It was a well-known fact that Harry was rather…oblivious to some things, mostly girls but also sometimes in regards to what was happening with others. After all, he had plenty of his own matters to deal with during the school year.

Therefore, when he noticed that the Hogwarts' ghosts were absent from the classrooms and Great Hall, and had been for many days, he could note Hermione's surprise on her face when he mentioned it.

"The ghosts are missing? No, I…I hadn't noticed," she said, alarm making her eyes widen. "Of course, I did wonder why history was cancelled. It was cancelled for a few days last year as well now that I think about it."

Ron looked bewildered. "You've both been here almost six years, and yet you haven't noticed this before? But, you can remember that we missed a few days of history?" He seemed close to laughing.

Harry frowned, "We've all been a little occupied, Ron. There are loads of things I haven't been able to do. Voldemort keeps my schedule kind of busy, you know?"

Looking sorry for bringing it up, Ron shoved his hands in his pockets, muttering something unintelligible.

Hermione gave Harry a look he did not bother interpreting before she said, "What do you mean, Ron?"

Looking oddly reluctant, Ron spoke slowly. "On Halloween night, the dead have the best connection with the world. I don't know why. Anyway, the ghosts know this and it effects them somehow," Ron finished with a shrug.

Frustrated at the vague answer, Hermione stopped walking and turned toward them both.

"Really? So what exactly happens?"

Ron's eyes widened, "How should I know! My family doesn't get involved with matters of the dead," he said with a laugh.

This only made Hermione frown with confusion. "Er, okay. But why? There must be a reason. Ugh, how could I have never noticed something weird like this?"

"It's kind of kept quiet Hermione, most of the Muggleborns or the people here raised by Muggles wouldn't know," Ron said.

"Kept quiet?" Harry asked, bad feelings niggling at him. Like he was digging into something that should be left untouched.

"Getting in touch with the dead is considered black magic, like Necromancy. Even my parents don't know a lot about it. People tend to overlook it or ignore Halloween night altogether, we still have a feast, but that's about all."

"But, it's only black magic if you are summoning the dead, right? If this is a natural occurrence, you've done nothing wrong by looking into it," Harry argued.

Ron fidgeted nervously and shifted his book bag to his other arm, looking for all the world like he would rather be mixing potions with Snape than talking about the present subject with his friends.

His only response was a simple shrug of the shoulders. Harry and Hermione, however, stared at him, waiting expectantly for an answer.

Ron sighed, "We just don't talk about it. Malfoy's bunch, the rest of Snuffle's family, and other Dark families have been known to visit graveyards on Halloween night. That's another reason to stay away."

Harry opened his mouth to speak again, but Ron blurted out, "Look, I could actually get in trouble for talking about it. Dad doesn't like talk of…this stuff, so drop it, alright?"

Mouth closing to a firm line, Harry nodded once. But he had no intentions of letting the matter drop.

His curiosity had been piqued, and luckily, he had an Invisibility Cloak.

……………………………

Getting into the Restricted Section was easy enough, and he used his wand as a light instead of going through the trouble of carrying a lantern.

Finding books on the subject he wanted to read about however, was a lot harder.

"Halloween, graveyard, ghosts," Harry muttered, fingers sliding over book spines as he peered at the titles with faint impatience. "Come on, this is a bloody Wizarding library, how can they not have books on Halloween?" he asked himself in bewilderment.

This corner of the library was not taken care of; cobwebs and dust gave the books a sinister appearance. It was not until Harry got down on one knee to search the lower shelves, that he found the book.

"The Graveyard Book," Harry read aloud, and even though the title mentioned nothing of Halloween, he opened the cover.

The table of contents listed such things as important events that happened in graveyards, where certain people were buried, to the most haunted graveyards in Europe.

Harry's index finger went down the list subjects, growing more disappointed by the minute.

Until….

"Graveyard Myths: The True and False," Harry read quietly. A thrill of excitement made his breath speed up.

He sat on the floor and crossed his legs, hoping he had finally found what he was searching for.

The strange happenings that Ron had tried so hard not to discuss certainly sounded like the stuff of myth.

After all, there didn't seem to be any proof that unusual events took place in graveyards on Halloween night, as opposed to any other night…or, at least anything that Ron was willing to talk about.

Night of the Dead, read the chapter title Harry had turned to. He looked down to where the text began and read, On October 31st, or Halloween, the dead are said to have the closest connection with the mortal world. Some say this allows the dead to speak to their loved ones, while others hold more grim views. This has been discussed by many professors of myth and legend. Even Muggle 'ghost hunters' have become aware of this idea, but both have yet to prove anything.
Professor William Stark, once wrote on the matter 'I have seen the day of the dead firsthand, and I am now whole again.' It is not known what Stark meant by this comment, and few are willing to study this myth in great depth as it is believed by some to be a 'wicked', even 'evil', event constructed by Wizards and Witches using Dark magic.
In 1895, on a dreary Halloween night, a group of men and woman, some believed to be Muggles, swarmed the Golit Graveyard, located in Wales. Upon finding nothing to prove their ideas of the Night of the Dead, they left with low spirits. The myth lost popularity but still leaves some wary even to this day.

The next chapter in the graveyard myths section concerned the ghost of Granny Grim and her three cats. Knowing he would find nothing of use there, Harry slowly lowered the book.

Allowing the dead to speak with their loved ones….

That didn't sound too bad. Not evil, really.…but then again, the myth did specifically mention dark magic, so... what was true? Was the myth simply about connecting with lost loved ones, or was it about something more sinister - mysterious, evil happenings brought about by the twisted activities of dark witches and wizards?

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and stared unseeing at the wall, but ultimately, he just didn't know what to believe.

Standing to put the book back in its proper place, Harry fiddled with his wand. Without realizing it, he made the light of his Lumos bounce off the bookshelves and walls in the process, illuminating the dusty, ancient titles in a malevolent way.

The words ran through his head, like a mantra.

Allowing the dead to speak to their loved ones….

It clouded his other thoughts, the ones that told him he should not even be thinking of such an idea…after all, dead people did not come back to talk to mortals.

Honestly, who was the book kidding?

Harry wished he had it in him to scoff. It really was ridiculous - most likely started by a bedtime story, or something just as innocent.

But…Hogwarts had ghosts, and they could talk to the students.

What should he believe? That it really was false, just a myth, and he should get back in bed before he was caught? Or, should he take a leap of faith in the hope that he would have a chance to speak with his parents, something he had never had the opportunity to do?

Harry was not kidding himself, he knew what he wanted. But if he went to the graveyard and no one appeared…would the disappointment be too much?

Harry closed his eyes and thought hard before whispering to himself, "And if you didn't at least try, wouldn't you wish you had later on?"

The sigh he let loose helped the heaviness in his chest, but not the deep ache that came from his heart.

"Nox," Harry murmured and threw on his Invisibility Cloak. He used the light of the moon coming through the widows to guide him out of the library.

He had no time to sleep. Halloween was tomorrow, and it looked like he had to figure out how to get to his parent's graveyard.

……………………………

The next day passed slowly for Harry, and with his plans for that night solidly in order, it was hard not to show his excitement.

It took a lot of acting on Harry's part before Hermione and Ron let him go off to bed early. The Halloween feast was looked forward to by everyone, so for Harry to want to leave early…it was rather curious.

He had pleaded a headache and stomach ache, saying he had ate sweets before dinner. After Hermione had ranted about cavities ("You should know better, Harry. It serves you right!"), both of Harry's friends had reluctantly agreed that maybe bed was best for him at the moment.

Feeling slightly guilty at lying to his friends, but not guilty enough to invite them both to go with him, Harry hurried out of the Great Hall. He could tell them later…if this worked. Should he get to the graveyard and nothing happen, well, Harry didn't plan on telling anyone in that case.

Reaching the boy's dormitories, Harry spelled the curtains around his bed to stay locked and hoped no one would try to talk to him later. Grabbing his cloak, the Marauders map and a jumper, Harry disappeared out the door and headed for Hogsmeade. Getting to a Floo was harder than Harry thought it would be, only the pubs were open so late. The Three Broomsticks looked inviting among the dark streets, and Harry headed there, unnoticed under his cloak.

Then, to make sure no unwanted attention was drawn to him, he had to wait until Madam Rosmerta had trudged upstairs. Looking around warily for any others he may have overlooked, Harry stepped into the fireplace and threw the powder down at his feet, shouting, "Godric's Hollow!"

Knowing where to go wasn't a problem. There were plenty of books about him, Harry had realized earlier as he looked up information on his first home and where his parents were buried. Realizing that he could also have tried contacting Sirius for information, Harry found himself even more anxious to reach his final destination. Judging from what the books said, his parents were buried in a nearby graveyard next to the town's church.

He had also read that his first home was still standing. So with a fluttering feeling in his stomach that had to be related to nervousness, Harry let the floo carry him away.

Unfortunately, what Harry had not read, was that while his house was still standing--it was not in the best condition.

The floo spit him out onto a hard, wood floor. Dust flew up in plumes, making Harry sneeze and close his eyes lest he get something in them.

Behind him came the groaning sound of stones scraping against each other. A few of the bricks from the fireplace toppled out, making loud thuds as they fell beside Harry.

Moving away hastily, Harry turned just in time to see his way back to Hogwarts fall in on itself. Great. He'd just got here and already things were going terribly.

There were holes in the roof, letting in light from nearby lampposts. Dusting his jeans off, Harry tucked his cloak into his jumper pocket and drew his wand.

He did not know for certain what he would find, but he had to be prepared for anything.

The wallpaper in this room was dark in some places, as if curses had missed their target and hit the walls. A coldness washed over Harry. His parents had died here, in this house, on this day, and just fifteen years ago.

Was it remnants of dark magic that was making him feel so vulnerable?

Leaving the living room, Harry found himself entering the kitchen. A picture hung next to the dining room table. Coming closer, Harry saw that beneath the grime, it was a picture of his family.

Using his sleeve, Harry wiped the heavy dust from their faces and cast a quick, "Lumos."

It was with saddened surprise that he took in the details of his mother's and father's faces.

What he had been told was true. He really did look alarmingly like his dad, but he had his mother's eyes.

Slightly unnerved, Harry backed away from the portrait and looked around the rest of the kitchen. The cabinets, once a clean bright white set with sparkling glass panels, were now yellowed from years of abandon. The glass, though still in place, was cracked and splintered, and Harry shivered as he wondered if the shattered panels were a consequence of the attack that took his parents lives.

Behind the soiled glass, cheerfully colored dishes sat neatly on the shelves. They were a stark, pitiful contrast to the rest of the house, which clearly had succumbed to the ravages of time and inattention.

Backtracking, Harry went into the hall. The staircase was within eyesight, but Harry had seen enough. Maybe he would come back later, while the sun was up preferably.

He left the house, putting the cloak back on as he did. The front walk was taken care of, roses grew over a Muggle mailbox, and on each side of the lane there were other little cottages like the one Harry had just exited.

Two or three Muggle children ran in front of their parents, dressed as a character of their choice. To Harry's amusement, he saw that one child was dragging a household broom behind her on the pavement, and her face was painted green.

They were headed down the lane, to the heart of town where the lights were brighter.

Hoping he would find the church closer to the town, Harry followed the family at a far distance. The store windows were decorated with cut outs of paper bats, and on almost every doorstep, there was a carved pumpkin.

Laughter came from a nearby pub as a man came out, a goofy grin on his face.

The family turned to enter a pastry shop, and Harry found himself in the heart of the town. Godric's Hollow seemed more chipper than what he had thought it would be, a place full of happy families and close neighbors.

Across the street stood the church. It had two stained glass windows on each side, and yet another carved pumpkin next to the door. The pumpkin seemed to grin at Harry as he passed, unnoticed by any living creature.

As Harry crossed the street, he saw for the first time his parents' final resting spot.

Along side of the church, nearly hidden by low hanging boughs of ancient trees, stood the graveyard. In some ways, it was no different than any other graveyard - rows of tombstones in various shapes and sizes, tucked up neatly against the side of a slightly ramshackle church that had probably seen more than its share of burials.

But, at the same time, Harry felt as though there was something very different about graveyard, too. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but there was something about the cemetery that felt oddly displaced and lonely.

It was, indeed, very different than the rest of Godric's Hollow, and the cheerfulness that filled the town seemed unable - or unwilling - to permeate the heavy darkness that hung shroud like over the granite headstones dotting the eerie church yard.

"It's just a cemetery," Harry told himself bracingly. But even as he steeled himself and pushed forward further into the gloom, he wasn't so sure he believed himself.

As he walked, Harry noticed familiar names. The Abbotts were here, and…Dumbledore?

Frowning, Harry knelt down and read the names carved in stone. KENDRA DUMBLEDORE and, a short way under her dates of birth and death, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA.

The Dumbledores had lived here, in Godric's Hollow? Maybe it was a different Dumbledore…but then again, how popular was the name?

Moving away, Harry continued to search, reading the names and inscriptions of the graves as he went. Sleep with a smile, read a small headstone, and Harry could not make out the name under the growth of moss.

He continued on, looking for two headstones that would be next to each other and look the same age. His parents had been buried together here somewhere, if only he could find them.

Biting his lip, Harry turned to the left and went deeper into the graveyard. The temperature had dropped slightly, and Harry was about to cast a warming charm on himself when two tombstones caught his eye.

JAMES POTTER and next to that LILY POTTER.

He'd found them.

Kneeling slowly and taking off the cloak, Harry stared at the smooth marble, emotion welling up inside him as he read the inscription.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

Hands clenching, Harry closed his eyes. Under the dirt lay the remains of his parents, neither of them capable of thought, neither of them knowing how much he wanted them to be here, alive, and, with him.

But they'd never know. Dead people didn't think.

Then, from behind came the last thing Harry expected to hear, someone clearing their throat.

Surprise and panic gripping him, Harry stood in a swift motion holding his wand out, a curse on his lips.

"Mr. Potter, even if we're not in school, I can take points when we get back. I suggest you stop pointing your wand at me," Snape said irritably, sitting on a nearby bench partially hidden by the overhanging foliage of trees.

"Pr--professor?" Harry gasped, his wand going down out of surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Snape said, rising and stalking over. A frown on his face and both eyebrows furrowed, "But I think I already know. Acting on a myth as if it is fact is very dangerous, Potter. What would your parents say?"

Anger rose in Harry, but disappointment came in a greater amount. "Since it is…a myth, I guess I'll never know," he answered, voice hard.

Snape stared at him, and although Harry could not tell the man's exact thoughts, it was obvious Snape was hesitating.

"No, I imagine you'll know soon enough," Snape said cryptically. He crossed his arms as Harry became confused.

"What?"

"It's almost midnight, Potter. And it's 'what, sir.'" Snape said disapprovingly.

Harry stared at him until Snape arched a fine eyebrow, and Harry realized his mouth was open.

"What does midnight have to do with anything? I already know I'm out past curfew, sir," Harry said warily.

"Just how hard did you study Potter, before looking for the graves of your parents?"

Harry blinked and Snape glared at him. "If you had studied in greater depth, you would have learned that Night of the Dead does not officially start until midnight, and then it only lasts a few minutes."

Instead of assuaging Harry, this made him more confused. "I…you mean, it's real?"

Snape ignored him and cast Tempus, causing a clock face to appeared in midair. Harry didn't have time to read the numbers before Snape banished it. "If you haven't figured it out in six seconds, you're in for a bigger shock."

Knowing how much Snape was enjoying torturing Harry by withholding information, he tried not to show how much Snape's evasiveness irked him.

Why couldn't he get a straight answer? And what was Snape doing hanging around his parents grave?

Without warning, the gentle wind that had been blowing picked up speed.

Leaves on the ground flew into the air and swirled around Harry, causing the trees to sway with the force of it. Harry's hair was rustled, and he turned to ask Snape what was happening--then it stopped.

All was silent. Behind him, the town was quiet although the lights still burned eerily.

Snape was unmoved, both arms still crossed as he stared down at the graves near their feet.

The whispering came next. Calm voices, their words colliding into one another's so that Harry couldn't make out what they were saying.

He knew one thing though; the voices were coming from the ground.

It wasn't really fear that made him step back, well, maybe a bit. Snape's hand caught his arm though before Harry could go more than a few feet from the graves.

He said nothing when Harry looked up at him, just continued to stare, face giving nothing away.

Feeling both trepidation and hope, Harry looked down.

Smoke started to curl up from the graves in a thin stream - one for each headstone. Its vaporous appearance reminded Harry of the way his cauldron looked right before it blew up.

But then, the smoke slowly started to form into a shape. Two shapes which took on more detail as they grew. Softly flowing hair, a perky nose and crinkled eyes that showed laughter and love.

To the left, a slightly larger form was evolving. A boyish grin, untidy hair and eyes showing pride as they gazed at Harry.

Legs becoming weak, Harry let himself fall onto his knees. The forms took on the last details until Lily and James Potter looked just as they had before their death.

Harry couldn't blink. Afraid that if he did, he might find that the vision before him wasn't real.

A slow smile spread across his mother's face. "There you are," she whispered, voice sad and yet happy as well. "We've waited for what seems like forever."

Overwhelmed by everything happening so fast, Harry took in deep slow breaths. James was watching his face intently, as if he feared that, by looking away, Harry would disappear. And Harry, feeling choked, was shaking as he tried to find a response.

"Nobody told me I could talk to you," he finally said, voice raspy as he tried to hold back tears.

"No one could," his father said.

"It's something you have to find out on your own," Lily added, sharing a look with her husband. "We wanted someone to tell you, asked him to, but it wasn't later until we understood that wasn't possible."

Harry was frowning, "But what if I'd never learnt about tonight--and who do you mean?"

Lily folded her fingers together, not saying anything, it was James that spoke.

"Eventually, if you still had not come, I imagine we would have stopped waiting. Everyone here does sooner or later," he said.

It was with this that Harry looked up and around the graveyard. For the first time he noticed that other ghostly forms were sitting on their tombstones, all with an expression of hope on their ethereal features.

Harry turned back. "I've missed you so much," he whispered, looking for the same terrible want in their faces. It was with a huge sadness and relief that he found that emotion ingrained in their eyes and hearts.

Lily reached out a hand, silver tears sliding down her face just to disappear before they hit the earth. Her hand slid through Harry's, feeling like silk but having no real weight against his skin.

"We've heard what you've done," James said. "News takes longer to get to us, but when it does…it's not the life either of us would have wished for you, but I'm so proud of the way you've handled it."

"Both of us are proud," Lily interjected with a stern look at her husband, who just smiled at her. "I wish we could have been there to help you through it."

"Then why weren't you, why did Voldemort have to kill you--I don't understand it," Harry murmured.

"It was our time," James told him after a pause. There was more to it than that, but Harry didn't press it.

"It's not fair that you were taken away so quickly," Harry muttered, looking away as the first tears fell.

Feeling the gliding sensation over his turned away cheek, Harry looked back and Lily moved her hand away.

"I'd give anything to be there with you Harry," she whispered, "but faced with the choice to move aside and let you be killed, or defend you and be killed myself…I'd still choose my own death."

"You have a life to live Harry," James said, his hand taking his wife's. "Don't let things in the past get in your way, and know we love you. Even when you make mistakes, and you will make them," he said with a smile, "we all do."

"I just remembered," Lily said and looked somewhere over Harry's shoulder. "Thank you, Severus."

Harry spun around to look at Snape who nodded once at Lily's words. "Why are you thanking him?" Harry asked rudely.

James smirked, but Lily looked close to disapproving and rolled her eyes, "As I said, it takes time for news to get to us, sometimes three years your time will go by before someone with information about you comes to our world. Severus has kept us updated about you every Halloween, even though he could not tell you about this. You had to find out on your own, or never know at all."

A chill ran through Harry as the wind picked up again.

James looked at the trees and the leaves that came off their branches at the gusts of wind.

"We'll be going soon," he said in regret, and Lily reached out again with both hands to Harry's face.

"Oh," Harry said in distressed surprise, "but I can see you again next year…right?" he asked as Lily looked over his face, as if taking every detail in.

They were both silent and Harry felt as if something foul was rolling in his stomach.

"Right?" he pressed.

"Harry," James began slowly, and Harry shook his head.

"I don't know anything yet!" he said desperately. "I know nothing about you or mum, and it's not bloody fair!…You can't leave so soon," he added in a quieter voice.

"It's not healthy, Harry," Lily said, voice serious. "You'll never move on, living in the past is not good for you. So…after this, we won't be able to talk to you anymore."

"But you said Snape gave you updates on me every year, how come he can come back but I can't?" Harry asked, hurt and confused.

His parents traded a look, and then James looked at Snape while Lily turned back to Harry.

"It may take a while to explain," James stared, "I don't think we have the time…."

Snape made a sound that sounding something like an irritated sigh.

"I'll explain it to him," he snapped, and James smiled at him making Snape narrow his eyes.

"Thank you," Lily just said, her eyes leaving Harry to meet Snape's.

Frowning, Harry shifted and was ready to argue when another thought came to him, "Once I die, I can talk to you again?"

James nodded, "But that won't be for a long time, Harry. You have a great life ahead of you, live it well."

The wind had stopped, and now Lily and James were starting to slowly fade. "I love you, Harry," Lily said.

"I know, I love you too. Both of you…goodbye," Harry said softly. He wished there was another word to express what he was feeling.

Happiness that he had gotten what he had come for, but the terrible hole in his heart was there also, even though it had healed just a bit.

They smiled and slowly faded, until only the tombstones were left.

Harry buried his head in his hands. Taking few deep breaths to calm himself, he wiped his wet face of the tears he had not realized he was crying.

A hand touched his shoulder just briefly, "Come on, Potter. Get up, you're going back to school, and I will be telling the Headmaster about your midnight escapade."

Harry nodded, feeling kind of numb as he stood.

"Sir," Harry said slowly as they exited the graveyard, and after Snape had cast a notice-me-not charm on them both, "what did you mean exactly? Tell me what?"

Snape waited a few moments, making his way silently down the street. "Your parents apparently could not tell you why you will never talk to them again the way you have dome tonight," Snape said stiffly.

"But…you can still talk to them?" Harry said, confusion and pain welling up in him. Snape's next words stopped those emotions.

"No," he said. "Your parents are no longer able to talk to any living person, at least not through the means of the Night of the Dead. I could talk your parents each year, and tell them about you because they wanted to know. However, they weren't waiting to talk to me. Once someone dies, they have a chance to talk to one person they…love the most. To say goodbye. But after that happens, you can't do it again. Now that they've talked to you, I imagine they are…at peace."

Harry thought this over slowly. He remembered the words he had read from the book in the library, and what Professor William Stark, was quoted to have said, 'I have I have seen the day of the dead firsthand, and I am now whole again.'

Harry now knew what Stark had meant.

The sadness he felt showing on his face. He looked up when he felt Snape's eyes on him.

"One night with people you thought to be dead is far better than nothing at all, I would say," Snape murmured

Harry realized Snape's words were true. If he had been a Muggle, he would not have had the chance at all. "I guess," Harry said reluctantly. "Why couldn't it have lasted longer though?" he said, dismay in every word.

"When the time comes, you'll see them again," were Snape's only words, his voice sounding odd and unlike what Harry was used to.

"Professor," Harry began a few moments later, "why did you come here each year to talk to my parents about…me?"

Snape was quiet and Harry looked at him. Suddenly, all of his decisions and preconceived notions about the Potions Master were called into doubt.

"How else were they going to know what a horrible student you are?" Snape responded finally. Any bite it might have carried was lost on Harry as he thought over Snape's real reason.

He could not tell Harry about Halloween night and what happened there, but he could reasure Harry's parents that he was well, and that was what he had done. His reasons for doing it though….maybe Harry didn't need to understand them.

Snape led Harry right behind the church, "I apparated here, and that is the way we'll get back."

Harry winced, "Side-along apparation?" With Snape? The man could drop him in the ocean and then go back to Hogwarts alone. No one would know any different….

"Is there a problem with that, Potter? Do you think you're to good for that, should I order a horse and carriage instead?" Snape sneered, raising one eyebrow.

Embarrassed and angry, Harry held back a shudder and stepped closer to Snape. "Just get it over with…sir," he muttered.

Most of the impact did not effect Harry, but still, he managed to fall on his rear. Snape smirked down at him before heading off to the nearby gates of Hogwarts.

Standing up and cursing himself, Harry ran after the man to catch up.

At the gate Snape produced a key from his inner cloak pocket. The gate creaked open a minute later, and Harry watched in silence as Snape then locked it back and headed up the beaten path to Hogwarts' front doors.

Snape pushed open both doors to the Entrence Hall, saying, "I expect to see you for a detention tomorrow night, eight o'clock sharp."

Harry's fists clenched. "Yes, sir," he muttered, thinking bad things about a certain man.

Snape turned, facing him with the lights from nearby candles dimly lighting the room and their faces. "Your parents would be most unimpressed with your self-centeredness, especially when almost everyone in this castle has been trying to keep you safe…everyone."

Harry thought this over. He knew there was something he wasn't understanding.

Everyone, everyoneeven Snape.

Surprised, Harry's eyes widened and Snape nodded. "Tommorow night, Potter. Don't be late."

Harry's whispered, "Yes, sir," seemed to hang in the air.

Snape disappeared into the dungeons, and with a tired rub of his eyes, Harry headed toward Gryffindor Tower. He felt content, as if something within him had found some measure of healing in the graveyard.

He'd finally been able to tell his parents how much he loved them, and they had said the same. Harry smiled. There was something else he had wanted to say, and he'd managed that too.

Goodbye.

Authors Note: After reading The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, (which I do not own the copyright for, so don't sue me), I knew I had to write something with tombstones and ghosts in it, ^_^ It was a fantastic read, and a great inspiration for the Halloween story challenge on Potions and Snitches. Kodak717 betaed this and did an amazing job too! Please accept these virtual hugs as a huge thank you, :)

Sirius is not dead yet, this takes place just a few months after Harry gets back to school for his fifth year.

I want to become better at writing, and I'm afraid the process will go very slowly unless I receive constructive criticism. So please, review?