Isn't He Lovely-Professor Snape

Deathly Hallows Pt 30

Draco comes to an abrupt halt, his tear-streaked face reflecting the internal struggle tearing at his resolve. As he stands frozen, I whisper urgently, my grip tightening on his hand, "Stay here, Draco." With a hesitant nod, he acquiesces, walking behind me, avoiding any eye contact with his parents.

Voldemort, visibly upset by Draco's hesitation, scowls in his direction. The air is thick with tension as the Dark Lord addresses the Malfoy family. "Draco," he calls sternly, the weight of disappointment evident in his tone.

I stand defiantly between Draco and his family, shielding him from the looming threat. "He stays with us," I assert, my voice carrying a firmness that belies the anxiety beneath the surface. Voldemort's red eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, the world holds its breath as the struggle for control plays out in the silent exchange between us.

Voldemort's cold voice cuts through the heavy silence, his gaze fixed on me. "And who do we have here, standing against the tide?" he sneers, his serpent-like smile revealing a hint of amusement. "Niamh Donnelly, my wife. The traitor"

I square my shoulders, meeting his gaze with a steely determination. "I stand with those who fight against tyranny, not those who revel in it," I retort, my voice unwavering despite the fear that coils in the pit of my stomach. "You may have taken Harry from us, but you won't break our spirit."

Voldemort chuckles darkly, his amusement at my defiance evident. "Spirit, my dear, is a fragile thing. It shatters so easily," he hisses, his red eyes narrowing. "But perhaps you'll have the chance to prove me wrong. Join us willingly, and perhaps I'll spare you from the fate that awaits the rest of your kind."

I grip my wand tighter, my resolve unyielding. "I'll never join you, Tom. I'll fight until my last breath to see you defeated," I declare, my words echoing in the shattered courtyard.

Neville steps forward, a mixture of grief and defiance etched on his face, the sorting hat in his hand. "You won't break us, Voldemort. You can take Harry, but you can't take our hope," he declares, his voice resonating with a quiet strength.

Voldemort regards Neville with a contemptuous smirk. "Ah, the brave Longbottom. You always did have a penchant for defying expectations. But bravery alone won't save you from the reality of your defeat."

Neville's grip tightens on his wand, determination gleaming in his eyes. "Maybe not, but it's a start. The fight isn't over, not as long as there are people willing to stand against you."

Voldemort's laughter reverberates through the courtyard, a chilling sound that sends shivers down our spines. "Your bravado is charming, Longbottom. But charm alone won't change your fate."

Neville shifts in his stance "We lost Harry tonight. But hes still with us. In here!" He points to his chest "So is Remus, Tonks, all of them. He didn't die in vein!" He takes a step forward "But you will!"

The courtyard echoes with Voldemort and the Death Eaters' disdainful laughter, their derision aimed at Neville's defiant stance. The tension is palpable, a thick veil of uncertainty hanging in the air as Neville clutches the Sorting Hat, his resolve unyielding despite the mockery.

In a sudden twist, Neville pulls out the gleaming Sword of Gryffindor, its presence commanding attention. The laughter falters, replaced by a collective gasp of astonishment. Before our eyes, Harry, who moments ago was declared dead, rises from the ground. My gasp of disbelief mingles with the stunned silence that befalls the courtyard.

The Sword of Gryffindor, a symbol of bravery and the triumph of good over evil, gleams in Neville's hand. The weight of its legacy seems to infuse him with newfound strength. Harry, seemingly resurrected, stands and faces Voldemort.