Here is a short one shot. I of course do not own anything Harry Potter.

"If you're happy and you know it clap your hands"

I can hear the childlike chant of that song in my nightmares. I even hear it during my waking hours. I'll be cooking or cleaning and I'll hear children chanting the song giggling and clapping but it is a single voice that haunts me. A little boy's voice that seems to be mocking the words, a voice that it is almost mechanical. I have even searched the house looking for the child who taunts me however I never search the cupboard under the stairs.

God I hate this place. I look out the windshield at the sight in front of me. I have only ever been here twice and yet it is two times too many for me. Once again, like the first time I came here, no one knows that I have; neither my husband nor my son. It's not that I don't think they would have come but they just wouldn't understand. My family would never understand that I never did hate them. It was just complicated.

A shiver runs up my spine while I look over at a beautiful house. This place is filled with ghosts.

I don't know why it is this place that I seem closer to the dead. I never actually saw anyone alive in this place. Perhaps it is because this is the last place she lived. It is said that people can get stuck in the places they die; especially if they die in violent ways. I shudder slightly at this thought before pushing that idea away. Utter rubbish, I say there is no such thing as ghosts' the only thing that haunts people are memories.

"Petunia" I jerk my attention to the right in time to see a flash of red before my eyes land on the town sign. Godrics Hollow. The temperature inside my car seems to drop slightly at those two words. Shaking my head slightly I try to get a grip. I know it is all in my head. It is just a house. Hell it isn't even the same house that they lived in. That house is long gone, destroyed the same day she died. The house that now stands there is only a couple years old.

Another flash of red to my right has me jumping in my seat before I can get a hold of myself. My heart races with anticipation as well as fear at the sight of that red headed family. I know what this means and feel a glow of satisfaction that I made it but at the same time I am terrified at what it means.

What right do they have to be here? Do they not know that this is entirely their fault along with the rest of their kind?

They walk slowly towards a small building and it is as they walk that I finally notice that they are not the only ones of their kind there. They are dressed very inappropriately and some of them even appear to be taking pictures of the family of red heads. From my car I can see the wife leaning against her husband as if he is the only thing holding her up. A girl with long red hair who I guess is the daughter is crying while being held by the two devils. The two of the eldest boys are at least trying to get the photographers to stop which I find myself respecting them slightly for it. The last one I see is staring blankly at the building in front of him and is being held by a girl with untamed hair. I sneer slightly watching people come up to them and give what must be a condolences causing the wife to burst into more tears.

How dare they make a mockery of this day. Who do they think they are they have no claim on him. He didn't belong to them. Did they think that they made him happy? Did they not see how awful he looked every time he returned from their world? Did they not see that he had been slowly dying since he had turned eleven?

If you're happy and you know it clap your hands

I barely stop myself from looking into the review mirror to see if the child with the messy mop of hair is behind me. Watching me from behind those feline eyes of his the way he always did.

I reach across the seat and grab the two parcels that I brought with me before stepping out of my car. With a deep breath I begin to walk into the cemetery that lies between the house and the small church were the red heads went.

The last time I was here I had to search between the rows and rows of graves before I found the one I was looking for all the while carrying a small babe who seemed to understand slightly what was going on and did not once cry out. Well that isn't completely true he began to cry the minute we came to Lily's grave. I had almost walked right by it when he let out his first wail. My eyes wander down to the grave that I had come to just barely sixteen years earlier.

Lily Ann Evens- Potter

Loving Friend, Wife and Mother

1959-1981

It's so unlike Lily. So plain and simple nothing like she was. They didn't even spell her name right. It was Anne with an E, our mother spent weeks deliberating how to spell Lily's middle name. It was one mom's favorite stories. I would have been able to come up with a better marker; one that suited her. I would have spelt my sisters name correctly. But they never came to ask me, they didn't care. Instead of morning my sister they were throwing parties.

Guilt almost overwhelms me as I look down at the grave marker that is almost all covered in moss. I refuse to look at the marker next to hers of that man who lead her to her death. Kneeling absent mindedly I begin to clean the marker and pull weeds that have sprouted. I have let her down in so many ways.

"I swear to God Lily I tried to help your son. I truly did." I whisper into the wind.

My memory drifts back to another time that almost seems like a different life.

I was never like Lily.

Dad always called Lily his little wildfire because she was warm, caring, and flashing in and out peoples lives for only a short period of time but she always left an enormous impact on those she met. I personally thought that he called her his little wildfire because of the path of destruction she could cause in a blink of an eye with her temper.

Mom on the other hand called Lily an old soul. Mom always swore that Lily had eyes that were older then her; mom confided in me a few years before her death that Lily's eyes had disturbed her at times when she was younger. I hadn't truly understood what Mom had meant about eyes that were too old or saw too much until years later. She swore to me that Lily could look into someone soul and see what kind of person they were.

There were times when I was jealous of Lily. Like the time that Grammy was so sick and she kept asking me to get Lily; like I wasn't good enough. Or the time I brought home a boy during Lily's vacation to meet the family and he spent the whole time trying to hit on Lily. And yes the day that she got her letter and we found out about magic is another time I felt jealousy for my sister.

She was beautiful inside and out. The world wrapped around her little finger.

She was by no means perfect though. She had a temper that was fierce and a tongue that could cut to the core. She was amazingly intelligent and used that ability to get what she wanted manipulating people for her purpose. There were moments were she could be cold and calculating to get what she wanted.

But none of that mattered because I still loved her. She was my little sister.

Even before we knew she had magic the family had known that she was special.

Then there was me; the complete opposite of Lily.

Dad always called me his stick in the mud. Of course he said with a great deal of affection. I was his child that liked order, avoiding confrontation at all costs and rather was rather a plain Jane. Although he never said that I was plain. I was beautiful in my own way. That's the thing about fathers they always see you as beautiful.

Mother called me her kindred spirit who she could talk to about any of her worries; most of them being about Lily and the magical world.

When I met Vernon the thought of marrying him never really occurred. I had been looking for a date to a friend of the families wedding and he was available and interested. He wasn't the most attractive man and rather boring but then who was I to complain since I was neither attractive nor exciting. I truly started to think about him seriously when he met Lily and didn't really pay her any attention. He talked to her politely but other then that he kept most of his focus on me.

And that was that.

It was after Vernon and I were married that he found out that Lily was a witch and problems began to occur. I'm not even all that sure why he had such a difficult time accepting magic was real other then it went against everything he had been raised to believe. The first time he called Lily a freak my heart broke. Perhaps I should have stood up for Lily and fought to get him to see that she wasn't a freak but I wasn't like my sister who stood up for her beliefs; so I let it slide. Any time I went to see my family and my sister was there I would go alone and make an excuse for Vernon. In those few years I learned to lie extraordinarily well. I began to build a mask that showed happiness.

It isn't that Vernon has ever hurt me or intentionally made me unhappy but it always had to be his way things were done. Appearances have to be kept up. I know that I could have tried to persuade him to do things other ways but it was easier just to along and then do what I wanted when he wasn't looking.

You wouldn't have done that Lily but I wasn't you.

Your kind wonders why I don't like them; the question they should be asking is how I can like them?

I never really had a problem with your kind while you were alive, I truly didn't Lily. I just didn't like the idea of magic. It went against everything I was taught. It was also a rather frightening idea that people could just pop into your house at any given time unannounced and there was nothing I could have done. But I could live with that, I even came to accept it.

What I could not accept was finding out my sister was dead the same time I found your son at my door. Who does that to someone? Hell, who leaves a child outside on a cold autumn night for that matter. The only explanation I got was from a letter that was brutally to the point that you were dead and your son would die if I didn't take him in. It took me two weeks to find your grave so that I could say my goodbyes and let your child say his own goodbyes even if he was too young to understand.

The letter even mentioned that your son was a hero that your world was worshipping, celebrating. I found it cruel to celebrate the day his parents died. Your people didn't seem to grasp that they were celebrating this child becoming an orphan.

Perhaps the thing I hated most about your people is that they got you killed. If you had never entered that world you most likely would still be alive. If you hadn't entered that world I would have had a sister to gossip to, complain to and fight with. But they killed you.

I had no one to turn to ask questions on how to raise a magical child. I had no one I could contact to explain that my husband didn't want to have your son in our house. It didn't help that Vernon had just started at a new job and we were barely making ends meet with one toddler and now we had two.

No one bothered to ask me if I wanted another child in the house. If they had I could have honestly told them I wouldn't be able to handle it. I never wanted to be a mother. Children had never been in my plans. I looked at them as being messy and rather bothersome. Just one more difference between you and me, Lily, one more difference.

The only reason I had Dudley was because Vernon was so adamant that we have children. He had wanted several so we compromised and decided to have one. Don't get me wrong I love my son but I am the first one to admit that I don't know how to handle children. Looking at what he has become, I see now that I have made so many mistakes. But it is too late to right the damage done there.

Lily did you listen your son call for his mama the first two months he was with us? Did you watch over your son? Did you cringe knowing that it was me looking after him? Did you curse me every time I hurt him?

Because looking back now I cringe at the way I treated him.

But at the time...

It started as me just being stressed. I had barely been able to keep my sanity when it had been just Dudley and then suddenly there was another baby thrown my way. They always needed something, wanted something. No matter how much time there was in the day I just didn't have enough time. Since Dudley was the baby who protested the most and the loudest I always made sure that he had everything he wanted. Harry would be quiet as long as he had the bare minimums.

I then began to resent your son. He seemed to be able to do everything better and faster then Dudley. Harry was able to soak up knowledge like a sponge and Dudley was left in the dust. Whenever we went anywhere people always commented on how sweet Harry was before looking away from my son. I didn't want my son to grow up thinking he wasn't as good as yours. Vernon was becoming more displeased and we were fighting more and the reason for our fights was almost always Harry. I began to see your son as the reason for all my problems.

Then it became that I didn't like being in the same room as the little boy with your eyes. At times he would look at me and I would think that you, Lily, were in the room judging me. At other times Harry would look me in the eye and I would swear that he was looking into me and seeing my deepest, darkest secrets and finding me lacking. It was during this time that I finally understood what mother had meant all those years ago about your eyes. So I started to ignore him and not look into his eyes.

Then Harry did his first bit of magic and Vernon came up with the idea of trying to get rid of his magic. I had to agree Lily since magic is what got you killed in the first place. If being a little tougher on your son would save him from your fate I thought it was a price worth paying. We moved him under the stairs and told him he could have a room if never did anything freaky again. We took away other things in hopes to bribe him away from magic such as toys and television. We completely ignored him hoping that he would stop doing magic in order to be normal and get the things that normal people had.

Once we discovered that his magic wasn't going to stop I came up with the idea of preparing him for being on his own since we were not going to support him. I gave him chores upon chores teaching him to be self sufficient and hard working.

There were hints that we had taken it to far. That bloody song would be one of the hints. But by that time we had already dehumanized him in our own minds.

I can still remember going to the school for that teacher's conference. Hearing Harry's grade two teacher saying that he refused to clap for the song and that if he didn't participate for the school concert he would get a failing grade. Then the teacher asking me if there was anything going on at home that would be upsetting Harry. It took me an hour to convince that teacher that we were by no means harming Harry and that I would find out what was upsetting him. The moment I got him home I hit him on his head and asked what he was thinking. His only reply had been 'your not suppose to lie.' I had smacked him again and told him to do as he was told because sometimes you had to do things you didn't like.

I can still see him standing on that stage with the other second years. All around him children are grinning, singing and clapping with great enthusiasm. Then there was Harry, he was smiling, singing and clapping; to the rest of the audience he looked like a sweet little boy showing off the song he had learned to them. But I saw what they didn't. He was staring right at me through the whole song with dead green eyes. With every note of the song, every clap of his hands he was mocking our life. His voice seemed to cut through the rest sounding dull and almost lifeless. I choose to ignore it but I knew then and there that he was dieing inside.

Looking back now I can see the abuse from the beginning. I can see it progress through the years that we had him.

"I am so sorry Lily" I whisper into the air.

"Petunia"

My head jerks up at my name only to find that there is no one there. I look behind me to the church and see that all there kind have obviously moved inside and I know that it is time.

I look down at Lily's grave to see that I have successfully straightened it up as well as her husbands. Standing up I lean back over and place the bouquet of petunia's on her grave. Funny that petunias were always her favorite flowers.

I walk purposely to the church clutching the remaining package.

Stepping inside I take in the amount of those people and almost turn around but my eyes fall on his body.

But it is not a young man that I see. Not at all.

I see him at two looking up at me distortedly through the water, that one time I let him slip in the tub and I watched him struggle to break the surface of the water to reach air.

I see him at three poking his head out of the cupboard looking around for anything or anyone that might be dangerous.

I see him at five coming home from his first day of school and declaring that he learned today his name is Harry Potter not freak or boy.

I see him at six determinedly trying to lift a pot that is almost bigger then him off of the stove as he tries his best to make breakfast.

I see him at seven sitting in the teacher's room explaining that he won't clap for the song because he was taught not to lie.

I see him at eight sitting to the corner of the living room as we sit around the Christmas tree opening presents galore and he has only one in front of him.

I see him at eleven getting his first letter to that school of his and seeing the hope flare into his eyes.

I see him at thirteen looking tired but content.

I see him at fourteen looking as if the world may just come crashing down.

I see him at fifteen looking like the world has come crashing down.

I see him at sixteen looking as if the only thing standing between the end of the world is him.

And I see him at seventeen walking away from Private drive for the last time looking like he was going to battle.

I come too and see that as my mind wandered I have made my way up to the front of the room and now stand before his coffin that he lies in.

My hand reaches down with a mind of it's own to brush his bangs over the scar his world was so fond of, a momentum of the night his parents died, the night my sister died.

As I look at him I wonder if anyone ever told him how much he looked and acted like his mother. He had her slender frame, her eyes, her cheekbones, even her smile. He had her laugh, her strength, even her temper. He had the same ability to touch a person's life only momentarily and make all the difference in the world.

I can hear them behind me shifting in their seats and whispering but I continue to ignore them keeping a mask of indifference on as a look down at this child that I hardly knew.

I can't help but wonder if he knew that he was like me as well? That he had gotten his inquisitiveness nature from me, and his ability to hide his emotions, thoughts and fears.

My eyes finally drift away from his face and down to a small blue blanket in my hands. I let my fingers run over HJP embroidered in the corner of the blanket. I can recognize it as Lily's work anywhere. This blanket was the only thing he came to my house with other then the clothes on his back. I took it from him when Dudley started to show interest in it knowing that Vernon or I would want to give it to him or throw it away so he would stop throwing a fit. I almost got rid of it several times over the years but each time I went to throw it away my fingers would brush over Lily's embroidery and I would stop.

With less then a steady hand I place the one possession that he had when he first came to me beside him.

I hear a small clap behind me and I turn around quickly. How dare they clap now begins to run in my mind but stops just as suddenly at the sight I see.

A little boy with a mop of brown hair stands at the door looking at me full of mistrust. Piercing green eyes stare at me and I feel as if he is judging my soul. He cocks his head to the side as if seeing something inside me that has surprised him. Then slowly he gives me a hesitant smile and nods slightly.

"Mrs. Dursley?" I look away from the child and see one of the red heads is looking at me oddly. Ignoring him I look back at the doorway for the child only to find that he is not there and there are only wizards and witches looking at me.

Straightening my shoulders I hold my head high and I leave this place without a backward glance.

I think of the little boy I saw and I wonder if it is possible but I stop myself from continuing that line of thinking.

There is no such thing as ghosts only memories.

I ignore the faint laughter that I hear and what almost sounds like barking.

Utter rubbish.