As atonement for the world’s frivolity, he made his annual pilgrimage to the hallowed spot on All Hallows Eve. In the graveyard he found his solace and sorrow. He laid down his body, heart, and soul, and mourned the loss of himself and his love. He often wondered if her son was touched by that fateful day. If it haunted his memory, but then again Harry couldn’t truly grieve over his mother, because he had no knowledge of who she really was. Potter could only mourn her memory and his loss of an existence without her.

With these thoughts stirring in his mind, he unsteadily picked himself up off the ground and brushed off the night from his robes. The horizon was now a blazing red, bleeding across the sky. He must hurry. As he walked away, he turned back one last time, looking at the cold grey stone, a slight envy in his heart. Sometimes he wished he could be laid in the earth and put an end to the struggle, to finally rest. He whispered, huskily, “At least you are at peace, my love.”