Chapter Text
Hope really was an idiot. A foolish, gullible, easily manipulated idiot. No, ‘idiot’ was too kind an adjective for her. What was it Snape called her last potions lesson? Ah, yes, a good-for-nothing imbecile who would struggle to even breathe if her body didn’t do it automatically. Yes, that seemed right.
Hope sunk down onto the stone steps before the Veil of Death. Fighting continued on behind her, each attacker seemingly oblivious to her loss. Light, Dark, Ministry worker… none of them hurt as she did at that moment. Her fingers trailed the elegant edges of the arch, her nails catching in every engraved line.
Not even Remus could understand; Padfoot was his friend, Sirius Black was her Godfather. Her last chance to remove herself from the Dursley’s care, her last chance to escape Dumbledore’s ‘For The Greater Good’ thumb. He was hers, dammit. Hers! She loved him, she needed him, and he was gone.
Someone was shaking her. Hands slithered under her arms, pulling her up onto her feet. Hope blinked once, twice, and finally registered the blaring noise in her ears for Remus’s voice.
“Hope - Hope listen, honey -”
She shook out of his grip and reached towards the Veil.
“Hope!” Remus pulled her back as her fingers ghosted against the wisping cloth, her grip returning tenfold. She could hardly breathe so tight were his arms against her ribs. “Sirius is dead, I know it hurts, but we can cry later. He wouldn’t want you to die too.”
“Sirius isn't dead!” Hope screamed. She tore against his arms, struggling in his hold. Her nails came up to his face and scratched and scratched until she could feel liquid run onto her knuckles. He didn't let go.
“Hope! Listen to me! He’s dead, he’s gone, and if you don't pull yourself together you will be too! Look!”
Hope looked. Her eyes glazed over the battlefield that was the ministry, and then, as her sense came back to her, she checked it over again. Bellatrix stood cackling by Arthur Weasley’s bloodied body, his small shakes and moans the only real proof of life. Shaklebolt was encircled by seven masked Death Eaters, and he was only winning by a hair. Mad-Eye was crawling across the room, heading towards his protege Tonks. Neville - sweet, loving Neville - was attacking Lucius Malfoy with such power and hatred Hope felt pride swell up inside her, despite the dark moment.
And finally, as though their fight was the centrepiece of the occasion, Dumbledore and Voldemort were locked in a never-ending duel. Spells and objects flew at each other seamlessly, neither bothered by the blinding lights. It was an epic battle of calculated attacks, statues were animated to fight against the Dark Lord, and bricks seemed to effortlessly re-build themselves into stone cages for Dumbledore.
“It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom,” said Dumbledore calmly. “The Aurors are on their way-”
“By which point I will have killed you!” spat Voldemort. He flicked his wand, and a jet of green light flew past Dumbledore, barely missing him.
Remus loosened his hold on Hope. “Are you ready?’
Wide-eyed, she twisted around to face him. “Ready?” she rasped. “No! Of course not!”
He chuckled. “That's the spirit,” he said, clearly misinterpretation her fear for something else. He squeezed her hand. “For Sirius!” he cried, letting go of her and running towards Shaklebolt, who had made no progress with his attackers.
“Remus… Fuck!” she cursed, as she realised she was alone, standing next to a Veil that killed her Godfather, overseeing a battle she was a martyr for. She squeezed her eyes tight, counted to three, and opened them again. No progress, except for the sinking feeling of guilt in her stomach. “Fine,” she muttered.
She clasped her wand tightly, and, against her better instincts, headed for Voldemort and Dumbledore.
Another jet of green light flew from Voldemort’s wand. This time it was the one-armed centaur, galloping in front of Dumbledore, that took the blast and shattered into a hundred pieces, but before the fragments had even hit the floor, Dumbledore had drawn back his wand and waved it as though brandishing a whip. A long thin flame flew from the tip; it wrapped itself around Voldemort, shield and all. For a moment, it seemed Dumbledore had won, but then the fiery rope became a serpent, which relinquished its hold on Voldemort at once and turned, hissing furiously, to face Dumbledore.
“Look out!” she screamed. Voldemort turned to face her. He flicked his wand lazily, and the snake launched onto Dumbledore, knocking him to the ground.
“Hope, dearest, you’ve joined the party.”
“No…” she whispered. Her eyes locked onto his, red orbs meeting green, and she was captivated by his gaze. “Please, I-”
“Begging for your life, little girl? And I thought you were the Light’s saviour, their final hope.”
“Really? Puns about my name? That’s the best you can do?” she snarked, although her voice wavered.
“Oh, I can do a lot more than that,” he teased. Voldemort strode to her, stopping when he got close enough that he could count the freckles on her nose. He cocked his head. “But I must admit, dearest, you caught me by surprise. A hero pleading for mercy? That’s certainly something new.”
“I wasn’t-”
“Oh? And so the lie continues.” He smiled at her, full teeth and pink gums. He brought a hand to her chin, tilting it up. Hope’s hand fumbled with her wand, twisting it uselessly in her palm. “Do you really need that, Hope?”
“My wand? Of course I do, you bastard! Fuck you!”
She wrenched out of his hand, taking several steps backward and pointing her wand squarely between his eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dumbledore fighting with the snake still, and it gave her strength. “Sectumsempra!” she cried. Voldemort dodged her spell easily.
“That’s the best you can do?” he asked, mirroring her words from before. He took a step closer to her.
“No!” she screamed. Her hand shook even more, but Hope held it steadily towards his face. Her lips began to form the sound of another curse, but before she could finish the first syllable, he had plucked her wand neatly out of her grasp.
“You are many things, dearest. A fighter, yes, but a dueller, no.”
She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, wordless at the one time she needed them. Hope watched Voldemort pocket her wand in a cloak pocket, and still, she could not speak.
“It’s alright,” he soothed. He cupped her cheek in his hand. Hope shivered from a mix of fear and cold. “You’ve done so well, are doing so well, but it’s time to stop.”
“No, I-”
Voldemort presses his thumb against her lips. “I’m not done, dearest. It was so very cruel of Dumbledore to raise you to fight me - you never could have won. It’s not your fault, none of it is.”
He can see she’s searching for words, feels her lips press against his thumb as she goes to say something and thinks better of it.
“I think, Hope, I will take you home. You will be safe, and happy, and cared for. Will you come with me?”
It’s the first real decision she’s been allowed to make in forever, when you consider her coming to the Ministry to save Sirius was because of Voldemort messing with her brain, and that her fighting him was because of years of pressure and expectations. And her godfather just died and she wasn't allowed to grieve, and half the world hates her and the other half thinks she’s crazy, and everything has just been so. fucking. tiring. and all she wants is to do is sleep for a million years and pretend she doesn't exist, so she does the stupidest thing ever.
She says yes.