Author's Note: This is a story that has been running around in my head for a while, and refused to leave me alone till I got it out. It's probably not the best I have written, but not the worst either. I like Ginny, and I do believe – with all my heart – that Harry got his happily-ever-after. This is just a random inspiration, which I hope you will enjoy. So without further ado, I present to you, Mirage.

there used to be a time when i thought that snowdrops were frozen tears. he was the only one who didn't laugh at me.

The problem with being the son of Harry Potter is that sometimes you tend to confuse the hero in the books with the man that is your Dad. All kids at some point in time have the impression that their parents are invincible. They also generally grow out of it by their tenth birthday, if not before. Not me. I had long since realized that Mum is not a saint, that she makes mistakes just like everyone else. Dad, however, had always been invulnerable, infallible to me.

Until now.

There's some part of me that wants to rage, to scream, because it can't possibly be Dad who's lying there, on the bed of St Mungo's , so unnaturally pale and still. Dad is supposed to be laughing with his family and friends, with his eyes sparkling and full of life. He is supposed to be able to make everything right with a wave of his wand. Every moment now I expect him to open his eyes, to look at me and smile, to take me into his arms and console me like he had when I was young.

Except I know that it's not going to happen. That nothing is ever going to be alright again.