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Chapter One
July 31st 2012
"Ten years ago, on this very day, in this very location, we stood together."
Hermione Granger stood on a dais at the front of the Great Hall of Hogwarts. The assembled crowd, seated on tables throughout the Great Hall contained representatives from all over the globe. All had come to Hogwarts for this. The Ten-Year Anniversary.
Scattered across the tables she could see friends, new and old, dressed in robes of mourning. Today was not a day of celebration, it was a commemoration.
"We, the free wizarding world, stood before a man who was the very embodiment of evil. We stood together and we told that man, for indeed, a man he was, that we would not go quietly into the night. We told that man that we would not stand aside and let him destroy our world. We told that man that we, the wizarding world, would always fight evil wherever we saw it, and we would rebuild whatever evil tried to destroy.
We did this, because of one man, a boy, or the boy; 'The boy who lived.' But to me, he was Harry, just Harry. Ask any young person these days about Harry Potter and they will tell you that he was a warrior. That he fought Voldemort and destroyed the Dark Lord. They will tell you that he won. They will tell you that he made the ultimate sacrifice in the defence of this world.
Ask Ron Weasley or I, or anyone who truly knew him, and we will tell you something different. We will tell you about the boy who never knew love as a child yet gave it so freely to all his friends. We will tell you about the boy whose kindness knew no bounds. The boy who was loyal to a fault, and who stood with courage to the very end.
Ask Ron Weasley and I about Harry Potter, and we will tell you not about what the Wizarding World won that day, but what it lost. What we lost.
Ask me about Harry Potter, and I will tell you of the loss of the best friend that any person could hope to have.
While we all move on, and we build lives and futures, we will always be anchored to the past. We will always be anchored to that day.
Ten years ago, on this very day, in this very location, we stood together, led by Harry Potter.
We who were there will never forget what we saw and what we did that day. The pain and the anguish, the horror, fear and the loss.
We carry that day with us, on all days. But most of all, we carry that day with us, today. 'Victory day', it has been coined, 'Freedom Day', by others. Terms coined by those who were not there. Terms coined by those who did not endure. Did not fight. Terms coined by those who did not suffer the losses that we who stood there suffered.
Terms coined by those will forever enjoy the peace and quiet of a life well-lived in safety and in freedom.
On July 31st, 2002, Harry's 18th birthday, we all stood together.
Every day since then, on this day, we stand together and we remember. We grieve. We mourn. We lament the loss of so many people that were so dear to our hearts.
And every other day since then, we are thankful that such people existed.
The lost shall forever live in the hearts of those who survived.
Ladies and Gentlemen, would you please join me in raising a glass to the fallen."
All around the Great Hall, people rose to their feet and raised their glasses and goblets to the sky,
"To the fallen."
Hundreds of voices echoed as one.
"To Harry Potter." Hermione's voice, so strong throughout her speech, finally hitched, as she led the toast.
"To Harry Potter."
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A cool breeze gusted around her as she stood at his Cenotaph. It was a welcome relief from the July heat that had marked a particularly warm summer.
She pulled her dark coat around her even tighter. Whether it was the breeze, or the weight of the day that had her doing it, she did not know.
It had been one of his favourite places when he had been at Hogwarts. On a small hill overlooking the lake, with a long view of the Quidditch pitch. It was here that Harry, Ron and Hermione had spent much of their leisure time outside, when the weather had allowed it.
She had many fond memories of this place. Memories from before.
Now, it was a place where she would come out and speak to him. She liked to believe that he could hear her, wherever he was.
For he was not there.
They had never found his body.
Truth be told they had never found Voldemort's body, either. It was a complete mystery what had happened during the final battle between Harry and Voldemort. All they knew for sure was Voldemort had been defeated, and Harry was gone.
But that didn't stop them from talking to his empty tomb as if he could hear them.
Especially on this day of all days.
The marble Cenotaph was very 'Harry'. It was simple, it was not overdone or overly extravagant. It was all white and stood in the middle of the beautiful grassy field. It was the perfect place to remember him.
It had a simple epitaph that read:
In loving memory of
Harry James Potter
Beloved Friend,
Greater love hath no man than this,
That a man may lay down his life for his friends
July 31st, 1984 – July 31st, 2002
Forever in our Hearts
Hermione always found it hard to be here now. The memories, all of which were good, wholesome memories were forever tarnished now by the presence of his empty tomb.
"That was a really nice speech, Hermione, I'm glad you decided to do it."
"It still didn't do him justice Ron, but someone had to say it. I hope it didn't come across bitter."
"Nah, I reckon you hit the nail on the head."
She turned to watch as Ron Weasley took the last few paces to stand beside her, putting his arm around her, and in the process, pulling her close. She would have rested her head on his shoulders, but he was much too tall for that.
Gone was the tall, lanky, sometimes immature boy who she used to bicker with incessantly during their time at Hogwarts. In his place was a much more mature man; her best mate. The bickering, formerly a fundamental part of their friendship, had mostly faded. Mostly.
Hermione's head barely rested on his chest. He had filled out, putting on enough muscle that he now matched his height. His work had made sure that he stayed in shape, and it had helped him. His appetite, still voracious, had only seemed to cause his build to widen in a way that he never had at school.
He stood in a simple, dark suit. Over his shoulders he wore his dress robes, emblazoned with the golden A, marking him as an Auror – Gold Class, a team leader. He wore his medals; the Order of Merlin Second Class was the medal that stood out upon his chest.
Her own was in a cupboard at home. She hated wearing hers. Ron had less choice, his dress for ceremonial occasions being ordered by the Corps of Aurors. Hermione knew, of course, that Ron had grown out of his 'peacocking' stage and would have been much happier in just the suit.
They stood in silence for a moment, staring at the white marble, and listening to the gentle breeze gust around them.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes and began to fall, running down her cheeks as if racing each other to her chin.
Ron pulled her in closer as sobs began to wrack at her body. He didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say. If he had known, he would have said it to himself, too. But there weren't any words.
As much as he had appreciated Hermione's speech, he knew that words still didn't actually begin to describe the pain that they felt.
But through it all, Ron knew that no matter how much it still hurt, his pain seemed to pale in comparison to what Hermione felt.
This was their tradition, though. Every day on the anniversary of his death, they would leave the ceremony and head to his grave. Together they would mourn his loss. They would tell stories, some funny, some sad, but mostly the same old stories they told every year. And every single year, those stories would help them through their grief.
Then, for the rest of the year they would continue to do their best to live their lives, enjoying the peace of the post-war world.
"You would think after ten years, it would get easier." Ron said, a hitch evident in his voice as well. He had no issue crying on this particular day, every year. It felt like he would cry his years' worth of tears over the hours that they stood there.
"I don't think it does. I think we just get better at bearing it."
Ron just nodded as he gently leaned down and kissed Hermione on the top of her head. Gone was the bushy hair of her youth. Hermione had grown very much into her hair, as she had into the rest of her body. It was still capable of being bushing and unkempt, but he thought it was better described now as wavy, the way she wore it.
She had also grown into herself.
Silence reigned for a while. Companionable silence. Melancholy silence.
Until Ron broke it.
"Remember when you whacked me square in the face with that oversized snowball, just over there?"
"Well, that's not my fault, I was aiming at Harry."
"You threw an oversized snowball at arguable the best seeker that Gryffindor has seen in over three hundred years, and are surprised that he dodged?"
They were both laughing now. Sniffing away tears between bouts of laughter.
"Well, you shouldn't have been standing behind him!"
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December 1999
"Come on Hermione, we have plenty of time to study later!" Harry said with exasperation, "With how short these winter days have been, lets enjoy the outdoors while we can. Who would want to be stuck inside on a day like today?"
"We only have six months before we have to sit our O.W.L.S!" Hermione retorted, "And you heard what Professor Flitwick said, they may influence our futures for many years to come!"
"Merlin, Hermione, we have six months! Six! Months! Half a year! But a day like today is a good day. And besides, a few hours outdoors might relax my brain enough to actually retain some knowledge." Harry said, looking over at Ron to help him out, before jogging towards the entrance to the Castle.
"And it's nearly Christmas!"
"He's right, Hermione! Ron said, running after Harry, "Besides, we all know you will Ace the exams, as per usual. And it's nearly the new year." The last part was called over his shoulder as left the castle.
"Boys!" Hermione muttered, before taking off after them both, at a light trot. "It's nearly the new millennium." But they were gone.
As soon as she got to the hill where the trio had taken to spending their free time, a snowball hit her square in the back, right between the shoulder blades. It was as near to a perfect throw, as you would ever see.
She spun around and saw Harry and Ron both trying to look as innocent as possible. Ron was looking at his shoes with the interest of a person who had never seen shoes before and had only just discovered them, randomly, on their own two feet.
Harry, for his part, was pointing up at the castle, trying in vain to look like he had only just noticed a particular gargoyle on the side of the castle. His mouth, which was struggling to contain the smile that was fighting to break out, was all the evidence that she needed that the culprit was her dark, wild-haired best friend.
"Oh, you will pay for that Potter!"
She whipped out her wand and snow started quickly collecting into a snowball right in front of her. The ball grew until it was about the size of a muggle exercise ball that she had seen her parents sit on during one of their fitness crazes.
With a smirk and flick of the wrist, the ball went tearing off towards Harry, whose green bottle eyes went wide at the sight of the enormous ball of snow coming straight for his face.
But Hermione had done something she rarely did. She had made a mistake. She had miscalculated Harry's reflexes.
The seeker dove out of the way with the effortless agility of someone who dodged things for a living – which, she reminded herself, he pretty much did. That boy could get into some serious trouble.
She quickly tried to summon more snow, but she had barely gotten a golf-ball sized collection when he crashed into her. She shrieked as he scooped her up and they crashed into the snow.
"Harry!" she cried, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out, "Let me go you annoying prat!"
They were both in fits of giggles as they wrestled on the ground. Hermione trying to get Harry off her, but Harry not letting go. Hermione was giving as good as she got, despite Harry being stronger.
Finally, they collapsed on their backs, their chests heaving. Lying on the snow, trying to catch their breath, but still intermittently breaking out with laughter.
"Ron," Harry called, "Are you still alive?"
Harry and Hermione sat up and saw two legs sticking out from the snow where he had fallen.
"I'm fine guys. I think I might just lie here under this mountain of snow while you two do your thing. I mean it's all good. No need to come and rescue me." Ron's voice was full of mock anger, as he pulled himself up.
He had snow all through his bright red hair and as he stood up, it looked like the rising of an abominable snow man.
The sight of Ron trying to brush away the snow that covered his robes and hair only served to make Harry and Hermione laugh even harder.
Ron looked at them with a wry smile as he walked over.
"Oh yeah, laugh it up. Gits."
They had only just managed to get it together by the time Ron arrived.
Ron looked down at the pair of them laying on the snow.
He noticed that Hermione had her head slightly angled to be on Harry's shoulder. The way she smiled as she looked up in the sky, like nothing in the world mattered but that moment. For his part, Harry had his head angled slightly towards Hermione with his arm around her. He was also looking at the sky with the same sense of content.
Truth be told, it was the first time Ron had felt like a third wheel in their relationship. It was also the first time that he had noticed the subtle shift in the group dynamic.
And he hadn't minded at all.
Sure, there would be moments of jealousy in the coming years when he would get mixed up in his own feelings towards Hermione, such as they were.
But in that moment and in that time, he had just appreciated that they were both happy. That had been enough for them, and it had been enough for him.
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July 31st, 2012
"That's one of my favourite memories." Ron said.
He had never been very good at talking about his emotions, or anyone else's for that matter. Even now, a little older and a little wiser, it was still a struggle. But it was the day for it.
"As rough as that year was, and the following years, if I'm honest, that was a great little moment in it all. Dad hadn't been attacked yet, and we didn't know anything about Horcruxes or prophecies. We also hadn't started down our path of spectacular rows that used to drive Harry nuts."
Hermione was looking up at him with a strange look on her face.
She was always very attentive and knew that if he got to talking, then it was best not to interrupt him.
"I used to look back upon those moments and think that things weren't supposed to go this way. Harry wasn't supposed to die. We were supposed to move on from all this. Now? Now, I think that maybe life is just cruel. But as cruel as it is, little moments like that, let me know that Harry knew he was loved. We three had some truly great moments together. He was my best mate, and I loved him. And I miss him every day.
But now, with the exception of today, I do exactly what your speech said. I look at the good that came out of that truly horrible day. I am thankful that such people existed. That Harry existed, and that I had the honour and the privilege to have had him as my best mate. I look at how much good you have done since then. I never would have imagined that infusing Muggle and Magic medicine, like you have, could improve so many lives. So many people these days live better lives because of you."
Ron managed to make and keep steady eye contact with her then, which was hard for him when he spoke like this.
"I mean Merlin, Look at Neville. You managed to get him, his parents back from insanity. No witch or wizard could have managed that. But you did.".
Ron paused for a long minute. Hermione waited as she sensed he had more to say. His mouth opened and closed several times, but he did not speak.
Finally, she broke the silence. "And look at the good you've done Ron. You're a team leader, now. An Auror of the Gold Class. You help people everyday. Look how many former Death Eaters are now in Azkaban because of you! You even managed to capture Dolohov…"
Ron waved her off, but it was with a measure of care.
The capture of Dolohov had been a career highlight. Not just because he was a nasty piece of work, but because of what he had done to Hermione in the Ministry of Magic, during their fifth year.
"You do help people, Ron. But I'm curious. What's brought this on?"
Again, Ron paused. It could be maddening, but Hermione had long learnt that patience was a virtue when dealing with Ron Weasley with anything deeper than a food or quidditch related topic.
"I wanted you to be the first one to know. Luna is pregnant."
Hermione pulled herself away and held him at arm's length.
"Ron! That's amazing! Congratulations!" She bundled him up in one of her big classic Hermione hugs and squeezed him tight.
"Hermione…ow…can't breathe…baby needs a dad."
"I'm so excited for you, for you both! That is absolutely brilliant!"
Ron rubbed her back as she released the pressure and wonderful, beautiful, crisp summer air managed to get back into his lungs.
"You're going to be a truly wonderful father!" Hermione said, finally releasing the hug.
"I hope so. I had a great example." Ron said and turned towards the Cenotaph. "And you too, Harry. Wherever you are. I wanted you to know that your tall, gangly best mate is going to be a dad. And, if she'll say yes, that your bushy-haired, bookworm of a best friend will be a Godmother."
It took a moment to register.
"God-What?" Hermione's mind was racing, did he just-?
Ron turned to her, a beaming grin across his face. "Well, yes or no?"
"Of course, Ron! Yes!" Hermione cried.
It wasn't for the first time that Hermione wished Harry was here to see it, hell, it wasn't even the first time in the last hour she had wished it so.
They stood in the snow and talked with Harry. They told stories, good stories and bad stories. Happy and sad. They told the stories and they allowed themselves to reminisce. They allowed themselves to grieve.
It was their tradition.
After a couple of hours, Ron turned to Hermione.
"I should be getting back to Luna. Newly pregnant and all. We are doing a big family dinner at the Burrow tomorrow to make the announcement. You'll be there, then?"
Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully.
"Ron, you know what tomorrow is."
Ron nodded. "Yes Hermione, I know what tomorrow is. It's your day to stay in and go through the old photographs and mourn. I understand that. I do. No one knows it more than me. But maybe some time with your wizarding family may do you some good. Don't make me set Ginny and Mum on you."
Hermione sighed. "Okay, Okay Ron," she said, knowing the consequences of drawing the ire of the Weasley Women, "I'll be there."
"Brilliant! I'll see you then."
Ron walked over to the cenotaph and placed his hand on it. He started speaking in a low tone, and Hermione respected his privacy enough to step back and let him talk.
After a few moments, Ron turned back towards Hermione. "Bye Harry. I miss ya mate, and Luna and all the Weasleys send their love. Kid could use a godfather like you."
He gave her another hug then took off down the hill towards the front gates of the castle.
Hermione turned back to the Cenotaph, "Imagine that, Harry! Ron a father…"
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The moment she opened the door to her nice, homely townhouse that she kept in Muggle London, he was waiting for her. It was the same every day, Hermione would return from her morning run, craving nothing more than a shower, a glass of water then the hottest, strongest mug of black coffee known to man, only to find her cat sitting at the table, staring at her.
"Yes, Yes, Crookshanks, I know," It was her routine these days. Every morning she would feed her cat following her run. Crookshanks would act as if he was offended that she would dare to look after her health before his stomach. No shower, coffee or breakfast for her. Crookshanks, king of the household, must be served first.
Not that she minded terribly. Most days she felt bad leaving him at home as she attended the long shifts that came with her duties at work. In between her shifts at the Muggle hospital and St Mungo's, she didn't get many days off. It was why she always booked these days off; her traditions must be observed, after all.
She could sit back and take her journey down memory lane, completely abandoning the mountain of paperwork that accrued whenever she was placed in charge of people.
She placed the empty tin into the bin and began to wash her hands as her part-kneazle leapt down from the table and began to lap up the food that had been placed in front of him. Hermione gave him an affectionate nudge with her foot as she ascended the stairs for her much needed shower.
At least when he was eating, he wasn't judging her. Crookshanks had a tendency to judge her every second of the day when she was home. He was a cat that seemed to know exactly what was going on with her at every moment of the day. Hermione would come home, and he would demand to be fed, afterwards he would promptly stare at her as if to ask why she was still, as yet, single.
She had tried dating, she really had. She had been in a few relationships here and there, but they had all been brief. They never seemed to be the right fit, or she always found a reason to leave the relationship. She always found that she compared them to her dearly departed best friend, and they never, never met the standard. The bar was just so incredibly high.
She knew it wasn't fair to them, but she couldn't help it.
Hermione towelled herself off and dressed for the day. She chose a simple pair of old jeans and an old polo shirt she kept around for some reason that she could no longer remember. She didn't bother with make-up, and seldom did her hair into much more than a bun. She failed to see any point in bothering with any of that stuff, on days like today. The only other being in her house would stare at her all day whether she was dressed to the nines, or if she danced around naked with a pumpkin on her head.
Perhaps being lost in these thoughts distracted her from the fact that Crookshank was not in the kitchen when she walked in. Nor was he staring at her. She paid it little mind as she went to the fridge to fix herself something to eat. Porridge was always a good option after a run, she found. Something too big and heavy and she would feel sluggish for the rest of the day.
She put the kettle on and went into her study, seeking her photo albums. She pulled several out and took them into the living room, sitting them heavily on the floor in front of her comfy lounge, she chose a spot on the floor. This was her routine on August 1st, and had been for a decade now.
On July 31st she grieved with Ron. On August 1st, she grieved for her. It was a day for her. It was a day for him.
Just as she was about to open her first album, titled Hogwarts Year 1-3, the kettle whistled from the kitchen causing her to vault to her feet and draw her wand. She gave a quiet laugh at her start, and put her wand back in its concealed holster down her lower back.
The holster had been an idea of Fred and George's and had been produced by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The logic was sound, many binding spells placed the hands close to the body or behind the back, therefore placing the holster in such an easy access area was a fantastic idea, one that Hermione was enthusiastic about.
It also allowed her to put the thing out of her mind, on days that she just needed to be a muggle for a while.
She poured the hot water into her favourite mug, one that was charmed with the same kind of spell as the Hogwarts Great Hall's ceiling. The hot water would reveal the sky outside, in this case a nice, light blue without a cloud in sight. It didn't look like the damned heat wave would be breaking today.
She made herself a nice hot cup of tea – this was not a coffee kind of morning she had decided– and grabbed her porridge.
She walked back into her living room and sat down in her chosen spot. Ready to start her melancholic trip down memory lane, -only to find herself facing the front page of a newspaper staring up at her.
"The Telegraph?"
Crookshanks, the culprit behind the caper of the appearing newspaper, was seated by it. His tail waved very slowly from side to side as he looked expectantly at Hermione.
Hermione stared right back at him.
She was having a staring competition with her cat.
Indeed.
"I don't much care for what is going on in the Muggle world for today Crookshanks, my love." She said, shifting the newspaper to one side.
Crookshanks meowed at her; loudly, indignantly. He leaned down and bit the newspaper between his sharp teeth and pulled it back in front of her.
Hermione sighed. She was as stubborn as they came when she wanted to be, when she needed to be. When she was having difficulty with a problem, or when she knew she was right. Today was not one of those days where her vast reserves of stubbornness came to bear. She just didn't have the strength.
Crookshanks meowed again. A long meow of expectation.
Yes, Hermione was at that stage where she could understand exactly what her cat wanted from his meows.
"Alright then, I'll read the bloody Telegraph." She grumbled as she took a sip of tea.
"British Soldier awarded Victoria Cross for rescue of The Duke of Sussex."
Below the headline was a photograph of the prominent members of the British Royal Family. Standing in the photograph was a soldier, who's face had been blurred out.
"You wanted me to see this, cat?"
Yes Human, her cat seemed to say in its stare.
As she began to read the article, Crookshanks leapt victoriously up onto the couch.
A British Soldier was awarded the country's highest medal of bravery, today, in a small and private ceremony at Buckingham Palace, in honour of his achievements in rescuing the Duke of Sussex, following a horror crash in Afghanistan in June.
The soldier, who chose not to be identified due to his position within 22 Regiment – The Special Air Service (SAS), is said to have risked his life in a daring series of moves that saved the life of the Duke of Sussex, following his helicopter being shot down by enemy fire.
The soldier, already well-known within the military community for his bravery and meritorious service, adds the medal to an already distinguished career. He has been previously awarded the Military Cross and Medal of Gallantry, as well as several Mentioned In Dispatches (MID).
In reading his citation, it is said that Corporal B ran across open ground, under intense enemy fire, and at great risk to his life and limb in order to rescue the Duke of Sussex. He then carried the Duke to safety and defended him for over an hour against a numerically superior enemy, while rescue was coordinated. Corporal B, at great personal risk, then carried the wounded Duke across open ground, under intense enemy fire, whereby the Duke was taken to safety. It was then that Corporal B ran back through the same ground and recovered the body of Lieutenant Stephen Ingham, the pilot of the helicopter who was tragically slain during the crash.
During the recovery of the body, Corporal B suffered life-threatening wounds, but was still able to recover the body of Lt Ingham.
The Duke of Sussex, during the presentation stated that "Corporal B demonstrated the utmost commitment to his comrades, his country and his cause. He put himself last and led by example. He upheld the finest traditions of the Armed Forces of Great Britain and is a credit to the Special Air Service. I am only alive and free of capture, today, because of his service, his sacrifice and his selflessness."
When asked for comment, Corporal B was noticeably of few words, merely stating that "Anyone would have done it really, it was just what needed to be done. I didn't do anything special, I just needed to make sure we all got home. I was just quicker than my teammates at getting there."
When asked about his wounds, the Corporal stated that he was on the mend and hoped to be back on fully operational status, soon.
British soldiers continue to be deployed to Afghanistan in response to the Global War on Terror.
For more reports, see our website.
For some reason, the article just made Hermione sad. It was something that Harry would have done. The number of times she had seen him run into danger to rescue a friend, or anyone really, was beyond her count. He was the kind of man who would reluctantly lead people into danger, as he much preferred to only put himself in the firing line. When he had to, she had found that he would always find a way to lead them out.
She then thought of the life he had had. She thought of the life he could have had. The peace he could have found.
Her thoughts were cut short by the television blinking to life.
Her hand again instinctively went to her wand. But she hadn't felt anything breach the wards.
She took a breath.
She took another.
She scanned the living room and saw Crookshanks sitting on the arm rest of the lounge, his big paws resting on the remote control to the television.
"You'll be the death of me, Cat, I swear it!" She growled, as frustrated by the cat as she was at her own jumpiness.
Crookshanks merely stared at her.
Then he turned to the television.
Hermione felt like the last thread of her sanity was being tugged at. Crookshanks was watching television!
He meowed at her. She began to reach for the remote.
Crookshanks hissed at her nearing hand. She drew back, startled. Crookshanks had never hissed at her before. Never. He had hissed at about everyone else he had met, but never her. Crookshanks looked pointedly over at the television.
Hermione followed her gaze.
It was one of those morning television shows that tried to pass themselves off as playing some semblance of the news. The two anchors were chatting excitedly, to a man dressed in full military regalia. Hermione failed to see the significance.
Wait.
What?
It was the Duke of Sussex. Hermione looked back at Crookshanks. He was really interested in the show. She turned the volume up a little, without causing a hiss or scratch to come her way.
The Duke was speaking, "It is thanks to him after all that I managed to come home and see my wonderful wife and my family. He truly embodied the spirit of the veterans who have sacrificed so much for their country."
The anchors nodded along eagerly, glancing at the camera every now and then to flash a smile. It was one of those shows. As a rule, Hermione hated those shows.
It was the woman who spoke next.
"Now, obviously there is a lot of secrecy surrounding the soldier due to his service. But I must admit, I am simply fascinated by what he has done, how he has brought you back to us. What can you tell us about him?"
The Duke smiled good naturedly, but she could see that it did not quite reach his eyes. He was annoyed by the questions and by the people they came from.
"Well, I'm afraid I can't say much. He chose to keep his identity secret-"
"But he is a hero! Who wouldn't want all the recognition of fame and fortune that comes with being a hero to the nation?"
Hermione could respect the man's choice; she had seen firsthand that fame and fortune weren't all they were cracked up to be. The fact that the presenter chose to cut the Duke off to say something so utterly stupid only served to annoy her.
It seemed to annoy the Duke, too.
"He had made his choice, Gemma, and I will respect that. What kind of person would I be if I betrayed the choices of the man who saved my life?"
The male presenter cut in here, trying to salvage something of the interview, with such a high-profile guest.
"Well, that is perfectly understandable, he did carry you across that field. Then he went back for your pilot. He was shot twice I believe?"
"Three times. He was shot three times. All three individual rounds were life-threatening on their own, yet he managed to pull through. The doctors believe he should be back to fighting fit sooner rather than later. His toughness and resoluteness must be seen to truly be believed."
"How absolutely fascinating," cooed the female presenter, "You know how we women love a wounded hero. We love a man with scars, don't' we ladies?"
The women in the crowd cheered. Hermione felt that if her eyes rolled any harder, they would detach from their stems.
The Duke smiled again, once again it did not reach his eyes. "He did joke to me that he now had a few more scars to add to the collection!"
Hermione sighed. The woman reminded her of Rita Skeeter, but maybe less foul, less evil. That said, Hermione found her decidedly unpleasant.
The woman laughed a hearty laugh at that. Her smile was too big, and her hair was too blonde.
"But what about the man himself? Is he single?"
The Duke paused. The question clearly aggravated him. Here he was, being reduced to talking about the man who saved his life, as if he was appearing on one of the terrible Muggle reality television shows that her Muggle friends watched.
Even if you were in line for the throne, when a person saved your life, you had a bond with them. You didn't betray their trust.
Hermione was reminded of the immediacy of the post war, when journalists would interrupt their mourning and their farewells to ask studied and banal questions, like this woman was. She recognised that look in the Duke's eyes. It was the same one she had had, and had seen in Ron's eyes, when they were made celebrities in the aftermath of the war.
"I hardly think that would be appropriate for me to comment on, Gemma. Suffice to say that he is surrounded by brothers."
"Do you hear that, ladies? Sounds like he is single to me!" She flashed another big, toothy, too perfect to be real, smile at the camera. "Brave, Gallant and single! What a simply magical combination!"
Hermione turned to Crookshanks who was looking at her.
"Do we have to watch this, Crookshanks?"
Crookshanks stared at her again and turned back to the television.
"The question is ladies, which one of you will he save?"
Even the bloody language they were using reminded her of Harry. She considered herself lucky that she had set the day aside for such thoughts. Or maybe, she thought to herself, it's because of what day it was that it reminded her of him.
The tears welled up in her eyes. The aftermath of the final battle with Voldemort had been such a blurred affair. She and Ron had relied on each other to get through, but they both know that the one person who would have held them together, even more strongly, was the one person who's passing had made it so unbearable.
The male presenter was speaking, now.
"But Edward, I believe we have something of that fateful day. An anonymous person has sent in footage of the incident, and ladies and gentlemen, you have simply got to see this!"
The Duke looked up in surprise.
"I didn't know that any footage had been released…"
The man smiled again, "Ah, but Edward, this has just been sent in. I think you will appreciate that our viewers will get to see the heroism displayed on that day firsthand, through the lens of a man who was actually there."
The Duke looked very uncomfortable now and was looking over, clearly into the backstage trying to see what was going on.
"Has this been cleared by the Ministry of Defence?"
The woman smiled, "It has been sent to us anonymously, you simply have to see this folks, but be aware, the footage may be distressing to some viewers."
Hermione could see the Duke was horrified in the moment before the screen cut.
The screen was suddenly filled with the interior of a helicopter. The footage was a bit grainy, but somewhat cleaned up. Hermione quickly realised it was a camera that was mounted to the side of a soldier's helmet.
The footage would bob and weave with the movements of the man who was wearing the camera.
It was dusty. The dust was kicked up everywhere from the rotor wash and it made it hard to see very far beyond the rear opening of the helicopter.
She could see a man firing a gatling gun from the rear of the helicopter, shooting up into the dust. Where the rounds were hitting, she could not see.
There, running in through the dust, she could just make out a dark figure materialising. As it moved through the dust, it began to take shape. It began to look less like a vague, dark blob and more like a person. She could make out a soldier was running at a full sprint, with another soldier slung over his shoulders.
The soldier who was running, clearly the unnamed hero, was dressed head to toe in camouflage. He had brown boots and was made to look significantly larger across his upper body by the amount of equipment he had strapped across his chest. A rifle was loosely slung under his right arm, swaying around in the wind and with his movement.
He was wearing a tan, brown baseball cap, and Hermione could just make out an unkempt black beard on his face. She could also see black hair sticking out around the side of his cap.
The man he was carrying on his back, had a large pilot's helmet on his back. He was also wearing a light, khaki green flight suit. He had much less gear all over him than the soldier who was doing the carrying. That was clearly and obviously the Duke.
Hermione could see the cameraman's hand beckoning towards the running soldiers, seeming to be trying to get him into the helicopter quicker by sheer force of will alone. Dust clouds danced up around the running soldier's feet. It took her a moment to realise that these were bullets striking the ground around him.
He made it. Onto the back of the helicopter. His boots hit the ramp as he charged up it and to the red netting seating on the side.
The way the cameraman moved and the bobbed made it frustratingly difficult to make out any further details.
He put the soldier he was carrying down on the seating. She could just make out his voice as he yelled to the Duke.
"You okay? You good?"
Hermione froze.
That voice was familiar.
Way too familiar.
The voice seemed to scream at her from her past. From places of anguish, pain and melancholy. Her heart started beating hard in her chest. She could feel it from deep within her, as if it would break free and explode into the world.
That voice sounded so much like…
Surely not.
Absolutely not.
Definitely not.
Maybe.
Can't be.
What if?
No.
Hermione tried so desperately not to get her hopes up.
She was sitting up straight now, utterly engrossed in the footage. She watched the Duke give the soldier the thumbs up.
The soldier nodded at the Duke and then looked up. Directly into the camera.
The footage paused.
Her heart felt like it had just gone supernova.
She closed her eyes tight for what felt like an age. But the image was burnt into her retinas. She could not unsee what she was looking at. Her mind raced over the possibilities.
They had never found a body.
He could still be alive.
What if he had survived?
No.
He was dead. Harry Potter was dead. She had checked! She had called every emergency room for miles around where Harry had gone missing. She had driven herself absolutely mad thinking that he could have been picked up. He would have just been another John Doe to them. Another nameless injury that had come through the hospital doors, taking up a bed in places already overflowing with taken beds.
She kept her eyes closed for what felt like an age. She did not want to open them again, scared to see the truth. Her mind raced, as it was prone to do, to all the endless possibilities.
With an agonising slowness, she opened her eyes.
And there he was.
If nothing else, there was no mistaking that lightning bolt scar upon his forehead. Those bottle green eyes. There was no mistaking that look of absolute 'hell or high water' determination in his eyes.
There was absolutely no mistaking that it was Harry James Potter.
And he was not dead.
Hermione did not know for how long she stared at the television screen. She did not know for how long the tears rolled down her face or for how long the heaving sobs wracked her body.
She did know that she had a pounding headache and eyes so sore that she no longer dared to rub them. She felt like the previous decades worth of grief and pain had all flowed through her body at once. As if she was reliving all those long, painful years all over again.
But then it was like a weight lifted off her shoulders, just before she was run over by the rampant Knight bus.
Her mind raced through every possibility from the highly doubtful to the highly fanciful. Everything from clones, to lookalikes ran through her mind, but none of them clicked. For here, in her living room, on her television screen was undeniable evidence that Harry Potter had once again become, the boy-who-lived.
Or rather, the man-who-lived.
She turned her attention to the newspaper. She pulled out her wand and pointed at the coloured photograph on the front page. She tapped it with her wand and muttered a short, simple incantation.
The blurring that covered the face of the soldier in the photograph faded away. She was once again staring at undeniable evidence that Harry James Potter was alive.
Studying the photograph in front of her, it was more than obvious that he was no longer a boy anymore than he was dead. He had the same raven hair, tucked under a sandy-brown beret. The beret had a patch on the front consisting of the fabled winged daggers of the SAS.
He was not wearing glasses, but Hermione paid that no mind, he could simply be wearing contacts. He was in the muggle world now, after all. He had a short, neat beard, which Hermione had to admit looked good on him.
His shoulders were broad under his khaki green woollen uniform. His chest was beset with the colour of all the medals and honours that adorned him.
He seemed a bit taller than she remembered, but that could have simply been the photograph.
Hermione's trademark curiosity began to enter her mind. How?
So Hermione did what she always did in situations like this. She endeavoured to find out.
She looked over at Crookshanks, and pressed play on the television remote. The rest of the footage was short, Harry stood up from next to the seating and turned back towards the rear door of the helicopter.
"What the BEEP" bellowed the camera man.
"The Pilot!" Harry yelled as he sprinted back out into the dust and maelstrom.
That's where the footage ended. And that's when Hermione got back to doing what she did best.
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Hermione did what she always did in situations like that. She went to the library. In this particular case, however, the library was her study. It was her favourite room in her whole house, and she spent many years curled up with a book on one of its soft chairs. Its books were stacked from floor to ceiling, all neatly organised into row upon row.
This time it was not her beloved books that she approached; it was her desk. She pushed the small mountain of paperwork aside more roughly than was usual for her, but she had priorities. She had curiosities. She had research that could not wait, for it had already waited ten years and she would be damned if she would let it wait any longer.
She reached for her laptop. She had purchased it several years before to help with her muggle University education. She loved the laptop. It gave her access to all the information she could ever want; instantly and easily. As much as she loved the feel of a nice, old, charactered book, she could not deny the convenience of the laptop.
It was charmed and 'proofed to withstand the surroundings of magic. She had enlisted the help of the Weasley twins in this, as they had continuously proved their proficiency in charming objects for specific and useful projects. Surprisingly enough, she had received a lot of help from her old Gryffindor' Alums: Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. After Hogwarts they had gone to work for the Weasley twins by starting their own department that focussed on making useful Muggle items compatible with magic.
They called it, bringing the Magical world into the future.
Hermione opened the laptop and went to work.
She liked to start broad and work her way down. It was how she had approached all problems that she had encountered, since she'd started solving problems, in her pyjamas, with her two best friends.
She began her research with the British Army.
The newspaper had claimed that James was part of the Special Air Service, or SAS. The highly-secretive, elite army Regiment whose sandy coloured beret with winged daggers, was recognised and highly-regarded by every Muggle in the United Kingdom.
For Hermione, this was her first problem. There was no way that even with her talents, in both the magical and medicinal fields, that she could just trick someone into giving her access to the personnel files of the Regiment. It just was not going to happen.
They were the kind of people that had secrets within secrets; in fact, Hermione figured she would have a better chance of finding out what the Unspeakables were researching.
She began to work her way down, reading about their operational deployments and battle honours. She even ordered a few books, as was her way, so that she could learn more about these secretive men.
She would have to do everything she could, to figure out a way to get access to Harry, and that was going to be difficult.
Unless of course, she could figure out a way to draw him to her.
Hermione chewed her bottom lip as the magnitude of the problem worked its way around her head. She mulled it over, examining it this way and that, from all angles and in all lights and came up with very little. Eventually with a growl of frustration, she put that problem aside.
There was something that had occurred to her. It was so much of a long shot that it had never properly registered within her mind.
What happened before? Before the Army. How had he survived? Where had he gone? She had checked all the hospitals. But here he was, alive and apparently well.
But there was no way he had been that way after the battle. She knew him. She knew what he was like. Perhaps there was a good place to find answers.
Through her work at the Muggle hospital and within the University, Hermione had gotten access to databases of medical journals that were written the World over. Surely, if Harry had survived at Hogwarts, he would have needed some form of medical attention. There was no way he could have walked away from his battle with Voldemort unscathed, without any form of injury. He may have been one of the greatest wizards she had ever known, but even he was not infallible.
And he certainly knew how to get injured.
It was with tentative, trembling fingers that she opened the database and began to type.
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Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter.
A/N: Hello, and welcome to 'Remember What I Forgot'. This is a rewrite of a story I wrote all the way back in 2013 that was called 'Soldier'.
I am not sold on the title, and like the name 'Soldier' but I'm trying it out. Because of the world as it is at the moment, I have found some time for myself and have decided that going back to writing is a very worthwhile way to spend some of my abundance of free time.
With that in mind, here's the Prologue and the first four chapters.
So, if you want to leave a review, go ahead, I'd appreciate your thoughts.
For those who need the parings, this will be H/HR.
I've obviously changed the dates from Canon, but that will be explained in this chapter.
I hope you enjoy!
P.S: This story will contain foul language. There are soldiers in the story afterall.
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22/01/22
Hello there!
If you are just joining me here with RWIF, I just wanted to add a quick update to say that you are getting the beta'd version. An updated, cleaner, and clearer version which has been carefully checked and corrected by the insanely amazing LancashireWitch!
She's been absolutely wonderful and patient with helping me out with this story. So a massive thank you to her for all her hard work!
I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!
Cheers,
ATG