A loud sigh of frustration escaped the raven-haired boy's – no man's – lips. Understandably, he was under tight security, what
with his fame and high status in Wizarding society, but Percy had really gone too far. Percy Weasley was now Minister of
Magic, and though he did do an amazing job, he tended to be a bit too overprotective of the Wizarding World's pride and joy
that was Harry Potter. The portkey he held in his hands (a broken watch) would only be activated at a specific time and when
all of the wards of his destination were properly secured. Since the fall of Voldemort, there had been several attempts by
disbanded Death Eaters and other supposed Dark Lords to take Harry's life.
Finally, the watch glowed blue, and quite unexpectedly, Harry felt an unpleasantly familiar jerk at his navel. A second later, he
fell with a thud onto the hard ground, the flowers he held in his hand slightly rumpled. His cheeks were pink from his
embarrassingly ungraceful landing, he picked himself up and muttered under his breath that he really needed to learn to
Apparate. He held the lovely flowers carefully as he walked up a small hill, and stopped under the swaying branches of the
weeping willow that stood at the top. He quirked a smile and sat down across from his parents: Lily and James Potter, Sirius
Black, Remus Lupin, and Albus Dumbledore. He separated the flowers into five different sections and placed one bunch on
each gravestone. He leaned against the tree in silence, a sad smile on his lips, and a few tears rolling down his cheek. When the
sunset, he stood up and turned to leave, though not before whispering, "Love you guys. See you next week."
He could have sworn he heard a voice say, "See you Harry. We love you, too."
Must have been the wind.