A/N: Well, today is Hallowe'en and I just couldn't resist...enjoy
Twenty Years Later
While others are preparing for the grand ball that is to be held that Hallowe'en night, a certain Harry Potter sits in his chair by the kindling fire, a glass of Firewhiskey in one hand and a photo album propped open on the table in front of him. He growls at the fire, before downing his drink.
He isn't in the mood for such festivities, even if it is to be held in their honour. There is nothing to be celebrated, in his opinion, not that anyone had bothered asking him. They had just gone ahead with their plans, assuming he would be thrilled. As if! Twenty years have passed since that fateful night.
Twenty years and he still misses them terribly. Their life had been cut short and all for what? For nothing. Voldemort had returned, bringing with him even more destruction. Too many lives had been lost. Too many families destroyed. And it was because of him. It was all his fault. His fault his parents were dead, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred. Even Dumbledore's death was his fault.
A flash of red catches his eye and he looks down. His mum's loving face is looking up at him, smiling widely. He sighs sadly. She had been so young and beautiful. So full of life. And with a simple flick of a wand, she had gone. Gone, leaving him behind. The-Boy-Who-Lived. That's what they called him. He would much rather have been The-Boy-Who-Died if it meant he could be with his parents.
Don't say that! a voice inside his head scolds. It sounds a lot like Ginny. Ginny. Where is she? She is the only who can reach him whenever he's in this state. Maybe it's better that she isn't there. He doesn't want her to see him like this.
As if he has summoned her with his thoughts, she Apparates in front of him with a faint 'pop'. One look at him and she already knows what's wrong. He needn't say anything.
She strolls over to him and gathers him in her arms. He inhales her intoxicating scent, making him feel oddly at ease. Before he can help it, he begins to cry. She isn't surprised by it anymore. They're past that.
She just holds him, caressing his hair as he weeps. So much had happened in such a small amount of time that Harry hadn't had the time to grasp it all. But now, nearly four years later, it is all starting to catch up with him. His sobs gradually lessen and he is finally able to breathe again.
She stands up and offers him her hand. Harry stares at it, confusion evident in his eyes, before taking it.
Harry gradually opens his eyes and takes the scene in. Godric's Hollow. A shadow of a smile crosses his lips. Ginny always seems to know exactly what he needs, even before he is aware of it himself. Harry takes her hand again and they walk hand in hand, down the same path he and Hermione walked upon just a few years ago.
They pass the same cosy cottages, but this time they are decorated in honour of the Hallowe'en festivities. Harry wonders if his own house had such decorations that night, when a sudden movement catches his eye.
The war memorial transforms into the statue of Lily and James Potter, with baby Harry sitting between them. He stares at it hungrily, trying to take it all in. He looks up at his father's eyes, so full of laughter and his mother's kind face, so full of love. They were twenty-one when they died. The same age he is now. He feels Ginny gently squeeze his hand and he smiles sadly at her. She leads him away, knowing very well that he is on the verge of tears again.
She leads them towards the graveyard and they cross the same kissing gate, just like he and Hermione had that Christmas. He's only been to visit them twice: once with Hermione and then again that after Voldemort's defeat. The second time he had come back, he had been alone. He had left before even reaching their graves. He didn't think he had the strength then to face them. But he wasn't alone this time. He was with Ginny. And she gave him all the strength he needed.
It doesn't take long before he finds their graves. He peers down, reading the inscription that had confused him so much. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. He hadn't understood what that meant. But now he does. He's seen death, faced it even. No matter how many enemies you fight or how many trials you overcome, the last challenge that you'll ever face is death. Death always comes for everybody. That was something Voldemort had failed to see.
He lets out a sigh and feels Ginny squeeze his hand again. He wonders again if his parents have any notion that their son is standing so close to them.
"I miss you," he whispers softly, his voice breaking.
"They've never really left you, Harry," she says softly, reaching up to brush a tear away.
Ginny slips her hand away from his and conjures a single, white lily, before placing it on top of his parent's tombstones. He smiles at her before steering her in the direction of their house. His house. The dark, broken mass of his house soon came into view. He reaches the fence and places a hand on top of it, raising the sign, just like it had when he first visited.
He reads its over again, surprised to find that written over the encouraging words are words of gratitude. 'Long live Harry Potter'. 'May the heavens forever bless you, Harry!' 'Thank you, Harry. For everything'.
Harry sighs and removes his hand from the gate, before pushing the door open. He turns back to look at Ginny, but she just smiles and shakes her head. She knows this is something he must do alone.
"I'll be here when you come back," she says.
He nods and turns back towards the house, now resting peacefully against the October night sky. He walks up the cobblestone path, towards his house. He notices that there is no door and he faintly remembers that Voldemort had blasted it open that night. He inhales deeply before crossing the threshold, channeling his Gryffindor courage. It takes him a few moments to readjust to the sudden lack of light.
"Lumos," he whispers quietly, instantly filling the room with warm light.
He sighs before walking into the sitting room. He looks around, trying to take it all in. A few picture frames sit on the mantelpiece above the fireplace, some of them empty. A particular picture catches his eye and he walks closer to it. It is of Lily and James, in their school uniform, holding hands and smiling at whoever was behind the camera. He returns their smile, before pocketing it.
He turns around and observes the sitting room. Every inch of it is covered in dust. It is simply decorated, yet elegant. A loveseat sits in front of the fireplace, with an armchair on either side of it. A lone rocking chair stands in a corner and Harry has a sudden image of a very pretty redhead rocking a small, chubby black-haired baby to sleep, singing softly. He smiles sadly before continuing onto the next room: the kitchen.
Just like the sitting room, this room too is covered by twenty years' worth of dust. He notices a stack of plates besides the sink, still waiting for someone to put them back in their place, almost giving the sense that his mum has just exited the kitchen. He sighs sadly before turning around and making his way towards the stairs.
He places a hand on the banister hesitantly running a hand through his disheveled hair. The stairs look a bit unsteady, but he decides it's worth the risk. He makes his ascent slowly and is hit with a wave of cold air as soon as he reaches the top.
The first room that comes to view is burnt beyond recognition, with the roof completely torn apart. His room. The place where it all started. He sighs and turns away from it, making his way towards the next room. An ornate L&J is carved on top of the threshold and he smiles sadly. That must be his parent's room.
He gently pushes the door open, peering inside. His parents' room seems decorated in the same fashion as the sitting room. Harry notices the large bed that looks as it might have been comfortable once. There, a faded, pretty, green robe lies across the bed, almost as if his mum has just placed it there. He walks over to it, grazing his hands across the soft fabric, before turning to the desk.
Scraps of parchment lie there and Harry looks through them, looking for something. Anything. A particular parchment catches his eye and he recognises the writing almost immediately: Lily.
30 October 1981
Dear Harry,
Your father would surely have a fit if he saw me writing this letter right now, but it is something I must do. He refuses to accept what I already know: death is inevitable, love, and one day I must part this world. But I'm not scared of death. The only thing that scares me is leaving you before I am ready. If my time should come before I get the chance to watch you grow, I want you to know that you were loved, Harry. Deeply loved. Never forget that.
When I was younger, I never thought that it was possible to feel so much love for another human being. But as I look down at you now, I know that it is possible. You are the very reason for my existence. And I love you, Harry. I can never grow tired of saying it. And I want you to remember that. Your father and I love you deeply.
After learning that Voldemort was after you, Daddy and I had to go into hiding. You may not understand any of it now, but know that I had to leave, to ensure your survival, Harry. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I would die a thousand deaths if I had to, just to ensure your safety.
You are the best thing that has ever happened to Daddy and I. Even though you may feel alone at times, know this: You are never alone. I will always be by your side, love, protecting you. I'll be next to you, every step of the way. If ever you feel lonely, love, you need only speak. Because I will listen. I will always be with you, whether it be in this life or the next.
Hopefully, you will never see this letter and I will be able to tell you this in person. But it was something I had to get off my chest. Remember Harry, I love you. Daddy loves you. And we are both very proud of the man you have become.
Love now and always,
Mum and Dad
Harry reads the last words again: we are both very proud of the man you have become.
There it was. The answer to the very question Harry has been asking himself all these years. A single tear rolls down his face, leaving a blotch on the paper. He quickly wipes it away and carefully folds the letter before placing it in his pocket.
He walks down the stairs again, with a renewed sense of purpose. He feels oddly satisfied, no longer ridden with guilt. Ginny was right. His parents would always be with him, and he'd be with them soon enough. But for now, he had a whole world of possibilities and an entire lifetime to make them happen. And one person to share it all with. And that person was Ginny.