AN: Here's a little piece I wrote for SIYE, where my penname is Drakir.
It came to my attention that many stories I've read that are post-war in the Harry Potter universe tend to veer enormously into the predictable pattern of a brooding, cheerful, invigorated, depressed, shattered, or even confused Harry. It has made me wonder, then, why no one tries to see how the ones left behind in the war react after the war is done. Note that the story has been left purposely open for every person to make his/her own interpretation of who the girl is. It could be Ginny waiting for Harry, yes, but could it not also be Luna? Or Hermione? Maybe Susan Bones? Or perhaps some faceless witch, whose story is never told?
Note: Takes place within the Technomantic world of WaW (World at War).
The girl watched on as the parade moved by on the battered streets of a shattered and liberated London. She watched as the victorious soldiers marched down the streets, heads held up high in pride and their uniforms dirty from fighting. She watched and listened as the crowd around her and on the other side of the street roared with excitement as their liberators walked down. For these men were heroes; they owed their very lives to the men and women marching down the streets.
The girl watched as the first of the cavalrymen trotted down the streets. She knew him, of course. She'd gone to school with him, and felt somewhat happy for him that he had finally found a place where he fit. He was a hero now, after all.
She watched as the crowd pushed against the metal railings keeping them back in an attempt to shake the cavalryman's hand, or even touch his horse, or maybe even his uniform. As if the very act would bless them with enormous luck, or even give them divine protection. The girl merely stood her ground as the crowd around her shoved each other around. This was not the man she was waiting for. This was not the one she wanted.
She watched then, as another group of infantry walked by, their green uniforms marking them apart from the usual redcoats. Again, she recognized the man in front of them, leading them, as well as several of those in the ranks themselves. She'd known them all before the war started. She'd laughed with them, cried with them, studied with them, and even played with them. She knew them all, even if they didn't remember her after all this time.
She didn't need them to, for it was enough for her to know that they were all some person's brother, son, lover, uncle, friend, or even father.
Knowing that, she knew them all.
But again, this was not the group she waited for. The one she waited so desperately for. The one she'd gotten up at 2:00 AM just to see; just to be here before everyone else would.
The one whose voice she wanted to hear…
Whose eyes she wanted to see…
Whose touch she wanted to feel…
Whose love she wanted to receive…
She still remembered it, after all these years. A promise made, a vow given freely.
A love immortalized and made eternal.
She remembered his touch on her bare skin…
His voice as he told her those three magical words…
His smell after having played against another team…
The feeling of those warm lips on her own…
Of those rugged hands on her bare back.
She remembered him, and hoped he remembered her.
She had waited, just like she said she would. She would stand on the porch of her home every day, waiting for news of his condition. But she would always retire empty-handed, but always full of hope.
She knew he had not left her.
She knew he was not dead.
She needed no letter to tell her that her love was fine.
She needed no messenger to give her the news.
It was something so basic, so interwoven with her very soul, that she needed no guarantee.
For he was her life; her breathe; he was the very heartbeat that kept her body going. She felt him in her skin; she felt him in her blood. She felt him in her heart and soul.
She remembered the times they had together. The numerous times he'd loved her. The way how they would pass the time in each other's arms by the fire, or flying around, trying to catch each other.
How some days they simply talked in the common room, while in others they went for a walk.
Some days they ate in the dining hall with everyone else; others, they snuck into the kitchen for a private meal.
She recalled the picnics by the lake, and the forbidden kisses in deserted hallways.
She recalled how they'd come out to her family, and how they'd laughed on it later.
She remembered the secret kisses in the night, when her family thought they slept.
She remembered the sweet caresses as they lay in her bed, or even on some couch.
She had wondered them how it was possible for one to love so much, but she had not cared for the answer. Feeling it had been enough.
She remembered how her love had left, and what sweet, tender words of comfort they'd given each other as he prepared to leave. She had wanted to go, and even promised to, but he had talked her out of it. She needed to live for him to go on.
So she allowed her heart to break as she'd watched him walk down the path of her home to his awaiting friends, all brave boys who thought they were men. All brave sons of some parent, brothers to some sibling, lovers to some sweetheart, parents to some child.
All young, all foolhardy, all ready to meet their doom.
And so they'd marched, and left her behind.
She remembered the tears that plagued her for nights on end…
The heartbreak as news of every battle was delivered on the wireless…
The worry every time casualties were announced…
The relief when his name never showed up.
The girl watched as the parade moved on. It had gone on for more than three hours now, and still she could see the various troops move by, and she knew them all. But still they were not the one she was waiting for.
She watched as the red coated soldiers marched on, heads high and proud.
She watched as the cavalrymen trotted down the streets, elegant and deadly.
She watched as the green-coated soldiers walked cheerily and gay.
She watched as the artillery rolled down the streets, lumbering and loud.
She knew them all.
But they were not the ones she was waiting for.
She waited for a hero, yes. But not their hero.
She waited for someone who was more than a hero.
She waited for her love.