wouldn’t have rushed in. But sometimes there is nothing left to do but to go and to hope.

Perhaps I have lived rashly. Perhaps I would not be here now, with my life force leaving my body every passing second, if I had at least formed a rudimentary plan. But I do not regret it.

I only regret that Fred cannot be here to hold me, as I held him, while I breathe my last breaths.

But I will be with him soon.

I am Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor. And I seized the day.

You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;

They do not fear us, and now it will be their downfall.

When the Death Eaters arrived and attacked, it was unexpected; we were unprepared. I had just arrived at the ministry days before to start my new job, and it was in such chaos that the warnings from Dumbledore were lost among the other post. The attack lasted for only minutes, minutes in which every Slytherin among us was killed or captured. And after that they withdrew.

We thought, in a moment of pure and frenzied hope, that they had left. But one glance out the window told another story. Black-cloaked men and woman flanked the building, dozens on each side, standing straight as sentinels in the twilight. They did not attack, but simply stood, watching and waiting. For what?

It has been eight days, and now I know what they are waiting for. They are waiting for us to starve. We are under siege in our own Ministry. With each moment that passes, the hope of those that surround me dims and fades. I have given up hope of rescue as well, but there is hope for something even greater; a last moment of glory.

I am a Hufflepuff. Glory does not come naturally to us. Fading into the background does. But it does not mean that the desire for glory is any less among those of my house.

If we are not to be rescued, then we are to die. And it is our choice. Do we sit in this building and starve one by one? Or, in a final bang, do we exit the building, attack, and take some of those scumbag Death Eaters with us? I know what I have chosen.

No, they do not fear us. They felt so confident in themselves, in the locking charms they placed around the building, that they left us with our wands. Terry has discovered a way to overload the charms and cause them to fall. And when the spell is triggered, we will rush forward in a wave and take as many of them with us as we can. I clutch my cherry wood wand in front of me, held high, and place my feet firmly in front of the exit door, waiting for the attack cue.

It’s time for those Death Eaters to find out exactly how sharp this badger’s claws are.

I am Susan Bones, Hufflepuff. And I will not die with a whimper.

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you’ve a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;

I am not courageous like a Gryffindor. I am no use in the front lines of this war, because my fear paralyzes me in the face of Death Eaters. Does this make me useless?

I think not.

Each Hogwarts house was created for a reason, and with a specific strength. Those strengths each have their own place in this battle against the Dark Lord. I will not be remembered when the war is finished. I will not be hailed as a hero, or a martyr, or a fearless leader. I do not even ask to be seen as such. All I want is to be seen as someone who gave all she had to give in order to defeat the monster that terrorizes us.

The Gryffindors, for all of their courage, do not see the battle that wages beneath and behind the battlefields. They fight tirelessly against the enemy, but they do not see the manipulation and political maneuvering of the Slytherins, the hard work and compassion of the Hufflepuffs, or the research and study of the Ravenclaws. They have the advantage of fighting against an enemy with a face; some of us are not so lucky.

Daily I must match wits with the greatest thinkers among the Death Eaters, creating antidotes to battle their poisons and spells to deflect their curses. And through it all, I must wage a battle within myself to find some moral footing, to discover just how far I am willing to go with my creations.

I must decide if defeating them is worth becoming just like them.

I am Mandy Brocklehurst, Ravenclaw. And I give all that is mine to give.

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You’ll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

The Hogwart’s song, when introducing Slytherin, talks of real friends. Since the moment I stepped into the snake’s den, I have thought that ironic. Standing tall beside me in the common room were children I had grown up with; Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Draco Malfoy, Millicent Bulstrode. And I knew, the moment the hat proclaimed each of us Slytherin’s, that no childhood memory could save our friendships.

We are cunning. We use any means to achieve our ends. If that requires stepping on people who trust us, so be it. Stabbing our closest allies in the back is permissible as well. And all of us stepped into that den of betrayal and broken alliances knowing exactly what we had gotten ourselves into. It was what we were raised for.

Our parents, Death Eaters all, expected certain things from us. And for all of the ambition that my fellow Slytherin’s posessed, not one had the courage to defy them.

I did not defy them openly. That did not work into the plans that I had for myself. Instead, I did as I was told; I was the perfect Slytherin woman. I spoke when it was appropriate, but I knew when to stay silent. I showed enough intelligence to be appreciated, but not enough to intimidate the others. I trusted no one. And beneath it all, so subtly that they weren’t even aware of it, I was manipulating puppet strings attached to their minds. I was molding the future to meet my desires.

When the time came, Voldemort welcomed me to his ranks. As he branded his mark of ownership into my arm, I was silent. He saw it as a sign of strength, but in truth, I kept quiet because it was the only way to keep from laughing. Over the next two years, I rose quickly in the Dark Lord’s ranks; I had not shown enough ambition in school to threaten him, and he did not fear me. It was exactly as I had planned.

No friends, no alliances, no ties, no threat. I had molded myself to perfection for the plans that life held in store.

For who better to infiltrate the snake’s den, then a snake herself?

I am Blaise Zabini, Slytherin. I choose my alliances. And I am owned by no one.