You are so glad to see him when you step in to the room; you beam at him. It feels like waking up from a nightmare because he’s there and he’s real. He’s haggard and bloody, but he’s alive. He seems stunned to see you, disappointed almost, but before you have a chance to talk to him, he tells you what he needs to do, what he needs to find. You suggest she take him where he should start, and he runs out.

While he’s gone, they all show up, and she tells you to go home. They all tell you to go home. And when he returns, he shakes his head, agreeing with them. You turn, hurt and disappointed, ready to leave and bump into him. He apologizes and you all forgive him; he’s family after all.

You look around you as they all start filtering out. Then you’re alone in the room, considering what she told you before she left. Before you can leave, they come through, both looking a little battered but you supposed it’s natural that they came -- you did. You’re talking to them when he comes back in. He says there’s something he needs from the room, but he can’t get it if you’re here.

He tells you you have to come back when he’s done. You run before the words truly sink in, but when they do you’re livid, and you want to hurt him; you can feel the fire of it licking at your insides. And your heart is breaking because the one person you thought would understand, the one person you counted on to be on your side, just told you to stay out of danger. You want to scream at him, you want to wail your fists against his chest.

But your heart’s at war with itself while a much larger war wages outside the walls. Though he’s bad at expressing his emotions, you’ve always been able to read him like an open book, and while you’re furious with him, you think about what you saw in his eyes. His world is falling apart around him; he’s not sure what to do to, but everyone’s relying on him, and all he wants is to keep you safe. If he knows you’re alright, he can do whatever he needs to do to help end this once and for all. Because if you’re not okay, he can’t go on. And he can’t let himself think about anything but the path ahead of him right now.

You know that should give you comfort. That he loves you that much. That he’d put you ahead of the whole Wizarding world. But it doesn’t help. It doesn’t help at all because he’s not seeing the bigger picture. He doesn’t see that he can’t just do whatever needs to be done because you know what that will mean, and it will break you.

Running toward danger, all you want is to beg him not to go, plead with him to stay with you, but you can’t do that any more than he can keep you safe. You learned the hard way this last year that the only person who can keep you safe is you. It was a hard lesson to learn, and you’re not glad at how you came by it, but you know it’s made you stronger.

So you run from the room, from him, toward the melee. You want him to follow you, but he’s noble and got bigger things to worry about right now. Which you’re glad of, really. He worries about you, but he’s well aware you can handle yourself.

You round a corner and see devastation the likes of which you couldn’t even imagine. This is why she wanted you to stay behind, this is why he told you to come back, but your entire family is out there, somewhere, and you refuse to be the only one standing when it ends. If they go down, you want to be right there with them; there is no room for self-preservation when everything you care about is in danger.

You jump in to the fight, using what you learned from him and what you honed here this past year. That’s one thing for which you can be grateful to them; you’re a much better fighter now than you’ve ever been, and it’s good, because they all underestimate you, a little slip of a girl. You revel in shattering their expectations, but you can’t take the time to gloat like you want to -- you learned gloating from the best, but even they would agree that now isn’t the time -- so you fight for what feels like hours but isn’t, because you hear him -- everyone does -- talk about a momentary cease-fire.

You hate that voice. It’s what you hear in your worst nightmares, the ones even worse than the memories, because in those he’s telling you he’s dead, and you couldn’t live with that. He praises you all for your hard efforts and tells you to collect your dead. It’s mocking, his voice coming through the castle feigning so much care when he’s the reason you’re in danger; he’s the reason he’s in danger, and you’ll never forgive him for that.

You head down and see them all standing around crying and you know immediately something’s wrong. How could you all be in once place and everyone make it out unscathed. It was a childish hope, and you’re not a child anymore, but there’s something holding you back. You don’t want to know -- can’t know -- who it is yet, not if there’s more to worry about in an hour, but you walk in anyway. They’ll need you, and you’ll need them. You see him laid out on the floor, the ghost of a smile on his face, and you hug her, and him, tighter than you thought possible. Then they come in and she comes over to you and you hug her too, because you need it too. He’s not here, but right now he isn’t your biggest concern. You look down at him again and notice them, their hands linked even in death, and think how unfair it is; he’s made so many orphans tonight and he’ll keep doing it if he doesn’t stop him.

You weren’t sure what to do with yourself, so when they went outside to collect the dead and injured, you went too. You nearly stumble into him as you pass through the doors, and he’s got him in a fireman’s hold. You know right away that he’s dead. You’ll never hear his cheerful “Hiya!� again, but you can’t react, not now, because someone else needs you. You walk over to her, trying to calm her down; she clearly doesn’t want to be here, so you do what she would do and say what she would say when you were upset.

You feel something behind you and you pause. Is that him? You turn but don’t see anything. Maybe the cloak? But no, you’re sure that if he were there he’d say something to you; he’d somehow let you know he was still alright, right?

You do what you can to clear the area, bringing them in and laying them out peacefully like they deserve. When they’re all inside somewhere, you finally let yourself cry.

After what feels like seconds, or hours, you’re not sure, that voice is back, taunting now, about what a coward he was, running away, and you know it isn’t true. You all pour out, and you see him in his arms. Behind you someone screams “No!� and you would never have guess she could sound so sad and desperate, but you’re screaming too, his name, but it doesn’t matter. You’re broken. He’s gone and you wish you were too because without him you’re broken and nothing, nothing, can make it better again.