I must admit, I haven't done a Harry Potter fanfic in a while. So I just hope this turns out okay.

Thanks for reading, and please review.

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"If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realise that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection for ever. It is in your very skin. Quirrel, full of hatred, greed and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was the agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

- Albus Dumbledore

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Harry, once again, clasped his hands over the fake horcrux. Somehow and someday, he was going to find the real one in his own way. Unexpected, Hermione and Ron demanded to be with him every step of the way, even if it meant delaying their Hogwarts education. The young wizard felt a pit of doubt within him; he had cut Ginny out of his life, but then she did not demand to travel with him. Even if she wanted to travel with Harry, Ron would probably protect her as a big older brother, Harry thought. Plus, even with the death of Hermione or Ron being just as significant, he could not stand the fact he could be the cause of the death of Ginny Weasley.

He had sat there in the same spot for over an hour. Hermione and Ron had taken a walk around the area, discovering the Muggle shops and the inhabitants. It was a very pretty village with a large mansion on the hill no one seemed to notice. The mansion was old and dusty, probably full of doxys and maybe a boggart upstairs in a cupboard. The grass was long and full of many beautiful white lilies. Harry's two friends promised to help clear up this house as it had once belonged to his parents, in which he was sitting in the living room flicking through old, dusty photos he had found. He had finally closed the box, put it around on the shelf it had sat on (with marks to prove how dusty the shelf was) and he wiped his eyes.

He quickly scribbled a note with a quill he found saying, "I'll be back soon". The young wizard found his way out and into the village, in search of a church.

No wonder his parents lived here. It was beautiful and peaceful, and the villagers were very nice. It was a good place to hide from Voldemort, certainly. Harry also liked how old fashioned the village was with the flintstone houses and thatched roofs in some area with some modern looking ones nearby. The fields around the village were either full of flowers of rape seed, blooming into a bright yellow in the summer. It was a good thing Harry did not have hay fever.

He finally reached the church, going inbetween the gravestones searching desperately for his parents' graves. He finally came across a shiny white marble stone, which bore the writing:

Here lies

Lily and James Potter

Married for three years

Both lived between 1957 - 1980

May they rest in peace

Harry stroked the gravestone, feeling the letters on the stone. Here lay his remarkable parents, Lily and James Potter, a couple who had thrice defied Voldemort and had put their lives on the line for their baby son, who was only a year old. If only they could see me today, Harry thought. They would see the remains of a boy brought up by Lily's resentful sister and family, always poorly fed and have Petunia's son's clothing to wear. They would see someone who had been saved by the world of magic and could be destroyed by it, more precisely the dark world of magic.

He sat in a patch of grass, looking over his life. What had I witnessed in the last 17 years of my life?

"So much death," he whispered. "Too much death. One death is enough." He brushed his untamed hair to one side, but brushed it onto his scar subconsciously. "They say that killing someone tears your soul, but witnessing and knowing death does so much more to you. You should know that, shouldn't you? You witnessed your friends die." He sniffed. "And now I'm going to watch that in these dark times. You thought your times were bad? Well now it's apparently going to be worse." He choked; he was starting to cry. "Mum, Dad, what am I going to do? Sirius is no longer here, Dumbledore's dead, you're dead, the Muggles and whole wizarding world may be killed off. For God's sake, one of my best friends, Hermione-one of the most accomplished witches of her age- is a muggleborn. She is amazing, just like you Mum; she showed that a muggleborn can be as good, even better, than a slimy pureblood like Malfoy." His hand wiped his eyes. "My other best friend, Ron…he's a Weasley, you may know their pureblood family. Malfoy says he's a disgrace to the name Wizard. He has been so wonderful, letting me stay at his house every summer, saving me from Mum's sister and her family-no offence but your sister is horrible- and he is the best friend I've always wanted. His family were the first I ever met, and they are most wonderful. Oh, and Ron's sister Ginny-" He hiccoughed, clenching his teeth together, looking at the sky. "-oh, Ginny. I am so sorry. I did the stupid noble thing and broke up with her. Dad, you never dumped Mum in these dark times, did you? You married her. But no, I did the stupid noble thing and wanted her to be safe … me telling this to someone who was always brilliant at Bat-Bogey hexes … not that will protect her from Voldemort … why do I still think of her as that girl I saved from the Chamber of Secrets? She has become such a beautiful, accomplished young woman and I couldn't bloody see that." He sniffed again. "I am so sorry Ginny."

He cried in front of the gravestone, harder than he had ever done in his life. As a young child, Harry only sniffled a little because of the punishments he sometimes got but was thankful he was still alive and had a roof over his head (but sometimes he wondered what the point of living was). Harry had cried a little when his godfather died, and sometimes after dreams of Cedric, blaming himself continuously afterwards. In front of this gravestone, he cried so much because of the last six years at school. How he was the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the one who was apparently going to save this world. At the age of seventeen, a young wizard was expected to start using magic and apparate and finally complete their last year of Hogwarts, going onto some kind of career in magic (or even as a Muggle if they so wished). But this young wizard, in front of this gravestone, had to be abnormal: he had to be the hero of the Wizarding world, and even the Muggle world. And he had no adult to push him the right way with good opinion; that man was dead. That man was the most amazing wizard that had ever lived: Albus Dumbledore.

Harry still could remember the advice that was given him to him as a younger child and ever world Dumbledore told him about Harry's meaning in the world. Dumbledore had been like a wise grandfather figure with his long beard and odd quirks such as a love for Muggle sweets and strange words. Yet with these odd quirks, he was so wise, so compassionate. He knew that Slytherins always meant trouble yet he allowed them to be educated in the school, despite the fact that some had Death Eater parents or relatives. The one amazing thing about the headmaster was that he believed that love itself was the most important magic of all. It does not require incantation or a potion - well, love potion is an imitation of love. To love only requires you to believe in goodness and love itself, and believe you can love someone else.

This frightened Harry a little. He felt by pushing his friends away, he was doing out of an act of love. This would protect them like my Mum did, he thought. But in this act of love, he would be forced to not make any bonds with anyone, making him cold and lost. Like Voldemort.

The thought frightened him to keep his friends with him so he could continue knowing how to love, just like Dumbledore would have wanted to. What a great man.

He stood up after what felt like a long time and forced on a little smile.

"I needed that." He wiped his eyes thoroughly and put his hand through his hair. "Thank you, Mum and Dad. You've been a great help, even if you can't answer back." He sighed and dug into his pocket. "I don't have Sirius's gravestone to go to, just a mirror I can only shout at. It doesn't answer back either." He pulled out the mirror and saw his eyes were still a little red. "I guess it's best, I guess I just don't like opening myself like this to people who can't see me and respond."

"Who said no one could see you?" said a voice.