Forgive, but not forget.
Em
Authors note: I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer:
I am not the owner of any of the characters or any of the places. As many fanfic authors say, I am just taking them all for a spin. The characters and their personalities were made up by the renowned JKR. Whom I'm sure you're all familiar with.
He tentatively pulled the red flower out of the glass vase and brought it to his face, breathing in its sweet scent. Contemplatively he gazed into its black centre. The vibrancy of the poppy contrasted nicely with his bright green eyes. Such a beautiful flower serving as a reminder to a terrible memory. The memory of death. The memory of violence. The memory of loss and despair, but most importantly the memory of war.
The sun rolled lazily out from behind the wispy clouds, making him briefly shut his eyes and repeatedly blink in adjustment. Such a beautiful day. To the young or ignorant it was a garden to have picnics on soft blankets or a place to walk the dog. To Harry and lots of others it was a place holding many memories. Memories hidden by flowerbeds neatly tended hedges and regularly cut grass. Underneath these painted images was a canvas of soil, bloodstained with many horrific battles and other unpleasant things.
Resigned that the past was the past and best left forgotten, he deftly placed the poppy on the round stone. This stone was exactly in the centre of what can only be described as public pleasure gardens. It was erected ten years ago to the day when the evil lord Voldemort was slain. It was the very spot. No carvings, no message, no plaque to say what the stone was for. Nothing. But at the time there were no words that were considered appropriate or needed.
Today was different. Waiting for a couple of muggles to pass by, he took out the dagger that slayed him. With little effort due to the blade's sharpness he inscribed 'Forgiven, but not forgotten. May he who rests find forgiveness from others.'
A small smile twitched upon his lips. Forgiven. Everyone would think him barmy. This was the man that had caused him so much pain. This was the man that had killed his parents. This was the man that hurt so many. But after Voldemort's demise Harry had spent five years hunting evil and found that his soul could not rest. He travelled and after two years went to Tibet. It was here where he'd stayed; it was here where he'd found his answers. His soul could not rest until he had forgiven. And now he had.
He sighed and before turning to go thrust his dagger into the heart of the stone. 'Like King Arthur' he silently mused and walked away.
*** *** ***
The sun was in his eyes again. Glaring at him, daring him to not blink. He blinked, but it was not the serenity of the gardens that he opened his eyes to, it was Hogwarts. His heart briefly beat hard in his chest as he panicked, but as soon as it had begun it went back to normal. Quickly he flicked his eyes over everything around him. He was in the Great Hall and it was full with students. McGonnagall was holding a crude wooden stool and an old worn hat. The lack of eleven-year-olds lining up told him that the sorting had just finished. 'Damn. If only I'd come sooner, I only got to see four sortings. Three and a half, but whose counting.' Stopping thinking to himself he cleared his throat. It was a habit that had developed over time. During the dark days he had had to give a lot of speeches and command a lot of people. Yet the cough wasn't that necessary, he already had everyone's attention, but in a way it served to break the silence.
"Albus." Immediately he fixed his gaze on the old man. "A word please. No need to go to your office, the side room" He gestured, "Will do fine." With that he strode confidently over to the mahogany door, his eyes briefly darting over to where his mum and dad sat at the teachers table.
Thus ends the first chapter.