A Harry Potter drabble for a year since DH2. Takes place a year after Harry released the story to the muggles, and fourteen years since peace was officially declared. I don't even know...
One year ago today, he had released the story to the Muggles, a cautionary tale.
Harry sighed. He had the day off Auror duty, but had to make a speech at the 14th Second Wizarding War Memorial service. He would see classmates that he had not even thought of for a year. Everyone was invited, the event was even bigger than the Battle of Hogwarts Memorial.
So many people would be there.
So many people wouldn't.
In the years after the end of the war, many had either died of wounds or ended their lives because of what they had witnessed.
Those he'd known, who he'd seen every day: Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Professor Snape, Fred Weasley, Cedric Diggory, etc, and those whose faces he had seen in various memories, or whose names he had read in the obituaries.
Today would not be a good day.
A small black head popped around the door. "Daddy, it's time to go!"
One year ago today, his name had been cleared to the entire world.
Draco sighed, staring into the amber liquid in the tankard in front of him. It may not be the most socially acceptable way to drink Firewhiskey, but it got him drunk quicker - which was, after all, the aim.
The Memorial Service was today. How could he be expected to go there and talk to mourners when he and his were responsible for their losses? Look upon the new generation of adults who knew nothing but war, because of him?
Screw that.
Malfoy chugged down more alcohol, barely wincing at the heat.
Today would not be a good day.
A neat blond head peered cautiously around the open door. "Father, Mother says it's time to go."
One year ago today, she had started to rebuild Hogwarts.
Hermione sighed. The service was being held in the courtyard where Lord Voldemort had been defeated. She had deliberately put off rebuilding that section - rebuilding all of it, really. She couldn't help but feel that if a magical castle that had stood strong for one thousand years was razed to the ground, perhaps it was meant to.
In any case, she took as long as possible drawing out all the plans for the constructors - thirteen years, to be precise.
From her office on the seventh floor, all she had to do was go down some stairs and through a door. All she could think was 'That's where Crabbe died. That's where Fred died. That's where Remus died. That's where the Grey Lady told her story.'
It wasn't healthy. She didn't want to go, but she was expected to.
Today would not be a good day.
A messy ginger burst through the door. "Mum, it's time to go!"
One year ago today, he had captured the last real Death Eater.
Ron sighed. He still didn't believe that they were all gone. Staring at the list of names on his desk, he felt sure that there were more. How could he sleep while some were still out there?
Everybody told him that he was wrong. He was used to it. Hermione told him that he was wrong. That hurt.
He felt a little guilty about abandoning her to the service by herself, but he was busy. He had never been the most adaptive of people, and he had grown up in a world of war and tension. It wasn't that he didn't know how to act in times of peace, he just wasn't sure that peace existed.
There was a cold tingling in his bones.
Today would not be a good day.
No head appeared around his door. Ron worked into the night, like he had for the past fourteen years.
Any thoughts?