A Time To Reflect
Prologue
By Kinsfire
Disclaimer: Not mine. That pretty much says it all. If JKR wants me to have Harry and company, I'll gladly take the gift, but I'm not holding my breath.
He hated this walk; this 'Walk of Heroes'. The place where all the dead from the second and thankfully final fall of Voldemort were memorialised. But he came here every year, multiple times a year, but especially on the so-called 'Freedom Day'. He avoided the crowds and parties as if the partiers had the plague, and always headed here. He hated it, but he came.
It was a beautiful summer day, with people running around in summer clothes. Why couldn't it be like in all those cheesy stories, where it's raining as some metaphor for the Universe sharing your pain or some other such metaphorical bullshit?
He was glad of one thing, though. This area had been spelled carefully. With the final war against Voldemort getting so far out of hand that the division between the Muggle and wizard world had disappeared, International Confederation of Wizards Secrecy Laws be damned, there was no need to hide from the Muggles any longer. In fact, wizards had come out of the woodwork to help the Muggles survive, and were considered invaluable friends to the non-magically inclined now.
The spell work on this monument and graveyard was subtle, however. Rather than some gaudy magical display, the magic of the area was the opposite of a Repulsion Charm. It made people approach and ponder those who were commemorated here.
"Pity," he said as his hand brushed across some of the names engraved in the stone. "There's one name missing from here, and he really deserves to be here."
"Pardon?" asked an attractive woman. Her posture and tone fairly screamed disbelief at what she had just heard.
"Apologies," he said to her. "I was just complaining that there's one name that should be here that isn't."
"They forgot someone?" she asked.
"No, the bastard's not dead yet, unfortunately, and he really doesn't qualify under the circumstances, anyway. You need to be a hero to be on this wall, not some little Malfoy clone that survived while everyone around died."
"Was this person even at the last battle?" she asked.
"The thing was centred around the little bastard," he barked, more to himself than to her. "The Ministry gives him all the credit for destroying that little prick we call Voldemort, and only grudgingly agreed to build this memorial for the real heroes."
"Not a really big fan of Harry Potter, I take it?" the woman asked with a wry smile.
"Depends," he replied. "Fan of him as The Hero of the Second Voldemort War? Pardon my Anglo-Saxon language, but 'Fuck no!' Fan of tying him down and driving an icepick through his eye and into his brain? I'll be first in line."
"Who was she?" the woman asked suddenly, and he was forced to laugh, although there was little humour to it.
"You're good," he finally replied. "Yeah, I loved people up here on this wall. Dated a couple of them. If the little bastard was able to be killed these days, I'd be first in line to dig him a shallow grave, after making sure there were charms on it to make sure that everyone who passed it stopped to piss on that grave."
She scowled angrily at him. "Did he do it on purpose? You talk as if you know his personal thoughts. Did he send them off to get killed while he sat back drinking Piña Coladas?"
"He might as well have," the man snarled. "Listening to the idiots in the remnants of the Order, while his friends sat in cells in Voldemort's clutches. 'You're not ready yet!' they kept telling him." He turned and punched a wall. "He should have realised that Snape hadn't been the only traitor in the group."
"Hadn't Snape been -"
"Yes, he was deeply trusted by the Headmaster, to the point where he killed the Headmaster in an attempt to save Draco Fucking Malfoy. Little prick managed to survive the last battle and went into politics. He's the only one I hate more than The Hero."
"Who was the traitor, if you know?"
"Some little prick named Simon Grandmarch," he snarled. "New member, but supposedly with an in to the Unspeakables, and he was the one who convinced them to keep holding Potter back. And Potter was stupid enough to listen. Because he was, these people died." He swept his arm out to point out the first twelve names.
"How many of them were you in love with?" she asked, the slight smile returning.
"Well, I dated a couple of them, as I mentioned," he replied. "They all meant something to me." He ran his hand slowly down the list. "Hannah Abbot. Sweet girl, the epitome of a Hufflepuff." He blushed slightly. "And she could fill a pair of jeans like nobody's business." He shook his head. "Susan Bones. Another Hufflepuff, and just as nice and just as sexy as her best friend. I used to talk to the both of them occasionally, and like to think we'd gotten to be friends."
His hand struck Cho Chang's name. "I dated her once. Felt so bad over what happened when Cedric died in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Interesting that it's something else you could probably lay at Potter's feet," he sneered. "Maybe the Prophet wasn't as wrong as we thought. Daphne Greengrass," he said, suddenly changing demeanour. "I got to know her decently well, and she was what seemed to be the exception in Slytherin. I still remember the time she shocked me by asking if I wanted to go swimming with her. We used the Prefect's Bath, since it was certainly large enough. I also discovered that she was a fan of sauna. At least she appreciated the standing ovation."
The woman looked at his with her head cocked for a moment. "Oh," she said suddenly, as it struck her what the man meant. "Oh!" She blushed furiously.
"There were good times, oddly enough. It seemed that Daphne, Su Li, both Patils and even Luna liked to see just how embarrassed they could make me by giving me glimpses of ... shall we say 'some of their physical beauty'?"
"What about those last four?" the woman asked after she'd gotten her blushing under control. "The one's you didn't mention?"
He laughed angrily. "As if the first eight aren't reason enough that the bastard should die, those four definitely are." He let his hand glide across the four names. "Hermione Granger. Neville Longbottom. Ginevra Weasley. Ronald Weasley. They were my friends. And they died." He scowled. "At least the little shit who let them die can't die yet. It's part of that ritual that killed them."
"How do you know this?" she asked, more than a little puzzled.
"I got tired of trying to kill The Hero Harry Potter. Even tried that icepick through the brain trick. Still alive."
"Who are you?" she asked, backing away, as if it might help.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. Harry Potter, at your service."