Burning Love

•12 Years•

12 years had passed, but the weight of grief still clung to me like an old, familiar cloak. My home on the hillside, once a refuge, had become a place of quiet reflection—a sanctuary where I could indulge in the things I loved, yet constantly feel the absence of those I had lost. Each day was a delicate balance of remembering and moving forward, of savoring solitude while grappling with the ghosts that lingered in the corners of my heart.

Life had settled into a routine. My work at the Ministry remained fulfilling, as I continued to collaborate with fellow Aurors to protect the wizarding world. I found solace in the camaraderie of my colleagues, yet the joy of those connections often felt overshadowed by my yearning for Sirius. Not a moment passed without a reminder of him—the laughter we shared, the dreams we crafted, and the future we never had. The ache of missing him was a constant companion, one I had learned to live with but could never truly escape.

Remus and I saw each other less frequently over the years. He had made the difficult decision to move away, seeking distance from the memories that haunted him. While we kept in touch through letters, his absence weighed on me. I cherished our correspondence, our shared stories, and our attempts to find solace in the knowledge that we still had each other, even if only in words.

Every Halloween, I made my pilgrimage to Lily and James's grave, a ritual that had become an essential part of my life. I brought fresh flowers, just as I always had, and poured out my heart to them. "I still think of you every day," I would say, kneeling before the stone. "I want to tell you about my life—the work I do, the small joys I find. I miss you both so much."

Their graves, adorned with the flowers and tokens of love left by others, felt like a bridge connecting me to the past. It was here that I felt their presence most vividly, the memories of our shared laughter and love enveloping me like a warm embrace.

Christmas was another poignant time, spent at St. Mungo's with Alice and Frank. I visited them regularly, and each time I walked into the room, my heart swelled with a mix of sadness and joy. They were unchanged, and yet there was life blossoming around them in the form of their growing boy, Neville. He was a bright spark of hope in a world that had seen too much darkness.

"Tell me about Hogwarts, Neville!" I would ask, watching his face light up as he shared stories of new friends and the magic of his classes. Each tale was a reminder of the vibrant world that existed outside the hospital walls, and I cherished every moment with him. But I never asked about Harry. I couldn't bear the thought of knowing him, yet feeling the distance of not being in his life. The secret I held felt heavy, like a stone lodged deep within my heart.

One evening, as we sat together, I marveled at how much Neville had grown. His laughter filled the room, brightening the sterile space. "I made a friend who can turn his cat into a goblet! Isn't that cool?" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Yes, it's brilliant!" I replied, smiling despite the bittersweet pang of longing that tugged at me. I felt the ache of my unfulfilled wish to be part of Harry's life, but I reminded myself that being there for Neville was a gift in itself.

As the seasons changed, I found comfort in the rhythm of life around me. I spent quiet afternoons tending to my garden, filling it with colors that reminded me of the warmth of Lily's spirit. I would often close my eyes, picturing her smile as I planted new blooms, wishing I could share the beauty of the world with her.

The years were marked by bittersweet moments, but through it all, I held onto the memories of my lost family and friends. They were my guiding stars, illuminating the path ahead, even as I carried their absence with me. I would continue to honor them, sharing stories and laughter in their memory, ensuring that their legacies lived on in every moment of love I cultivated in my life.