“Damn Prophet,” he says, throwing the paper onto the kitchen table. My husband sits down, buries his head in his hands, and sighs. Before I turn around to focus on making sure the socks are folding themselves, I glance at the headline. The Other Battle: Those who Fought the Death Eaters. Below the title, there is a picture of a beaming Seamus Finnigan, donning his navy blue Magical Maintenance robes. “We were all behind Harry, every one of us.” The quote startles me, as I know Seamus didn’t believe a word of what Harry said in his fifth year. Turning around to finish the bacon I am cooking, I quietly start a conversation.
“Ron and Hermione are coming to dinner tomorrow, don’t forget.” I feel stupid reminding him. Of course he would remember they were coming. They are his best friends. Harry is silent. His thoughts are clear, although I cannot see his expression. “Seamus is an idiot, you know that. He may have helped, but he wasn’t with you from the beginning.”
“Yes, but it’s been five years. Why hasn’t he told his side of the story until now? Not all of us like living in the past.” He is referring to the fact that many of his former classmates, and other students who were at the Final Battle, are still very shook up from the event. I sit down next to him, leaving the bacon to burn, and press my hands against my forehead. Parvati Patil still goes to weekly therapy sessions at St. Mungo’s, trying to deal with the constant flashbacks of Lavender Brown’s death, which had happened after her friend had been Disarmed. Percy Weasley can no longer produce a Patronus, as his brother’s death is a memory so strong, the Dementors overpower him. Seamus Finnigan is just bringing up the past, something many people did not want to relive.
“Well, to hell with him. He can try to live there, but I think his job at the Ministry may be too demanding. Especially with the fact that Ron’s office is still snowing.” I thought I had imagined it at first, but Harry actually smiles and laughs.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “To hell with him.” I reach across the table to touch Harry’s hand. When he does not draw away, I squeeze his fingers tight and stood up. “Let me finish the bacon, and then we can have breakfast.”
***
After Harry and I finish breakfast, we sit in the living room in silence. Breakfast had been good with conversation, considering we had made constant jabs at Seamus. But now, there is quiet; it’s not uncomfortable, more of a tribute to those who died. Often times it is like this, for about an hour. Harry and I might pull out the leather photo album Hagrid had given him in first year, but today we just sit on the couch. I like this time of day, come to think of it, because Harry is always deep in thought. His face is always twisted into a serious expression that has a twinge of sadness in it.
“I don’t know why I still have to be the hero.” His words cut through the air like a butter knife on medium rare steak. They are clear and concise, yet don’t add an unwanted tension to the silence.
“The Prophecy said-”
“I know. The Prophecy said one of us had to kill the other, and killing Voldemort made me a hero to the entire wizarding world. But it’s not like I could step down and not do it.” An odd expression must have crossed my face, because he quickly continues. “Not that I didn’t want to, but everyone expected it. Dumbledore, the Minister, Ron, Hermione…even you. There was never a doubt that I wouldn’t fight him in the end. And now that the war is over, I’m still a hero.” He looks at me, searching my face for a reaction, but I merely stare back at him.
”You’re right; I never doubted you would fight him in the end. But that’s because I knew that you would never leave everyone to the hands of evil. But you will always be a hero.” I lean over and lay my head on his lap. I love being close to him; it makes me feel safe.
“But no one can leave it alone. It’s like I’m Dumbledore defeating Grindlewald. It’s my ‘defining’ moment. Why can’t I just be, er, Harry?” This makes me want to laugh, but I don’t because Harry’s face has a far too serious expression for laughing matters. I push myself up on my elbows and tilt my face to kiss him. He leans in to kiss me back, but I pull away to think.
“You’re my hero, but not because you defeated Voldemort. It’s because you’re Harry, the boy who didn’t know he was a wizard.” I grin and he kisses me again, this time longer and harder.
“No, I think it’s because I made Ron let you have the last scoop of pudding at the end the Christmas feast in sixth year.” That’s not true, but it was good pudding and he did convince Ron to let me have the last scoop. I close my eyes and repeat my thoughts out loud.
“But it was good pudding.”
“I know, and you should have just let him eat it. He complained for hours after, begging me to call Dobby up to the common room with some.” Shaking his head, he tries to stand up, but I refuse to move off of his lap.
“You want to know the real reason why you’re my hero?”
“Yes,” Harry murmurs, staring me down with a curious glance.
“Because you never wanted to be everyone else’s.” And with that, I pull him toward me, kissing him full on the mouth, never wanting to let my hero go.
Hero by thechocolatefrog
Story Notes:
Thanks to Fresca (Colores), my lovely beta. :] You are my present tense life raft! Thanks to Amanda, Tash, Alison, and Chanté for their lovely support of this fic as well.
The OC remains nameless because I never found it relevant to name her. This is not Harry/Ginny, although it has been a common misconception.