Epilogue
He wiped away his tears as he exited the memory, shaking his head at what he had seen. For years now, he'd been shown the ins and outs of the lives of his ancestors with no understanding as to why he was seeing them.
They'd started shortly after he'd begun at Hogwarts, and now, it seemed he had witnessed his last.
"It was three weeks after that I found out I was pregnant with you," his mother spoke softly, pulling him from his thoughts. "I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I needed to keep you safe. The Dark Lord was dead, most of his followers were dead, but it was not safe."
"That's why we never left the house."
"It is," his mother confirmed sadly. "When your Hogwarts letter arrived, I wanted to throw it into the fire, to keep protecting you from it all, but I knew I couldn't. I'd kept so much from you, and you deserved to know the truth, to know just how special your father was.
He swallowed deeply at the mention of the man, his warring emotions not making it easier to simply forgive.
"He never knew about me."
"No," his mother answered, "but you've seen it all for yourself. All he ever wanted was a family, and he would be so proud of you, just as I am."
He nodded.
"You gave up your life for me."
"No," his mother denied firmly. "I was given a life to nurture when one was taken away from me. I was angry for a very long time. I suppose I still am, but you were a blessing, and I never want you to think any differently."
He smiled fondly at the woman as he took her hand.
"It was all so sudden. You were married, and then he was gone."
"Yes, he was."
She wiped away her own tears, and he lost himself in his thoughts.
He'd seen it all, every moment his father had lived, the good and the bad, and when he pondered it, much of it was the latter. The one good thing he'd had was his mother, and he'd clung to it so dearly until the very end.
"He loved you."
His mother gave him a watery chuckle.
"I wouldn't go that far."
"He did," he reiterated. "He was so jaded by everything that happened to him that he might not have realised it himself, but he loved you so much. You shouldn't doubt that."
"He did?"
He nodded as he offered her a reassuring smile.
"More than anything else," he said warmly. "He had plans for you to live here, to have a family, and maybe play Quidditch. If he had his way, you'd have more children than just me."
"He did say he'd like a big family."
"He meant every word, Mum."
She offered him a grateful smile before they fell silent for a moment.
"What happened after?" he asked curiously. "I don't want to bring up any bad memories…"
His mother waved him off.
"I mourned," she answered. "Your father's wish was to be buried next to his parents and that a plot next to his would be set aside for me."
She choked back a sob.
"I didn't know what to do," she continued. "Most of the country was celebrating, and I just couldn't. My world had collapsed around me. If it wasn't for you, I think I might not have lasted long. Your gran and Uncle Theo did their best, but I was so lost. It's like you said, it happened so suddenly that I couldn't even believe it had happened. We'd just gotten married and had our whole lives ahead of us."
"And then he was gone."
"And then he was gone," his mother echoed.
He released a deep breath.
He'd never contemplated what she'd gone through, not truly. He'd entered the wizarding world having everyone marvelling at his name, questioning if Harry Potter was a distant relative or even his father.
He'd always found it to be a stupid question.
He was the mirror image of his father, save for his eyes. He'd always been told he had his mother's eyes.
It was odd and often uncomfortable when he met new people. They would speak so highly of the father he'd never met, of how he'd saved them all, and that he was a hero.
He'd never seen him that way, but others spoke with such admiration.
If anything, he'd resented the man for much of his life for not being around for him and his mother. He'd resented him for making his mother so sad by dying, but he didn't think that way now.
Just as his father had lived the lives of their ancestors, he'd lived the life of his father, and now he was saddened for different reasons.
He was sad that his father had been the one to shoulder the burden he did from when he was a babe in arms, that he'd had to claw and scratch for everything he achieved in his short life.
Short life.
It had been a short life, but one that had been full in many ways and empty in others.
"His wish?" he murmured. "You said you buried him with Nan and Grandad because it was his wish."
His mother nodded as she reached into her purse and retrieved a worn, folded piece of parchment.
"I received this a week after he died," she explained as she handed it to him. "Read it," she urged.
He unfolded it, unable to ignore the tearstains nor the wear to the creases from where it had been unfolded and refolded countless times over the years.
Isabella,
If you are reading this, then what I feared would happen has come to pass.
I don't know why, but I cannot rid myself of the feeling that my fight with Voldemort will not end as I hope, and for that, I am sorry.
I can feel it drawing closer by the moment, the magic of the prophecy is pulling us closer together, more so than I've ever felt before. With it is that feeling of uncertainty. Perhaps it is the anticipation that it will soon be all over, and I am worrying for nothing, but I cannot convince myself.
I shared my secrets with you, and now you will have my final thoughts on the matter.
I believe that Death always intended for me to die. He gives nothing without receiving something in return. With the Peverells, it was their very souls, and he claimed those of Cadmus and Antioch quickly by way of the Hallows he bestowed upon them.
With Ignotus, it was different. Using the cloak, he lived a full life and only passed on when he was ready.
Death would have seen this as defiance, and so it has been the same with my ancestors since.
He claims to be my ally in all of this, but I see the truth for what it is. I think I am to pay the price for Ignotus's defiance. As his descendant, he believes it is my debt to fulfil.
I hope I am wrong, but having given it much thought, it somewhat makes sense to me.
After all I have seen and endured with Death, I have become more familiar with it and how it works than any other. He will support me long enough to claim Tom Riddle's soul, and then he will have mine.
Again, I hope I am wrong.
If you are reading this, I would be buried next to my parents with a plot reserved next to me for you for when the time comes.
I intend to discuss the Hallows with you shortly so you will know the truth. If I haven't, the wand must be destroyed and the stone cast away so none can find it.
I cannot stress how important it is that none fall into the hands of others, especially Voldemort.
The cloak is yours, and I would see it buried with us.
With no children, there is none to pass it on to.
I cannot put into words how sorry I am, and I hope you never read these words, but I have to prepare for every eventuality.
As you already know, all of my worldly possessions are now yours, and I have set aside a sum of gold in the name of my parents to set up a magical orphanage in the hope that another Tom Riddle never emerges.
A property in Hogsmeade has already been purchased for this purpose, and my family lawyer will make the arrangements to see it through to completion.
There is nothing you need to do about this.
Other than what I have said, I do not know what else to write.
I live in the hope that this never reaches you.
All my love,
Harry x
Once more, he swallowed deeply.
Having a better understanding of what his father had gone through, he realised how difficult such a letter would be to write.
Growing up, he'd been rather bitter that he hadn't had a father, but his own father had no parents at all.
For the first time in his life, he felt guilty for the resentment he'd harboured, and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Mum," he whispered. "I never knew."
"I didn't want you to, not until you were older. I gave you the cloak without knowing any of this would happen."
He'd reluctantly told her of the visions he was having.
They'd terrified him, and he couldn't make them stop.
They would come sporadically, but with his mother's support, he'd learned to live with them and even begin to appreciate what it was he was seeing.
He'd learned so much from them all, but none more so than his father.
His life had indeed been short, but he'd done so much.
Now, he understood why Harry Potter was so highly thought of, why he'd been left without a father.
"There's something else," his mother spoke again quietly.
"Something else?"
She nodded as she reached into her blouse and pulled out a necklace. Hanging on the very end was something he'd become familiar with in recent months.
"The Stone," he whispered in disbelief.
"When I found out I was pregnant with you, I couldn't throw it away," she explained apologetically. "Your father didn't know about you, and I held onto it. I destroyed the wand, but I couldn't go through with this."
He smiled sadly as he looked at the stone and then his mother.
"Have you…?"
"I tried," she admitted unashamedly. "I missed him so much that I tried, but it wouldn't work for me. I expect it will for you, just as the cloak does."
She offered it to him, and he hesitated to take it.
"You do not have to use it. It is up to you what you do with it."
She placed it into his hand, and as his fist closed around it, he felt the cold, familiar magic wash over him, the very same magic that had claimed his father.
He nodded.
"I need to think about it," he murmured. "I don't know. Thanks, Mum, for sharing this with me."
"Where are you going?" she asked as he made to leave.
"I'm not sure yet. I just need to think it over. For almost seventeen years, I've thought a certain way, and for it to change like this… I just need to think."
She nodded her understanding.
"He would be so proud of you, James," she said sincerely. "I gave you his name, not because I expect you to be like him, but because it is something to be proud of. Believe me, it still hurts, and it always will, but your father would have loved you more than you know."
"That's what hurts," James replied. "I don't feel like I knew him until now."
He took his leave of the home he'd grown up in, the house on the beach his father had used as his refuge away from the world.
Here, it was peaceful, and though he'd hated it growing up, he'd come to appreciate it just as much as his father had.
(Break)
"Poor Arthur," Sirius chuckled as he read the headline of The Daily Prophet.
The man had never wanted the job as Minister of Magic, but with Sirius having vacated the post shortly after the final battle, the country had looked towards another who had fought against the Dark Lord.
With Albus once again flatly refusing any nomination, Arthur had been voted in even before the Head of the Weasley family had known it.
Sirius did feel guilty for being the one to nominate him, but he could think of so few others who would be a suitable replacement. Now, it was Arthur who had to deal with bureaucrats, and as today's headline explained, the discussion on a standardised thickness for cauldron bottoms.
How that particular issue had not been solved over the years, Sirius didn't know, and he didn't care.
He'd endured his stint as the Minister and had done so during one of the darkest periods in British history.
His expression darkened as he noted the date.
July 28th.
In only a few days, it would be that time of year again when the country came together to pay their respects to the fallen, with one person at the forefront of their minds.
Sirius shook his head.
Not a day went by that he didn't think of his godson nor what could have been if it had all ended differently.
Over the years, Harry's loss had never gotten easier, and though he'd somewhat learned to live with it, as he had with the death of James and Lily, it still pained him.
For months after, he'd fallen into a dark pit of despair, and it seemed he'd never be able to pull himself out of it.
That had changed the night Isabella had come to visit and placed a bundle of blankets in his arms.
Sirius had not seen her since Harry's funeral, had not known she was pregnant, but when he looked upon the little boy, his pudgy cheeks, and those dark locks, it took him back to the very first time he'd held Harry.
James had grown up to look like his father, and though he didn't like to make comparisons, was much more similar to him than the boy would like to admit.
Sirius understood why Isabella had kept him out of the limelight and why she was so cautious with James, but it didn't help the boy when he did enter his first year at Hogwarts and had to learn the hard way why his father was so famous.
As Sirius expected, the comparisons had begun.
Harry had left shoes too big for any to fill, and James had become rather bitter about the expectations so many seemed to have of him.
Although James was just like Harry in many ways, he wasn't him, and people seemed to forget that.
Sirius felt for the boy, and often, James would come and stay with him to escape it.
"Who's there?" he called as the floo in the study announced an arrival.
Sirius frowned as he made his way to greet his unexpected guest.
Few people still had access to his home, and he hoped it wasn't Arthur coming to ask for his input on a dreary matter.
"James?" Sirius questioned as he entered the study. "What's wrong?"
The boy looked so lost as he stood by the fireplace staring into the flames, and he shrugged uncertainly before turning to look at Sirius.
"What was he like?"
"Who?"
"My father. I want to know what he was like without all the bloody frills and all the other bollocks."
Sirius was taken aback.
James had only ever asked him about Harry when he'd been a small boy but had barely made mention of him since he'd started Hogwarts.
"You want to know about him?"
James nodded and smiled sadly.
"I want to know who he was outside of the war and killing Voldemort."
Sirius released a deep breath, unsure if he himself was ready for such a conversation.
Harry had been in his thoughts, always, but he'd not spoken much of him outside of those who had a right to.
"Well, if you want me to be honest, I will," Sirius sighed. "Your father was a pain in the arse. He was sarcastic, surly at times, and broken by everything that happened to him, but he had the biggest heart despite all of it. Do you know how he met your mother?"
James shook his head.
"I never asked."
"Then I'll save that story for her to tell you," Sirius decided with a smile. "You'll get a kick out of that. You already know that I should have raised him, and that I didn't because of my own stupidity."
"He repeated your mistake, kind of."
Sirius shook his head.
"No, he didn't," he murmured. "I want you to put yourself in his shoes. He grew up without parents and didn't know anything about what happened to them until he came into the wizarding world. Albus or Nicholas will be better at telling you what he was like before I met him, but he went through so much, James. More than even I think I know."
"He did," James replied quietly.
"If you really want to know what he was like, you only need to take a good look at yourself. I know you don't like to hear it, but you're just like him in so many ways, James. That's not a bad thing, even if you think it is. I hope you change your mind one day because if you really think about it, you're not so bad, are you?"
James snorted amusedly.
"I have my moments."
"And so did he. I'm not saying he was perfect; no one ever is, but he did the best with the hand he was dealt, and if it wasn't for him, Merlin only knows where we would be now. Instead of focusing on the fact that he wasn't around, I think you should consider what he did. I can say without any doubt that he would have adored you, James, and I wish more than anything else that you could've met him. I know you would see it for yourself."
The boy nodded and wrapped his arms around Sirius, who grunted.
"Watch it. I'm not as young as I used to be."
James laughed and offered him a grin.
"You're not doing too badly for an old git."
Sirius shook his head.
"Just as cheeky as your father," he chided lightly.
James frowned.
"Do you think I'm being selfish?"
"No," Sirius answered. "I know that even your father felt the same towards his parents at some point, but he grew past it. He didn't hold something that was out of their control against them. If you want my advice, you need to find a way to forgive him. You turned out well enough, and he doesn't deserve it."
James nodded.
"I'm trying, Sirius. I really am."
"I know," Sirius replied. "Would you like some lunch?"
"No, I think I'm going to see Uncle Cedric."
"You're going to ask him about your father?"
"I am," James confirmed. "Thank you, Sirius, for being honest with me."
"Any time."
James left through the fireplace, seemingly a little less burdened than when he'd arrived, and Sirius remained where he was for a moment as he lost himself in thoughts of the godson he'd lost so long ago.
"Sarcastic git," he chuckled.
(Break)
"I'm going to need the reports on Crabbe on my desk by the end of the day," Tonks instructed.
"Yes, dear," Cedric returned with a mocking salute. "Have I ever told you that having you as my boss has ruined my life?"
"Only every day," Tonks replied with a fond smile, blowing him a kiss. "Oh, and you will be interviewing our daughter tomorrow."
"Why do I have to do that?"
"Because as Head of the Auror Department, that's your job."
"Of course, it's my job," Cedric grumbled. "What happens if she's not an acceptable candidate?"
"DO you think she won't be?"
"As a father, absolutely not, but as the Head of the Department, she's bloody good, isn't she?"
"She was trained well."
Cedric hummed, scowling petulantly at his wife.
"It could be worse," Tonks pointed out. "She could have chosen to put her talents to other uses."
Cedric grimaced at the insinuation.
Just like her mother, Erin was a metamorph, and he'd experienced first-hand the difficulty of raising one whilst being married to another.
"I'm sure she will do just fine," Cedric sighed. "I will have my professional hat on."
With a flick of his wand, a rather ridiculous garment appeared on his head, and he grinned as his wife shook her head.
"If you were anyone else, I'd have you up for a disciplinary."
"And we both know how they tend to end," Cedric snorted. "Why bother with the bureaucracy at all? I am at your disposal."
Tonks shook her head and took her leave of his office.
"She'll be back," he chuckled. "She always is."
Setting to work to finish what he'd started, he was disturbed once more only a few moments later, and he looked towards the door.
"I knew you'd be back, but so soon?" he called.
The door opened, and his smirk vanished immediately.
"Who's going to be back?" James asked curiously.
Cedric shook his head.
"No one," he said dismissively. "Have you come to hand in an application?"
"To be an Auror?"
"No, to be a gardener," Cedric huffed.
James grinned at him.
"Maybe one day, Uncle Ced. There's something else I want to talk to you about."
"What is it?"
"My Dad."
Cedric leaned back in his chair as he surveyed the boy and nodded.
"Are you alright?"
He'd never wanted to discuss Harry much, and it had broken Cedric's heart to see how jaded he'd been towards his father.
James shrugged.
"I think so," he sighed. "I just want you to tell me about him from what you know."
"I can do that," Cedric agreed readily, feeling that familiar sadness that washed over him whenever he thought about his old friend. "Well, we first met on the Quidditch pitch. I'd heard of your father beforehand and seen him play. He beat me that day, and we never had a rematch."
"People say he was good."
"He was brilliant," Cedric declared, "and Quidditch made him happy, just like you. That talent of yours comes from him."
James nodded, and a ghost of a smile crested his lips.
"And your penchant for trouble," Cedric added. "Harry was always in trouble in some way, and not just with the Dark Lord. Did I ever tell you about the Triwizard Tournament?"
James shook his head.
"I heard people talk about it, but like with most things, it all sounded like bollocks."
"What did you hear?"
"That my Dad won it, and he saved two people during the second task."
"True," Cedric confirmed, "but much more happened. I can share my memories of that with you if you like. Your father was brilliant, James, but it all ended badly for him. Have you heard the name Katie Bell?"
James frowned thoughtfully.
"It sounds familiar."
Cedric swallowed deeply.
"Well, she was killed at the end of the tournament," he sighed. "She and your father were close, and that, for him, was when the war truly began. He watched as her throat was slit in front of her, and he never got over that."
"But he married my Mum."
"Which tells you how much he came to care for her," Cedric said fondly. "Listen, I loved your father like a brother. He wasn't the easiest person to get to know, but outside of the war, he was a smart, funny, and brilliant wizard. I miss him, James, and that will never go away."
The boy nodded thoughtfully.
"Thank you," he said.
Cedric clapped him on the shoulder.
"So, you'll be seventeen soon. Are you ready for your influx of marriage offers?"
James grimaced, and Cedric laughed.
"Your father had the same problem when he came of age."
"Not me," James declared with a grin.
"No?" Cedric asked with a frown.
"Nope," James reiterated. "I'm going to marry Erin."
Cedric scoffed in disbelief as the boy left his office, whistling a jaunty tune.
"James! Are you bloody serious? James, don't ignore me!"
The boy was already gone, and Cedric could only shake his head.
"Just like his father," he muttered, wondering if James had been joking or not.
(Break)
She hated this time of year, and she knew that Harry would too if he could see it.
The Ministry had granted the courtesy of choosing to celebrate the fallen on Harry's birthday rather than the date of their wedding anniversary and death, but it was scarcely a better alternative for Isabella.
Nonetheless, she attended the ceremony held in Diagon Alley every year to pay her respects, and to listen to the kind words people wished to speak about her husband.
Somehow, she felt closer to him, even if she was left in a rather maudlin mood.
James truly had been a blessing for her over the years. It hadn't been easy raising the boy, especially since he'd attended Hogwarts. Isabella would have preferred for him to go to Durmstrang, but James had wanted to go to the same school as his father.
Since then, it had been a difficult time for her son who had endured hearing of how heroic his father was, everything he did to defeat the Dark Lord, and ultimately, how he'd died for them all.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Harry hadn't chosen to die. It had been forced upon them all.
For years, Isabella isolated herself from magical Britain whilst she raised her son, somewhat using it as an excuse to not see anyone, to have to deal with their looks of sympathy.
She didn't want that.
It had certainly come as a surprise to all, other than the select few she'd shared James's birth with, when it was revealed that a son of Harry Potter had arrived at Hogwarts.
James had not been granted a moment of peace for his first year of schooling, though the journalists that had inevitably arrived had been sent away by Dumbledore, and then Sirius who had made some carefully chosen threats.
Still, it didn't make it easier for James.
People had expectations of the boy, and in the end, it had only served to make him rather bitter.
Perhaps Isabella would have done things differently if given the choice, but at the time, she knew she'd done the right thing.
She just wished it hadn't been her son who'd paid the price.
Things, however, did seem to be changing.
James was beginning to take an interest in the memory of his father. When confronted, he'd been open about all he'd seen via the cloak, and the more he saw of Harry and the life he'd loved, the more James seemed to understand.
To Isabella, it was a step in the right direction.
He hadn't returned until the very early hours after she'd presented him with the stone. She knew he'd been to visit Sirius and then Cedric, but what he'd done after that, Isabella couldn't be certain.
She hoped he'd had time to think, to finally realise that Harry hadn't abandoned him in favour of saving the world and that his father would have adored him above all else.
Isabella turned towards the kitchen door as she heard the approaching footsteps and smiled at her son.
He looked tired, much like Harry did most of the time she knew him.
"Would you like some breakfast?"
James nodded appreciatively as he took a seat at the table.
Whilst Isabella made the boy some toast, her gaze flitted to him from time to time to see if she could decipher his mood, but his expression was unreadable.
Placing the food in front of him, she retook her own seat and nursed her cup of coffee.
"I'd like to see if the stone works," James murmured so quietly Isabella wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly.
"You want to?"
He nodded and offered her a sad smile.
"Everyone has a lot to say about Dad, and I want to see it for myself. I hate all the crap and al the glorification. I don't care about any of that."
"He wouldn't either," Isabella assured him. "Your father would hate it more than you."
"Really?"
Isabella nodded.
"He wanted one thing after the war was over. Do you know what that was?"
James frowned as he shook his head.
"Peace," she said with a chuckle. "He just wanted to be left alone so he could finally live his life. He wouldn't want the ceremonies or anything else."
"Most people would."
"James, your father despised his fame, and it would break his heart to know that it has affected you this way. But if there is anyone who would understand, it would be him."
James deflated as he shook his head.
"He lived up to his."
"Out of necessity," Isabella pointed out. "I can promise you, if it weren't for Voldemort, your father wouldn't have cared less about what anyone expected from him. He would have told them to stuff it and bugger off."
James snorted amusedly.
"What do I say to him?"
"What would you like to say?"
He remained silent for some time before nodding.
"Nothing," he answered. "I'd just like the chance to speak to my Dad for who he was and not what anyone else has to say about him."
"Then that's what you should do," Isabella urged. "You've seen what he went through, and now you have the chance to see the kind of man he was for yourself."
James nodded as he pulled the necklace from within his shirt and stared at the stone for a moment before turning it over in his hand.
Isabella had not expected him to act immediately, but as she felt the cold, familiar magic wash over the room, her breath stilled in her chest.
Standing before her was her husband, who smiled at the sight of her.
"Isabella," he whispered.
She could only nod in response as their eyes locked, and he stepped across the room and wrapped his arms around her.
The coldness of his touch was uncomfortable, but she didn't care. She knew it would only be a moment in time that he held her, and she would endure it.
"You look beautiful," he murmured in her ear.
Isabella felt the warm tears roll down her cheeks before she extracted herself to look at him.
She'd never seen him look so at peace. There were no lines creasing his brows nor bags under his eyes telling of his lack of rest. Harry was so at ease.
"Harry, there's someone you should meet," she said nervously, her mouth going dry as she spoke the words.
He frowned and turned to where she gestured, pausing as he took in the young man who resembled him so uncannily before looking back at her questioningly.
"He's our son," Isabella choked.
Harry was dumbfounded as he stared at James, both being speechless at the sight of one another.
"I didn't know I was pregnant until a few weeks after we buried you," Isabella explained. "James came eight months later."
Harry swallowed deeply.
"James?"
"I named him for your father."
It broke her heart to see him cry, and yet his gaze never left their son.
"We had a baby," he whispered. "How old are you, James?"
"I'll be seventeen soon."
James was rather guarded, but Isabella did not miss the longing in his voice.
"Seventeen years," Harry said sadly. "I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault," James offered comfortingly. "I know what you did and what you died for. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same if I were in your position. After everything that happened to you, I just wish you could have lived."
Harry continued to look guilty before he deflated.
"So do I," he murmured.
"Did you really know you would die?" James asked.
"Not for certain," Harry answered. "I had a feeling that it might happen."
James nodded.
"I saw the memories in the cloak," he revealed. "It makes sense why you would think that. Death was going to take the Peverells before he gave them the Hallows."
"And he succeeded," Harry pointed out. "Both Cadmus and Antioch died long before they should have. Ignotus managed to defy Death, and it was me who paid the price for it. I was his chosen so long as I served him and destroyed Voldemort's Horcruxes. When that was done, and he was dead, he claimed my soul too, as a final punishment."
"That's not fair," James huffed.
"No, it isn't," Harry agreed, "but Death does not give. It is a reaver of souls, not a giver of life. The Peverells played with magic they couldn't comprehend, and I was used to fulfil Fate's wish as well as Death's revenge."
"And you still fought knowing you might die."
Harry nodded.
"It was my fight. Whether we fought then or another time, it would've ended the same way. Death had no intention of both of us winning, even if I tried to convince myself otherwise."
James nodded.
"I know. It took me seeing your memories to understand it and not hold it against you," he admitted. "Even if you would've run, it would have come for you. It doesn't make it any easier."
"It doesn't," Harry agreed. "Well, I know it isn't much of a consolation, but you have the stone."
"I couldn't throw it away," Isabella said apologetically.
"I'm glad you didn't," Harry said with a smile. "I know it's not the same, but I'd like to get to know you, James, if you'll let me."
"What would you like to know?"
"Everything," Harry answered. "I want to know everything about you. I think seventeen years of your life is a lot to catch up on, don't you? I just wish I could've been there for you. Both of you. I can't imagine how hard it's been."
Isabella nodded.
"It's not been easy."
"Did you ever make it as a Healer?"
"When James went to Hogwarts I did," Isabella explained, still taken aback by the surreal situation she found herself in.
"She's brilliant," James declared proudly. "She's patched me up a few times after Quidditch."
"She does that," Harry chuckled. "Were you ever told how we met?"
James shook his head.
"I didn't see that memory," he answered. "I didn't see any memories of the two of you, except for when you died."
"Well, that's quite a story," Harry chuckled. "Are you going to tell it, or should I?"
"You can tell your side, and I'll tell mine," Isabella decided. "I'll go first. It all started when a stupid prat decided he was going to start duelling in an illegal club in Knockturn Alley…"
"Oi, less of the prat."
"Harry, you were a prat," Isabella snorted.
He pouted petulantly, and James laughed.
"That look won't work on her," he advised.
"No, it never bloody did," Harry grumbled. "You can't blame me for trying."
Isabella rolled her eyes at the man, almost forgetting for a moment that he wasn't truly with them.
For her, it felt as though they were a family, and though she knew this would be a painful experience to endure, she had not expected to feel such happiness at the same time.
Laughter and tears.
It was truly the best she could have hoped for.
(Break)
Sirius peered at the crowd through curtains. As ever, hundreds had filled the alley to share their appreciation for those who had died during the war against Voldemort, many having lost friends and family themselves.
Still, he hated this day.
It only served to remind him of how his godson had perished, and though he had learned to live with it, speaking of it in front of so many was not what he wanted.
"Hello, Sirius."
He was startled by the voice, and he turned to be faced by a smiling James, something it felt he had not seen in such a long time.
"You came?" he asked, surprised by the boys' appearance.
James hadn't been to one of the gatherings since his first year of Hogwarts, not wanting to celebrate the dead nor hear of his father in such a context.
"I did," he replied. "I'd like to give the speech if you don't mind."
"You want to give the speech?" Sirius asked suspiciously.
James nodded.
"If anyone has the right to, it's me, don't you think? Don't worry, I'm not going to say anything unpleasant."
Sirius eyed the boy curiously.
Somehow, he seemed happier, almost more relaxed than he'd ever seen him. Throwing caution to the wind, he nodded.
"If that's what you want."
"It is," James confirmed, surprising him once more by pulling him into a hug. "Thank you for telling me about him."
"Any time, James."
The boy offered him another smile as he stepped through the curtains and Sirius looked on as the crowd began to murmur amongst themselves, just as surprised as he was to see James here.
(Break)
The pointing and the staring had always grated on her. So few had known that she and Harry had gotten married, and that only came to light when James entered Hogwarts shortly after his eleventh birthday.
With whom her father was, questions had been asked, and it wasn't until those who had attended the ceremony and knew of their relationship had come forward to vouch for it that the vicious rumours stopped.
Still, Isabella was looked upon with suspicion by some, though they dared not say anything openly.
She'd never let it get to her, and certainly not today.
For the better part of the past few days, James had been getting to know his father and the more he did so, the more he came out of his shell and the more he accepted what had happened.
For them both, it was helping immensely, though she was surprised when James had declared his intention to attend, let alone give the speech.
As he took to the stage, he looked at her, and Isabella offered her son a nod of encouragement, ignoring the muttered questioning of the crowd.
Clearing his throat, he stood tall and unflinching.
"My name is James Harry Potter," he declared proudly. "Named for the grandfather who died to protect his family and for my own father, who many of you knew. I have not been to one of these for some time. I have spent my life with whispers following me wherever I went and had expectations thrust upon me because of who my father was. I used it as an excuse to become something he would not be proud of, and I have given you all reasons to believe that I am not proud of my father."
He paused for a moment and took a deep breath.
"The truth is, I am prouder of my father than anyone else. In his short life, he achieved many things, most of which he couldn't care less about but he is remembered for. The things he cared for were the people lucky enough to get close to him: Sirius, Cedric, of course, my wonderful mother, and others who are unfortunately no longer with us. I only wish that I could have gotten to know him the same way you all did. For the others who lost their lives, you have my undying gratitude for standing with my father when he fought the Dark Lord. So long as we gather here and pay homage, none will be forgotten. Their memories will live on, just as my father's does, and I carry his name and his legacy with the utmost pride of who he was, what he stood for, and all he has done to give us all that we have now. That is peace, and wherever he is, I hope that he has found it for himself. That was all he wanted. Thank you."
The crowd cheered, and James offered them a bow before taking his leave.
Isabella wiped away a tear, accepting the handkerchief Mrs Weasley offered her.
"That was some speech," Arthur declared.
"It was," one of the twins agreed. "What do you say, Fred, a grand finale?"
"My thoughts exactly, George."
They rushed off, followed by their frantic mother, and when they returned, the sky was soon full of an array of fireworks, much to the delight of the crowd.
It was the first time Isabella had attended one of the gatherings that she wasn't leaving feeling that her heart had been torn into a million pieces all over again, and for that, she was grateful.
She would never stop missing Harry nor wishing he was truly with them once more, but seeing him again had given her the closure she needed, and hearing how unwaveringly proud he was of her for what she'd endured was all she'd needed.
Raising James had not been easy, but every moment had been worth it to see them meeting for the first time.
(Break)
James laughed along with his father as he described the Weasley twins' spectacular fireworks display. He was glad to have given the speech, and had done so to honour the father he was getting to know.
"I expect Mrs Weasley wasn't pleased."
"No," James snorted. "She cuffed them both around the ears."
His father grinned amusedly before it fell.
"What about Ron, what happened to him?"
"He became an Auror and a good one at that," James's mother explained. "He was devastated, and he always kept in touch. Barely a week goes by that he doesn't write."
"And Hermione?"
"She is a lawyer now," Isabella explained. "I see her when I visit the alley."
James's dad nodded.
"Who else died?" he asked.
"Not anyone you were close to. Sturgis Podmore was killed, as was Mundungus Fletcher. The rest were Aurors and villagers, oh, and Severus Snape was found a few days later. He'd been bitten by a snake he killed."
"He got her then," Harry sighed in relief. "There's no chance he can come back."
"None," Isabella confirmed.
Harry nodded.
"James, would you mind if I have a word with your mother?"
"Of course not," James complied, giving them some space by walking a dozen or so paces towards the beach house.
It was here that his mother had hidden during the war, and the spot they stood in now was the place his father had asked his mother to marry him.
He watched the interaction between them, longing for it all to have been what he'd grown with, but James had found a sense of contentment with who he was, who his father was and what he'd done.
He'd meant every word he'd spoken during the speech and equally guilty for how he'd been before he'd met his father.
Looking on, he could see just how much they had meant to one another, and as his father cupped his mother's cheek, wiping away her tears as he did so, he couldn't help but think of how unfair the world was.
They both deserved better than they'd been given.
It was a few moments later that his mother approached and gestured for him to join his father on the shore.
She was still crying, but that smile she'd been missing for the past seventeen years was firmly in place.
It warmed him to see it, and he was grateful to his father for bringing it back.
Nonetheless, it was a sense of sadness that washed over him as he approached the man once more. He'd known this moment was coming since he'd summoned him a few days prior, but it didn't make it any easier for him.
"I have to let you go, don't I?" he asked.
"Do you want to?"
"I'm not ready to say goodbye."
"Then don't," his father urged. "I have missed so much of your life, and you never got to know me. I want you to keep the stone, James. Whenever you need me, I'll be there."
"Won't Death be pissed?"
"If Death has a problem with it, he can take it up with me," his father grumbled. "The git hasn't given me an explanation, and our debt is clear as far as I'm concerned. The stone is yours, as is the cloak. I know it won't be the same as having me with you both, but we have to make do with the best we have, and one day, many years from now, we'll be together."
James nodded.
"What's it like, being dead?"
"Peaceful," his father answered with a smile. "Go on, go and be with your mother for a while."
"What did you say to her?"
"I told her that I loved her and a few other things you don't need to hear."
James grimaced at the insinuation and shook his head as his father grinned.
"You'll be able to come back?"
"Any time."
Reluctantly, James released his father, watching the man as he faded into nothingness until he was looking towards the setting sun.
"Come Death, come," he whispered to himself, finally understanding the words his father had spoken often.
It truly was not something to be feared but something to be embraced, for when the time came to say goodbye, it was only peace that waited.
When that peace came for James, they would be together again, as it should have been in life.
A/N
This was a very difficult story to finish for me, especially in this way.
I wanted this Harry to have a truly happy ending, but the more I wrote of the lore of the Hallows, of Death, and of Fate throughout, the more it dawned on me that this was inevitable.
Anything else really would have cheapened the story as a whole, and it wasn't my intention to end it this way when I planned it out and began writing it.
I really tried to find a way to end this differently. I wrote a scenario where Harry knew he was going to die and created a Horcrux to prevent it, but that did not fit in with his character.
Throughout the story, he comes to accept Death for what it is he believed it to be, and if he had taken that root, he would've learned nothing from Ignotus and the mistake the Peverells made.
The other option was to go all in and have the entire affair be miserable, but I couldn't do that either.
This Harry deserved something, and to learn that his line would continue and that this truly wasn't the end for his family was what mattered to him.
I didn't want to depress anyone with this, and as always, I wanted to give an authentic account of the theme of this story.
I really wish I could've written it happier and not taken anything away from the rest of the story itself.
In essence, we got something of a bittersweet ending here, but I promise you that the next one will not be so.
There will be much more light-heartedness, but with a Harry who is capable, resourceful, and takes no prisoners, and a very strong female lead.
Of course, the endgame is Harry and Amelia, but it will be far from smooth sailing.
Again, I thank you all for your continued support.
Doing what I love and being able to share it with you is an honour that I don't take for granted.
The Baron