Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anything. I'm just playing with JKR's dolls .
If you asked him, he'd lie.
He hated it. And why wouldn't he? Really, if anyone were to look at it from his point of view they should have been able to see it.
He understood – of course he did – why other people liked it. They appreciated its message of hope, the way that it remained untouched by the evil, the way that that one, happy moment would be forever caught, forever frozen.
So yes, he could see why people liked it. But he didn't.
He much preferred, if some sort of monument was strictly necessary, the house.
The house was honest. There was no hint of falsity in it, in hadn't been constructed to remember anything. It just was.
He even preferred the sign. Despite what anyone else said, he liked the graffiti. Like the house, it was honest. It was what people felt, and, even if it made him uncomfortable, he was grateful that people had somewhere they could make their voices heard.
The house was the polar opposite to the statue.
To him, the statue was a taunt. Every time he passed it, he would find himself averting his eyes, unwilling to look at it. Unwillingly to look at the teasing promise of what could have been.
The house was a statement of fact. The statue was an impossible promise of what might have been.
But if you were to ask him, he'd lie.
How could he explain that he preferred the house where his parents died? How could he explain that at times he hated the scene of them stood happily together? How could he explain why it hurt him so much? How could he explain how unfair it was – he was hardly the first person to be orphaned, but why must he be constantly reminded of it?
Harry turned from the statue to look at Luna. As he met her level gaze, he knew - without asking and without saying - that she understood. She knew what it was to lose a parent and to spend your life being reminded of that loss.
As though it were the most natural thing in the world, she squeezed his hand comfortingly, and smiled up at him. She understood, in a way that Ginny, Ron or Hermione could never hope to, but, Harry finally realised, that was okay. As long as he had someone to turn to.
And so he squeezed her hand back.