Death ➹ Harry Potter

Prologue

A twenty year old Harry Potter sat at the Three Broomsticks on a cold winter night, nursing his firewhiskey as he though about his life.

It had been three years since he had gotten rid of his nemesis, and his pathetic minions. Seven long years of fights, of war, of death, of pain. And then, all of a sudden, peace. To say he was expecting it to just be over would be a lie.

No matter how many times he had imagined being at peace, with nobody aiming for his head on a spike, he always though it an impossible dream. But most of the death eaters died during the last battle, only a few survived, and they were easily captured. Without their Lord they were like headless chickens, running around without knowing what to do.

The first few months after the war were spend reconstructing, not only Hogwarts who had suffered much damage during the battle, but also the British Wizarding Community. Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade both needed to be put together once more.

And not to mention the funerals. What followed the last battle was a long list of funeral, friends and enemies alike. He had attended all, he felt it was his duty. The friends to honor their memories. The enemies to honor what they could have been, if they had chosen other paths.

After Hogwarts was restored to its former glory, he had returned to finish his last year. Ron had wanted to go straight to Auror training, and had begged him to use his fame to do it. But he refused. He had just walked out of a war, he didn't want to step right into Auror training. He wanted to enjoy life, life with his friends. Hogwarts had always been his home, so he wanted to enjoy his last year without enemies plotting his death.

Hermione had agreed with his choice, of course she would. She wanted them all to finish their education, even if Ron though differently. Their seven year was the most fun, especially since they spent it mostly hanging out and not ... running from three headed dogs, or killing gigantic snakes.

Hermione and Ron had also started dating, he still didn't know how that relationship even worked but he wasn't going to say anything. They had gotten married a month after they finished their seventh year, and Hermione was almost ready to pop they first kid out.

That left him to think about his own relationship with the youngest Weasley, Ginny. They had shared a few looks, and a few kisses during the war. After the war ended, Ginny had wanted to start a serious relationship with him. While he wouldn't have been against a relationship, he wasn't sure if he wanted a serious one. He never did have a childhood, and he didn't had much time to be a teenager when people were trying to kill him left and right. He wanted to enjoy his life, his freedom.

He liked Ginny, taking her out on a few dates would have been fantastic. The problem was that everybody was pushing him to ask her to marry him, like they knew it was meant to be. He wanted a casual, no pressures relationship with her. Not a shotgun wedding.

He took her on a few dates during his seventh year, but when Hermione and Ron tied the knot everyone started to look at him with that glint in their eyes. The glint that pretty much asked 'When are you going to pop the question?'.

He wanted to scream 'never' out of the top of his lungs, but the Weasleys were his family. They cared for him, and loved him like one of their own. So instead of making his feelings known he continued to 'date' Ginny. He didn't feel bad about it, because he liked her. He wasn't in love her, he still didn't know the meaning of true love. He knew he loved Ginny, but he wasn't in love with her.

Even now, almost two years after Hermione and Ron married people still continued to give him the looks. But now he mostly ignored them. What bothered him however, were the stares Ginny gave him. He wasn't sure it was because of the wedding thing, or because they were dating for almost three years and still hadn't had sex. He also new that she was brave enough to ask him to marry her, and he was silently hoping she never though about it.