Summer
Harry hated the summer.
He hated the sunshine. He hated the long days. He hated the heat. He hated the memories that summer brought with it. The hours with her spent by the Great Lake throwing titbits to the Giant Squid and talking about nothing particular. The blissful, sun-filled moments of stolen kisses and daisies and buttercups. The picnics. The swimming. The love.
It had been summer, too, when Ginny had left him. The new Quidditch season was about to begin and her excuse was she needed 'to focus on the Harpies' and her 'career'. Of course that excuse had turned out to be complete and utter bullshit when the Daily Prophet splashed a photo of her and Blaise Zabini snogging passionately all over their front page not two days later. The break-up Harry could take; the picture and realised betrayal, not so much. He had retreated into his Muggle London flat and no one saw him until October, once the last tides of the solstice had passed.
When Harry came out, he had changed. Not only physically – of course he was pale, thin and haggard – but moreover mentally. He didn't talk. He didn't go for drinks. He didn't smile, laugh, or even show any vague sign of emotion or humanity. Of course, Ron et al had tried to help him, but by Christmas it was apparent that there was no getting through to him. The damage of isolation really had been done.
Hence, Harry hated summer. People knew Harry hated summer. This borne in mind, any wizard or witch walking through Hyde Park that particular late-July afternoon would have done a double take when they saw the hero of the wizarding world sitting on a bench gazing across at the shining Serpentine. Not that any wizard or witch would be walking through Hyde Park. The war had erased some old prejudices, but visiting Muggle hangouts was still definitely beneath most of the magic community. Most.
"Ready?" a voice said from in front of Harry.
Harry looked up from his thoughts. A young woman stood before him, obstructing his view of the glittering lake. Sun shone from behind her, framing her shapely silhouette against the water, and illuminating and highlighting her silky black hair; her eyes sparkling with understated excitement and anticipation. It was her eyes that had caught Harry the most when he ran into Pansy Parkinson in the February after his breakup with Ginny and withdrawal into himself. He knew what the Wizengamot had done to her and her family after the war, and her eyes reflected the pain and the hurt that they inflicted more than any words could. He was surprised by the lack of malice and revenge in those eyes and found himself inextricably drawn to them after accidently knocking her over in Diagon Alley.
She was the one who had brought him out of his funk, brought him back into the real world. She was the one who was there for him in those long sleepless nights where all he could do was cry with memories of past wars and past loves. She was the one who taught him how to love her again after spending so many years teaching the same thing to herself. She was the one who had reclaimed his heart. She was the one now standing sunlit in front of him looking as beautiful as Aphrodite, waiting for him to stand up and take her out punting on the lake.
Well, maybe summer wasn't that bad.