I'm back! Thanks for all the comments btw, they make me feel more motivated to write when I'm feeling lazy XD

Warning for a lil bit of feels ahead, but not too much so u should be fine without tissues.

25th October 1988

Dear Narcissa,

I realize that I still owe you a reply regarding our latest subject but I have yet to find enough time in my hands to delve into the recommended titles. Instead, I am writing to inquire into a more personal matter, as I have been recently reminded that you and my ward share a familial connection. Samhain quickly approaches and as we discussed once before, I have devised a fitting schedule for the celebration with my ward but still found myself wondering about familial traditions, especially since he is sure to feel the loss of his own quite keenly given the date. As you both share a connection with the Black family, I reach out in the hope that you may still remember any traditions they may have practised during Samhain that could be beneficial for my ward to take part in.

In addition, if I may impose on your generosity, I plan to get in contact with suitable tutors and wondered if you could offer any recommendations.

Yours truly,

Michael.

27th October 1988

Dear Michael,

I do hope you are not disregarding your own needs due to lack of free time, for your ward's sake as well as my desire to continue having a decent debate over the political structure of the Wizengamot. There is no rush, take the time to breathe in something other than the smell of ink and parchment.

In regards to the Black family's approach to Samhain, it has been many years since I've dwelled on it, some have fallen out of practice and in parts even been outlawed, but I remember the simplest of rituals always did bring me the most comfort, especially as a child. In any case, your ward has yet to reach the age of enough magical maturity to participate in the more elaborate ones we've previously discussed and it would be my pleasure to share some of the family's customs with our second youngest member.

The package that arrived along with my letter contains a few rosemary and mugwort candles, to place on each bedroom window and at the table by the seats put aside for those we honour on that night. They are usually lit by children once they learn the ghost flame spell, but any flame will act as a guiding light when the veil is the thinnest, and there is no need to worry about leaving them overnight as their flames will be extinguished come the first rays of light.

Another common custom during Samhain is to…

26th October 1988

Dear Mrs Tonks,

I'm aware that we parted ways on unfriendly terms and, while I have no regrets for standing up for my ward, I would hope to establish more amicable relations with those related to him, as a family by blood can be just as important as the family one chooses.

I have mailed your sister with a request for examples of the Black family's Samhain traditions which I would like to slowly introduce to my ward's life, as well as a request for any possible recommendations regarding appropriate tutors, and figured you should be extended the same courtesy.

I await a response, be it to request that I cease correspondence or elaborate on my requests.

Yours truly,

Michael Morgan-Wright.

28th October 1988

Dear Mr Wright,

I take no part in traditions belonging to the Black family, but that still leaves a plethora of Samhain rituals to choose from, most of which can not be performed without the use of magic, leaving very few options to consider. I suppose burning your offerings to the ancestors in a fire is simple enough to execute.

The second parchment is a list of tutors I considered for my daughter along with their contact information, some may yet be in business.

I propose a meeting after the holidays to discuss where we stand on the matter of guardianship.

Sincerely,

Andromeda Tonks.

October 30th, 1988

"What's this?" He hears Harry ask, followed by a dull thump that tells him the boy is poking around the parcels on his desk. He finishes shelving the two books he'd been studying and turns back toward his ward.

Harry's sitting in a chair on the other side of his office desk, nearly hidden by the half a dozen packages spread over it, as well as the odd pile of books. Over the last months, the office had filled up more and more with books - nearly all magic ones - in every nook and cranny, over the table and on the floor, even on the chair if he wasn't using it, leaving very little open space. He can hardly move them to the downstairs library - can't have magic books just lying around - but needs to find a solution before the only means to enter the office includes trading over the tomes.

"Some things we'll need over the next two days," He answers, picking up the small pile of books from his chair and balancing it on top of a taller one by the wall before sitting down, "if you're sure you don't want to go trick-or-treating?"

Harry shakes his head no, not that it surprises him. He'd come back from school on Friday looking conflicted and revealed that Hermione had asked him to go trick-or-treating with her but he refused due to it being the day his parents died, and it seemed that even though she understood his ward still appeared guilty about it.

"Alright, then how about I teach you a little about Samhain?" He suggests, "It's also commemorated on the 31st of October, but it's all about remembering those who are gone."

"Like my parents," Harry mumbles, looking down at his feet as he swings them back and forth under the chair.

"Yes, and mine too," Michael agrees softly, "Wixes say it's the day the door between where the dead go and our world opens up just enough to let us feel our loved ones close a bit better. It's also one of eight occasions where they perform certain rituals-"

"Like the one that made you sick?" Harry interrupts, tone filled with worry.

"No, not like that," He shakes his head, "we don't have to take any potions, it's just words and actions, maybe some tea depending on the ritual, but nothing likely to make me sick, alright?"

"Mhm," Harry nods, thankfully believing him.

"This is one of those things you would probably learn better from a tutor, but I think we can handle it on our own this year, yeah?" He asks, earning loud agreement from Harry as well as a smile, "I've picked a couple of things for us to prepare for tomorrow, and there's a book for you to read if you want, but I thought we could leave the history for some other time. So, how about you pick a box and I can tell you about what's inside?"

"Alright!"

October 31st, 1988

The flowers smell nice.

The whole car smells of them after two hours of driving, but at least Harry gets to sit up front - there's only two seats anyway - and stare out the window, the booster seat Mr Wright put under him letting him use the seatbelt without it hurting his neck. He might have used the time to take a nap any other day, but knowing where they were going sent all the tiredness out of his body, leaving him fidgety and a little cold, though that's probably his thoughts instead of the weather.

Mr Wright told him the day before, but he sort of let it slip from his mind when there was magic to talk about and words to memorise, only to remember again when Mr Wright took them to buy a bouquet before the long drive. It's a pretty one too, with lots of purple and blue and some white and light yellows, nothing like ones he'd seen Uncle Vernon buy for Aunt Petunia, full of red roses and carnations, at least that's what he thinks they're called. He knows some of the flowers in their bouquet too, from doing all the gardening for Aunt Petunia and a bit of flipping through a few herbology books, but besides the rosemary and light yellow marigolds, he can't really tell the others apart.

He's not supposed to be thinking about the flowers anyway, the long drive was probably so he can think about what to say or do later. It's not like it's a ritual he can learn, they're just going to his parents' graves, but he's never done that before so how is he supposed to know what to do? Mr Wright said there's no wrong or right thing to do, that he could talk to them or just place the bouquet and leave if he wanted, but he just can't decide what's best. Should he talk to them? Can they listen? Does he have anything to say to parents he can't remember? All these questions distract him so much he barely notices they've stopped until Mr Wright is opening the door for him.

They're at what looks like the edge of a forest, and Harry remembers passing the last house he'd seen more than twenty minutes ago, so it's a little far out from the city.

"We have to walk a little to get there," Mr Wright says as he climbs out of the car, locking it behind them before turning back around. Harry just nods and grabs his hand as they start to walk into the forest, following a path between the tall trees all around them.

It's only a couple minutes into the walk when Harry starts seeing lights through the trees ahead, and a few more steps have them stepping out of the forest onto a large stone road, with light posts every few feet with what looks like blue fire inside instead of lamps. He can see a couple of houses ahead, each looking different from the others but all light and colourful, or maybe they're stores? He can't see any signs but some do look like their doors are open.

"Huh, that was easier than I thought," Mr Wright mutters before leading them into the road, following it past the houses and a bridge, until they reach what looks like a small square. There's benches and what looks like a fountain, but he forgets all about that when Mr Wright tugs them closer to a tall stone pillar and it just vanishes, turning into a statue instead.

It's a couple, Harry realizes after stepping closer only to almost trip on the flowers that suddenly appeared on the ground, all looking fresh like they were put there that day. He blinks down at them but doesn't waste time trying to figure out all the flowers before looking back up. The man in the statue is tall, at least a head taller than the woman he's hugging close, and he's got untidy hair and round-framed glasses that kind of look like Harry's old ones, while the lady has long hair and a kind, pretty face smiling down at the baby in her arms. They look young, even younger than Mr Wright, and the baby also looks very small, all wrapped up in its stone blanket.

They look happy, he thinks as he looks down at the pedestal of the statue, squinting at the writing on it.

In memoriam

The Potters

"Oh," he barely hears himself exhale, head snapping back up so quickly his neck nearly hurts, "are they-"

"Lily and James Potter," Mr Wright whispers, and he doesn't remember letting go of his guardian's hand but it's suddenly on his shoulder so he doesn't complain, only stares up at the statue as if he could will it to life given enough time

The baby in the statue is smiling and grabbing onto his mum's hair with a hand that escaped the blanket, and Harry wonders if that's what he looked like as a baby, or if that was how his parents looked at him, with smiles and enough love in their eyes that he can almost feel even though the stone statue. Did they hug like that often? Did his mom not mind that he pulled her hair? Did his dad let him try on his glasses?

"Had you never seen them?" Mr Wright asks after what feels like hours.

"Aunt Petunia didn't have any pictures," Harry answers with a shake of the head.

He thinks the hand in his shoulder tightens just a bit at that, but he doesn't ask and hopes Mr Wright won't either. He's free from them, he doesn't want to think about them, not today.

"Want to stay a little longer or visit their graves?" Mr Wright settles on instead.

"This isn't-" He turns around, frowning.

"It's a memorial, something for people to remember them by," is the explanation he gets, which makes sense, his parents wouldn't be buried in the middle of a square, "their old house is also here somewhere, but we can't go in without talking to the goblins first about the wards. The cemetery is a few minutes that way," Mr Wright points to a different road that curves around the houses and goes closer to the forest that seems to be all around the little town.

"Let's go," He grabs Mr Wright's hand to pull him toward the path, only slowing when he meets a little resistance and looks back to see his guardian tip-toeing around the flowers on the ground so he won't step on them, "please," he adds as he remembers to be polite too.

"Of course," Mr Wright smiles slightly down at him, but it looks sad and his eyes are a little far away so Harry doesn't bother to pretend to smile back when he doesn't really feel like it.

They walk the path to the cemetery in silence, Mr Wright seeming deep in thought and Harry busy looking all around them, wanting to remember the exact path to his parents' graves. He's never been to a cemetery before so he doesn't really know what to expect, but once he catches sight of the tombstones spread over the ground it's pretty easy to tell they've arrived. His stomach feels like it's turning upside-down and his hands are sweaty even though there's a nice breeze in the air, and when they stop just at the gate he's almost relieved.

"Here, why don't you go ahead?" Mr Wright crouches in front of him and hands him the bouquet, it takes him a bit to grab it without letting it fall, "It's the seventh to the right on the third row, I can see you from here. You can wave if you want me to go over, but I think you should see them on your own first."

He only nods, hugging the flowers close to his chest and breathing them in for a moment before turning toward the cemetery and stepping into the small path down the middle. He counts in his head, three forward and seven to the right, and it brings him to a stop in front of a large tombstone that's nearly his height. It's not sculpted prettily like some others he'd walked by, but instead just plain and square. He crouches in front of it, his fingers reaching out to feel the letters in the stone.

In Loving Memory

of

James Potter & Lily Potter

Something wet drips into his arm and startles him into looking down, but it looks like it's just water, so where-

Oh.

He brings a hand up to his cheek, wiping away the tears, but it doesn't take long for more to start filling his eyes and making it hard to see.

They're really gone.

It's not like he thought they weren't, Aunt Petunia always told him they were dead and that's why she was burdened with him, and then Mr Wright found out the truth and he learned they died by magic instead of a car crash but were no less dead than in the past eight years. Somehow it didn't feel as real until now. They're buried right here, and he's never going to know how it feels to be hugged by them, what his mum's food tastes like or how his dad sounds reading him a bedtime story.

"I miss you," he whispers to the stone, moving from his crouch down to his knees to sit back on his ankles. It's weird, missing people he doesn't remember and things that never happened, but he still feels it tight on his chest, like someone grabbed his heart and squeezed it, "um- I'm Harry. Your s-son," he adds a moment later, breath hitching as he holds back a sob and not sure how to go about talking to the dead but hating the silence around him, "I'm eight now, so you- you've been gone for a while. I wish you hadn't."

A cold gust of wind makes him shiver and hug the flowers closer, not minding that he's probably crumpling a few of them.

"I lived with Aunt Petunia," he tells them, "I don't like her very much, and I think that's okay 'cause she didn't like me either, but she's still your sister so I'm sorry mum," he shrugs, not sure how his parents would have felt about the way the Dursleys treated him. Would they have ignored it like everyone else or would they be like Mr Wright, who saved him and was mad at the Dursleys? "Mr Wright took me away though, I like him," he admits in a whisper, "I really like him, and I think he likes me too, he buys me things and hugs me and I can eat anytime now, I don't even have to work for it. Like you would have if you weren't dead."

Is it bad to tell the dead they're dead? He thinks as he stares at the bottom of the tombstone, only now noticing something written there.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death

What's that supposed to mean? Harry wonders, but there's obviously no one to answer him so he shakes his head and looks back up at his parents' names.

"I know about magic now," he continues, feeling like they might want to know more about his life, "Aunt Petunia didn't ever tell me, but Mr Wright found out and told me all about it. I can't tell anyone though, but that's okay since I have magic friends and normal friends too. I have three friends now, but Hermione is my best friend, and Dudley can't scare them away."

Would his parents have taken him to meet their friends and other kids like Mr Wright did? Would he have made different friends?

"Mr Wright's tryna find me a magic guardian, 'cause the wizards don't like that he's a squib and doesn't have magic. Do you mind that he doesn't have magic? I don't, he's still the best and he saved me without it," he looks back at the gate, seeing Mr Wright leaning on it and looking in his direction, watching over him while he talks to his parents, it makes him feel warm, "he's kinda like a dad, but you're s'pposed to be my dad," he feels his stomach churn with guilt, he has parents, they're just gone, "I-Is that okay? I don't want you to be mad at me wherever you are."

There's a noise by his side and he glances up at the tree by the wall that goes around the cemetery, it's kind of far away but the branches hang over the graves and leaves keep falling around him and making noise, he might have been a bit scared if he didn't have Mr Wright looking out for him.

"I'll bring Mr Wright to meet you next time," Harry tells them finally, tired from crying. He puts the bouquet down on their grave, right by the blue flower on the right side of it. He thinks it looks like an Iris, but that could be wrong. "I love you."

The last chapter did end on an ominous note but we still have some ground to cover before the whole guardianship issue can be resolved, it's only been a few months anyway, and there's stuff in the works, heh.

Next chapter is more Samhain stuff, and maybe a little plot advancement, as a treat XD