Harry was sat down at the family table. The bowl of porridge in front of him was only half eaten. Everytime he closed his eyes he saw those shadows in the graveyard. He saw the snake. He saw the name written on the stone, the name of the darkest wizard that had ever lived. The name of the man that killed his parents. Why had they been there? Why was the snake important? Who were they? There were too many unanswered questions.

He was interrupted by the sound of someone else, and remembered that he wasn't alone in the kitchen. Ginny was here too, bustling around, preparing them both flasks of coffee to take with them to work, and sandwiches that they could eat together at lunch. Usually Harry would have helped her, but today…

"You're thinking about it too much, dear. Its only natural for you have bad dreams the night that Albus goes away. You love him, and you miss him. There's nothing wrong with that. You're a father. Its to be expected. You can't always be the brave Harry Potter that they talk about in the papers."

Ginny still thought it was just a bad dream. She hadn't seen it. She hadn't seen them. She hadn't felt their presence in that cemetery, or seen the vividness of the shadows that covered their faces. She didn't know what it felt to see these things, to feel that darkness inside of you. How could she? There was nothing but goodness in her.

After he had found out the truth about how he survived… After he had confronted Voldemort and after he had killed him… He couldn't was himself clean enough. The entire Wizarding World saw him as a saviour. They held him up as a sign of their triumph against the darkness, and yet he felt dirtier than he ever had. All that time, a part of the man who murdered his parents had been inside him all that time.

He would never truly be clean of that.

Maybe she was partly right though. It did feel strange to not have Albus sat at the dinner table with them. James was never awake before ten, and Lily often scoffed down her food fast before running off to play in her room. Albus often helped his mother make breakfast. He was a boy beyond his years, was what Harry had always said.

"You should write him a letter. That will get your mind off all this graveyard business. Write letters to him and James, wishing them a good school year."

"I already wished them a good year, darling. I don't want to smother them. They already have the task of getting past being our children, without me sending constant reminders to their classmates."

Ginny rolled her eyes at that, and Harry felt a smile push onto his face. Suddenly the thought of the shadows in the graveyard was gone, and instead all he could think of was how hard Ginny tried to make him feel better when he was down. Maybe she didn't understand what it had felt like in that dream, but she knew how to make him feel better here and now.

He would visit Little Hangleton later today, he decided, to see what the situation was. There had to be something there. If there wasn't then maybe Ginny was right. Maybe this was nothing. But if there was something…

"What do you have on at work today, dear?"

He looked back up from his thoughts. He was finding himself very easily distracted this morning. Or maybe he was just preoccupied with more important things than Ginny's idle conversation.

"Kingsley wants me to send a few Aurors over to Transylvania to look into this Malfoy death, and I think I'm meant to be in a meeting with him and Hermione this morning. Something about a prisoner being released from Azkaban. Guess I'll find out more when I'm there."

"Sounds intense. All I have on is a meeting with the Umpire's Association to discuss salary changes."

"Yeah… Well… I should get going. See you for lunch."

"Sure. See you then. Have a good day, dear."

And so Harry swept out of the room, leaving Ginny alone behind him, with one destination in mind. He had to visit Little Hangleton.

Albus woke up from his first sleep within the walls of Hogwarts to the sound of cheering come from the common room. The room that he shared with five other boys was bathed in a warm and welcoming light. He threw off the Patchwork quilt, and quickly dressed himself in his Hogwarts robes. He left the pointed hat under the bed, hoping no prefect would tell him off for not wearing one.

Then he passed through the circular door and into the plush, comfortable Hufflepuff common room. There was a crowd of students already gathered, of varying ages, watching on as Victoria and a boy from her year danced around each other. Victoria was laughing and smiling, and so Albus laughed and smiled too. He liked this feeling of community.

Eventually the two of them stopped, and Victoria fell into one of the comfortable seats, laughing as the boy collapsed on the floor panting. She spotted Albus and waved for him to come over and sit beside her, and so he did.

The chair was plump and comfy, with plenty of cushioning inside it. He found himself sinking back into the furniture.

The boy that Victoria had been dancing with got up and came over to them. He was tall and lean. He had the body of a Quidditch player. His hair was long and brown, and his front two teeth were slightly crooked when he smiled. If Albus didn't already know how strong Victoria felt about Teddy, then he might have wondered whether his godbrother should feel jealous about this man

"Ahhh, you two will not know each other. Albus, this is Eamon Hunter. He's the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Eamon, you will already know Albus."

Eamon nodded, and seated himself down opposite them. Albus couldn't help but feel slightly smug about the fact that he had guessed the guy played Quidditch. He was good at reading people. Eamon didn't sit back into the chair like Albus or Victoria. Instead he leaned forward. There was an intensity in him, but it wasn't unpleasant to be around.

"Unbelievable. I am sat with the son of the great Ginny Weasley. Your mum was one of my idols growing up."

Albus put on a smile for that. It was true that he got recognised as Harry Potter's son a lot, but loads of people also brought up his mum too. They were all really disappointed when he told them that he couldn't play. He could barely catch the quaffle. James had inherited all the talent and skill in the family.

"You should try out for the team. I know we aren't supposed to allow first years in, but your dad… And then your brother played for Gryffindor in his first year."

"Albus doesn't play. He's like me. He prefers watching, don't you Albus?"

He silently thanked Victoria for that. She knew that Quidditch talk, especially when it was about his parents and James, upset him, and she also knew that he had a habit of not shutting down those conversations when they started. He was very thankful that she was here.

"What class do you have first, Albus? Do you know yet?"

"I have Herbology, with Professor Longbottom. That should be fun! Then I have Astronomy in the evening. I have my first flying lesson tomorrow. Great."

Victoria put her hand on his knee.

"I heard there's going to be a new flying teacher. He used to be a professional or something. He wasn't at the feast yesterday though. I checked.

Albus cocked his head slightly, and looked at Victoria quizzically.

"How do you know it's a he?"

Victoria rolled her eyes and laughed.

"Oh, Albus. A girl knows these things."

Even during the day there was a darkness to the small Yorkshire village of Little Hangleton. The place was dominated by the ominous Riddle House, which sat atop it, overlooking the residents. It was sad and abandoned, but still the stench of evil hung in the air. Dark things had happened here. Some of the darkest things known in the wizarding world. Were they happening again?

Harry apparated down into the cemetery gates. He looked around quickly, to see if anyone had spotted him, before pushing on into the graveyard. So many of the stones bore the name Riddle. Some of them were large, ornate tombstones, whilst others were just jagged slate slabs, pointing to the heavens above them. Generations of Riddles were buried here.

Every now and again, Harry would pass a blackened tree. There were no leaves, but the branches twisted and turned around each other. Harry could swear that they looked like a wisened old crone. It wasn't helping his feeling that somebody was watching him.

He skulked past the tombstone of Tom Riddle Senior. He stopped for a few seconds in the spot where Cedric had been killed all those years ago and he remembered his fallen comrade. He remembered all of them. Cedric. Lupin. Sirius. Moody. Tonks. Dumbledore. There were others, who had fallen since the great war.

The deaths of Mr and Mrs Weasley had hit him hard, though not as hard as it had hit Ron and Ginny. Sturgis Podmore had died in his sleep a few weeks after the war ended, and Aberforth had followed his elder brother into the lands of the dead a few years past. They had all thought that Oliver Wood was a gonner when he got injured playing for the Chudley Cannons, but he had made a surprising recovery, though he would never plat Quidditch again.

He walked on, up to the stone that bore the name that he most feared and most detested.

Tom Riddle Junior.

He had been against the burial, but many had insisted upon it. Still, he had gotten one last insult in there. Lord Voldemort would be forever remembered by his hated muggle father's name. That was his legacy. This was what generations would see. The greatest dark wizard of all time remembered by the name that he had hated. It was not justice, but it made Harry smile.

"You come here, Harry Potter… The Boy Who Lived… The Boy Who Died… To find me?"

The voice rang around the graveyard, and Harry stumbled backwards. No. No. It couldn't be. The voice was snake-like and rasping. There was venom in those words, and a mocking cruelty. It was a voice that he knew too well. It was him. It was Voldemort.

"You're dead. I- I killed you. I defeated you. There were no more horcruxes. You are gone!"

The voice then turned to laughter, and Harry moved himself back along the ground, away from the tombstone that bore his enemy's name. Away from the source of the cruel laughter and the mocking voice. He pushed himself back until he hit something. It didn't feel like the cold touch of stone. He looked up, and looking down at him was a pair of cold, grey eyes.

"So you go down there and to the right. Then take another left and its just down the stairs. Do you think you can remember that?"

Albus rolled his eyes in the same way that Victoria had taught him how to do herself. She laughed at that.

"Yes, Victoria. I remember."

"Good. Now you better be going. Tell Professor Longbottom I said hello. Bisou bisou, Albus."

He turned away from her and set off on his first unaccompanied journey through Hogwarts. It was scary. There was a group of third year Slytherins milling about, and a couple of second year Ravenclaw girls walked past him. He felt their eyes on him, and heard their whispers as he passed them. He sighed, and put his head down and started to walk.

He did what Victoria had told him, and soon he arrived at the Herbology Greenhouses. Professor Longbottom, who Albus knew better as Neville, was already there, along with a selection of Ravenclaws who had arrived for class early. Albus found himself sat at a table with two of them.

"My name is Malcolm Fudge. My great-uncle was Minister for Magic. He knew your father. Always tells me about how close he was with the great Harry Potter. We should be friends."

Albus rolled his eyes again and slouched back. Was this how things were always going to be? He had wanted to be in Hufflepuff partly to avoid the constant conversations with people about who his dad was.

"Sure."

Albus knew all about Malcolm's great-uncle. His dad had told him all about the former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who had vilified him and Albus' namesake, the legendary Professor Dumbledore, for believing that Lord Voldemort had returned from his temporary death. Fudge had been wrong to do that. The fact that he had been bragging to his nephew about it caused Albus to be a little sick inside.

A girl sat next to him. She wasn't one of the girls that had been sorted into Hufflepuff the night before, so she must be a Ravenclaw. Albus recognised her eventually as Amelia Bones, whose mother, Susan, had fought and survived the Battle of Hogwarts.

"I'm late, aren't I? My mum said I'd be late. I'm always late. Wait. No. That isn't how to start a conversation. Think, Amelia. Think. Oh. Hey there. My name is Amelia. What's yours?"

The girl offered him a hand, and Albus tentatively took it in his and shook it. Did she really not know who he was.

"My name is Albus Potter. I'm a-"

"Hufflepuff. I worked that out. I never forget a face. Well, rarely ever. Some faces are just so boring. Don't you think? Not yours though. I'll remember your name, Alvin."

"Erm. Albus."

Amelia waved his interruption away as if it was nothing, which he supposed it was. There was definitely something odd about this girl, but not in a bad way. She spoke too fast for him to keep up with, but he'd much rather that than being constantly reminded about his heritage, which people like Malcolm would do.

"Albus or Alvin. It doesn't really matter, does it? You can call me Amy if you want. A lot of people do, though I've never asked them to. I guess Amelia sounds a bit too formal for some people, but I like it. Do you want to be friends?"

Albus didn't need to think. He had taken a liking to this bizarre and scatterbrained girl. His mum had told him to try and make friends with some people on his first proper day.

"Yeah. I would."

Draco Malfoy looked down at Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who was lying on the floor of the graveyard of Little Hangleton. He had expected it to be deserted here. He hadn't expected anyone to be here, let alone Harry.

Truth be told, the two of them got on much better than they ever had as children. Maybe they had both grown up and at the same time they had grown enough to respect and at times even like the other. However now was not a time that he was happy to see Potter. Now was a time that he wanted to be alone.

Harry got back to his feet, and looked over at Draco. His grey eyes had always been cold, but now they seemed to have a sad deadness. There was no sharpness to them. The year had held its effects on Draco.

"What are you doing here?"

Harry didn't mean for that to be as confrontational as it sounded. He was just surprised to see his supposedly reformed enemy here, at the grave of his arch nemesis. Had Draco reverted back to his old ways? It was like Luna said, a Crumple Horned Snorcack never changed its horn. Or something like that.

"This is- Was one of my father's favourite places to come when he needed to think. I thought I would come here one last time to think of him."

"I- I was sorry to hear, Draco-"

Malfoy raised his hand to stop Harry from talking. He stared down at the ground. Harry thought that he could see a tear run down Draco's shallow cheeks.

Stop, Harry. If I hear one more person tell me they were sorry to hear of my father's death then I might apparate away and never come back. You weren't sorry. You knew what he was. Everyone knew. He didn't hide it. He didn't want to."

Harry breathed in. Draco wasn't wrong. The entire wizarding world had known that Lucius had still held the old ways of his family. He still participated in the dark arts, and hated that muggleborns had become more prominent. Still, Harry did feel sorry for Draco, and for Scorpius. After Astoria earlier in the year, and now this?

"I know what he was too, Harry. I understand. He was still my father. He raised me. He wasn't that man to me, not always. Sometimes he was kind and loving. Even to Scorpius. Especially to Scorpius. I miss him."

"I understand, Draco."

Harry moved to console the man that had once been his enemy. Draco pulled away, turned back to look at him.

"I'm sorry that I disturbed you, Harry. I should be going."

"Draco-"

But before Harry could tell him to stay, Draco Malfoy had apparated away, leaving a strange emptiness in the graveyard. Harry turned back to the grave, and it was only then when he saw the glint of a metal object from behind the stone.

He hurried over and pulled away the plants that had grown behind the tomb. That was when he found it, hidden behind the grave of his mortal enemy.

A shovel.