Many years later, a boy of twelve and a man of thirty-six walked in a familiar meadow. It was summertime and the weather was glorious. Bright beams of sunlight flooded into the grasses that tickled the mans knees and the boys thighs. The two looked very much related, probably due to the fact that both looked almost identical. Both were wiry in frame, had raven coloured hair that never sat still, and had deep jade eyes. Perhaps the only thing that separated their appearances was the fact that the elder of the two had a thin scar running down his forehead. Then of course, there was the fact that one was much taller and more filled out then the other, as to which one, I think you know. They walked in a peaceful silence, neither wanting to ruin the beauty of the day with petty words. Of course they were there for a purpose, but their purpose was more of a bonding time then a duty. The pilgrimage they were making brought back memories of both sad and happy times. Though the younger of the two did not remember much of what was told to him, he appreciated the stories just the same. A slight breezed played at the grass and at the unruly hair of both males. The elder of the two looked over at his young counterpart and smiled faintly. She would be so proud if she could see him now. Unaware of what he was doing, the man looked up at the sky hopefully. Smiling weakly to himself as he realized his actions, he continued walking on.

            Moments later, the two had paused in front of a worn headstone. The garden that surrounded the peaceful grave was overgrown but homely all the same. Words were etched carefully onto it with much love and thought being put into them. Not only were the words etched into stone, they were etched into the mans brain. He had spent many hours sitting at this very spot, reading poetry to, picking flowers for, or simply speaking with someone who could not hear him anymore. Sticking an aged hand into his pocket, he fingered a few pieces of very worn parchment. Written on those pages were the very words that had sustained his will to go on for that first year as a real father. The boy looked around nervously, and then waddled off somewhere to give his father a moment alone. Grateful at his son's thoughtfulness, the senior of the two sat down respectively at the edge of the grave. Pulling his knees to his chest, he wrapped two arms around his knees and sat in silence for a moment. It was a calm day, and while a tumult of emotions promised to erupt the softness of the hour, the man didn't care. After gazing almost angrily at the grave for a few more moments, he shifted his hands in his pocket and pulled a wrinkled piece of parchment out. Clearing his throat slightly, Harry Potter Sr. got to his feet and smoothed out the piece of paper. Looking down at the grave with a mix of fondness, anger and sadness, he began to read in whispered tones.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
 I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
 My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
 For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
 
"I love thee to the level of every day's
 Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
 I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
 I love thee purely, a they turn from Praise.
 
"I love thee with the passion put to use
 In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
 With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,
 Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
 I shall but love thee better after death."
 
Pausing for a breath, Harry looked down at the mound of hard packed dirt and sighed. Using his shoe to loosen it up a bit, he bent down and tenderly folded the parchment. Slipping it in a small makeshift hole, Harry patted the dirt firmly and stood up again. He dusted his hands off, now teary eyed. Cautiously, his son approached, in with a last sniff, Harry wiped the tears away. A small hand reached out to touch the broad shoulder in front of him. Smiling halfway, Harry pulled his son into a hug. It wasn't an awkward or an embarrassing hug. Both felt that words were best left unsaid for the moment. After the embrace, the boy placed some carefully chosen flowers on the grave and stepped away. It was peaceful there. The trees that surrounded most of the small meadow were basking in the sunlight, and the golden hues of the grasses gave the place a positively glowing look.  

It was a few moments before either of them spoke.
"Dad," Harry Jr. began.
"Mm?" the elder man looked down at his son who was looking expectantly to his father.
"Would, well, could you tell me about mum?" a smile flickered across Harry Sr.'s face at the request. He let out a sigh, where to start? Every time the two made a visit there, the same stories came up, but somehow it took new strength to tell them over again each time. Nodding in response, Harry started at the beginning. Back to when he was a second year, and she a first, and ending with the day he was conceived, though he did not disperse those happenings.
"You loved her a lot, didn't you?" the boy said while staring out into the sky. The sun was beginning to drag low on the horizon, giving the clouds a reddish hue.
"Yah, I did." Harry almost had to choke this out, it felt good and hurt at the same time to talk about the woman he had loved since the age of 17.
"Why'd you leave dad?" that question caught Harry Sr. very much off guard, and it almost pained him to hear it.
"She told me to, a lot of things happened… I should have come back but I was young and foolish then… I wish I could have been there for her, for you…" somehow it didn't seem strange telling all this to his 12 year old son. On the contrary, it was relieving.
"It's ok, I still love you," innocence was such a precious thing. As Harry heard his sons unwavering confession, he nearly cried again. Squeezing the boy's shoulder slightly, Harry said his silent thanks.
"What did she look like Dad?" the younger Harry asked. He knew what she looked like, he had seen photographs, but his father could always seem to describe her best.
"She was the most beautiful woman in the world…" he went off to describe how her eyes lit up when she smiled, the way she smelt of vanilla and flowers all the time, how her hair glowed amber in the sunlight, and how her skin would become freckled during the hot weather. Harry Jr. felt a sense of pride, he was one hundred percent sure that his father was telling the truth. He knew that if he could see his mum now, she'd be the most beautiful lady in the world. Oh how proud she would be of him. He had just finished his first year at Hogwarts and was at the top of his class. Apparently he had taken after his aunt Hermione. But then again, he was his fathers' son, being that he was a natural flyer and all. The two had worked on seeker skills all summer, and the boy was just itching with the anticipation of trying out for the Gryffindor house team. Other then hearing about his mum, quidditch stories from his father were his favourite.
"She'd be so proud of you…" Harry said as he gave his son an appraising look.
"She's not gone, not really Dad," the younger Harry said this with such confidence that the older couldn't help but smile.
"Yah, she's right here," the boy tapped his fathers chest where his heart lay hidden. Gulping back tears, Harry Sr. nodded his head and looked out into the sky. So maybe he couldn't kiss her into oblivion anymore, and maybe there was no warm body beside his at night, but she was still there.

"Yah," he choked out. The two walked home as the dusk enveloped them.

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FINITE! ; - )