Snow crunched underfoot as he walked across its white blanket.  Icy fingers of wind toyed with his hair, lifting it to expose his infamous lightning-bolt scar and leaving it even more unruly than before.  He used to enjoy winter, especially while at Hogwarts.  Winter there always included snowball fights and other things that made him feel like the child he had never been allowed to be.

But winter no longer held that thrill.  It now seemed as bleak as the snow-muffled expanse outside the cemetery.

He stared at the gravestone, still unwilling to believe what was written on it.  It blurred before his eyes.  He blinked, pulling his glasses off, and realized he was crying.  He hadn’t cried in a year; not since....

No!  Don’t think about it.

But the entire reason he was now in this graveyard was the first anniversary of her death.

He felt a hand laid gently on his shoulder.  The touch was feminine, familiar and comforting.  Reaching up, he placed his hand over hers, lightly squeezing it.

Leaning forward, he brushed the snow off the marker, wiping his eyes with the back of his other hand.  One year in which he had not heard her voice, her laugh....

Enough, he chastised himself.

He would always consider himself a failure for this one death.  Brushing the marker clear entirely, he whispered the words it bore:

Anna Lily Potter
13 October 2000 – 20 December 2001
Beloved Daughter

Though Harry Potter had survived Avada Kedavra, the killing curse, his daughter had not.