The wrought iron kissing gate of St. Jerome's Cemetery gleamed solemnly in the bright light of the summer sun as he stood before it, dressed in a short sleeved t-shirt acid-washed blue jeans and a pair of somewhat scuffed trainers though his effort to blend in amongst the Muggles was ruined rather spectacularly by the emerald coils of his familiar that were wrapped securely around his shoulders and neck. In the deep shadows of the old church, its stained glass windows isolated shimmering portals of brilliance scattered amongst the dominion of the peacefully sleeping dead, the dark brunet felt outlandishly out of place and very much as if he shouldn't be there. Though he knew he had to stay, for the sake of his own peace of mind if absolutely nothing else.

Not to mention that all of the effort he'd gone through to sneak away from the Burrow-and under Mad-Eye Moody's watch, no less-couldn't be allowed to go to waste and thereby he couldn't turn back without at least preforming the very basics of what he'd come to.

Silent and with a grim-expression far beyond his years set onto his face the handsome youth moved purposefully between the countless neat rows of markers, old and new, upright and lain flat, white and grey and black, dark blue eyes scanning names and dates in search of two in particular. When he'd found them at last, after close to twenty minutes of stalking the hallowed grounds like a loosed Kirk Grim, they were emblazoned into an obelisk of shining white marble.

JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER

BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960

DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

With shaking hands, Tom lay the bouquet of flowers he'd brought with him-painstakingly constructed of summoned China Pink, White Clover, Marigolds and Rue-at the foot of the headstone before carefully kneeling in the deep emerald grass. Nagini looked on in concern as he gathered himself, staring at the stone in front of him for what seemed to be a small eternity, before finally finding his voice.

"I know that-." Tom cut himself off and shook his head. Mouth suddenly inexplicably dry, he licked his lips before trying again. "They say that the dead know all so you must know who I am, and…I can hardly imagine that you want me here. I've done terrible things, or would have done terrible things. Much of the suffering and pain of the person I care the most for in the world is my fault. You're dead because of me. But I hope that…you'll listen. If even just a little. And believe the message which the flowers I brought with me were meant to convey though I suppose it may have been at least a little bit presumptuous to assume that either of you were interested enough in Victorian literature to care for flower meanings…"

He trailed off, running trembling fingers quickly through dark curls.

"Merlin! I'm never this nervous when I'm talking to the living. And, to be honest, I doubt I'd be so nervous talking to anyone else in this graveyard either because, I….Circe, you both must hate me. Rightfully. I killed you. I murdered both of you and tried to kill your son and now I'm with him and I…it doesn't help and it won't bring you back to know it but, I…in all honesty I've hated myself with an indescribable ferocity every hour of every day since the moment I learned of all that I've done to him."

His eyes fell to the flowers sitting on the ground, their petals-a mix of white, yellow and pastel pink-standing out against the earth in streaks of color. A peace offering which now seemed grossly inadequate in the face of all his countless sins.

"He should hate me for it too, but he doesn't. Because he's a better man than that. Than me. Than I could ever be. Harry should blame me, and yet instead he insists on telling me that what Voldemort has done isn't my fault: I think that he really believes it, too. There was once a time when I was selfish enough to believe it, but now I know the truth: I bear the responsibility of having created Voldemort in the first place, and thereby every sin he has committed rests with me."

As his shoulders curled inwards Nagini's coils tightened as if in an effort to comfort him but she didn't speak.

"I love him. With every fiber of my being which I once devoted to hatred and avarice I love your son. And though I know, but Morgana, that I have no right to ask anything of you I'm still going to beg on my knees, my bloody pride be damned to hell along with me, for your blessing in regards to our relationship. Or, at least, that you not scorn your son for falling in love with a monster."

The sun continued shining overhead. The headstone in front of him remained resolutely mute. Tom stayed there, kneeling and head bowed, until Nagini broke the silence at last.

"Master, the Order's Werewolf is staring at you."

"Remus." Tom sighed.

As if prompted forwards by the fact that the other had acknowledged his presence Lupin moved closer, his footsteps stopping just beside him in the grass. Still, Tom did not look up.

"He's right to tell you that Voldemort's actions are not your fault, you know." He said.

"I don't."

"You may have created him, as you say, but you didn't kill James and Lily. You didn't brand Harry with that scar. You aren't the one who is holding Wizarding Britain in a grip of fear. You and Voldemort are no longer the same man."

"You sound like Harry."

Lupin smiled. "Good. Harry seems to be the only one capable of convincing you of anything."

Tom attempted to smile in return, but his face refused to properly respond. "Got ahold of Polyjuice Potion in a desperate attempt to escape your Muggle relatives, did you?"

The older Wizard shook his head. "Given some of what I've heard about the Dursleys I wouldn't be entirely surprised to hear he had tried such a thing." His gaze found the bouquet and he raised an eyebrow. "An interesting choice of flowers."

"Each of those holds a very specific meaning." His reply was brittle. "A half-baked idea and most likely wasted effort, thinking back on it. Messages mean nothing when they're not understood."

"To my knowledge James didn't know much of flower meanings beyond the mainstream-roses for love and lilies for mourning-nor, to be honest, do I think that he much cared. Lily, however, knew quite a few." With a rictus hesitance and rather sour tone he added "Severus taught her, I believe. They were friends, once."

Tom made a small, non-committal sound.

"You've worried quite a few people by running off like this. There was a mentionable panic around the Burrow before Ginny admitted she'd helped to smuggle you out and told us where you'd gone."

Another wordless sound.

"You confided in her, and not someone else, despite your…conflicts?"

"Ginerva and I have a strange strained relationship, but we're united in a common goal. She was the only one there who both understood who I really am and wasn't bound by some principle or another to stop me from running off." His eyes never left the gravestone in front of him, as if he suspected it would divulge the meaning of life at any moment. "I had to do this. Alone. Precious would be furious with me if he knew of what I've said."

Tom didn't need to see him to feel the other man's concern. "You should tell him. Harry needs to be made aware of how you feel, Tom. He may be able to help you move passed it."

"He already does. At least in some shallow capacity though I've never disclosed the true depth of it: the Chosen One has enough on his plate as it is without having to worry about his basket case boyfriend on top of it all. As for helping me…the only thing which will allow me to 'move passed it' is seeing Voldemort dead, once and for all." He told him. "Only then will I ever be able to begin to forgive myself."

Rather than comment, Lupin said "you're both very much alike, you know." Tom said nothing. Nagini hissed softly and rested her head against his collar bone. "James and Lily would be glad to know that their son has ended up with someone like you."

"A murderer?" his tone was entirely flat with no inflection.

The Werewolf had no response to that statement. "Come on, Tom. We should really be getting back before Alastor decides that you've been gone for long enough and comes to drag you back himself. We wouldn't want that, I'm sure."

"No," he echoed in a hollow voice, clambering back onto his feet at last, "we wouldn't want that."

Still looking somewhat concerned for the wellbeing of the younger wizard, Lupin nodded and began to head back towards the cemetery's gate. With one last look at the grave and the flowers that he'd set before it, Tom followed him out.