AN: This story will have three chapters and all should be fairly short. I was going to make it a one shot at first, but I decided to split it up, allowing me to publish what I have completed before finishing the whole story. Just a note, though, I'm not so good at romance.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, obviously
Well the first time that I saw her,
Standing in the middle of the road,
Eyes as bright as christmas lights,
Wearing someone else's clothes,
I did my best to ignore her,
But ignoring my best pretty soon,
We spent the night all tangled tight,
In an armchair in my friend's front room. - Words, Passenger
It's been three years. Exactly three years. Three years since the Battle of Hogwarts, since the fall of the darkest wizard in centuries. Three years since the deaths of so many. Too many. Some were friends, some passing acquaintances, and others enemies. But one thing they all shared was that they died valiantly for what they believed in.
This is what Harry Potter, the Hero of Hogwarts, kept telling himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't feel like a hero, and he sure didn't look it. While not as scrawny as he was in his youth, it was clear Harry Potter would never be the largest of men, at just barely five foot six. His hair was still a mess, jet black strands standing up every-which way, and his green eyes were still just as bad. Though he had finally gotten replacement glasses, thank Merlin.
But Harry was no longer as self-conscious as he once was, and he actually kind of liked his wild, untamable hair. No, what he wasn't so keen on wasn't his features, but his clothes. The finely tailored dress robes were extravagant, far too much gold threading. And the gemstone buttons weren't helping. They were also unwieldy, and kept getting in his way. They were heavy, gaudy, and made Harry feel like a Malfoy. He was just about to go and change them out for his red Auror Robes, he had taken to wearing them even off duty, when he got a jarring reminder of why he was wearing those tacky robes in the first place.
"Come on, Harry, or we're going to be late."
Oh, right. After three years, the Ministry was finally having a ceremony to commemorate the victors and honor the fallen. Harry didn't begrudge Kingsley for taking so long to get everything organized, after all, the ministry was a mess after Voldemort's short reign and Shacklebolt did well for the situation he was in. Far better than any other minister Harry had known. He just wished he didn't have to go, and instead spend the night alone in his room, quietly contemplating The List. It was so long, and there were still names he had not gotten to yet. But Ginny would not let him. She said he was brooding, being no fun. That he had an obligation to everyone to go and say a few words, at least.
"Yes, dear," was what Harry said, but what he wanted to say was, "Screw obligations, I've done enough to earn myself some privacy." He does understand, though. it wouldn't quite be a tribute to the Battle of Hogwarts without its Hero there. But just because he understood didn't mean he had to like it. Harry wished someone would understand that, but it seemed as though no one had understood him for as long as he remembered.
Ginny took his arm and grabbed a belt buckle in her other hand. She spoke the trigger word of the portkey, 'Remembrance', and in a flash, they disappeared from their home of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, to a grand ballroom already packed with people. The ballroom was in the new Ministry building, this one much more secure and efficient than the last. At least one good thing came from Voldemort.
As Ginny drags him around, greeting this Lady and that Lord, Harry looks around for faces that he knows, faces he remembers from before. There are many in the crowd, but most he can't recognize at first. He'd seen very few in the past three years, and the last time he had seen the rest, they were exhausted and covered in blood. All of his other memories of them are of children, and no one could rightly call one of the survivors of the Battle 'children'. Harry thinks he sees Lisa Turpin and Terry Boot in a corner, snogging. The Patil twins are leaning against one of the walls, looking at the crowd with unreadable faces. Apparently, things weren't so great with them. It turns out that the bigotry in Magical Britain was more than just about blood.
Harry is distracted from his musings by the shaking of his arm and the calling of his name. Turning his attention back on the present, he pushes the Patil's troubles out of his. There was nothing he could do to help them there. It was Ginny who was pulling his arm, and pointing towards two very familiar faces approaching. The ones calling his name were none other than Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. It has been a while since Harry had seen his best friends, and he was a little excited to catch up. Hermione had taken up a job in the ministry as an undersecretary for Kingsley. Harry knew she had been busy writing and ensuring the success of many bills through the bigoted mess that is the Wizengamot. Ron had decided against being an Auror, and had instead gone to play professional Quidditch, competing against his sister who was drafted by the Harpies. With him as Keeper, the Chudley Cannons were finally winning.
As Hermione and Ron approached, Harry noticed that they walked hand in hand. Upon looking closer, he spotted a faint glimmer coming off of one of Hermione's fingers. Well, that was unexpected. Harry knew they had been dating, but he was sure it wouldn't last, they were just too different. Incompatible. But, what did Harry Potter know about love. 'The power he knows not' and all that shite.
"Hey, Harry, Ginny, it's so good to see you."
"Thank you, 'Mione, you too."
"Yeah, it's nice to see you guys again. I do believe some congratulations might be in order?"
Hermione and Ron looked at each other, slightly confused, and then turned to Ginny. Harry was worried he had misinterpreted greatly and made some sort of faux pas, but then Hermione seemed to realize what he was talking about.
"You're talking about our engagement, right, Harry?"
"Um, yeah, I thought that was the right thing to say. Isn't it?"
Hermione looked a little flustered, while Ron and Ginny seemed even more confused, "Well, yes, it is. But usually you say it when you hear about the engagement, not months later."
"Months later...?" Oh, yes, now he remembers. One day, while he was checking his post, Harry found a strange letter that definitely did not belong in the pile of his business letters. They were all about the most dangerous wizards still out there, but this one had hearts and flowers on it. He burnt every single letter just to be safe. The next time he got one just like it, he burnt the entire week's mail.
"Yeah, mate," Ron seemed to finally understand and now felt comfortable contributing, "We must've sent you hundreds of letters. When you didn't respond, we thought you didn't support us and so we were just not gonna bring it up."
"Sorry, I, uh, must not have gotten them. Maybe my mail has been tampered with. I'll be sure to check when I get back."
Clearing that up seemed to lift something from the young couple's shoulders and their smiles were much brighter now than when they first saw Harry. That misunderstanding must have been tearing them apart. Before anyone could open their mouths to move the conversation onwards, the sound of a knife hitting a champagne glass rang through the ballroom, clearly aided by a sonorous charm. Turning his attention towards the small dais on which stood podium and the Minister of Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry begins to feel a deep trepidation as Kingsley's eyes fell on him.
"Ladies and Gentleman, today we honor the living and the dead, the heroes and heroines who bravely fought in the last stand against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Three years ago today, the final defence made up of students, vigilantes, and Aurors together faced the most terrible Dark Lord in centuries, definitely the most terrible in British history. Now, three years later, we come together to offer our respects to all those who fell, and celebrate the wonderful victory of those who survived. There is one among the survivors who especially responsible for the fact that we may gather here today. Would you please put your hands together and give a warm welcome to Harry James Potter, the Hero of Hogwarts."
Harry knew he didn't want to go. It's a wonder he didn't ace Divination, his hunches were never wrong.
After cursing Kingsley a few times for putting him in the spotlight, Harry actually gives a pretty good speech hiding behind his mask of the Golden Boy. Though if that was because of his jokes or his awkwardness, Harry really wasn't sure. Damn it, there was a reason he didn't go into politics. Before he went up, Ginny told him that she wanted to catch up with her brother and future sister-in-law some more, and not to wait up for her as she would probably head over to the Burrow for a family night. Why Harry was not invited to this family night, he wasn't quite sure, but that was fine. He didn't particularly want to go to the Burrow anyways. He didn't think he could deal with Molly's coddling. Mollycoddling. Wonder why it took me so long to realize that.
Harry spots Neville pushing through the crowd, making his way towards him. Once he was close enough, Neville clasped him on the shoulder and pulled him with him away from the main congregation, all the while talking, "I saw Ginny, 'Mione, and Ron leave earlier, probably headed to the Burrow. I think they have the right idea of it. I hate this place, and I hate these people. I organized a little get together and Longbottom Mansion. There aren't going to be many there, but I thought you might like it better that way. Mostly just people from the DA. It would mean a lot to them if you came, but after this, I'd understand if you didn't want to."
Harry shook his head and grinned conspiratorially at Neville, "Of course I'll come, I hate these people as much as you. Besides, the DA would be lost without me."
Neville laughed, and Harry could see in the far off look in his eyes that he was reminiscing, "Yeah, what would we do without our fearless leader?!" Still shaking his head and laughing softly at all the dumb things they had gotten up to in the past, Neville led Harry outside of the Anti-Apparition Wards. They apparated side-by-side, not side-along, thank Merlin, to Neville's ancestral home, Longbottom Manor.
There were already quite a few people there, all of whom Harry knew personally, some of whom he even kept in touch with. The Patils were there, this time not on the outskirts, but talking to Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein. Lee Jordan was with the old trio of Gryffindor Chasers, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson. Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Justin Hyphenated-Name-Fletchley, and Ernie Macmillan were forming another group in Neville's large living room. There were some other people about, but before Harry could identify them all, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas spotted him and Neville and came close to talk.
While it was true that Harry wasn't as close with Neville, Seamus, or Dean as he was with Hermione or the Weasleys, it's hard to share a room with someone for seven years without becoming good friends.
"Look who showed up!"
"We were worried we wouldn't get to see you!"
Harry was about to respond, but an unmistakably dreamy voice beat him to it, "Why would you be, Dean Thomas? I told you he would come." Turning over his shoulder, Harry was pleased to see he was right in his guess as to the owner of the voice. The lithe blonde leaned closer to him and whispered, "The Dabberblimps told me earlier. Hello, Harry Potter."
He couldn't resist a smile as greeted one of his best, if newest friend, "Hey, Luna, how are you doing?"
"Well, Harry Potter. Oh, it seems like your friends have left." Sure enough, when Harry looked around, Neville, Seamus, and Dean had indeed disappeared. They must have been incredible fast and stealthy for you not to have noticed them go. Luna had only said one sentence.
"They're your friends too, Luna. Everyone here is your friend, you know that, right?"
"Of course, Harry Potter," She smiles up and Harry, her eyes looking past his shoulder, that dreamy smile of hers slipping slightly, "of course they are."
It was quite obvious that Luna did not believe that the people here were really her friends, and it was hard for Harry to argue with her, seeing as how even Neville, one of the most understanding and considerate guys he knew ran away from her, "Well, I know that I'm your friend."
This time, Luna's smile brightens instead of dims, and Harry's heart skips a couple beats at the intensity of her smile. In a way, he can't really blame the others for being intimidated by Luna Lovegood. Her casual detachment from the world around her is slightly off-putting, and when someone manages to make eye contact with her, those blue-grey eyes of hers seem to stare right into their soul. Her fanciful creatures and random non sequiturs don't exactly win her any points, and the times she says something relevant, it is usually much past social norms and tact. But still, she's got an air about her that's just... liberating. The only person around which Harry gets a similar feeling is Ginny, but he's not very comfortable with that comparison, and so puts it out of his mind.
As they talk, slowly the living room clears up as the guests clear out. Neville had gone upstairs with Hannah hours ago, and no one really wanted to go check on them. Susan, who had come with Hannah, just left a note before she left with Ernie, bidding everyone a good night. Soon, it was just Luna and Harry. Alone.
They talked for hours, deep into the night, lighting candles with weak igniting charms with which to see by. They talked of all sorts of things, from Heliopaths and the Rotfang Conspiracy, which according to Luna was weakening after Fudge's loss of office, to Harry's most recent case and the most dangerous spells he's had cast at him. After he tells Luna about one that was supposed to turn all his blood into acid, she makes a game of coming up with the most creative ways to kill people. A little reluctantly at first, Harry joins in, eventually deciding his favorite method is conjuring something really big inside one of the cavities in a person's body. Luna's was far more creative, the little witch deciding that altering all of a person's senses to feel pain is the worst thing she can come up with on such short notice. Harry decided that she was the clear winner, and to never get on the bad side of Luna Lovegood. Ever.
It isn't quite clear how, and even after using a pensive and meditating for hours Harry still doesn't know what happened, but the next thing they know, their tongues are tangoing, mouths moving in sync. Their bodies are right up next to each other, Luna straddling Harry, each doing their best to to snog the other so hard they run out of air. Luna's hands are running through his messy hair, and Harry's hands are running up and down her back, getting steadily lower. Then he's shirtless and her omelette-yellow dress is hiked up to her upper thighs. But all of the heat, the passion, the burning energy between them, it's all gone.
Harry stares at her for a while, and for once she meets his eyes, looking nervous. They don't speak, don't move, just stare. Luna leans in a little closer, tilting her head up, but Harry can't. He turns away, eyes downcast. She won't give up that easily, not this time, not now. Luna grabs his head and turn it back to face her, kissing him deeply, passionately. He starts to return the kiss before her gently pushes her off and stands, starting to pace.
"I'm sorry, Luna," Harry says as he turns towards her, the defeated look in her eyes will forever more haunt him, "But I can't do this. Not to you, and not to Ginny. I'm sorry."
Luna looks at him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. As Harry tries to move closer, trying to comfort her, she shuts them tight and shakes her head. She quickly pushes herself off the coach they had been sitting on and runs out of the room. She's so distraught, he can hear the CRACK of her apparating home outside. Figuring he should go too, Harry leaves Longbottom Manor and apparates to Grimmauld Place.
Even after all these years, it is still just as dark and gloomy as it was when he first saw it, back when Sirius was alive. There was probably some spell on it, making it that way. As Harry climbed into bed, he knew he was in for a long night.