Neville Longbottom sat, alone, on the staircase of the Gryffindor common room. For the last few hours, everyone had been helping clean up the rubble from the battle that had taken place here. However, after working for almost four hours, it was unanimously decided that it was time for a break. Strangely, most of those in Neville’s year had dispersed to separate parts of the castle, alone or in pairs. Neville understood, of course; he had done the same thing. He had needed some time to think, to process the magnitude of what had occurred; they all did.

And so, here Neville was, on the stairway to “the home of the brave”. It was a bit ironic, though, that he had nearly not even been a Gryffindor. The Hat had wanted to put him in Hufflepuff, but Neville had been worried of his Gran’s reaction if he had been anywhere but Gryffindor, so he talked the hat out of it. A lot of his life had been like that for awhile, always wanting to meet his grandmother’s ridiculously high standards. He had never been good enough for her. She was never cruel to her grandson, far from it, but, sometimes, disappointment cuts deeper than cruelty. Neville had joined the DA hoping to improve, which, thankfully, he had.

But now, Neville almost laughed. Because, finally, he had done something brave, something heroic, something he knew his Gran would be proud of. Finally, he had earned the pride he had yearned for all his life. But, to his surprise, Neville found that he didn’t care, that her praise didn’t really matter to him anymore. Finally, he was free.