Disclaimer: Anything that is in any way affiliated with Harry Potter (I'm talking characters, setting etc.) belongs to JKR. I just like to play with her ideas.

Note: I dedicate this to all the wonderful people who have followed this story from its very beginnings. There are too many of you to name, and if I attempt it I know I shall miss someone out - but you know who you are. Thank you so very much, you're absolutely incredible, and you make writing all the more worthwhile.

Once you've read this, I'm curious to hear: which were your favourite chapters? Did you have any favourites? But that can wait. For now, read on, and enjoy!

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We should go to sleep now,

You should stay the night.

I'll be up to watch the world around us live and die.

Lying on the grass now,

Dancing for the stars.

Maybe one will look on down and tell us who we are.

We might fall

We might fall

We might fall

Oh we might fall

- We Might Fall, Ryan Starr

Let This Go On Forever


Some mornings, I look at myself and think, I don't even know my own son. I know who he is, and what he looks like (me) to a certain extent, but all this knowledge is theoretical. I don't know my son: how he thinks, his mannerisms, his friends, how he feels about the world.

How he feels about Lily, and how he feels about me.

I don't know the little things; his expression when he's puzzled, or the sound of his laughter. All I remember is my – our – tiny, beautiful baby boy with the punk of black hair he inherited from me, and Lily's eyes; not the man my boy has become, our brave young man who has now lived on the earth longer than I have, now. In my mind, I find it impossible to reconcile the two as the same.

He is a piece of me, and I hope I'm a piece of him – but for me, he's something I can never access, this intangible memory. One day, he will die, I know, and then I will meet him. I look forward to it with a hunger I can't reasonably justify, this greed for his death (for our reunion), to have back what I have no right to ask for, anymore. And I wonder, how did I become this bitter person?

Then, I will catch sight of Lily – she'll be smiling at me, her eyes meeting mine with this inexplicable understanding that amongst other things we both share – and I think, I love this woman. I know that no matter the fact that we will never share our terrible yearning out loud, it is something that we share, our terrible little secret, and the fact that we share it means I feel a little more human about it all.

And then, all I can think is that I am an incredibly lucky bugger, as Sirius always said, to have and to love Lily, and to be able to share this with her. We've always been falling, Lily and I; falling out, falling in love, falling pregnant (all right, only on one occasion), falling into this existence that isn't life, just… falling, but wherever we've fallen, we've done it together, always together.

And to be able to exist and to wait for Harry, and to be content to continue falling with his mother, with my Lily, and to laugh as we hit the ground together and land on our feet, as always…

Some mornings, I look at myself and think; I can't believe my luck.

- - -


Sometimes, I'm grateful that we died. We died so he could live, and his one small life has made all the difference. I'm grateful that I have James, as I would be lost without him (that goes without saying). I'm grateful that somehow, against all odds, we've fallen on our feet in this place where we exist, and that this place is full of our friends and family, and that we can taste happiness again.

Death is a difficult concept to reconcile oneself with; how is it that we die, and then get to keep on like this? When I think about that, I always think about Peter, and I wonder if he's still out there, aware, or if he has simply faded into the mist to the extent that he is no longer anything else, anymore. I wonder, I will always wonder, what happened to our beautiful friend…

I am grateful that somehow, James and I could pass through the mist unscathed. That we have each other, and that together, we can laugh and cry and share our lives still. That whenever I think of my son – our son – I can look at James, and read the look in his eyes that tells me he is thinking of Harry too.

I am grateful for the snippets of news we hear whenever someone passes over to us. It meant everything for Sirius to tell us that Harry is just like James; for Remus to reassure us that he has a good head on his shoulders; for Sev to say that Harry is a good man; for Dumbledore to inform us, grave as always, that we have so much to be proud of him for. It was a small miracle to hear from Fred Weasley's aunt that Harry had married Fred's sister, and to be able to share in their happiness and to love this young woman our son has chosen for his own, even though we have never met her. For Aberforth, when he passed on, to arrive at our doorstep himself to tell us Harry had a son, and that he had named his son James, for my James…

It is the little pieces of his happiness that fall into our own lives that I am grateful for, to collect and to share, and to add to our own happiness. For as long as we both shall exist, until it is time for him to meet us in death, we will carry his memory with us, and he will be here.

- - -


One afternoon, it rains. I watch with a smile as Lily's face lights up, laughing as she hurried out of the house and onto the back lawn. Arms raised and face upturned, she spins beneath the endless grey clouds as little droplets hit her face and run down her cheeks, tears of happiness.

And, because she knows I am watching and laughing with her, she stops and calls to me, and I step out into the rain. By the time I reach her, my clothes are soaked through, and my hair is plastered to my head. I can feel a trickle running down my nose as I gather her up in my arms.

The feeling that passes between us, skin to skin, is magic – the gentle heat, her steady pulse, the ringing laughter in my ears as I pull her to me and we dance beneath open skies. And together we move, at one with each other and this place, and we watch the rain fall all around us … and I wonder, and she wonders, and together we wonder, if our son dances in the rain like we do, and whether, just perhaps, this rain from the sky, these droplets on our cheeks, the water on our skin... whether this rain has touched our son, too.

I kiss her in the rain, revel in the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips and the taste of our love, and lose myself to her again, falling, every time, always.

He is with us.

And I can't help but wish: let this go on forever.

The end

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Note: You may notice I didn't date this last piece: place it within the story where you will.

I hope I've opened you all to a different interpretation of death, as such, and to the wider world of imagination. The Harry Potter series has finished, but just as these characters live beyond death, they will endure in our minds, our imaginations and (most importantly) our stories, for many, many years to come.

I hope, too, that you've all enjoyed this chapter and the story as a whole. Once again - which were your favourite chapters, if any? I'm very curious to hear, and feedback is eternally appreciated!

Thank you for reading.

Peace, Lexie