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For the first time, Susan tore her gaze off the window to look at him as he grasped his chest, just over his heart.
"But now? Now it's just gone and I feel...empty. I want to be angry. Or sad, or anything, really. But it's like I burned out and there's a...a hole here."
"As if they took a part of us when they took them."
Neville nodded, his jaw clenched as tightly as his hand that tried to grasp something that wasn't there anymore.
His whole body relaxed in surprise as he felt a weight come upon his shoulder and saw long red hair cascade down his arm. Unsure of what to do, he stood perfectly still, never turning his head to look at her. Not even when he felt the tears roll down his arm.
"They say that the loved ones who left aren't really gone. That they'll always stay with you in memory...but I don't want memories. I want her back...I just want her back..."
He doesn't know how long they sat there in silence after that, watching the stars through a small window that overlooked a space just as empty as they felt.
"Ensign Pryden is due for a visit of the station tomorrow, and his place in the eastern dormitory has been prepared. Once settled in, he'll start helping Hannah sort through the other applications, two of which you still have to review before they can be brought in for their final interview."
There was no nice way to say it: Harry's office was a mess. Piles of unread reports that never seemed to go down sat next to clippings from the prophet, unfinished school essays and the odd reference book. Command stones and various magical knick-knacks were used as paper-weights to keep the precariously piled-up parchments from collapsing.
Sitting down amongst that bureaucratic chaos, Harry dug around, trying to find the relevant reports as Ernie continued to list everything that needed his attention.
"On another note, Katie and Hermione are still waiting for you to green-lit the weapon test they want to conduct next week, now that they have found a suitable target."
Oh right. He was sure he'd seen Katie's demand somewhere in the left-most pile yesterday...
His hands stopped their search as he uncovered his most recent collection of prophet clippings, previously buried under a monograph on manticores. While the size of the extracts varied, their content was almost always the same. Weeks had passed since that first article, and the prophet continued to announce the deaths of political figures vocal about their opposition to the Ministry's new direction every few days. Most had been portrayed as accidents, but more than a few had been labelled as murders by the press without providing any suspects.
There was no doubt Voldemort was preparing the ministry for his conquest, taking advantage of the public's denial of his return. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that some piece of the puzzle was still missing though. The man was certainly brutal and cruel, but he remained a crafty schemer with a love for the theatrical above all else. The murders and this slow takeover were only building up to the next part of his plans, which only promised an escalation of the conflict. However, without any clue as to what it was, they had no way to prepare for it.
It's not like they had sat idly while people were dying either. They'd done their best to convince as many of their family members who still worked at the ministry and other potential targets to relocate to their newly bought safe houses throughout the country.
While it would work for now, keeping those people hidden in the middle of nowhere was not a viable long-term solution. They needed to keep them supplied and it would become increasingly harder to convince them to stay there. They were already working on getting those who agreed out of the country, but many still felt too attached to Britain and their life here to simply up and leave.
And that was those who had listened to them. Percy had been an increasingly sore subject as of late with the Weasley.
"You know...There are talks among the crew about taking revenge. To go out and fight."
Harry put down the book as he mentally cursed himself for leaving an opening for Ernie. He'd noticed the stares, of course, and he was far from the only one to direct these silent pleas toward him these days. Harry forced his hands to start moving again, pretending to search for whatever report he was supposed to find.
"As long as they only talk, there's nothing to worry about."
That, it seems, was exactly what he shouldn't have said. He could almost feel Ernie's brows furrow behind him.
"You need to address this. Neville and Susan both lost the only family they had left. Everyone's worried theirs will be next. They've been training for this, and we have the ship on our side."
Harry stopped again, clenching his fists above the sprawled-out parchments.
"So what, you want us to assault the ministry with less than thirty barely trained students? To kill everyone that gets in our way? We'd all be dead before we cleared the second floor, and they'd still be here tomorrow. The worst of them won't even be there, but hiding in their heavily warded manors out in the countryside."
In the past, Harry had been brash and impulsive, jumping into danger without so much as an afterthought for his own safety, and he nearly died each time because he didn't stop and think. Oh sure, he'd do it again in a heartbeat, as he was doing the right thing that no one else seemed inclined to do at the time, but it wasn't just him anymore. Having so many friends and comrades eager to join you in the face of certain death had a strange way of sobering you up when their lives depended on you making the right call.
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