Headstone

By Harry and Ginny 4eva

Some people believe that graveyards are haunted. They say that the dead rise up at night and wander around in the graveyard, visiting their neighbors, visiting their loved ones who, sadly, can’t see them, and haunting their enemies.

Harry Potter was only six years old when he heard about the rising of the dead for the first time. It was a sunny May Day, and Harry had just finished unpacking his books from his tattered school bag when Dudley entered the classroom.

Dudley moved closer to Harry and narrowed his eyes “I’m going to get you Potter,” he sneered angrily.

Harry groaned inwardly — this was the second time Dudley picked on him that week. He decided not to answer Dudley, which, apparently, made him even angrier.

“Tell your freaky parents to stop bothering my mother!” said Dudley angrily, wiping a bit of snot that had dripped down from his nose.

Harry blinked furiously in shock; his parents were dead, and Dudley knew it. How could his parents bother his aunt and uncle if they were dead?

Maybe they weren’t dead? Maybe they didn’t want Harry, and gave him to his aunt and uncle to take care of him?

“What are you talking about?” said Harry in complete bewilderment, a little shaky from his scary thoughts.

“Your parents are haunting my mother and she can’t sleep at night! I heard her saying it to Father!” said Dudley, his face now so red that he looked like he was going to explode.

Harry saw that the rest of the class were watching him in horror and turned white.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he blurted, hoping that he could disappear before the teacher came.

“Liar, Potter!” yelled Dudley, shoving Harry, and making him gasp “Your parents are haunting my mother at night! Everyone knows that the dead rise up at night!”

A few people gasped and Harry could do nothing but watch Dudley in horror.

“Make them stop picking on my mother!” yelled Dudley.

“I- I don’t know how!” said Harry helplessly; how was he supposed to save his aunt from his parents, when they don’t even come to visit him?

“Do it!” commanded Dudley, making Harry shrink even more.

“I don’t know how!” squeaked Harry.

The pain of Dudley’s punch was all he could remember afterwards.

Eight years later, Harry was in a different place. May remained the unlucky month for Harry, and that year he saw his parents rise up from the dead. Just as Dudley had told him they did, so many years ago.

But they weren’t awful as Dudley told him — they were warm, and kind. They whispered words of caution and love for him, even when he was on the edge of death.

Something had changed about Harry that night when his parents spoke to him. He could not explain it, but somehow seeing his parents gave him strength. And when he tried so hard not to cry on Mrs. Weasley’s shoulders that night, he just wanted to be held be his own mother.

It hadn’t been so long since that night in the hospital wing with Mrs. Weasley, and yet, so many things have changed since then.

Sirius was dead, so was Dumbledore. Bill was happily married to Fleur, but the scars on his face from Greyback’s attack would remain forever. Hogwarts would be closed for the first time in centuries, and the Order of the Phoenix, once led by Dumbledore, was now a very active group led by McGonagall.

Remus and Tonks were together, but it took Tonks a fair bit of convincing and bickering with Remus to make it happen. And–Ron and Hermione were becoming closer to each other every day, but Harry didn’t think it was by the threads of friendship.

Mr. Weasley looked older with every day that passed, and Mrs. Weasley had more wrinkles and white hair than ever. Percy remained faithful to the Ministry and to Scrimgeour, causing his mother more stress and heartache.

Voldemort was still at large, of course, killing hundreds of muggles and wizards daily. The Ministry was in uproar and even though Scrimgeour managed to handle the situation quite well, many people thought that the arrests of innocent people were too much.

But Harry Potter was away from all of that now.

He was on a quest. A quest to find Voldemort’s Horcruxes. A quest, Harry thought bitterly, that was probably going to be the last one he ever did.

He wasn’t pessimistic; he was realistic. The idea that all of that will just end one day, in one moment, was so far away from grasp that Harry thought it would never come.

At last, after almost sixteen years, Harry was in Godric’s Hollow. He had no memory of the place, yet he felt at home. Something he had never felt at the Dursleys’ or in Privet Drive during the sixteen years he had stayed there.

He was hypnotized by the view, the little houses, the smells and the people. Ron and Hermione were booking two rooms in the nearest inn and Harry had convinced them to leave him outside the inn, to look at the little village.

Harry sat on a bench near the inn and looked around him. Some old ladies looked at him oddly when they passed and Harry saw that in the playground that was right behind him, young mothers strolled around with their babies, making funny faces and soothing their babies whenever they cried.

Harry knew his mother had done that for him. He knew they were here together, with her stroking his head, putting him on the slide, cradling his head or talking to him quietly.

How Harry longed for a mother. How much he longed for his mother.

“Coming, Harry?” Hermione’s voice shook him away from his wistful thoughts.

Nodding, Harry walked to the inn and was hardly aware of his actions, or what was going on around him.

He didn’t see the innkeeper’s startled look and didn’t notice the fact that Ron and Hermione were sleeping in the same room, leaving him to sleep in the other room.

As he lay at bed he thought about how his mother could have put him to sleep now.

She would sit on the edge of his bed and stroke his head, telling him about the things she did that day and then she would kiss his forehead and ruffle his hair before going out of the room.

Harry grinned slightly into his pillow. How nice it would have been. His aunt Petunia never did that for him, but Mrs. Weasley had on a few occasions. He really couldn’t understand why Ron would swat her hand away from him and complain about not being a little kid anymore.

Harry felt a fleeting kiss on his head and, grinning sleepily, he fell asleep.

The next morning Harry woke up with a lot of curious energy and while going through his daily routine he tried not to fill his head with thoughts that would keep him occupied during the day.

It was important that he would keep a clear mind, because the danger lurked in the shadows and one never knows when it could come out to kill you.

The cemetery of Godric’s Hollow was deserted. It was grassy and the white tombs stood silently on either side, as if waiting for him with their breath held.

Harry walked around in the cemetery, feeling that the tombs are whispering instructions for him to get to where he wanted to go.

So many people had died. How many of them were innocent? How many of them were killed by Lord Voldemort? How many would be killed by him until this would end?

A lot. A small voice in his head whispered. This is war. And people die in war, innocent or not.

Harry stood still for a moment. There it was. Just behind the tomb Harry was standing in front of.

Harry sighed as he stood in front of the large marble headstone. How is it that no one ever brought him here? He let out a grunt as he sat heavily in front of his parents’ gravestone.

Harry played with the grass; what was he supposed to do now? There he was, at his parents’ graves, but he didn’t have a clue what to do or what to say. After all, he didn’t know them.

“Dudley told me graveyards are haunted, once.”

How childish was that? Harry didn’t understand why he shared that fact with the cold headstone. After all, the dead can’t hear you, can they?

“He told me you… you visited Aunt Petunia… a long time ago.”

Harry’s felt a slight lump in his throat. How pathetic was that? He was a man now — not a six-year-old boy who missed his mummy. He stopped talking to his parents around that age. He remembered it so clearly.

He was six years old and it was his birthday. The nice nursery teacher told the class to sing him ‘Happy Birthday’. It was the first time someone sang him that. But now it was night, and he was yet again in his cupboard.

He wondered why his parents didn’t come and wish him a happy birthday. Dudley said his mother haunted Aunt Petunia — so why didn’t she come and wish him a happy birthday? Didn’t she love him anymore?

Angry tears burned in his eyes, “Why didn’t you come to tell me happy birthday, mummy?” he whispered furiously to the empty cupboard, “You haunt Aunt Petunia, why can’t you visit me?”

There was only silence around and Harry let his tears roll down his cheeks.

“Don’t you love me, mummy?” he said silently, a little choked up.

There was no answer and Harry turned over in his cot, head towards the ground, and let the sobs rock his body.

He never talked to his mother like that again.

But now, as he sat in front of his mother’s grave, wiping some tears that slipped from his treacherous eyes, he couldn’t understand what made him talk.

“I don’t — don’t know… why you never visited me…”

How silly did that sound? He sounded like the little boy in the cupboard, waiting for his mother to sing him ‘Happy Birthday’. He should stop being so ridiculous. He was an adult now. He was about to go for his final adventure; he could not afford to be so childish now.

He stood up in hastily and patted his pants to get all the grass off. He was about to step away before he turned around and kicked the white headstone.

“Why didn’t you come!” he yelled with angry tears in his eyes, “I waited for you! Days and nights! Waiting for you to come and visit me — why didn’t you come!”

Harry furiously wiped the tears and pointed an angry finger to the headstone, “You never came, not once! Do you even care? Do you?”

He let out a dry, bitter chuckle, “I suppose not. You’re dead,” He kicked the headstone again, “You’re dead. And you left me here.”

He sighed heavily and looked up to the sky, “You left me here alone…” he whispered.

A silent wind ruffled his hair and Harry chuckled again, “I suppose Sirius is having the time of his life up there, huh?”

This time Harry truly laughed because of the unintentional pun, “Did he tell you what happened down here while you were gone?”

So Harry sat, and told the headstone all about it. He told them about Quirrell and the Philosophers Stone, told them about Ginny and Tom Riddle, filled them in about Sirius and described his forth year.

He whispered when he told them about his fifth year…about Sirius and how he cast the Cruciatus unsuccessfully on Bellatrix Lestrange.

“I just couldn’t help it,” he whispered, “She was so smug… and she just killed Sirius… Did you ever feel like wanting to cast in on someone, Dad?”

He smiled happily as he told them about Ginny, “You’d love her Mom! She is so lively and bouncy… when she smiles…”

But then Harry’s smile dimmed as he remembered her face when he told her they couldn’t be together. She wasn’t so happy then…she didn’t bounce in her seat and didn’t smile happily like she use to whenever she saw him.

“Did I do the right thing?” he asked the headstone silently. “Is she angry? I suppose she is… she doesn’t like to be left behind, let alone without an explanation…”

He sighed again, “And now I must search for the Horcruxes…it was what Dumbledore wanted me to do…”

A gust of wind ruffled Harry’s hair and only now he realized it was very dark and that he had his arms around himself, and that they were covered with goose bumps.

Harry looked up to the sky once again and tilted his head so he could see the stars, “Best I’d go now…” he whispered.

He looked at the headstone again and smiled, “Ron and Hermione must be having kittens by now…” he said with a smile, “I chose well, didn’t I?”

He thought about all he went through with Ron and Hermione and smiled more widely, “Yes, I chose well…”

But then the smile was wiped away from his face as he looked at the names again. James Harold and Lily Rose. Such ordinary names. Such unordinary people.

As Harry stood up he took a final look at his parents’ headstone, “I promise I’ll be back once it’s done,” Harry said, “And if not — you’ll probably see me up there…”

A violent wind almost knocked him off his feet, “Ok! Ok!” he laughed.

“I’ll just… go… now,” he said and turned around. He took a few steps forward but then turned around and came back to crouch in front of the tomb.

“Thank you,” he whispered simply, kissed his hand and put it on the headstone.

And with one final look, he Disapparated.

A/N: After a few months break, I'm back with this one-shot, but don't expect to see much from me soon, I'm very busy with Real Life. It is my first attempt of angest, tell me how it came out. I have decided that doing a one-shot about Bill's wedding is a cliché so I attacked Harry from a different angle. I also tried not to put too much HG here, in hope that some other ships will read it as well...but if there were any people who read it from other ships, they probably didn't continue reading so far.

SO! What did you think about HBP? I must admit I was a little disappointed at first, but now I'm happy with this book. Tell me everything that's on your mind! I can reply now! I love fanfiction's new system of sending messages...It's lovely!

Well, see ya all,

Lily Levy