Lily and James are ghosts that haunt the night.
Unseen, unfelt, but always there, lingering at the edges of Harry’s mind.
He hears them when the Dementors come. Screams from the past pulling him from the world of the living into the cold haze of unconsciousness.
They died at night, and it is in the night that they return.
He goes back to Godric’s Hollow under darkness.
He sees them in the Mirror of Erised, wandering the castle alone after hours, cloaked in the invisibility passed down from his father—yet another echo of the dead.
His Patronus, a stag like his father, bursts into the sky like a beacon—light forged from love and grief, burning against the blackness.
They come to him again in the graveyard, surrounded by Death Eaters.
He summons them one last time with the Resurrection Stone, walking into the Forbidden Forest beneath the stars.
The only way to be with his family, to fulfill his heart's greatest desire, is to follow them into the dark. To claw through dirt and crawl beside their remains.
To die.
The sun sustains life.
It gives light, and warmth, and growth.
She is warm and fierce.
She is daylight and summer—Quidditch, wind on his face, the scent of flowers and freedom.
With her, the war feels far away.
Grief loosens its grip.
She draws him out of the bedroom where sorrow has kept him prisoner.
With her, he flies again—on the pitch, through the orchard, into the open air.
She takes his hand and leads him away from Dumbledore’s body, and he follows her without thinking—instinctively moving away from death.
When Harry chooses life, he chooses Ginny.
And when death does come for him, he does not think of the parents who have haunted his life.
He thinks of her.
He closes his eyes and sees her blazing look.
He walks toward death—
and chooses her.
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