For the past few months, Harry's been working with other survivors to repair Hogwarts to its former glory. They, for the most part, have been doing well. Things are beginning to resemble what the castle looked like before curses and fire and the after-effects of war ran a little wild.
But, to Harry, everything feels wrong.
It feels wrong to be at Hogwarts without Dumbledore. Wrong to walk in the corridor where Lupin had been killed, where Fred had fallen. For so long, Harry had wanted a home. And he'd been given Hogwarts. He'd been given a place that was friendly and familiar where he could be around people he loved and who loved him back.
But now it feels wrong.
Hermione and Ron, who are also helping with the rebuilding, know this post-war healing process is not going as smoothly as he had hoped. He doesn't sleep or eat or, generally, function all that well. He tries--tries so damn hard--but the grieving and the healing are taking their time with him.
It's why he often goes down to sit by the lake when the day's work is done. It's quiet and tranquil down there, and he needs those things.
When he wanders down to the lake and sits on its shores today, something is different, though. And the difference is that, for all these months, Harry's been carrying around the stone he should have dropped in the woods all those nights ago, and, though the stone usually remains in the front pocket of his jeans, he takes it out now.
The Resurrection Stone is a considerably small object in light of its power, and it feels so tiny and cold in his hand. He's not used it since the night it came out of the snitch because he's never known who would be the one to talk to. It's funny, in a morbid way, that there are that many dead people he could choose from that he doesn't know where to start.
An obvious choice would be Sirius. He's missed his godfather for years now, still feels so very robbed at having lost him. But there's also Lupin, a man who was a great source of comforting wisdom in the past. Surely, he'd be a comfort, again. Maybe Harry could even tell him that his son, Teddy, is doing so well.
Or maybe Harry should talk with Dumbledore or Fred or his mother--
A nice, refreshing breeze crosses the lake, and he lifts his face to it. Pressure builds behind his eyes. His mother. What would she say if she was here?
Harry sniffs and blinks rapidly. Best not to think about these kinds of things. Best to keep the damn stone in his pocket. He really should have left it in the forest all those nights ago.
Movement a little ways down the shore catches his attention, and he realizes someone else has come down to the lake. They're also staring out at the water, so all he can see is their profile. He turns his face from them so he can wipe his eyes without them seeing the emotion gathering on his face.
But then he hears her voice say, "Oh, Harry, do you honestly think you can hide your tears from me?" and he turns back to see his mother standing right there in front of him.
She, just like the last time he saw her, is pale and almost translucent. But he can see the vibrant color of her eyes and fiery hair. It takes him back, again, how utterly young she looks. She could be his peer.
"What...what are you doing here?" he asks.
Chuckling softly, she says, "I suppose, you have the answer to that." She nods toward the stone he's yet to put away. "You're the one with the gift from Death."
"Is this a gift?"
And he really doesn't know the answer to that question because seeing his mother breaks his heart all over again, and he didn't think his heart could stand another shattering. Seeing her here is yet another reminder of what he's been robbed of. And he knows that his sacrifices have meant less people have had to give up pieces of their own lives, but that knowledge doesn't make the pain any less real. It just sort of provides some relief. Sort of. There's not a moment Harry regrets taking a stand and fighting in the war.
Yet, why does taking a stand leave this residual pain? Why must his soul ache like this?
In a pained voice, Lily says, "I am so sorry, Harry. I never wanted this life for you, and I thought I was doing everything in my power to save you from it."
"Mum, you don't have to apologize." He stares at her and watches her twist her wedding ring around and around.
"Of course, I do," she says, not just in pain but angry. "I keep thinking about picking Peter as our secret keeper."
"He was your friend. How could you have possibly thought he was going to betray you?"
"It's not that I think I should have seen the betrayal coming; it's that I was the one who so heavily advocated for Peter when your father wanted Sirius. I thought Peter was the smart choice, but your father had this feeling that it should be Sirius. And I don't think James meant that in a way to say he doubted Peter. Your father always had this eerie knack for having great hunches. I think there might have been a seer somewhere back in his lineage. But picking Sirius felt like too big of a risk. Sirius was too obvious. So, it was me who fought for Peter."
It's clear by the way her jaw tightens and how she blinks rapidly that Lily is beyond upset. Harry had come down to these shores for some peace, and it seems ironic that he's brought someone with him who also needs some.
When he speaks, again, it's soft. "Mum, you must know I don't blame you--either of you--for who you picked. And you should probably stop blaming yourself."
Lily's voice is as equally soft. "Peter and I used to study Transfiguration together. He was so good with that subject. You know, he was the second Marauder I befriended."
"Who was the first?"
"Take a guess."
Harry pictured the four Marauders in association with his mother, and he knew right away. "Was it Lupin?"
"It was," she says, nodding. "He and I became friends in fourth year. We were partnered in Potions and would sit together at Quidditch matches. Remus..." Lily trails off and looks wistfully out across the lake. "Remus was the closest thing I had to a brother. He's another man I always wanted a better life for." Then she turns her wistfulness on her son.
He can't reply because her sad eyes make his throat constrict. The sincerity in everything she says hits him hard. Tears begin welling in his eyes, again. But then he says, "What about you, mum? You were hoping my life and Lupin's would be better, but what about yours?"
A sudden sweetness and affection overwhelms her expression and voice when she reaches out a hand to Harry's cheek and says, "Oh, Harry, you were my better life."
Now the tears do spill over onto Harry's face, right over the cold hand pressed against his skin. He wishes, though it would be cold, too, that his mother could hug him. He wishes he could cry into her shoulder. He wishes he knew what if felt like for her sweater, not her hand, to rub against his cheek.
"You know," Lily goes on, "right after I found out I was pregnant with you, I was here at Hogwarts working on something with McGonagall. I hadn't told anyone, yet, that I was pregnant because I wanted your father to be the first to know, and he was out on a mission with Mad-Eye and Sirius. But I was so upset McGonagall knew something was going on."
Through his crying, Harry asks, "You were upset?"
"I was. I was so afraid. So very, very afraid. The Gryffindor in me was so very ashamed of who I was in that moment. In a matter of seconds, I'd become more terrified than I'd ever been in my life. On top of being a young, soon-to-be mother with no experience and no mother of my own left, I was terrified of bringing you into this world of violence and hate and war. Do you know how incredibly stupid I felt? There I was, myself a soldier, married to another soldier, and entirely aware of how many of us had already been lost. Already aware of the many orphans the war had produced. And this was so soon after Marlene and her family were murdered. She was one of my best girlfriends. I thought about how she'd never meet or hold my baby. How James was out on a mission that had too many risks to count. How there was a chance he might never meet you. So, yes, I was upset. And McGonagall noticed."
Harry sniffs and wipes his eyes, though they keep refilling. But he hopes he looks interested. He hopes his mother can read in eyes the very same color as hers that he doesn't judge her for her fear.
She keeps talking. "So, it was McGonagall, not your father, who ended up learning the big news first. I didn't tell her, though, about my fears. How do you tell the Head of Gryffindor house that you've suddenly become such a coward? I think she knew, though, how afraid I was. She said--oh, I won't ever forget what she said--she said, 'Lily, what hope, what love, you're giving us.' And I stopped what I was doing because it stunned me. I'd been thinking how I'd never be brave enough for motherhood or brave enough to endure more loss, but that was the day I decided I was going to be brave enough to love. I was going to love you with everything I had, even if giving you everything meant my life, as well."
A small smile crept onto her face while she spoke, and Harry stares in wonder at this woman who did give everything for him. Then she says, "It's funny how your perspective changes when you decide to love. Do you know how the fear doesn't seem as scary? The nights don't seem as dark? The loneliness and the waiting don't seem as empty?"
Again, Harry sniffs. "You know, it's your love that saved my life that Halloween night? That, if you hadn't decided to love me, we might have a very different reality right now?"
"Are you saying this to try and help me ease my self-blame?"
"I'm telling you this because I want you to know that I have parents who have given me a legacy of love."
Tears are gathering in Lily's eyes, too. She takes him by surprise when she asks, "Has it been enough?"
"Been enough? Your love saved my life, mum. How could it not be enough?"
The sadness has come back to her eyes. "Because, Harry, I saved your life once, but I'm not here to help you survive it."
Her words hit him hard enough to wake him up. He's a survivor--and not just because of the course of action he's chosen the last year. He's a survivor because of all the choices his parents, godfather, the man he should have been raised calling uncle, his best friends, and his professors made. Everyone has contributed something that's brought him to this point. And though there were lonely, dark years and lonelier, darker moments scattered throughout, he has been so very loved. There is no denying the legacy he was born into.
But legacies don't live unless someone carries them. The bravery to not only live but love--what his mother stood for--won't live on unless he chooses to help it do so.
He wishes, desperately wishes, his mother could really, truly be here to help him with that. He wishes his dad could be here, too. So, he tells her, "I wish I could be with you and dad. Or keep you here with me."
"Harry," Lily says, gentle and sounding like the mother he's been missing, "you must know I wish that, too. But our paths have diverged for a little while. There'll come a day when you'll return to us, when you'll come home. But, Harry, take your time." She wraps a hand around Harry's, and the cold she emits makes him close his fingers over the stone he holds. "My sweet boy, give back to Death what is Death's, and remain here in the land of the living."
Harry doesn't know how his mother, a near-stranger to him, can still love him so well and say things he needs to hear. He's not sure how to share that thought with her, so he just stares down at the pale hand covering his and quietly says, "Okay."
"Okay." Then she rises and sighs. An odd feeling settles in Harry's stomach because he knows what's coming, and he knows this goodbye will be the last conversation he'll have with either of his parents until it's time for him to return home to them. He swallows thickly and peers up at his mother. "Okay," she says, again, smiling softly down at him. "I hope you know that, if I could, I would kiss your cheek and ruffle your hair. I--" Her voice catches, and the tears return to her eyes. "I used to do that to say goodnight or goodbye. It used to make you giggle."
He gives her a small smile. "I'm sure it did. And, well, I hope you know that, if I could, I would let you kiss my cheek and ruffle my hair--just like you used to."
It takes Lily a long minute to compose herself, and, when she does, she turns clear, green eyes on her son, staring like she means to memorize. Harry stares, too, hoping he'll always remember the strength in her posture, the determination in the set of her jaw, and the utter softness and affection in her eyes. As if she can't help herself, Lily presses another cold hand against his cheek. Then, almost as a whisper, she says, "I love you, my sweet boy, and, when you're ready to come home, we'll be there waiting for you."
Before he can say anything back, she turns and begins walking along the shore, fading when she's fifteen feet away. Harry wants to follow her, of course, but he just sits there and cries until his heart feels a little bit lighter. Then he stands, takes a deep breath, and walks in the opposite direction of his mother--towards Dumbledore's tomb.
Lily's words run through his mind as he buries the Resurrection Stone at the foot of the grave: My sweet boy, give back to Death what is Death's, and remain here in the land of the living.
"I will survive this life, mum," Harry whispers, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I can be brave enough to live and love, too."
The wind that comes out of nowhere and ruffles the hair back from his forehead feels like a mother's warm and gentle touch.