Authors Note: This will be a continuing project with stand alone chapters. It is basically a medley of stories about the war, inspired by the War and Literature course I'm taking. Quotes (including the one used in the summary) are taken from Tim O'Briens The Things They Carried.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or it's characters. I am making no profit with this project.
Warnings: Possible DH spoilers. Possible graphic scenes.
War Stories
A True War Story
And in the end, of course, a true war story is never
about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the special
way that dawn spreads out on the river when you know
you must cross the river and march into the mountains
and do things you are afraid to do. It's about love and
memory. It's about sorrow. It's about sisters who never
write back and people who never listen.
-Tim O'Brien
The Things They Carried
I asked my dad once to tell me a war story. A true war story. The history books and newspaper articles were all embellished with stupid things about prophecies and fate and crap. None of them actually said what war was like. None of them actually told a story. So I asked my dad.
He was sitting at his desk writing a letter. He put the quill down after I asked my question and turned to face me. Doing that Dad thing where he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees looking old and wise. Or at least that's what I thought what he was doing. It annoyed me for a minute. Then he looked me right in the eye and I realized he was just trying to be level with me.
"Impossible." he said.
I frowned because my dad had never said that word to me before. 'Impossible' was not a word in the Potter vocabulary.
"Why?" I asked, and then felt abruptly like I was intruding. But he wasn't angry. He got down out of his chair and sat on the floor across from me, his legs folded.
"The only way to tell a true war story Albus, is to live it. I could tell you stories, but you wouldn't understand them and they wouldn't be true until you did." Now came the sharp Dad look. "And I am hoping you never do."
"I don't get it." I mumbled. It was frustrating. Even my teachers agreed that there was very little I didn't understand, or wouldn't after a decent explanation.
"War is a different world. And when you compare it with this world" he gestured around him "there isn't any of it that makes sense. Even when I look back there are some things I will never really get. Stuff I still feel can't have really happened."
It was starting to sink in.
"There are some things that just can't be properly described." I said in the voice I used when I wanted to sound 'wise beyond my years.' Dad smiled at me.
"Exactly." He stood up. "And why would you want to understand war anyway?" His back was turned to me before he finished. "It's such an ugly thing."
I still had one last question. It was the one that could get me in trouble. So I pitched my voice softer to make myself sound meek. "Dad? Did you ever kill anyone? Besides Voldemort I mean."
My dad looked at me for a long time before he answered. And I could tell I'd made him sad. I looked away, feeling guilty. I realized it was the brash, unthinking sort of question my brother James would ask.
"Yes." Dad said quietly. "I did." Then he knelt down. His movements were slow and serious. My stomach twisted uncomfortably around itself because I hadn't meant to make him upset. "Are you okay?" he asked me. I wasn't, and neither was he, so I threw my arms around his neck and hugged my dad as hard as I possibly could. He put his arms around me.
"I'm sorry." I said into his shoulder.
"Oh Albus," he said, and I'd never heard his voice sound the way it did. "You don't need to apologize for a curious mind." And he just held me. And it was one of those other things that Dads do. Where they make you believe that they have never regretted a single thing you've ever done or said.
I cried a little, not even knowing why I was so sad. And my dad rocked me. And when I was done he smiled and winked and I knew no one would ever hear of our conversation. I felt a little bashful. Almost twelve and I still cried to my dad. But he didn't mind, and since James wasn't around I didn't mind that much.
A couple of days later I realized I'd gotten the only true war story he could give.
It was about me.
