Snape had never looked so awful. His black hair was brittle and wiry, his face was sickly-green and gaunt. He did not glare at James with his usual malice. He simply looked exhausted, as though it was causing him a great effort to be in James' company.

"You killed the Dark Lord," said Snape stonily.

James shrugged. "Yep. Sorry for your loss."

Snape clenched his teeth. "There's no point in trying to defend myself. You wouldn't believe me even if-"

"No, I wouldn't," said James. "You may have Dumbledore in your pocket but you haven't fooled me."

Snape rolled his eyes, a smirk playing at his lips. "This is the James Potter I knew. Always right, even when he was wrong."

James fought the urge to argue further. He would prove that he'd grown up. "What are you doing here, Snape?"

Snape blinked slowly. "I came to see Lily."

"Well clearly you didn't, 'cause the whole wizarding world knows that we don't live here anymore."

"So how did you know I was here if you don't live nearby?"

"Protective enchantments," James lied smoothly. "We know when someone is approaching our house."

"Judging by your statement in the Daily Prophet, those enchantments went up a little too late. Too busy bickering to protect your precious offspring?"

James breathed slowly, forcing himself to remain composed. "Come on then, Chuckles, what are you really doing here?"

He looked up at the house, directly at the large crater in the roof. "I wanted to see it. It seems I am the last wizard alive to have not visited the battle ground," he smirked again. "I'd say it's overrated. Not even worth putting my cloak on for." James waited. Snape turned back round with, as James had suspected, an entirely different expression. "Think what you like about me, Potter. The war took its toll on me too. "

It was so unlike Snape to share anything personal or vulnerable with anyone, let alone James Potter. Snape had swallowed his pride in order to be true to himself in front of his enemy. James had to respect that. In fact, he decided to show the same courtesy.

"So I hear you're off to Hogwarts," said James.

Snape pushed his chest out. "Yes. What of it?"

James shrugged. "Curious. Dark arts?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What are you teaching?"

Snape chewed the inside of his lip. "Potions."

James nodded in forced admiration. It was so unnatural to act this way, it made James' skin crawl. Even so, he had to carry on.

"This time in ten years, my son will be there."

Snape could not hide his discomfort now. James saw that as Snape grew even paler than usual.

"It's pretty scary, that. Him being at Hogwarts. Right now, we can't take him anywhere without being ambushed. Some people are treating him like some sort of deity-"

Snape scowled in disgust. "If you're expecting me to pity the boy, you-"

"No..." James snapped. "I'm just saying..." What was he saying? Truth be told, James's love for Harry seemed to override any sense of reason or logic that James had ever possessed. There was no way James would stoop so low as to ask Snape for anything, let alone trust him. He would have to accept, despite whatever Lily would say, that he would have to spend years sitting uneasy at home while Harry was sat writing essays for Severus Snape. The idea scared him already. It also made him want to break Snape's arm.

"What?" Snape asked impatiently.

"Forget it. Doesn't matter," replied James.

There was a moment of silence. It was then that James noticed Snape's strange posture, standing rigidly with a hand behind his back. Snape seemed to notice James' suspicious expression.

"I found something in the wreckage," said Snape, pulling his arm round to view. "I believe this is yours."

Snape was holding up a quivering white, black and ginger cat by the scruff of its neck.

"Tuppy!" James exclaimed, rushing forward. "You're alive!" Before James could grab Tuppy, Snape had snatched the cat back. It was then that James saw that Tuppy's pupils were wide with fear. He was trembling ferociously, as though the night air itself was frightening him.

Snape's old sneer was back again as he took a few steps backwards, away from James.

James rolled his eyes. "Give me the fucking cat, Snape."

"Why would I do that?" Snape asked immediately. "This animal looks to me as if it's been abused beyond sanity. I should report you to the Minister. Oh... but of course... you and her are the best of friends now. She might actually reward you with a job."

"You don't know what you're talking about," James growled. "Of course the cat looks half-dead, he's spent the past month in a..." James wondered why Snape was rummaging around in the wreckage of their old house. He would've asked, but Snape would undoubtedly taunt him with half-answers.

"I think I'll keep the cat," said Snape, casually sliding the cat from hand to hand as though it were a quaffle. "I could donate it to Hogwarts. I'm sure they're running out of livestock with which to feed the giant squid."

"It's Lily's cat, actually," said James, resisting the urge to lunge.

"I know that," replied Snape, his tone suddenly becoming cold and low. "Can you imagine what she'd say if she knew you'd come so close to rescuing her childhood pet but had failed to obtain it...or that I happened to stroll through the village and found it after weeks of you missing it."

James rolled his eyes. "This is boring, Snape," as quick as a flash, James whipped his wand out of his back pocket.

Bless non-verbal magic, he thought. Tuppy shot out of Snape's hand and collided with James' chest. He wrapped a strong arm around the cat, still holding his wand out. Snape's expression did not change.

"Don't try anything," James warned him. "If you do, Lily will know."

Still, Snape did not move. Neither of them said anything for a long time.

"I want to see her."

James laughed loudly. "Not a hope, mate."

Snape's eyes widened in fury. "I am not your-"

"It's a figure of speech, Snivellus, don't burst a blood vessel."

Snape was seething.

"Whatever you want from her, you'll have to get from me."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

James tried not to gag. "I can tell you what you want to know."

Both James and Snape didn't fully understand why James had offered this. Snape certainly had no clue. He looked uncomfortable.

"Is... is she alright?" asked Snape with difficulty.

James looked down at his feet, still clutching the trembling Tuppy. "She's fine. She's..." James didn't know what he'd been about to say, but what came to mind next certainly steered his answer.

She'd lost her home, just like he had. She'd lost friends, just like he had. She'd almost lost her son or her own life, just like James almost had. There was no doubt that Lily needed James just like James needed Lily, but James had not lost his best friends. Lily had.

"She's bored and lonely," said James, registering it for himself.

Snape smiled cruelly again. "Trouble in paradise, Potter?"

"You must be as shallow and dense as you were as a teenager if you think marital bickering is Lily's biggest problem right now," said James darkly. He allowed himself a moment to bask in a private victory as Snape seemed taken aback by his words.

James, too, was coming to realisation.

"She's lost her parents and her sister. She's lost Dorcas, she's lost Alice, she's lost Marlene..." the painful memories of watching thirteen-year-old Lily and Marlene walking arm in arm across the Gryffindor common room together flooded his mind and made a lump rise in your throat. "...she lost you, too. As happy as that makes me, I don't like seeing her cry."

Snape, once again, looked torn. He was obviously pained to hear of Lily's sorrow, but the evil in him was smug that Lily had been hurt by his absence.

James, too, was smug. Smug that he knew the workings of Lily's heart, knew exactly what she was thinking and how much she was hurting. Though it hurt James to think about it, it was blissful to tell Snape all about it.

"I should see her," Snape breathed. "She wants to see me."

"Nah, fat chance," said James.

"What are you not telling me, Potter?" asked Snape in annoyance.

"I've told you everything."

Snape looked unsatisfied with this answer. "I don't care what you think is good for her," he said coldly. "She needs to see me."

He started to walk off. He brushed James' shoulder as he passed.

"Well good luck finding her, Snivellus," said James haughtily, stopping Snape in his tracks.

In the next moment, Snape was facing James with his wand tip inches from James' chest.

"Tell me where she is."

James could've laughed. Did Snape really expect him to tell him?

"If you turn up on our doorstep after the three years she's spent trying to forget about you, she'll kill you. You won't get the beautiful little reunion you're hoping for."

"Lies," spat Snape. "You just said she'd been crying-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Snape! People aren't that simple! You think she'll greet you with open arms? We've just spent our entire relationship fighting the gang of spineless monsters that you joined!"

"Shut up," said Snape sharply, his wand still aimed at James' chest. "I don't doubt that if Lily were to see me again, the make-belief horror stories you've spun to her about me will spurn her to cast me out," Snape glowered. "But like you said: people aren't that simple. You'll never understand-"

"Save it," James snapped. "Whatever special Best Friends Forever pact you had with Lily ten years ago that you're still clinging onto died when you and your mates savaged all the people she loved."

"Imbecile..." scoffed Snape. "I had nothing to do with McKinnon."

He was missing the point. He was miles off the point. But, funnily enough, James had little energy to argue with him.

"Is it not enough to know that she's happy?" asked James wearily. "Small victory, I know. But she's happily married. She's a Mum. Why isn't it enough for you to know that she's got what she's always wanted?"

There was a pause. Snape dropped his wand in what looked like defeat, but James was wrong. Snape swooped towards him, his arm raised, and in the next second, James was crouching on the ground with a hot pain spreading through the centre of his face.

"You punched me!" gasped James, clutching his throbbing nose. "You actually punched me!"

"Blind..." Snape hissed, grabbing James by the collar and pulling up to a standing position. "Blinded by arrogance and filthy adolescent lust. Lily could still have everything she's ever wanted with someone else... but you're too selfish and big-headed to even consider that. You might laud the idea that Lily Evans is your little trophy for conquering Hogwarts and all your pathetic little followers, but she doesn't really love you..."

James stamped his foot in anger. "Snape, you stupid bastard, just give up!" James shouted in frustration. "I won!"

Snape stared at him, fury mounting to nothing James had ever seen before. "You... won?"

James knew that if Lily could hear them now, she'd be angry with both of them. Lily was so much more than a prize to him, but she wouldn't have been to old Snivellus. That was what made his need for victory even greater.

"Yes," James snarled. "I won. I know it wasn't a game but it was a bloody competition, wasn't it? Us, stupid and love-struck teenage boys pining over Lily Evans. We were ready to fight to the death, remember? You knew she didn't love you but you still wanted her. Yeah, you were close to her. That was something I didn't have, right? Lily's affection? Well I've got it now, Snivellus! And it was all thanks to you."

James knew he was being cruel. He could hear Lily berating him in the back of his mind but at this moment in time, his furious vendetta against Snape was at its peak.

"And I love her," he said, the words tainting the air around them. The childish malice vanished, leaving nothing but a husband and his enemy. "And I don't give a shit whether you believe that or not. I do love her, and I get to tell her every day, whenever I want to. And you know something Snape? She loves me too."

Snape looked ready to be sick.

"You reckon I brainwashed her? Manipulated her? Lied to her? Bollocks did I. People don't do that to people they love. Yet somehow, without me pulling any of the shit that your lot pull, she fell in love with me. Not you. She said 'yes' to me when I was the one who had the balls to ask her out-"

Snape aimed another punch at James, but James dived. He stumbled, blood gushing from his nose, to several yards away from Snape again.

Panting, he managed to continue. "She's not going to run off into the sunset with you, alright? We love each other. I'm sorry but unless you move on, you're never going understand what that feels like."

Snape resembled a dying man. With a thick voice, like someone on their death bed, he spoke to James the last words he's say to him for many, many years: "If you're so confident that she'd never leave you... why won't you tell me where she is?"

"It's not her I'm protecting..." James picked up Tuppy, who was standing shaking on the floor nearby. He glared at Snape with all the evil intent he could manage. "You're not coming anywhere near our son."

James had wanted to walk off victoriously, his head held high, listening to Snape's cries of despair echoing throughout the village square before disapparating mysteriously. Instead, he heard something which made his stomach churn: Snape's laughter.

oOo oOo oOo

"Mummy knows! Mummy knows! Mummy knows!"

Lily stood in the middle of her childhood bedroom, eleven years old, her entire family stood in the doorway. Her door was gone. The entire wall, in fact, had gone. The hall faced her, as did the eerily blank faces of her parents and sister.

Her right arm inched upwards of its own accord, a glimmering steel wand clutched in her hand.

"Get out of the way!" Lily screeched at her family. "Move! I can't stop it!"

Her parents and sister did not move. They watched her aim the metal wand at them.

"RUN!" She was crying helplessly now. Her family were living statues, petrified, seeing and understanding what Lily was doing but unable to react.

Then, when no spells emitted from the end of the metal wand, Petunia stepped forward. She was twelve, with long blonde hair and hawk-ish eyes.

"Lily, something's happened..." The way Petunia spoke sickened Lily. Her voice was a mixture of her own and Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice as well as Marlene McKinnon's and Lord Voldemort himself.

"What's happened?" asked Lily in a whimper.

"The Death Eaters found Marlene's grandparents."

Though Lily's focus was entirely on Petunia, she could see in her periphery dreadful black stains appearing and spreading all over her bedroom walls and furniture as though the room was ablaze with invisible fire.

Because of the multiple voices with which Petunia spoke, Lily was unsure who to address.

"We have to hide Marlene!" she cried. "Send a patronus to her house! We have to hide her family! They'll get her too! We have to save Marlene!"

Petunia's blank stare was slowly replaced with a nauseating smirk. "No."

The metal wand in Lily's hand suddenly grew warm. Lily tried desperately to prise her fingers from around the wand as it grew hotter and hotter, but her hand was fused to the handle.

Lily was almost too preoccupied with her scorching hand to notice what happened next: a thin vein of red smoke had begun to seep from the tip of Lily's wand and was floating across the room towards Petunia.

"RUN!" Lily shrieked. "PETUNIA, RUN!"

But the red vein of smoke did not touch Petunia. It drifted past her head towards their parents.

"MUMMY, DADDY, RUN!"

It was too late. The red vein of smoke split into two prongs. As soon as each end had faintly touched the chests of her mother and father, they both let out piercing screams.

"I CAN'T STOP IT!" Lily cried, but failing to bring her arm down. Her parent's tortured screams where like ghostly moans on Halloween night. They filled Lily with terror.

Her parents' voices, like Petunia's had been, began to change. Amid the screams, clear as day, Lily heard the calm but shaky voice of someone young and afraid.

"Stay close to me..."

Lily prayed for this nightmare to be over. Yes, she knew she was dreaming. She longed for morning to come. She forced herself to stamp hard on the floor and scratcher her own cheek with her free hand, but she did not wake.

The faces of her parents and sister slowly began to fall, melting like candle wax, the fleshy gloop dripping down their shirts, down their legs, pooling at their shoes to leave their blackened skulls screaming.

Lily was wide awake instantly. She clenched her fist. Her hand was cool.

Now that she was back in the guest room at Bathilda's house, with James and Harry sleeping peacefully with her, the dream seemed silly. That did not erase the horrific image of her family's melting faces from her mind.

The room was silent but for James' heavy breathing. The street lamp which stood across the street from Bathilda's shone a very dim yellow glow into the room, showing Lily the purring cat which was curled up at the foot of the bed.

Lily smiled. She'd had one of the best nights she'd had in a long time. She'd awoken to James walking in with a dishevelled Tuppy in his hand. Once Lily had stopped crying with joy, James had been so loving and passionate towards her, telling her his big ideas for their family, talking about buying a big house, taking her to Paris and Prague and New York... he called her beautiful and kept cuddling her and kissing her... he even spoke of having more children. However, now, it seemed that the effects were only temporary.

Feeling defeated, knowing she would not get back to sleep now, she peered around the room. On the big bureau on the left wall were dozens of framed captured moments of Bathilda's life (which James and Lily had agreed were, frustratingly, off-putting to anything intimate). There were several of her nephew, one of Lily, James and Harry, and some of unrecognisable Hogwarts pupils from Bathilda's days there. Lily didn't like to look at the pictures for long. They reminded her that Bathilda was not always a batty old woman.

Lily scoured the room again, taking in the place where she'd been sleeping for a whole month. Her dressing gown was hung on the back of the centuries-old door. The wardrobe door was slightly ajar. The slightly cracked full-length mirror reflected the bed and the ghostly reflections of James' sleeping form and the messy-haired Lily. Harry's cot was in a surprisingly immaculate condition from the explosion, as a result of the countless safety charms Lily had cast on it upon purchase. Harry was fast asleep, mouth open.

At the foot of the cot, two bright yellow eyes stared angrily at Lily.

Lily squeaked in alarm, causing the jittery Tuppy to leap several feet into the air with a frightened screech.

Lily groped around on the bedside table for her wand and scrambled out of bed, her mind racing with ideas of the vengeful Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, or some other dark wizard who'd heard of Voldemort's defeat.

"Lumos!" Lily exclaimed breathlessly.

Her wand lit the room with a silvery glow.

Lily exhaled loudly. "Cadwal..."

She'd forgotten all about the enormous angry-looking owl that James had brought home mere minutes before finding Tuppy, who was now cowering behind the wardrobe. Lily looked over to Cadwal, who had not been out of his cage since his arrival at Bathilda's house and looked as though he might prey on Harry if he was not allowed to hunt for mice.

Lily tentatively walked over to the cage. "Please don't peck me," she whispered to the owl, who looked even bigger and angrier when her hand was at his cage door. "I'm on your side, alright?"

As soon as the cage door clicked ajar, Cadwal flapped his strong wings and burst from his cage. It look all of Lily's effort to not scream. She merely threw herself out of the way as Cadwal soared across the room, now appearing to be as bit as an ostrich in Lily's eyes. He landed on the window ledge, his huge talons as sharp as knives clicking against the fragile wood and turned his head to give Lily a grunt-like hoot of gratitude before taking off into the night.

It was as though Lily became the owl herself, soaring silently through the cold night air, scanning treetops and hedgerows a mile beneath her in search of prey, or anything to curb her boredom. She pictured herself looking down at Godric's Hollow from such a height that the villagers stumbling home from the pub looked like ants, drowsily finding their way back to their nests. She imagined what it must feel like to stretch her wings so wide that the wind would take her higher, giving her views over the hills toward the ocean, where no human could reach her.

Down below, in a damp and cold cottage, her husband and son slept peacefully, safe in the knowledge that Lily would be there when they woke up. Such a thought was enough to pierce Lily's wings and bring her down to Earth, where she longed for the wind to take her higher but with her flock soaring beside her.

oOo oOo oOo

Dear Petunia,

I am going to calmly assume that my previous letters have reached the wrong address. I cannot imagine why else you would not respond to anything that contained details of your sister's near-death.

I'm afraid I still cannot tell you where we are staying but we could arrange to meet, as I suggested in the previous letters, to discuss things. It turns out that most of the damage to our house is beyond repair after all. I will not bore you with the details of my narrow escape from death.

I would love to see you and Dudley at some point in the future. Please write back.

All my love,

Lily.

Lily sat at the breakfast table with Harry sat beside her, eating his breakfast in an uncharacteristically quiet fashion. As Bathilda was still upstairs, Lily had managed to serve a bowl of well-cooked porridge to Harry. As her son's hands, face and pyjamas became messier and messier, Lily sat re-reading the letter that lay on the table. Was there a pinnacle subject she was missing out? Lily rolled her eyes as she thought of Vernon, glued to his armchair, peering over the newspaper to tell Petunia just how much of a ridiculous idea it was to send a reply to Lily's previous letters. Having Harry sitting next to her babbling away to himself made it worse. Lily longed to see Dudley again. She would be her own chance to prevent her own nephew from being raised to resent her. Why didn't Petunia seem to care about Harry? Hadn't Lily made it clear that they'd nearly died?

"What are you doing up?" asked James, walking zombie-like into the kitchen, rubbing his hair.

"Harry was hungry," replied Lily.

"I didn't hear him crying..."

Naturally, James knew all too well that Lily would have to have been awake to get Harry up before he started crying. Was there any point in lying anyway?

Lily slumped back in her chair and gave a tired smile. "Bad dream."

James frowned. "Again?"

Lily nodded. "I'll buy some Dreamless Sleep at some point."

James walked round the kitchen table and pulled up a chair right beside Lily, so close that she could curl into him and breathe in his scent. He pulled her impossibly closer and kissed her once, twice, three times, four...

"James..." Lily breathed, chuckling slightly but still with a tone of sadness. "Bathilda will be awake soon."

"Don't care,"

"James," she pushed him gently off. "Oh, we need a home," Lily whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. "I want our life back. I don't want to be a refugee."

James stroked her arm. "We've got to be refugees for a bit longer, Lils. But we can do it in better places."

oOo oOo oOo

Hogsmeade had been the agreed location for the burial ground of those who'd fought Voldemort. On this day, the first of December, the village was chilly, with the ground and shop roofs thick with frost. It was a clear morning. Families and friends huddled together, barely talking, all on a common pilgrimage from the train station down to the graveyard, frosty grass crunching beneath their feet. The community was respectfully solemn.

James, Lily, Harry, Sirius and Remus were some of the earliest there, beaten only by the immediate families of those who'd died. Parents, spouses and children of fallen Aurors or martyrs approached by Death Eaters filled up the graveyard, seeking out the names of their loved ones on the headstones. Fabian and Gideon's sister was there with her husband and the baby smothered in pale pink blankets. Caradoc Dearborn's father was there again in his tweed suit, balancing on a bending cane. Edgar Bones's family were there too, huddled together in long black coats. Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance and Dedalus Diggle were huddled under a shadowy pine tree further away, wearing glum expressions. James suspected it was survivor's guilt.

"Where's Isabelle?" asked Remus as they strolled down the faint gravel path that weaved around gravestones.

"At the Ministry," replied Sirius, keeping his voice respectfully low. "Bagnold's having trouble with the muggle families of the deceased."

Nobody said much else for a long while. They read each grave stone as they walked past, receiving the watery smiles or bitter scowls of their families. The significance of the day made James wonder about how he would feel in the future. Would there always be this misery when another month passed? He dreaded to think what the year anniversary would bring.

"A terrible business," said a surprisingly loud voice close by. Out of nowhere, Albus Dumbledore had appeared with Minerva McGonagall looking ashen beside him . "A truly terrible business..."

"It's good to see you, Professors," said James. In truth, it really was. Being with Dumbledore in troubled times was like clinging to a father's knee during a thunderstorm. It did not eradicate the danger, but it quenched the fear.

"Likewise, Mr Potter. As sad as the circumstances are, I am glad of the opportunity to see the fruits of our efforts." Dumbledore smiled at Harry, who stared back at his future Headmaster. James did not inquire as to what Dumbledore was actually saying.

"How are you all?" asked McGonagall with concern.

"We're doing well, Professor..." answered Lily. "...considering."

McGonagall nodded solemnly. "Yes...well, I see your son is growing up fast," she said in an attempt to keep the conversation light.

James smiled. "Yeah. He's already doing magic, summoning his toys sometimes..."

McGonagall gave a half smile. "You must be proud."

"I am."

Dumbledore reached out for Lily's arm. "Mrs Potter, may you take my arm?"

Lily hesitated for a second. She slid Harry into James' arms and linked her own arm with Dumbledore's. He lead her away from the rest of the group towards the graves in the corner without another word.

"War is always sobering," said McGonagall gravely. "It's a brutal lesson in mortality. Sometimes you see the bereaved become the happiest people alive. We do not complain about the insignificant trifles once we've known loss..."

McGonagall appeared lost in thought.

"Professor? Where is Professor Dumbledore taking Lily?"

McGonagall glanced over her shoulder, where Dumbledore and Lily where approaching the furthermost grave. James had not noticed it before. It was much bigger than the others, resembling a memorial stone than a headstone.

"The McKinnon family plot," answered McGonagall just as Lily sunk to her knees in front of it. "It made sense practically to bury them in a muggle graveyard, but... Marlene and Marcus would not have belonged there... and their parents were so proud of their children that I'm sure they wouldn't have minded."

McGonagall's expression turned cold. "The same can hardly be said for Mr and Mrs Meadowes..."

James scoured the graveyard. Near the wall was a small, non-descript headstone with a man and a woman in beige overcoats standing beside it. They were not crying. They did not even look sad. They were whispering together, looking around at the other mourners in a way which made James feel oddly defensive.

He knew of Dorcas' uncomfortable family life. Her parents were worse than Lily's sister when it came to Dorcas' special abilities. Dorcas had revealed to Lily many years ago that McGonagall had almost had to drag Dorcas to Diagon Alley, her parents were reluctant to let Dorcas submit to what they thought had been a cult. However, when September had arrived, they could not have been happier to see Dorcas disappear.

"You'd think those beastly people were allergic to laughter..." said McGonagall. "Never mind. It's not as though our memory of Miss Meadowes relies on them."

No. It would not. They would always remember Dorcas' cheeriness, her over-sized knitted jumpers, her thick-framed glasses and her motherly habits of picking fluff of people's robes or stooping down to tie people's shoe laces in the middle of a corridor. They'd remember Edgar Bones' blue hair, his first pet frog whom' he'd bought in Knockturn Alley and named Simon, only to wake up to find that Simon had laid frogspawn in his dressing gown pocket a month later. The Frog Breeder, he'd been called. They'd remember Caradoc's awful puns and his chess prowess. They'd remember Marlene's razor-sharp wit, her love of anything purple, her vast knowledge of English Kings and Queens and her fierce passion for muggle music. And although they were not dead, they would remember Frank for his generosity, his loyality, his willingness to do anything for a friend, no matter how stupid, and they'd remember Alice for her happiness. She expelled sunshine from her every pore and symbolised everything that anyone could be if they had never been touched by jealousy, anger, greed or selfishness. They'd remember their golden Hogwarts days and they'd hang onto them for dear life while they weaved a golden future.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

A/N: Thank you for reading.

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