For a moment, the warlock knelt triumphant, with a heart clutched in each hand; then he fell across the maiden's body, and died.

Harry gurgles happily, obviously unaware of the violent nature of the tale you have just recounted to him. Just as well; if James was around, he would certainly not approve of his one year old listening to something that gave even him the shivers – though he did try to hide it as best he could.

"See, Harry, this shows us that no matter how smart we think we are, we can never run away."

Harry cocks his head to one side, a perfect image of his father, as though he understands exactly what you mean and is deliberating the matter in his tiny head. After a few thoughtful seconds, he drools in response.

"You know Harry; your dad doesn't want me to read this story to you; he thinks it will give you nightmares. Well, it's really Mummy's fault for saying this is Beedle's best work…"

Harry looks up at you. Though his vocabulary is limited, he can recognize words like "Mummy" and "Dad". And you think that he also somehow knows that "Mummy" and "Dad" have not been very nice when mummy trails of sentences when saying "dad". He looks up at you before giving a slobbery giggle, forming tiny spit bubbles around his pink lips. They seem to be saying "well, it serves you right for bringing it up in front of him".

You sigh, closing the book in front of you and banishing it to the bookshelf - safely out of your one year old's reach. He does not share your liking for books, resulting in several pages from your potion encyclopedias already finding their way out of the binder when left alone with the toddler.

"Harry, did Mummy ever tell you about a friend she used to have?.."

"Boohn," Harry replies, making full use of all the sounds he can make.

"Well, I'll tell you now, love. See, when Mummy was very little, she had a friend. Then Mummy grew up and the friend went away. Mummy was sad but then you came along and she thought everything would be okay."

"Obay, Obay, Obay!" screams Harry, catching on to the new word and announcing it jubilantly to you and the empty house.

"Yes, I thought things would be Obay, but as we've just heard from Beedle, you can't run away from things."

"Boohn?" Harry repeats questioningly, seeming to patiently be telling you to get to the point. He's a lot more like James then you.

"Well, what I mean is that no one in the world deserves to never be forgiven. No matter what they've done. Everyone here deserves a second chance, even that warlock. Yes, he was evil and did something very wrong which he should not have, but no one can possibly punish him any more then he did himself. When you grow up, someday, you will have a choice between forgiving someone and not; and trust me on this, sweetie, you'll want to forgive, because, if you don't accept forgiveness from the right person at the right time, you'll never be able to forgive yourself… ever."

You look down to see what impact your little monologue has had on your son, and true to form, he has fallen asleep. You get up carefully from the armchair, trying not to jostle the baby awake as you carry him to his cot in your room and place him gently inside. When Harry sleeps with his eyes closed, he looks exactly like his father plus the baby fat. No sign of you on him whatsoever. You feel guilty to admit that you like him best this way; when nothing in him can relate back to you.

You walk over to the bookshelf once more and extract the volume of Beedle's tales you'd been reading. Unconsciously, you open it right at the end of The Warlock's Hairy Heart, and the small illustration of the long, dark haired wizard swims into your vision. You clutch the book closely to your chest and choke out the same words you have done a thousand times before. The fact that they won't change anything this time around still not enough to stop you from repeating the ritual.

"I'm so sorry, Sev… So sorry…"