Memoirs of the Second War

Disclaimer: All of the story text was written by me, but the characters, settings and really everything I've written about comes from the wonderful mind of J.K. Rowling. Through the actual story, every chapter will have half the text written from a third person point of view about Ron's life after making the book, and the other half of the chapter will be excerpts from the book itself. The book is fictional of course, and I write all the excerpts from it.

DH Spoilers! This story is completely littered with DH Spoilers, so please be the smart people I know you are and don't read this if you haven't read DH. Come on, if your reading this story I know you can read, so you can read this note. Seriously, I'll have none of this "You ruined the seventh book for me" from anyone. It states clearly right here DH Spoilers!

I think you get the point. I'm being a bit grouchy aren't I? Sorry. Onward, sailors!

Prologue

"Mr. Weasley? How do you feel about the fortune your book has made to date?"

"Fortune?" Ron asked, grinning at the mass of people. It was a dusty, dry August afternoon and several reporters from the Daily Prophet had swarmed around the common of Hogsmeade for a book signing from Weasley, the newest wizarding author. "I doubt I've made a fortune, you should see where I live." There was an eruption of laughter at the comment, but it could easily be classified as fake. A sudden flash of light erupted from an old, rusty company camera and a reported shouted,

"What was the motivation for the book?"

Ron stopped for a moment, and pondered the question. "Eh--" he began, "I was never trying to write the next big masterpiece, honestly. I just wanted to give everyone a sense of exactly what happened during the second war and the years preceding it. I thought they should all know the dangers we faced even when no one realized it. I never took any information I didn't have solid evidence for or any information I was not authorized to publicize or without permission of certain people."

Then, of course, there were the more daring questions, mostly about his romance:

"Mr. Weasley, does this book describe your romantic life?"

"Excuse me, sir, but did your wife approve all the mentions of your relationship?"

Plus, as with any good group of misfits, there were always the idiotic questions:

"What toothpaste do you use?"

"Is it true that Harry Potter never defeated Voldemort and that he only in hiding posing in the clever disguise of a shoe salesman in Switzerland?" As Ron could only have guessed, this received quite a few stares from the rest of the audience.

"You're going to have to check that out for yourself," he mused, trying to bit back a laugh, "Seeing as I'd be none the wiser if it was a fact."

The entire conference seemed to last forever. It made him seriously consider what he could be doing right now if he hadn't wrote the blasted book. It was basically all the notes from the journals he kept over the six years at Hogwarts and the one he had kept while they were on the run. That, combined with his memory and a few dug up facts from old text books was the foundation for his very own book, Memoirs of the Second War, which was, regrettably, a best seller. At first, it had been a slow riser, but once the craving for knowledge began, it was the only source of true information.

The reporters filed out, each with gleeful looks gracing their faces, all of them thinking they had found some important information that had never been printed before. He dropped onto a nearby park bench and pulled out the book from his worn knapsack. His eyes dropping slightly, he placed the book on top of his stomach and swung his legs his around the side.

Memoirs of the Second War

By Ronald Weasley

Introduction

To most, the day of October 31rst was cheerful endeavor, and the year of 1981 was not different. Children littered the streets, pounding on doors with ugly masks and exclaiming their desire for candy. The leaves were orange, with tiny pieces broken from the rough edges and the once lush green grass turned to a dull brown color. The Muggle world, a world entirely different from our own, was unaware the state of an invisible world, parallel to them all those years. Many families had been driven away from their homes into hiding and others broken because of lost members. The First War was at its peak, and the resistance was growing weaker.

The Ministry was collapsing under control of the Death Eaters and the neutral families were blackmailed into his service; You-Know-Who of course, with a name rarely spoken out of conditioned fear. Little hope remained in the hearts of those opposed, and it was now becoming evident that the threat they thought was juvenile was anything but.

The small village of Godric's Hollow was fairly isolated from the rest of the main road leading to the central town. With residence of only approximately 2,000, the danger seemed non-existent. The Potters however, were smart enough to know this wouldn't last long. They were fairly new residents to the village, but it was not up to them. James was set to inherit the Potter Mansion, but it became inevitable that they would have to find a deserted area to hide. The isolated Godric's Hollow was more than ideal to be separated from the outside world.

It might have worked had there not been a shady figure in their midst. However, a young man named Peter Pettigrew was plotting his revenge. By a mere stroke of luck he was appointed the Secret-Keeper in replacement of Sirius Black. Two weeks later on the dreary Halloween night, the Potters were completely unaware of the catastrophe that would be knocking on their door.

The attack, unfortunately, happened so quickly that neither of the Potters had any chance to retaliate. It seemed as though You-Know-Who, who only very few referred to as Voldemort, was now unstoppable. He very well might have been, had it not been for little Harry Potter. James died for his family that night with a heroic departing, and Lily pleaded for death in the place of her only son. After Lily was destroyed by Voldemort, the wand was turned on Harry. In an unexpected turn of events, the Killing Curse, which was famous for the lack of a counter-curse or any blocking method, rebounded off the baby and onto the caster.

The marvelous encounter spread across the Wizarding World, naming the small infant as the 'Boy Who Lived'. The savior of the wizarding world was here at last, and no one could deny themselves the happiness they felt. The reign of the First War was over, and families that had been broken apart rejoiced for small Harry Potter.

The countless Death Eaters had all turned themselves in, and those who hadn't were captured within weeks. Several dozen suspects were condemned to Azkaban. The entirety of the wizarding world was in a frenzy, and no one knew how to stop it. The most famous condemned man of all was Sirius Black, the presumed murderer of the Potters and right-hand man to Voldemort. While Sirius Black was framed for the actions of his former friend, the population of happy wizards and witches praised the heavens for his imprisonment. All they knew was the man that had murdered everything they had held in their hearts had been abolished and the First War had officially ended.

However, this is not the story of the First War. I have not written this to depict the lives of James and Lily Potter, or to prove the innocence of Sirius Black. Nor is this a story of the wonderful, prosperous years between 1982-1990. No, this is the tale of the man that Harry Potter became. I am here to retell the twisted story of the Golden Trio: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and everyone that helped them along the way.

These are the dreadfully true memoirs of the second war.

The Weasleys owned a fairly large property in a small wizarding village outside of the very popular Hogsmeade. While it had closed for quite some time due to the year of the rule of Lord Voldemort, it was now more prosperous than ever before. The house was guarded by a small picket fence surrounded by rose bushes. It four stories including the cellar and was only accessible from the long, dusty Hogsmeade road.

"Did they behave today?"

"Rose always behaves," Hermione mused and sat down on the couch. Ron had the Daily Prophet in his hands and was reading an article about his best-selling book. "Hugo, on the other hand, takes after you."

"Lucky lad," he muttered and continued reading. He paused for a moment and looked around the room, stretching. He let his gaze travel to his wife, who was sitting right next to him, glaring. "What?" He asked, a confused look gracing his face. She laughed and took the paper from his hand with a heavy sigh. "It's the same old thing," he said with a bitter look on his face, "Every one of them loves the bloody thing."

"Listen to this: 'Weasley's masterpiece is nothing but the facts, without too much exaggeration and a touch of real emotion from the excerpts of his life. It puts you in the thick of the action, showing us what it was like to be a part of the second war.' That's quite a high praise, Mr. Big-shot." Hermione grinned, sipping her coffee.

"I suppose," he said, a small smile hiding behind his lips. "I'll go make sure that Rose is asleep by now."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Hermione laughed, "She's quite enamored with that best-selling book the Prophet keeps raving about. You know, the one that the editor reported as an 'Emotional masterpiece'? What was the authors name again? Ronald—W. something?"

"Why don't you go read the book if it's so fine?"

"I've read it twice already, Ron."

"Is it because you love me?"

"That could be part of it," she confessed. He didn't fail to see the slight smile she was trying to hide.

It didn't take him very long to reach his daughter's room. Opening the door a crack, he peered inside and smiled at the sight. She was lying, with her legs half in the air, on the red and white checkered bed with the blue blanket draped over her. Upon further inspection, he noticed the open book on her lap. He picked it up, moving his fingers on the smooth, delicate fabric and kissed her on the forehead. She stirred a bit and rolled over to the side, but never woke up. Taking the book the banister he had placed it on, he sat in the armchair next to her bed and began to read.

A/N: Did you like it? The idea kind of just came to me. It was a spur of the moment thing.

S.S.M.