Just a little one-shot idea I had while eating lunch today.

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Harry kicked at a stone that was in his path as he walked along the streets of Little Whinging, not particularly caring where he was going. He had been "home" for less than a week and already the little house where he was clearly not wanted felt oppressive. He wanted to vent, rant and rave at the world at the injustice of it all. Not only had he lost his parents, but his Godfather as well? The only person he could rightly say loved him before he became the bloody Boy Who Lived? Well, no, that wasn't completely fair; he was pretty sure that Remus loved him like that, and had he actually been able to grow up normally with his parents he probably would have called him Uncle Remus.

He kicked at the stone harder, sending it skittering along the sidewalk. No, such emotional displays were not allowed from him, he had to be the perfect little tool and willingly without complaint rush headlong into a fight against the stupid idiot Voldemort. Besides, he'd known from childhood that showing emotion wasn't such a good thing to do.

The stone fell off the edge of the sidewalk and disappeared down a drainpipe, and he sat down angrily on a bench, mulling over the unfairness of it all.

"Gathering your courage or just using the bench?" A lighthearted voice asked from in front of him. He looked up, startled that one, she was talking to him, and two, that he hadn't noticed her arrival. "So which is it?" She pressed, sitting down next to him.

"What?" He asked rather stupidly. Her blue eyes simply stared at him with an innocent curiosity.

"You sat down outside of a graveyard, there are only two reasons that people would do that. Either you've lost someone and are only now just visiting their grave and gathering the courage to do so, or you weren't paying attention to where you were going and just sat down. So which is it?"

"I just sat down." Harry said, then paused before deciding to venture into the conversation. "How about you?"

"Me? I like to visit the graves that no one visits anymore, you know, all the older ones that have pretty much been forgotten? The oldest one that I've found was dated 1894, but there are some that are so faded that I can't tell what the dates are." Harry studied her as she talked on about the different headstones that were in the graveyard, from the simple to the extravagant. She had wavy brown hair that was partly pulled back with a clip decorated with small seashells, fair skin with full lips and bright blue eyes that held every expression as she talked. She was wearing a pair of jeans that were cut off at mid-calf and had been painted in colorful designs with fabric paint; she had on a white tank top with a light purple button up shirt over it that had the two tail ends tied together in a knot. "So who did you loose?" Her question broke through his train of thoughts, and he once again looked at her in surprise.

"How do you know I lost anyone?" He asked a bit defensively.

"You have it written all over your face, and you didn't deny it." Harry sighed. He both wanted and didn't want to talk about it, but she seemed so open and honest that he couldn't help himself.

"My Godfather. He was killed in fight several weeks ago."

"I'm sorry. Is he buried here?" Harry shook his head.

"There was no body to bury."

"I'm sorry. I know that it's redundant to say that but I don't really know what else to say." Harry laughed at her response. It was just so innocent and pure that, while he hated others telling him that they were sorry, he knew that she really meant it. She looked at him, surprise replacing her earlier expression of curiosity.

"What's so funny?" She asked, not in the least bit defensive. He decided to tell her, mostly to see what her reaction would be, but really he just got the sense that she would accept nothing but the truth.

"It's just that a lot of people have been telling me that lately, but you're that only one that has said it that truly means it. And not because you knew me or knew my Godfather, but simply because I lost someone close to me." She regarded him for a few seconds, a strange expression on her face that he couldn't quite place, before her hand darted into a bag at her feet that he hadn't noticed before and pulled out what looked like a journal and a pen with purple ink, writing something in it quickly. She looked up at him after she had finished and smiled sheepishly when she saw his questioning gaze.

"Sorry, that was random of me. You see, I'm writing a book, and when I see or hear something that I think would go great with it I write it down in this journal. See?" She said and showed him what she had just written, and he noted that the ink in the pen was not only purple, but had glitter in it.

"And for the first time in what seemed like such a long time he laughed. Not because of what she had said, but because she had said it with such pure innocence."

"That's really nice." He said after he'd read it, thinking that it was more than nice but not knowing how to express it. A slight blush colored her cheeks.

"You think so? It's going to be the last line of my book. I'm almost finished with it, I just need to write the last scene out. Once I do I'll put it into this journal," She pulled out another, plain leather covered one that had seen much use, and showed it to him "that my best friend gave me and then type it up. Or maybe get my older brother to do it, he teaches English class so he can fix any grammatical mistakes."

"Are you going to publish it?" She nodded happily.

"Yep. It's my dream to become a published author. I don't even care about becoming a famous one, I just want to see at least one of my stories in a book store with my name on the cover."

"What is your name? I'm Harry Potter." He said and held out his hand, which she pumped enthusiastically.

"Tamara Kingston. So, if I may ask, how come you're not at home? Surely your parents understand what you're going through. I mean, your godfather must have been pretty close to them if they made him your godfather." Harry stared at the ground and stabbed the toe of his shoe into the sidewalk.

"My parents died when I was little; I live with my aunt and uncle and they don't like me very much."

"Gosh, I'm sorry. I keep butting into your business and seem to bring up painful things. I'm sorry." Harry shook his head at her apology.

"Thanks, but it's all right. My friends all say that I need to talk about this, and for some reason I feel comfortable with you."

"Wow. That's just, wow. What a compliment. Most of my friends tell me that I'm an airhead who sticks her nose into other peoples business to much. But my best friend did make me promise to be the godmother of her first child, so I guess I'm not that much of an airhead. She's just gotten together with this boy who has been pursuing her for years and finally got it in his head that if he matured a little she might notice him in the way he wanted and voila! she did. His best friend will probably be the Godfather, though I really can't see him as such. He hasn't matured at all and isn't likely to anytime soon, but you never know." She gasped and looked sheepish again. "I was babbling right then, wasn't I?" Harry laughed again.

"I don't mind, it's nice listening to you talk." She smiled at him.

"You'll be an adult soon right? You look about my age and I'll be an adult next spring."

"Next year for me, by birthday is next month."

"So not much longer and you can move out. If you take it one day at a time that day will be here before you know it."

"I guess. Do you always look on the bright side of things?"

"What other side is there?" Out of nowhere, handed him her pen. "Here, you take this. Maybe it'll remind you to look on the bright side more often." He protested, but she would have none of it. "I have plenty more, go on, take it." He took it, mostly because he really had no reason to say no. She then stood up, picking up her bag and dusting off her pants. "I've got to go, my parents will be expecting me soon. It's getting dark, you should get going to." With a cheery wave over her shoulder she disappeared into the graveyard, and he assumed that she was taking a shortcut. It was starting to get pretty late, he had better get home soon or he would be in trouble. His moods darkened slightly at that thought, but then he looked at the pen in his hand and realized that since the day was almost over it would be one day closer to when he could leave the Dursley's. So he was actually quite cheerful as he made his way 'home'.

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Several days later he received a letter from Hermione, and wondered why it had taken her so long to respond when she usually wrote back right away. He had written to her and told her about the girl that he had met outside of the graveyard, mostly so that his friend would stop worrying about him. He gave Hedwig an Owl treat and stroked her head before reading the letter.

Dear Harry,

Sorry that I've taken so long to respond, but after I read your last letter I wanted to make sure of something before I did. You told me that the girls name was Tamara Kingston, right? I recognized that name from somewhere so I did a little digging. After 4th year when Voldemort returned I wanted to pay a little homage to those who had died in the first war, so I got hold of the list that's public record and read through it. Tamara Kinston was on that list, she lived not far from where you are now and was killed just after she graduated Hogwarts. I talked to Remus about it, since he would have gone to school with her, and he told me that she had been best friends with your mum, and would have been your Godmother. I checked both Muggle and Magical records as much as I could to make sure that the girl you met and your mum's friend were the same person, and as far as I can tell she is. Harry, I don't know how you could have talked to her since she's dead.

Harry let the letter drop to the floor without finishing it and stood there in shock for a few seconds. Hermione would not have made something like this up, so it had to be true. But how could he deny that he had met Tamara, talked with her, accepted a pen from her, the pen that was at this moment sitting on his desk in plain sight. He grabbed it, checking it over to make sure that it was real. It was, there was no denying that.

He dashed out of the house, barely remembering to grab his keys, and ran all the way to the graveyard. She would be there, she'd said that she liked to visit the older graves a lot. He raced through it, checking all the headstones in the year that Hermione said she had died. This was the only graveyard in town, so if she lived near him this is where she would be buried, if she was dead.

And then he found it. A headstone of simple white marble with silver inlaid writing, and he couldn't deny what it meant. He had met with a ghost.

Tamara Catherine Knightly

April 24, 1959 to June 30, 1979

The most beloved of airheads

And there, sitting in front of the headstone was the leather bound Journal that she had showed him, the one that held her completed story. He picked it up gingerly and opened it to the last page, just to see.

"And for the first time in what seemed like such a long time he laughed. Not because of what she had said, but because she had said it with such pure innocence." How could it be denied now? He had met with her after all. But how?

He flipped the book open to the first page out of curiosity and stared in shock at the dedication.

For my Godson, Harry James Potter. May he always remember that our lives are what we make of it. There was no way. There was absolutely no way. And yet there it was, plain as day in front of him. The proof that he couldn't deny. She had been there with him. One more person who loved him for who he was, even though she was dead. Before, that thought would have made him sad, and angry at Voldemort for taking away all these people from him. But not now. Now, it simply made him feel happy, that even from beyond the grave someone still loved him.

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Please review and tell me what you think! And don't worry, I haven't forgotten my other stories.