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author_by_night) wrote2014-10-22 11:53 am
author_by_night) wrote2014-10-22 11:53 am
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Harry Potter Drabbles: Unsung Heroes
A head canon that I can't find room for in my WIP (which due to some RL stuff got shelved - so I will be telling some of it through drabbles).
Unsung Heroes
As a black muggleborn war veteran, Clancy Shacklebot understood that there were many overlooked stories.
The wizarding world didn't really recognize his efforts, because the war had been a muggle one; only a woman named Lydia had been interested. She was a historian who specialized in muggle and wizard relations. Clancy wasn't sure what she saw in a cripple like him, but he loved her, married her, and together they had a son. Kingsley, for the crown Clancy had fought feverently to defend.
But history being what it was, the muggle world was wont to dismiss him as well. So Clancy set out to collect stories of men like him, and soon his book became not just about black veterans, but all sorts of overlooked veterans who would never make the history books. Clancy didn't just want their war stories - he wanted to know what happened to them in the aftermath. He started this venture on the cusp of the first wizarding war, and did not finish until 1995, when the second war broke out and he knew releasing a book about muggle soldiers could be risky for his son. When the war ended in 1998, Clancy finally sent it to be published. There were now 100 stories.
What Clancy didn't know was that one of those stories was directly intwined with the end of both wars with Voldemort.
Henry
Henry lied about his age, joining the war at the age of sixteen.
His parents were, Henry imagined, a mixture of scared and proud. It was fitting that a man from his fairly distinguished, if not particularly wealthy, family would go to fight. And it was better him than his older brother, whose wife was expecting their first child. To Henry, it wasn't only that - it was that his brother was his world, and while Henry didn't want to die, he would rather lose his own life than lose his big brother.
But the war meant more than Henry had anticipated. It wasn't a quick fight for good, but a long many years in which Henry lost comrades one way or another. He saved a great many men too, but it was the ones who he couldn't save, the wives he'd held and comforted, the confused children peering through the curtains who haunted his dreams.
For about a decade after the war, Henry lived in a fog, jumping at the sound of car backfires and always on the lookout for someone to save. In his mind, the war was not truly over. There were more fights to be fought and won. His father found work for him, but everybody knew it. It was his brother, not Henry, who was the successful Evans brother. Henry was the fool whose head had been lost in the clouds and smoke of war. Harried Harry, they called him.
But a young woman who worked in the same building didn't care about those things; she only saw Henry defend a little boy against his raging father, she only saw Henry open doors for her, she only saw Henry's flaming red hair. She called him Harry sometimes too, but lovingly.
Henry didn't want to get too close to her, he knew he'd be too much for her to handle. Besides, being from a good family herself, surely she'd want more than the second best son. But he couldn't stop staring at her green eyes, greener than the eyes of anyone else. So Henry, bow-legged and mad from his time in hell, asked the beautiful Rose Dudley on just one date. They went on many more, and soon they were married; within just five years, they were the parents of two girls, Lily and Petunia.
A Saving People Thing
Henry tried to be the best father and husband he could. On the nights when the dreams became too much, he would slip outside so maybe they wouldn't hear him. What he didn't understand was that seeing was enough. He knew his eldest daughter was insistant on being as normal as possible, but he figured it ran in the family. Henry had been a little smug himself once, until his eyes had been opened to what really mattered. Still, Henry found himself taking more pride in Lily, who clearly had magical powers. He loved both daughters equally, but there was something about her abormalities that was refreshing. It scared Rose, though, and she said they must not tell anyone. Like Henry's dreams, they were something that couldn't be erased, but still a sign of something they mustn't touch.
But it wasn't just about nightmares; it was everyday strife. Henry knew he alone had the training to deal with conflict, so he used it to his advantage, breaking up fights at pubs and scaring off neighborhood boys who called Lily and Petunia names.
One day, Henry went to the bank to withdraw money. It was simple, really - he wanted to buy Petunia a present for her eighteenth birthday. It should have been that simple. But the man in front of him pulled out a gun.
Henry saw the teller's wide eyes, and remembered meeting his wife once. He remembered his many fallen comrades, their wives, their children. It wouldn't happen again. It couldn't happen again. Without any further hesitation, Henry began to wrestle the robber to the ground.
That evening, the teller rang the doorbell. Lily - home for the summer - and Petunia peered out the window as he spoke to their mother. For the first time in years, they huddled together as their mother sobbed on the teller's chest.
Namesake
"He has her eyes," Lily told Petunia on the phone.
She hadn't spoken to her sister in years, although when Dudley was born - her nephew, whose first name was their mother's maiden name - Lily had sent a card and flowers. Both were returned. But the least Lily could do was tell Petunia about her son's birth.
"Right," Petunia said coolly.
"You don't care about that at all?" Lily asked.
"Dudley has something even better. He's got her maiden name."
Rose had died a few years after her husband died, a local hero now. As far as Lily was concerned, however, she'd died before that. Her love for Henry had been great, fierce even, and without him her spirit was lost. She'd stopped taking care of herself, and eventually had died of heart failure in her sleep.
"Right," Lily said with a sigh. "Well, I named him Harry."
"So?"
"You know, after Daddy. Henry."
"He hated when people called him Harry."
"Not when Mum did."
"Oh, I'm certain he hated Mum's nickname for him," Petunia snapped. "So whatever family honor you think you've given him, he's still a freak."
The phone clicked, and Lily closed her eyes.
Was Petunia right? Had their father truly hated the nickname? Lily supposed she could have just called him Henry, but it hadn't sounded right, and anyway, there could only be one Henry. No, Harry seemed the best way to honor him.
Lily held Harry close to her. "Nevermind your aunt. It's probably not safe for her to be around us right now anyway."
Lily knew Harry would live to his namesake - no matter how partial the namesake was - admirably. She just hoped he'd never suffer the same demons.
Shadow
When Harry made the connection, he sat in silence for a long while.
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked.
"Well," Harry said, "I guess I know where I got that stupid saving people thing from. Always thought it was my Dad..."
"You're not him," Ron said firmly.
"I know I'm not my Dad-"
"No, I mean Henry. I know how you think."
"Am I, though? Is the same thing going to happen to me? What does it say that I became an Auror? Maybe I never really stopped fighting either."
"You were going to be one war or not. You know that." Ginny put her arm around him. "And Henry didn't have us. You do. So don't be scared. Be proud."
"And maybe," Luna added, "this is actually a second chance. Do the things Henry never got to."
Harry thought she could right. And the least he could do was be glad for yet another connection to his family he'd never known.
Unsung Heroes
As a black muggleborn war veteran, Clancy Shacklebot understood that there were many overlooked stories.
The wizarding world didn't really recognize his efforts, because the war had been a muggle one; only a woman named Lydia had been interested. She was a historian who specialized in muggle and wizard relations. Clancy wasn't sure what she saw in a cripple like him, but he loved her, married her, and together they had a son. Kingsley, for the crown Clancy had fought feverently to defend.
But history being what it was, the muggle world was wont to dismiss him as well. So Clancy set out to collect stories of men like him, and soon his book became not just about black veterans, but all sorts of overlooked veterans who would never make the history books. Clancy didn't just want their war stories - he wanted to know what happened to them in the aftermath. He started this venture on the cusp of the first wizarding war, and did not finish until 1995, when the second war broke out and he knew releasing a book about muggle soldiers could be risky for his son. When the war ended in 1998, Clancy finally sent it to be published. There were now 100 stories.
What Clancy didn't know was that one of those stories was directly intwined with the end of both wars with Voldemort.
Henry
Henry lied about his age, joining the war at the age of sixteen.
His parents were, Henry imagined, a mixture of scared and proud. It was fitting that a man from his fairly distinguished, if not particularly wealthy, family would go to fight. And it was better him than his older brother, whose wife was expecting their first child. To Henry, it wasn't only that - it was that his brother was his world, and while Henry didn't want to die, he would rather lose his own life than lose his big brother.
But the war meant more than Henry had anticipated. It wasn't a quick fight for good, but a long many years in which Henry lost comrades one way or another. He saved a great many men too, but it was the ones who he couldn't save, the wives he'd held and comforted, the confused children peering through the curtains who haunted his dreams.
For about a decade after the war, Henry lived in a fog, jumping at the sound of car backfires and always on the lookout for someone to save. In his mind, the war was not truly over. There were more fights to be fought and won. His father found work for him, but everybody knew it. It was his brother, not Henry, who was the successful Evans brother. Henry was the fool whose head had been lost in the clouds and smoke of war. Harried Harry, they called him.
But a young woman who worked in the same building didn't care about those things; she only saw Henry defend a little boy against his raging father, she only saw Henry open doors for her, she only saw Henry's flaming red hair. She called him Harry sometimes too, but lovingly.
Henry didn't want to get too close to her, he knew he'd be too much for her to handle. Besides, being from a good family herself, surely she'd want more than the second best son. But he couldn't stop staring at her green eyes, greener than the eyes of anyone else. So Henry, bow-legged and mad from his time in hell, asked the beautiful Rose Dudley on just one date. They went on many more, and soon they were married; within just five years, they were the parents of two girls, Lily and Petunia.
A Saving People Thing
Henry tried to be the best father and husband he could. On the nights when the dreams became too much, he would slip outside so maybe they wouldn't hear him. What he didn't understand was that seeing was enough. He knew his eldest daughter was insistant on being as normal as possible, but he figured it ran in the family. Henry had been a little smug himself once, until his eyes had been opened to what really mattered. Still, Henry found himself taking more pride in Lily, who clearly had magical powers. He loved both daughters equally, but there was something about her abormalities that was refreshing. It scared Rose, though, and she said they must not tell anyone. Like Henry's dreams, they were something that couldn't be erased, but still a sign of something they mustn't touch.
But it wasn't just about nightmares; it was everyday strife. Henry knew he alone had the training to deal with conflict, so he used it to his advantage, breaking up fights at pubs and scaring off neighborhood boys who called Lily and Petunia names.
One day, Henry went to the bank to withdraw money. It was simple, really - he wanted to buy Petunia a present for her eighteenth birthday. It should have been that simple. But the man in front of him pulled out a gun.
Henry saw the teller's wide eyes, and remembered meeting his wife once. He remembered his many fallen comrades, their wives, their children. It wouldn't happen again. It couldn't happen again. Without any further hesitation, Henry began to wrestle the robber to the ground.
That evening, the teller rang the doorbell. Lily - home for the summer - and Petunia peered out the window as he spoke to their mother. For the first time in years, they huddled together as their mother sobbed on the teller's chest.
Namesake
"He has her eyes," Lily told Petunia on the phone.
She hadn't spoken to her sister in years, although when Dudley was born - her nephew, whose first name was their mother's maiden name - Lily had sent a card and flowers. Both were returned. But the least Lily could do was tell Petunia about her son's birth.
"Right," Petunia said coolly.
"You don't care about that at all?" Lily asked.
"Dudley has something even better. He's got her maiden name."
Rose had died a few years after her husband died, a local hero now. As far as Lily was concerned, however, she'd died before that. Her love for Henry had been great, fierce even, and without him her spirit was lost. She'd stopped taking care of herself, and eventually had died of heart failure in her sleep.
"Right," Lily said with a sigh. "Well, I named him Harry."
"So?"
"You know, after Daddy. Henry."
"He hated when people called him Harry."
"Not when Mum did."
"Oh, I'm certain he hated Mum's nickname for him," Petunia snapped. "So whatever family honor you think you've given him, he's still a freak."
The phone clicked, and Lily closed her eyes.
Was Petunia right? Had their father truly hated the nickname? Lily supposed she could have just called him Henry, but it hadn't sounded right, and anyway, there could only be one Henry. No, Harry seemed the best way to honor him.
Lily held Harry close to her. "Nevermind your aunt. It's probably not safe for her to be around us right now anyway."
Lily knew Harry would live to his namesake - no matter how partial the namesake was - admirably. She just hoped he'd never suffer the same demons.
Shadow
When Harry made the connection, he sat in silence for a long while.
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked.
"Well," Harry said, "I guess I know where I got that stupid saving people thing from. Always thought it was my Dad..."
"You're not him," Ron said firmly.
"I know I'm not my Dad-"
"No, I mean Henry. I know how you think."
"Am I, though? Is the same thing going to happen to me? What does it say that I became an Auror? Maybe I never really stopped fighting either."
"You were going to be one war or not. You know that." Ginny put her arm around him. "And Henry didn't have us. You do. So don't be scared. Be proud."
"And maybe," Luna added, "this is actually a second chance. Do the things Henry never got to."
Harry thought she could right. And the least he could do was be glad for yet another connection to his family he'd never known.
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Nice
I will share it to my friends .