"Professor Dumbledore. Can I ask you something?"
A gentle breeze blows ripples across the lake next to the castle. The leave display fiery reds and golden browns in a wonderfully colorful last stand against the coming season. The chill of autumn has settled over the grounds, with places here and there showing signs of the impending frost.
A young man with messy, jet-black hair approaches the marble tomb, cloak rustling in the wind. He is bundled up at his wife's insistence, with a scarf and a warm sweater adorning his thin frame. He stops at the head of the coffin, then kneels down, a soft smile drawing across his face even as tears prick the corners of his eyes.
"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."
"Hello, Professor," Harry said. "It has been a while."
He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
"Ginny and I have had our second child. Another son, if you can believe it. We've decided to name him after you and Snape." Professor Snape, Harry, he heard the venerable headmaster's voice chide in his mind, not without a touch of mirth. "I know you wanted him and me to bury the hatchet, but old habits die hard. Anyway, I came up to visit Neville and see how the school was going."
He paused for a spell, looking out over the lake and seeing some fourth years teasing the giant squid. Some things never change, he thought, chuckling to himself as the ancient beast lazily swiped at the rambunctious students.
A familiar smell drifted across the grounds, telling Harry that Hagrid was making his infamous rock cakes. He resolved then and there to stop in on his first wizarding friend to catch up; although he must remember to dunk the cakes in the tea to soften them up a bit first, as a few of his aching molars reminded him.
"You know, it's days like today where I think I understand what you meant in my first year. I never thought I'd be a husband, much less a father. Yet here I am today, married to a beautiful woman, and with two sons."
"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"
Harry stood to leave, then paused, pulling something from his pocket and looking at it. Grinning ruefully and shaking his head, he placed it on the coffin and whispered farewell.
"I?"
The breeze rises again, causing the leaves to dance along the surface of the lake. Down the path of the Forbidden Forest, two old friends are catching up over tea. ("Another one? Congrats, Harry! I always figured you'd be a great da!") An owl screeches, swooping towards the castle in the descending twilight.
On the marble tomb lay a pair of thick, woolen socks.
It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.