Harry hadn't been there in a very long time, it seemed. In reality, it had been just over a year or so, but nevertheless…
He opened the gate to the cemetery and slipped inside, shutting it with an almost inaudible click. A sigh escaped his lips and he shivered. The wind was harsh that day, blowing restlessly and without mercy through the trees. To keep his ears same from the cold, he pulled the hood up on his jacket and shoved his cold hands into his jean pockets, turning up his MP3 player as he did so.
With Green Day blaring in his ears, he began to scan the tombstones, taking great care not to step on any of the stops where, even after what could have been bloody centuries, he could tell there were bodies. He walked pass the first row, the second, third, forth, fifth, and finally turned into the sixth row, where he slowed down considerably and actually read what was written on the aged stone.
His steps slow even further, when he reaches the grave of his parents. His heart clenches in pain and he feels a sharp sting behind his eyes that could only be tears. His knees buckle and he knees down, hard, on the cold, hard earth that covers the remains of his parents. He buried his face in his hands as his shoulders shook with dry sobs that made no sound. He didn't want to be found, after all.
When he finally recovered, he looked up at the stone. The sting behind his eyes returned as he read the written- engraved- words that shouldn't have been there. For one selfish moment, Harry considered ending it all right there. Every one of his family members was dead, after all, as the Weasleys didn't really count. (His parents- James and Lily- Sirius, Remus…) Ginny was off at school, and when she was home, she had so much work to do. He didn't, because he wasn't the one signing onto the Holyhead Harpies as lead Chaser. Hermione was in a similar boat to Ginny, off at school, and Ron was going into Auror Training.
But he didn't. He knew he couldn't. He had Teddy to look after, and he was still working on Grimmauld's reconstruction. Ginny wouldn't start playing on the team until next season, and by then they'd be married. He sighed and bushed back the tears. Then he reached out with one shaky hand and ran numb fingers over his father's name. "Happy Birthday, Dad," he whispered mournfully. His green eyes flickered over to his mother's name and he continued. "I miss you both, so, so much. Love you."
He withdrew his wand and tapped the stone, watching as vines of various flowers began to coat the marker. Then he stood and walked away, not looking back. He knew if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave. He disapperated when he reached the gate, greeting his home at Grimmauld Place with a sigh.
Even on James' birthday I can't write anything without angst. Even my romances and more light-hearted ones are angsty. Anyway, Happy Birthday, James Potter.
R&R?