Harry stood on the top of a hill straightening himself. Bell heather colored the highland line in the Scottish Borders, the region forming the borders between Scotland and England, into dark pinkish purple. Horseback riders in line were entering the path to the forest. He spotted Ginny among them, her long red hair fanning over her shoulders. She caught his eyes and waved her hand, mouthing "I love you". Harry grinned back, waving, too. Ginny liked horse riding during the Quidditch off-season. When they had a date in Scottish Borders, she happened to find a sign about riding tours, and she was immediately interested. She asked Harry to join her, but he let her go with other Muggle tourists. When the last rider disappeared among the trees, he retreated into the cozy tea room of a small herb shop. The walls inside the shop were white-washed with hanging baskets of spring flowers attracting the attention of the guests.

The tall young waiter by the counter recognized Harry, approaching him briskly.

"May I help you?" he grinned, showing his braces, while pulling out a chair from a table for him.

"Thank you," Harry said. "Can I have today's special soup, please?" he continued and sat down. He looked around inside the room noticing two elderly couples with white hair. They were talking calmly and their conversation didn't disturb his peace and quietness until he heard the name 'Frank Bryce.' He had never imagined that he would hear that name again. He pricked up his ears to catch the conversation of the Muggles.

"Yes, John, your memory is right. Frank Bryce was the name of the gardener. I know the old Ivy Manor House," one of the elderly women said, sipping her tea, "The Manor has been dilapidated since the gardener's mysterious death, but recently the local group began improving the place for sightseeing. My nephew is a member of the group. "

"Wasn't he a veteran from the World War II?" the man with dark rimmed glasses who apperantly was called John asked the elderly woman.

"Yes, he was. He had survived the war, but he returned with a bad leg. Limping Frank was well known in our community, Little Hangleton."

"Ah, Christina, I've seen the leaflet of Little Hangleton. It has a lovely picture on it. Who drew it?" another man, who was sitting next to Christina, asked. He cleared his throat, and he put his lips to his cup of coffee.

The elderly woman called Christina smiled at him, and she pulled a small leaflet from her leather plaid bucket handbag,

"Peter, I drew this," she said and held it out to him.

Peter took it, flipped it over to have a look at the back of it and he handed it to the other man.

"A nice picture," John said, passing it to the other elderly woman with a tartan scarf.

She took it and turned it over saying,

"I never knew that you could draw." She placed it on the table.

They had already left when Harry noticed the leaflet left on the table. He took it in his hand, and looked at the picture of Ivy Manor. Riddle's Manor in the picture was all covered in ivy leaves, which gave him a warm impression from the gentle touch of the artist who had drawn it. The peaceful mood of the scenery in the picture was very different from the Riddle House from Harry's memory. He thought of the limping gardener who was killed by Voldemort. Frank Bryce, who had survived through the severe war, came limping back to his country. If Tom Riddle hadn't murdered the poor gardener, he would have lived the rest of his life peacefully, taking care of the trees and the flowers around Ivy Manor.

"Do you want to sit here?" the tall young waiter asked brightly, bringing a bowl of soup and a bread roll.

"Eh, no. I'll sit over there," Harry said, nodding towards the other table, with the leaflet in his hand, and went back to the table where he originally had been sitting.

The waiter put down the plate on the table and he asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine, thank you," Harry said and took up a spoon, tasting the Scotch broth. It tasted saltier than the tomato soup Aunt Petunia had cooked. Her soup was always weak-tasting. The one Kreacher made was the best among them, but this wasn't bad except for the fact that there were too many potatoes in the bowl. He chewed a piece of roll contemplating the death of the gardener.

'He was a real wizard, then? Killed me, that one did…you fight him, boy…' *

Frank Bryce was loyal to his obligation. He accomplished what he had to do then. He could have chosen to run away when he found out that Voldemort already had killed Bertha Jorkins, and was planning to kill Harry. But he stayed there waiting for the chance to tell the Police. His sense of duty, his pride that he had never disobeyed his superior in the army, never let him run away. Harry guessed that Frank Bryce had fought for his country, lost his leg after he had carried out his duties during the war. His loyalty, faithfulness never allowed him to run away from the danger he faced in the Riddle House, too. Consequently, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on him, and he died.

When he finished eating, the bell of the entrance door chimed, and Ginny entered. Harry held his hand up, beckoned her. She flashed her smile at him, came with a brisk step to the table he was sitting by.

"Horse riding was so fun. Why didn't you join us?" she pulled the chair and sat down.

"You took the short course, didn't you? I thought it would take much more time till you came back here," Harry said, and he gently brushed twigs and leaves off her shoulders.

"Thank you. Yeah, I thought it would, but I want to try the longer course with you next time." Ginny glanced back to the young waiter, called him, "Excuse me."

The braced tall boy came to her and wrote down the order, and off he went. And soon he brought a cup of Earl Grey to the table. Harry asked, "How long does it take to Little Hangleton from here?"

The young waiter answered, "More than two hours by car. Did you come here by car?"

They actually had Apparated there, but he answered, 'Yes, my friend took us by his car."

The waiter smiled and said, "Have a nice trip," and he went back to the kitchen.

Ginny looked perplexed. "Harry, where are we going?"

He showed the leaflet to her and said, "I want to visit this place."

"Why?" she asked and poured tea into the cup. The fine bergamot flavor reached to Harry's nostrils.

"This is the place where Lord Voldemort was born," Harry told straight, but he was afraid that she felt uncomfortable remembering she was once a marionette of Tom Riddle from the diary.

She grimaced slightly, but she didn't oppose to his suggestion. "I'll go with you. You have to visit there, don't you? What is it you want to see?"

Harry was charmed by her personality again. That's why he loved her so much. "I want to make sure there'll be his tomb or something. He died for me. He tried to warn the police to save me from Tom Riddle." Since he had told her that he was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, he only had to explain "I had a vision that the Muggle gardener, Frank Bryce was murdered by Tom Riddle."

After they left the cozy tea room, they Apparated together to the small village of Little Hangleton. Everytime he did side-along Apparition, he felt nausea but this time he didn't stagger at all. He wondered why. Maybe staying with Ginny let him keep asked, "Are you alright?"

She smiled, smoothing her long hair with her fingers. The move was so gentle that he hugged her, kissed her on the cheek. She blushed, beaming at him, "Side-along apparition with you is always fun," she kissed on his lips whispering, "I like it as well as flying on Firebolt with you," her eyes emitted mischievous light.

"You want to mount on my Firebolt now?" he grinned, imagined he would set up the night sky cruising by Firebolt for the next date.

"Is that the Manor House?" she asked nonchalantly, but he could sense the tension behind her words.

"Yes, it is. Twenty minutes' walk will bring us there," he nodded towards the foreground view of the hill.

The memory of Tom Riddle shadowed their mood. Harry soon regretted that he had picked her up to the village. He could have visited there alone the other day. They walked quietly to the hill. Unknown flowers of the aged tree were rendering power of spring nature over the crooked river by the bank, and black bird was twittering, which added the joyful mood in the small village.
The old creepy house had been reborn to become a quite neat building. The roof and the windows were repaired to be a typical Manor House which deserved as the masterwork appreciated by tourists. Even the spreading ivy leaves added a chic mood to the building.

"Harry, I think we can enter the house," Ginny pointed the spot which looked like the entrance. A middle aged receptionist with chestnut brown hair smiled and charged them each four pounds for the admission fee. Harry handed the Muggle money to her and looked around to inspect the inside the house. His nostrils scented the smell of decay, had an illusion of Voldemort just appearing in front of him.

"Harry, are you alright?" Ginny touched his tense shoulder with her soft hand, "He's dead. You don't need to grab your wand."

He found that his fingers were touching his pocket in which his holly wand was tucked in. He breathed deeply, "Let's go upstairs."

On their way there, he noticed the stairs were cleaned, and no piled dust lay on the stone steps. When they reached the first floor, they weighed on the wooden floor, it creaked under their feet when he sensed the spot where the limping gardener was murdered. The memory of the poor old man, Frank Bryce was hit by the green light, flashed back in his mind. His old scar didn't hurt at all, but he couldn't stop touching the scar on the forehead, remembering the icy cold high pitched voice of Tom Riddle. Harry glanced back, and his green eyes met the kind chocolate brown eyes of his girlfriend.

"Harry, are you alright?" Anxiety cast a cloud on her face.

"I'm fine. The old bad memory just came back to me," he tried to smile at her but failed. Bryce's scream with horror when he witnessed the weird, revolting state of Voldemort, came back to Harry's mind.

"When did you witness the incident?"

"I had a dream that he was killed during summer before my fourth year. It wasn't just a dream. Tom Riddle really cast the killing curse on the poor old gardener. Let's go downstairs. I'll ask the receptionist if there's his grave near here."

The receptionist knew the place where Frank Bryce was resting. They walked to the small church graveyard.

"Harry, look!" It was Ginny who found the gardener's tomb first. There weren't any words which said about Frank Bryce. Only the name was engraved on it.

Nameless aged war hero fought back till the end. He had no worldly desires to get fame for what he'd done. He just tried to stop the evil act. His friends, fellows had died meaninglessly during the war, and he lost his leg. He just wanted no more death.

Suddenly Harry had a feeling that someone was whispering near his ear, the poor old man was speaking to him from the veil.

You defeated the wizard. I was there, m'boy. I'm proud of you. You're a young warrior.

Harry also wished for no more death. His parents, godfather, friends and professors had fought and died before he ended the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Frank, your death meant so much for me. Rest in peace," he murmured, and asked his girlfriend to conjure a flower wreath for the dead.

Ginny pulled out her wand quietly, cast the spell near the heather on the ground. Soon the pinkish purple with green wreath appeared, and she handed it to Harry. He stooped , put it down to the front of the grey stone tomb, said, "I swear, I'll never run away. I'll do what I can do, diligently like you did."

Ginny touched him on the shoulder. He glanced up, smiled at her, 'Let's leave back for the highland. I want to join horseback riding.'

She beamed at him, "This time, why don't we ride on your Firebolt?"

"Sure," he fumbled around in the pocket of his jacket suit, touched the miniature broomstick he could enlarge to the normal size anytime, but halted, "Wait, I have something to do," he turned back to the tomb. He pointed his holly wand at the stone tomb, began carving,

' The Old Warrior Sleeps in Peace.'

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

* page 578,chapter 34, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.

Author's Note: Thanks to chinaglaze, she gave me advice about 'Soup of the Day'. Thanks to HMW and tds for beta reading.