"Harry thought that, after his victory, he would pay one last visit to the place that started it all. As he stepped out of the yellow london cab? He found himself standing at the top of a narrow road, cottages standing lining both sides. A short way ahead, a golden glow of streetlights indicated the centre of the village. As he approached the end of the road, he couldn't help but think of the paralleled steps he was taking with a young Tom Riddle nearly two decades beforehand. Out of the corner of his left eye, it was hard Harry noticed the edge of a graveyard and noticed one of the Headstones stood out from the rest; decorating the edges of this encase meant were flowers, completely engulfing any signs of decrepit elements. Not just any flowers, lilies. Harry wanted to smile, but the strings of his heart only brought a swell of tears to his eyes. Not wanting to dwell, he made an abrupt right turn and found himself staring at a partly destroyed structure that had been encased in the graffiti of supporting parties. Invisible to muggles, the house had provided a beacon of hope to the wizarding community throughout the war, but all that Harry saw was a lost childhood, a broken family, a monument to all that could have been. Harry entered; the place had been weathered to a point where nothing was recognisable. He would have stopped to collect himself, but figured his emotions had been toyed with enough for one day. He made his way upstairs to his what he once called his room, an oasis of innocence, and stood there for a moment. It was here where it began, it was here he would put things to a close. Drawing his wand, Harry uttered "Orchideous" under his breath, conjuring a bouquet of dark red roses, and laid them on the ground, only to have something catch the corner of his eye. Embedded deep with the warped wrought iron structure that used to be Harry's bed was a small leather bound book. Harry reached for it, noticing that it had somehow, with the exception of some light singes around the edges, had managed to survive the last 20 years without being subjected to much damage, bar the strange green bordering of each page. Then Harry put two and two together. Opening the cover gently, the words "Harry James Potter, Born July 31st 1980" embossed in the brightest hold print met his eyes. Beneath, a photo of a small, scarless baby, wrapped in a white blanket, asleep in the arms of a smiling woman with the brightest green eyes and dark, red hair. Harry couldn't contain himself. He buckled to the floor, losing control of his senses, but didn't let go of the book. Instead, he read through the pages, discovering handprints, photos of a past life, captions written in the finest handwriting, memories of first words, until he came to the last entry. Written almost like a journal entry was an account of the night of the 31st of October, 1981; "I've just put little Harry to sleep. It's his first Halloween, I hope the noises don't bother him too much. James is getting too wrapped up in the notion of the holiday, think. He even found an old costume to wear! I'd better get back to him, I think I see our first trick or treater approaching, you'd think he'd put more effort into it than simply wearing a black robe! I love you Harry, never forget that when you're reading these back! -Mumsies" Harry sat there for hours reading the last sentence. He returned home to Ginny, clearly dishevelled after the events that had transpired. "Harry, what happened, is everything all right?" She asks. "Everything's fine Ginny, everything's fine" replied Harry, a small grin appearing on his face, the book in his hand.