A/N: For the sake of this fanfic to work, I couldn't have Sirius die in OotP. Yes, Harry did see the whole vision and there was a great battle in The Department of Mysteries but Sirius didn't die, ok? I refuse to believe he did. I will also work into my story how he didn't die, etc.

It was the 31st of October. Kids passed by; dressed in weird assortments of costumes, holding bags filled to the brim with candies, chocolates, not giving second thoughts to the man in the deep blue robes weaving through them.

Harry thought back to the flashes he used to have when Voldemort was still strong, when he had seen Voldemort's memory of this same day, exactly 20 years back, and exactly the same place. Voldemort had then made his way up to that house in Godric's Hollow and killed - no murdered, his parents. Somehow, Harry could never use the word 'killed' to describe his parents' demise. Killed meant that the victim had fought back but did not survive. Murder, that's what had happened to his parents. They had not been given the chance to fight back. The blinding flash of green light had caught up with them; unsuspecting and immediate.

Harry brushed back the few tears that were threatening to fall. Every year since the Battle of Hogwarts, he made sure to come back to Godric's Hollow to visit their graves. Yet, every year, the same memory, the same pain would flash through his mind. He absent-mindedly rubbed the lightening-bolt shaped scar on this forehead. It was habit now, really. The scar hadn't pained him since the moment Voldemort had fallen as nothing more but a mortal corpse. The scar wasn't a casualty of the Battle of Hogwarts; like George's ear was, or Bill's scars. The scar was a reminder of the First Wizarding War. Of a time when there was very little hope of defeating the Darkest Wizard of all time, of a time when people were dying faster than they could say 'Voldemort'. It was a reminder of the life that Harry had lost 20 years ago, in a little cottage in Godric's Hollow.

The gravel crushed underneath his shoes as he slowly, yet steadily, made his way across the road, still thinking about how great it would be if he had a time turner. With just a few spins, he could at least have witnessed the love, loyalty and friendship between his parents, or maybe some of the memories he'd seen of his parents through Sirius' pensieve.

Sirius. Harry hadn't told Sirius where he was going, though he guessed Sirius would know. Every year, Sirius insisted on accompanying Harry when he visited James and Lily's graves. In an agreement that neither of them voiced out, they knew that they were each other's support in moments like these. Harry had not only lost his parents that night in Godric's Hollow, Sirius had lost his brothers, the Marauders, and his sister, Lily-flower.

Harry passed by the war memorial, not even glancing at it as it transformed into the statue of his parents holding him. Lost in his thoughts, he made his way past the church, through the kissing gate and towards the line of graves. A small, yet somehow miserable, smile played on his lips as he remembered the first time he'd come here with Hermione. So much had changed since then. With that slightly uplifting thought in his head, he made his way towards the back few rows of the graves where he knew his parents' graves lay.

A sudden snap of a branch was all it took to pull Harry out of his reverie. His head shot up as his eyes roamed his surroundings, finally landing on a couple that stood where his parents' graves were. He knew, from personal experience, that people did not usually tend to visit cemeteries on Halloween or, more importantly, at night. He quickly crouched behind a tombstone and surveyed the scene unfold behind him.

The man had his arm around the woman's shoulders as she clearly sobbed in his chest. Harry was too far to see their faces but he figured that even if he was closer, he wouldn't have been able to as they both wore hooded robes to cover themselves. Something about their robes reminded him distinctly of Death Eaters but he quickly shook that thought out of his head. After all, there were very few Death Eaters left, and why would any of them be crying over the Potters' graves?

Harry continued observing as the man quietly withdrew his wand, murmured a quiet enchantment and laid a bouquet of white roses on the grave which only made the woman sob harder. If that was possible, Harry silently mused. So clearly, they were wizards, Harry wondered, and now was the time to reveal himself to the quiet couple. Quietly (months of Auror training had taught Harry the need for stealth when approaching an enemy) Harry stood from behind the tombstone and made his way towards the couple. His right hand lay deep in his pocket, keeping a tight hold of his wand in the case that a duel may unfold.

But no matter how quietly Harry walked, there was no way of undermining the training and talent the man possessed. Due to the shifting movements just out of his vision, he quietly murmured something to his wife. He felt his wife's body tense underneath his arm, but nonetheless, she nodded and casually bent down on her knees to sit beside the grave. He then whipped out his wand and pointed it at the creeping young man that stood about 10 feet away from him.

Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks. He had not expected to be under the wand so soon. He took out his wand, aiming it at the man in front of him and, in a voice full of firm authority, asked, "Who are you?"

"Well, that depends…", the man drawled, frowning slightly at the unkempt hair the young man in front of him had.

"On?" Harry asked, slightly annoyed at this other man's inability to answer a question properly.

"Well, lad, it would depend on who was asking, really." Harry could practically hear the man smirking with his reply.

"Harry," he voiced out, thinking it best to get some sort of start on the introductions. "Harry Potter."

The effect was instant. The couple tensed and the woman suddenly whipped around with the speed of a lioness launching at her prey.

"Lower it," she demanded of her husband in a voice that held too many emotions to decipher; authority, suspicion, relief.

He needed no telling twice. The man lowered his wand but continued staring at the young boy in front of him, "Step up front, where we can actually see your face." He needed to be sure before he let his guard down. He couldn't let himself hope yet, not until he was sure.

Harry considered the man's demand. Sure, he had put his wand down but what was to say he wouldn't as easily aim it at Harry again? He came to a quick decision and instead of taking a step ahead, he lit his wand and pointed it at his face.

The couple, still tense, saw as the boy's face flooded with light. They took in his startling green eyes full of annoyance and suspicion, the lightning shaped scar that was partially hidden by the black mop of untidy hair.

"Harry…" the woman whispered. "Oh, Harry!"

Before either of the men knew, she had launched herself at the young boy in front of her, hugging him as fiercely as her tired body would allow her to. Harry's whole body tensed as the woman continued sobbing into his chest. He looked down at her and back up at her husband. Their faces were still hidden by their hoods but he could tell, from the stance of the man in front of him, that the danger from their initial encounter was over. But something still stopped him from shoving his wand back into his pocket.

The man, making sure to keep his face well out of Harry's lit wand's light, took a few steps forward and pried his wife off Harry. He chuckled a little as he said, "I think, love, that we should tell him who we are before we launch at him like that."

"Well then, who are you?" Harry asked, unable to contain his curiosity and annoyance any longer.

The woman shifted a little as her husband reached up to pull of his hood. She mirrored his actions but kept her bright green eyes locked on Harry's as he gave an involuntary gasp at finally seeing the faces of the hooded couple.

"Harry," she whispered. "We're your parents."