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They shall not grow old,
As we grow old:
Age shall not weary them,
Nor the years condemn,
At the going down of the sun
And in the morning
We will remember them.
- Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
Come rain or shine he came once a year to stand before the town monument erected to commemorate the fallen in the Third War. There had been so many of them; so many that had fallen in that great and terrible war. Even a century on they were still recovering and rebuilding. The heroes in that war, like all good story book heroes, had long since vanished into the mists of time. There was even a myth that haunted the edge of conversations; The Boy Who Lived had gone to live with the Fey, like King Arthur, until he was needed again. It was rubbish of course. All the heroes had died on the battlefield, but nobody wanted to hear that bitter truth.
It was always on the eleventh of November at eleven o’clock He arrived at the war memorial in Ottery St. Catchpole. He stood in silence before the memorial for ten minutes and then was gone. No one seemed to know who he was; He never stayed around long enough for anyone to ask. Whoever he was, Sammy Weasley fancied that he came to stand before the fallen as a penance for a long forgotten crime. Sammy liked to sneak out of the Burrow, out from under his mother and Great Aunty Ginny’s eyes and stand in the shadows watching the man and remembering the stories Grandma and Great Aunty Ginny had told him when he was younger about Grandpa and his brothers and his best friend Harry. Once the man was gone he would sneak home and pretend he’d been hiding out in the garden or doing his homework or anything really. Just as long as they never suspected he went and watched the man.
This year frost grazed the ground, making the grass crunch underfoot; it was too cold to snow, instead it was the season of ice. It was said to be the coldest year on record. Grandma had once said something about the fight between The Dark Lord and The Boy Who Lived leeching too much of the magic from the world, that was why it was getting colder. Sammy wasn’t sure if he believed her, but Grandma had normally been right about such things. Sammy glanced at his watch, in less than a minute He would be turning up and they could begin. Great Aunty Ginny liked to think that after the Third War there would be no more wars, but Sammy didn’t think that that would be the case. Sooner or later another Dark Lord would come along and it would all start again. He didn’t blame her for wishing it would be so. She had lost so many people during the war that he’d once overheard Grandpa say to Grandma that she was a ghost of her former self.
He apparated in just like every time before. He stood silently, like a ghost, before the memorial for ten minutes. Sammy stood, eyes focused on the stranger thinking of a war he knew nothing about wondering. He had so many questions and no one who could answer them, except for Grandma and Great Aunty Ginny and it wasn’t really fair to ask them. “Hello.” He looked up in surprise. “You must be a Weasley.” The man stood before him; up close he didn’t look much older than Sammy- perhaps eighteen. “You’ve been coming here for the last five years, haven’t you?” Sammy found himself nodding. “Why?”
“Because…” Sammy trailed off not wanting to admit that he had been watching him. “Because Ronald Weasley, my Grandpa, died in the war.” The stranger nodded, green eyes flashing with an unreadable emotion. He looked away, staring off at some point in the distance. It was a strange reaction. The stranger gestured to a bench, moving to sit down himself. Sammy was surprised when the stranger curled a leg beneath him and bent his other leg resting his head on his knee gaze locked on the memorial. Sammy plonked down on the seat next to him, swinging his legs back and forth. “He did.” The stranger agreed. “He died in the fall of Hogwarts-“
“Hogwarts didn’t fall!” Sammy interrupted. “Hogwarts has never fallen.” The stranger laughed a strangely bitter sound. Sammy frowned suddenly less certain.
“Okay. When did he die then?”
“He died…” Sammy frowned thinking. He was sure his parents had told him how Grandpa had died. It was odd though, that he couldn’t remember. Surely Grandma or Aunty Ginny must have mentioned it at some point in front of him. “He… I…?” The stranger smiled sadly.
“He died making sure that all the students escaped from Hogwarts when the Dark Lord captured it. He and Hermione had decided not to go back to school that year, instead they’d decided to help The Boy Who Lived with an… errand.”
“They knew The Boy Who Lived?” The stranger nodded. “Grandma’s never said.” The stranger smiled wryly.
“It was only by chance that the three of them were at Hogwarts at the time. You see, they’d found clues that suggested what they were looking for was hidden in the school somewhere and they wanted to check it out. Hogwarts had only opened that year because Prof- Headmistress McGonagall felt that there should be somewhere for the children to go if they wanted to seek sanctuary. Ginny was so glad to see them. She’d wanted to go with them, but she knew The Boy Who Lived would worry about her so she’d agreed to break up with him.”
“Aunty Ginny dated The Boy Who Live?”
“Only for a little while. It was during his sixth year and her fifth. They got together then Dumbledore died and he felt it would be better if they broke up so she’d be safe. She agreed. I think she knew that he needed her to be safe so he could do his job.” The stranger’s lips curled into something Sammy suspected was supposed to resemble a smile. “Anyway. They arrived at Hogwarts and began their search and somehow Voldemort must have-“
“You said his name.” The stranger’s lips twisted into a crooked grin.
“Well he’s dead now, so what does it matter?”
“You still shouldn’t say his name.”
“Someone wise once told me, that not saying somebody’s name only increases your fear of them.” The stranger looked sideways at him.
Sammy shifted uncomfortably. “Dumbledore said something like that to Harry once, Grandma said.” The stranger nodded, a strange expression filtering across his face that Sammy would almost have described as amusement.
“He was a very wise man and a great wizard.” The stranger said by way of reply. “One of The Dark Lord’s spies told him that The Boy Who Lived was at Hogwarts looking for something, so The Dark Lord decided to mass his forces together and attack the castle.”
“Was it a big attack force? Did he have centaurs and werewolves and giants and ogres and all kinds of monsters?” Sammy asked looking excitedly at the stranger. Finally someone was telling it like it was.
“And wizards. You shouldn’t forget them.” The stranger chided gently.
“How could anyone side with him? Wasn’t he evil?”
“Evil?” The stranger paused. “Perhaps. He wanted to be the most powerful wizard in the world, to restore the wizarding world to what it was before it was so heavily influenced by muggle ideas. It was a grand scheme. I’m still not sure if he didn’t have the right of it in the end.” Sammy frowned. “I’m not saying his methods weren’t evil. Killing muggles and muggle-borns would have achieved nothing; it did achieve nothing. Still…” The stranger trailed off.
“How can you say that? He was evil. What he wanted was wrong. He wanted power. He cared nothing for the lives of every day witches and wizards.”
“You say that like you know,” the stranger remarked softly. “Yet you don’t look old enough to have experienced the war.”
“Neither do you.” Sammy pointed out. The stranger smiled enigmatically. “Why do you come here every year and at this time?”
“To remember the fallen. Someone has to. The people who do are getting less and less every year. To you those names carved into the stone of that memorial are just names, or at best they’re photographs and stories. To me they’re people I once knew. I might not have liked some of them- god knows Draco Malfoy was an annoying prat- but they all deserve to be remembered, even if only I remember their stories. And I come here at this time every year at this time because to me this day, this month, and this time all signify remembering those who died in battle. Today used to be known as Armistice Day in the Muggle world, but they too have forgotten their wars. When you weren’t the ones fighting it’s hard to understand the cost. To you it’s just a memorial with names; to me this is a visual reminder of the people I knew so long ago.” The stranger looked away.
The silence hung heavily between the two of them. Sammy looked at the memorial and wondered what it would be like if he was sitting here and it was his friends’ names on there, family he knew, people he knew. He supposed it would be different; it would have a more personal meaning. The names were carved into the stone never to be forgotten, but to him they were just that- names. “Do-?” Sammy took a deep breath. “Do you know what happened to The Boy Who Lived and The Dark Lord?” The stranger seemed to stiffen.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because no one’s ever told me. They just say The Dark Lord is no more and that we should be thankful for that.”
“What do you think happened to them?”
“I… They cast the Killing Curse at the same time and destroyed each other?”
“That was the common theory at the time.” The stranger agreed.
“Don’t you know?”
“Only they know for sure. Whatever anyone else said or says in the future will be just speculation. When the final spells were cast they were obscured from view. It was only with the dismantling of the sphere they’d erected that anyone knew the fighting was over.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. I think they ended how they wanted to. It was never clear who defeated who. For all we know The Dark Lord could have won but was killed by his own magical backlash.” Sammy frowned disliking that idea.
“But heroes always have to win.”
“Only if they’re heroes.”
“What?”
“The Boy Who Lived would have been the first to tell you that he wasn’t a hero. That he was just an ordinary boy who grew up in the muggle world and was one day told he was a wizard. He was no hero, just Harry.”
“But what about all those people he saved? And- Wait. Harry?”
“Yes. He was called Harry.”
“Grandpa and Grandma and Aunty Ginny had a friend called Harry.”
“They did.” The stranger agreed blandly. Sammy looked at the ground frowning. Someone apparated not too far from them. “Harry?” The stranger stood up and Sammy followed him as he walked towards the newcomer. It looked like he was called Harry. “Hello Tom.” And that the other person was called Tom. Sammy frowned looking at him, he was dressed all in black robes and he looked slightly uncomfortable. The man, Tom, looked at the memorial. “So this is where you come.” His eyes flickered to Sammy. “Consorting with Weasleys again I see.” The man said. Harry smiled slightly and shook his head. “Come on; let’s get out of here now you’ve finished moping.”
“Goodbye- I never did get your name.”
“It’s Sammy.”
“Goodbye Sammy. It was nice talking to you. I’m afraid I won’t be back.” Then they were gone. Sammy frowned wondering what Harry had meant by that rather cryptic statement. Of course he would be back. He came back every year. “Samuel James Weasley just what do you think you are doing?” Great Aunty Ginny screeched. Sammy turned and watched his Great Aunt stalk towards him. “And who were you talking to young man?”
“The man that comes here every year.”
“And how do you know that?” Her brown eyes bore into him; Sammy squirmed. “I see him. Harry comes every year here on this day at eleven o’clock. I’ve never seen the other man- Tom- before.”
“Every year?” He nodded.
“Is it true Grandpa died at the fall of Hogwarts?” Great Aunty Ginny’s eyes widened and she paled; then her mouth tightened. “Where did you hear that?”
“So it’s true then?”
“Samuel!”
“Harry told me.” Great Aunty Ginny stumbled and if he hadn’t grabbed her she would have collapsed on the floor. Instead he guided her to the bench where he had sat with Harry. She looked rather pale and Sammy was beginning to wonder if she was seriously ill and if he should run and fetch his mother.
“He lived after all then.” She murmured and then she started to laugh. Sammy looked at her worriedly as tears started to fall down her cheeks. “I knew he was up to something. I just knew it.” She grabbed a hanky from up her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I’ll finally get to ask him what he did.”
“He said he wasn’t coming back.” Sammy said. “Besides, it might just be someone called Harry.” He added realising she thought that that man was her friend Harry from her childhood.
“No.” she said with surprising certainty. “That was Harry Potter. I’m sure of it.”
END.