Harry and Amelia Potter

7.15

Golden streetlights glimmer along a narrow road leading to the center of town. Christmas decorations twinkle in the windows of small cottages, roofs blanketed in snow. Hermione, Harry, and I Apparate, wearing heavy coats and hats, scarves wrapped around our mouths.

"I still think we should've used Polyjuice Potion." Hermione says to us. I shake my head.

"No. This is where we were born." Harry tells her.

"We're not returning as someone else." I add. Harry holds out his arms and Hermione and I take it, then we move off.

We walk, arms linked. A pub door opens briefly and laughter and music spill out. As we listen, voices carry from the church up ahead. Harry eyes the graveyard beyond.

"Do you think they'd be in there? Mum and dad?" Harry asks me.

"Yeah. I think they would." I tell him.

The singing is full and rich here, as Harry, Hermione, and I make our way through the snow toward the graveyard. I peer up at the stained glass windows glittering over me.

Harry pushes through the gate, then lets go of Hermione and I's hands, row upon row of snowy tombstones stretch before us. My brother and I head off. Hermione studies us, then follows.

I pause by a tombstone freckled with lichen. "Harry, Hermione, I think it's Christmas Eve! Listen..."

We make out the words the choir in the church is singing. The soft tunes of a Christmas carol fill our ears.

"Harry, Mia, look." Hermione points to a headstone. We step over and see the names. Kendra Dumbledore and her Daughter Ariana. A quotation is etched in the granite: Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. "Did you know he had a sister?"

Harry stares at the stone, his face a mask. I look to her and shake my head. I look back at my brother and he turns away, walking off. I move to follow him.

Before I reach him, he's stopped. Standing there, motionless, with his head down. I catch up to him and see what he sees.

James Potter. Born 27 March 1960. Died 31 October 1981.

Lily Potter. Born 30 January 1960. Died 31 October 1981.

I grab his hand and squeeze it. He looks over to me and sniffles. I slowly take in a deep breath.

"Hi mum. Hi dad." I say softly. "Harry and I have grown since you last saw us. A lot has happened since then too." I pause, wiping a tear from my eye. "I just wanted to say that we love you, and we miss you. And I hope we've made you proud."

Hermione appears and looks at Harry and I. Sees that tears are streaming down both of our cheeks. Hermione raises her wand, traces a circle in the air and a wreath of Christmas rose blossom in the snow. Harry nods, staring at them.

"Happy Christmas." Harry says to us. I smile and rest my head on his shoulder. We stand silently for a few moments. Hermione then leans in and whispers so that we can hear her.

"Someone's watching us. By the gate."

Harry and I nod, careful not to look too soon, then glance up. A stooped figure, barely discernible in the drifting snow, stands in the shadows of the church. She, it is distinctly female, and older, doesn't move initially, as if wanting Harry and I to see her, then turns away.

All light has left the sky. The stooped figure hobbles along, past the pub, where shadows play against the windows and muffled voices can be heard. Harry, Hermione, and I follow.

Hermione eyes the woman ahead, then looks about their surroundings, feeling trapped. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"We look like ordinary Muggles." I assure her.