Maybe It Was Destiny

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of Harry Potter or Doctor Who. All rights belong to their respective owners - J.K. Rowling and the BBC. This is only a fan fiction that I wrote out of entertainment. No copyright intended.

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1 - An Everchanging Statue

I did not have to look at the gravestone to know what was neatly scrawled across it. The name, the dates, and the quote were already firmly implanted into my memory, taunting me each day that I walked past the little church.
My footsteps echoed throughout the barren street, the clouds up above floating lazily above the village, threatening to release fury in its wake. A leaf fluttered past and I reached my hand out to catch it. Without studying the dead plant, I stuffed it into the depths of my jacket pocket and kept walking. Just a bit ahead, church bells chimed six times. Not in any rush to get home, I ceased my fast pace. Home was the last place I wanted to go.
A drop of rain fell down onto my cheek and I looked up with wonder at the clouds with a slight smile stretching across my face. The rain fell slowly at first, but gradually it began to downpour. The smile on my face did not go away, but rather grew. A split-minute decision caused my feet to lead me through the wrought iron gates, my hands pushing them aside. The creaks of the gate could not be heard over the rain.
I walked through the mud, following the all too familiar path. Past Mrs. Abbott, Mr. Trensalon, and poor, little Tony. Past the cuts of stone that stood up from the ground, past the wilted flowers placed beside the graves. I stopped in front of the place that I tried to visit every day. Tucking my wet hair in back of my ear, I looked up but did not feel the calming droplets of rain skim my nose. The maple tree loomed overhead, shielding the rain from this patch of land. I looked back down, sifting through my jacket pocket again. Pulling out the leaf that I had caught just minutes ago, I drew my gaze back down and placed the crimson red leaf on the ground beside the headstone. This leaf made the pile a total of eleven.
Closing my eyes for a few minutes, I stayed perfectly still in the middle of the cemetery. My thoughts circled around until I couldn't take my wild imagination any longer.
"I miss you," my whisper got lost through the rain and wind. Blown away like the leaves on a tree, like the forgotten words of an ancient sailor who had freed a note in a bottle into the ocean.
I made my way back home, not fearing the cold. I knew better to think that the war memorial up ahead of my journey back home was simply a war memorial. By the time I got at least twenty feet in front of it, it had revealed itself to be a statue. A mother with flowing hair smiled down at a bundle in her arms, the father with round glasses and messy hair beside her. The bundle was small, not anything important at all. It was important, though. Very important indeed, for this statue was part of why people from all across the world came to visit the little village that I lived in.
I grew up hearing stories of an average baby boy defeating the most evil person in all of history. Stories of hope, and stories of faith that we had no need to live in fear anymore. Stories of The Boy Who Lived.