Photographs & Blurry Eyes
In the final week of July, Snape brought Harry somewhere. It was a small village that Harry was led down to via a narrow pathway through the trees and bushes surrounding Snape’s home.
After being smacked in the face by one too many branches, Harry emerged from the pathway and onto a country road.
There’s tall green grass growing through the centre of it, weeds and wildflowers stretching along either side of it as well, with the odd bee or butterfly fluttering to and from one flower to the next. The long branches of ash, oak, elm, and hawthorn reach out over the road, which cast shadows that moved elegantly in the light breeze that drifted in the air.
Jinx, who had been dozing lightly around Harry’s shoulders since lunch an hour ago, shoved herself further under the collar of the navy coat that Snape had presented to Harry minutes before leaving the house. Harry tied the very top button of the coat as goosebumps rose on his skin from the wind brushing against his neck. He looked around. Fields were easy to see between gaps in the hedging on either side of the road. To his left, houses were visible in the distance, while to his right there were only more fields and hedging.
“Come along, Harry.” Snape called from further down the road to Harry’s left, his own overcoat—it’s black, just like everything else the man owns—tucked tightly around himself and his right hand held out, a black umbrella hung on his left elbow, waiting for Harry to join him. “We need to hurry; I heard on the radio that it might rain this evening. It wouldn’t do us any good if we got stuck in it.”
Hopping over a pothole, Harry quickly took Snape’s hand, and they headed further down the road.
Lone houses with large gardens turned into smaller cottages with weed-filled front gardens, then detached homes with vines crawling up their walls, and finally semi-detached houses lining either side of the road. Shops, cafes, and other businesses were placed randomly along the quiet street. A park with tall rusting gates blending in perfectly in the middle of the small village.
Small groups of people could be seen inside the park, a family chatting and laughing around a picnic on a blanket, and deeper inside the park, Harry could see younger children playing together, squeals and shrieks of joy falling from their mouths as they dart about the place. One little girl sat on a bench beside an old man, talking animatedly about something while the man nodded every so often with a soft smile on his face and the sagging skin on his face wrinkling at the corners of his eyes.
They continue walking, shops becoming rarer to see, and any voices that may have been audible further back were hardly whispers in the wind. Houses looked unlived in, forgotten like memories, with walls crumbling, their windows shattered, and gardens with tall blades of grass, nettles, and weeds growing taller than the gate leading into the home. The footpaths were gaining more cracks, and the road was suddenly more pothole than road. A shudder ran down Harry’s back as they passed through.
Finally, they stop. Harry lifted his head. A harrowing steel gate towered over him with two yew trees curling over it like claws of a demon. Snape stepped forward, tapped his wand against the metal, and the gate whined open, the bottom screeching against the old pathway leading inside. Harry tightened his grip on Snape’s right hand, shuffling beside him as the man guided him inside.
Gravestones, both old and newly set, were set up in rows and columns. Some had flowers, others with a blanket of stones, and some with just a lonely headstone. More yew trees were dotted all over the place, their shadows casting eerie shapes on the uneven ground under them. An odd root or two peered out of the ground between weary patches of grass, looking like hands reaching up to drag anyone who was unsuspecting down into the earth. Harry made sure to lift his feet properly to avoid tripping over and landing on his face.
Snape directed Harry to a pair of graves near the edge of the graveyard, the stone appearing worn from bad weather, the man’s hand resting on Harry's arm. “I’m aware that the Muggles never bothered to bring you to see your parents' resting places. I apologise that it has been so long. If my memory serves me right, your birthday is this week, no?”
Harry nodded slowly, his eyes glued to the two headstones in front of him with the names James Potter and Lily Potter, with the year 1981 underneath them along with the words Loving friends & parents, glaring back at him silently. The weight of Snape’s hand left Harry’s arm. The younger boy crouched down, his knees meeting the cool soil beneath him with a thump, his hands resting on his thighs, tilting his head as he inspected the two pots of flowers laid out between the two graves. The pink lilies and orchids swayed lightly in the breeze, standing out from their grey pots.
“Why do they only have their names and the loving friends and parents? Normally they have little quotes or phrases or messages or short poems carved under the name…” Harry pondered aloud, his eyes refusing to blink as he stared at his parents' names dented into the slabs of stone.
Snape made some type of noise behind Harry, his words coming out with a pained edge. “It was the end of the war; people seemed to be too busy celebrating to properly treat those who had passed on to the next life. I barely managed to secure your parents a place in this graveyard. Very few turned up at the funeral; that being said, those close to your parents were…”
“Dead or traumatised and/or imprisoned?" Harry said, his voice sounding scarily flat to his own ears.
“To put it simply, yes. You would be correct in most cases. I didn’t think of myself as someone who should have put something so personal as that on their final resting place.”
Harry nodded, still not having blinked since he knelt down. Jinx shifted around his neck. He hardly noticed her. “When did they die? I know the year. 1981. But I was never told when they died.”
“October 31st, All Hallows Eve. Your father died protecting you and your mother. Then your mother died protecting you.”
“Did they leave, leave wills? Notes? Letters? What about photos? There has to be photos. Everyone takes photos.” Harry rattled out, feeling a bit sick to his stomach. He got up, Snape needing to steady him when he swayed dangerously on his feet.
“Easy, Harry. Take a breath, in and out. There you go.” Snape coaxed softly, his hands holding Harry’s carefully. “I don’t know. There may be, we’d need to owl Gringotts for any of the like. I’ll do so once we return home. Come along, you’ve gone paler than a ghost; Basil will be all over you this evening—"
Harry listened quietly, Snape sounding miles away to his ears. They wandered out of the tall steel gates, the sound of them closing echoing down the street. As they passed the park, raindrops began speckling on the ground around them. Snape opened his umbrella and lifted it to cover them.
Harry blinked, finally, and opened his eyes to the front doors of Snape’s home. He blinked once more, and Snape was assisting him with removing his navy coat; Basil and Borage were standing off to the side, looking on with pinched expressions on their faces.
Another blink; Harry’s being led up the stairs.
A second; he’s standing in his room with his arms hanging heavily at his sides and Jinx watching him from the end of his bed.
A third blink and tears made their way down his cheeks, feeling similar to boiling water, soon followed closely by others. They trickled down his face just like the rain falling outside his window, where dying leaves had begun to fall to earth; the tree's roots were planted.
Harry blinked, and he cried. He cried for the parents he never got to know and the memories he never got to create. He cried for the life he didn’t get to live. Harry cried and cried and sobbed until he fell asleep, curled up in his bed with his face blotchy from tears.
A small, cool glass of water on his nightstand greeted him the next morning.
The post arrived a week later, the owl carrying a package. Harry took it from Snape when it was handed to him and curled up in his bedroom with Jinx coiled in his lap. He spent most of the day looking through photos and crying. He did have his mother's eyes. He also had his father's nose.
(There weren’t any photos including Harry’s second dad. However, there seemed to be a gap in every photo left for the man.)