I smell the rotting leaves as my feet sink silently into them; my trainers are fairly new, their laces haven't lost their tight springiness yet. Harry bought me them for my sixteenth birthday a month ago and I have managed to keep their pristine whiteness almost unblemished until now. The semi-decomposed leafy sludge sticks to the canvas and turns it a depressing blackish-brown. I reach out both my arms and allow my fingertips to brush the withered tree trunks packed closely all around me. This forest is ancient, really old, like, even older than Professor McGonagall, there are creatures in this forest, centaurs, werewolves, unicorns. I'm not scared like the others are, I like it here.
My hair is turquoise today but only because I wanted it to be, also Victoire says she likes it this colour. My eyes are brown, she likes that too. Victoire and I have been dating since the first day of this year, which was four months ago now. She's the first girlfriend I've ever had and I'm the boyfriend she's had for the longest. We haven't told anybody yet because they'll spread rumours and find it funny, you know, we get enough of the whole wolf related name calling as it is, because of our fathers, you know. At least mine is dead, they know not to go too far in case they make the orphan cry or disrespect a martyr or something.
Anyway it's a Saturday. Lots of people have gone into Hogsmeade but I don't want to go. I'm nowhere near a social outcast but I just like to be alone sometimes. Doesn't everybody? The forest is my favourite place. I like the dark and the quiet and the emptiness; I don't know, being the incompleteness, the cracked darkness of the trees makes me feel complete. It's silly of course but being in the forest makes me feel closer to my parents, I don't even know why I need to feel close to them, they died before I was one after all but everyone says they were heroes like Severus Snape and Fred Weasley and the countless other I've never met but have always known through photographs, memorials and testimonies from the ones who were left behind.
My foot catches on a root and I lose my footing, uselessly wind milling my arms before plunging to my knees in the compost. There's something digging into the heel of my right hand which I put out to save myself. When I look I see that it's a smooth black stone with the deathly hallows carved into it. This doesn't register for a moment; it is so like how I imagined it down to the cold weight of it in my palm. Then before I realise what's happening, how true it is, I turn the stone over three times. Then I stand up.
There are two people standing before looking bewildered and nervous, holding each other's hands. They are almost completely bleached of colour, slightly blurred, almost. I want to touch them but I'm frightened they'll disappear. The man has rounded shoulders, eyes that are younger than his scarred face and greying hair. He's crying silently but he's smiling as well, like me he doesn't know whether to be sad or happy. The woman looks hardly older than me, she's smiling sheepishly at me but her eyes are overflowing with joy. Her hair is pink and spikey, but only because she wants it to be. My mother. My father. Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin.
We stand in silence for I don't know how long; it doesn't matter how long. To me, the world stops turning, time ceases to be. My parents and I are not penned in by the constraints of slicing seconds, dividing the sensual bliss that is existence to us with each other. Finally my mother and father step towards me in one motion. I don't move but they step again and again until they are upon me, I am encircled in their arms and it feels like heaven. I do cry then, but it's because I'm happy. I am crying into my dad's shoulder, holding onto his arm and tightly as I can for support and so he doesn't disappear while my mum is stroking my hair with long fingers that radiate warmth.
"It's alright, I'm happy, like, really pleased to see you." I insist, attempting to stem the flow of my tears with the sleeve of my fleece.
"I know," Says my mum from behind me, "So are we." There's something in her voice that means I don't have to look at her to know she's smiling.
I clear my throat and step back so I can see them both clearly again. My dad keeps opening and closing his mouth, like he's trying to speak, to form the words he wants to say, but all that come out are long breathy sighs of regret.
Eventually after another long-time of just drinking each other in my father says, "I'm so proud of you." He pauses and then says, "We didn't have long enough with you, not nearly long enough but we both love you more than anything else that ever has and ever will exist, I need you to know that. Also, sorry if this is a bit insensitive but we died before you saw your first full moon. I suppose what I'm trying to ask you is- erm, well, I'm sorry, I just wanted, well, needed to know-"
I realise what he's trying to ask me and answer "I'm not a werewolf. I didn't think you could inherit that sort of thing."
"Oh, thank goodness." He chokes, sounding like he's trying not to cry.
"We have to go now," my mother says, smiling at me though her eyes are brimming with unshed tears, "It's been lovely to be able to show ourselves to you," Her voice is wobbling, "Just please remember that your father and I love you very much and we are always, always with you, even though you can't see us." She impatiently wipes her eyes and grins toothily at me, "Get in there with Victoire and don't be afraid to tell people," She glances at my dad, "You should never be afraid of what other people think about the people you love."
"Yes," My dad agrees, "Work hard and you'll go far, although always know that your mother and I will be proud of you whatever grades you get. We're always with you even when you feel like you're most alone. Remember that."
My parents cling together, their faces buried in each other's necks and hair as they slowly fade away. I drop the resurrection stone back where I found it. I don't need it to see what I know is there.