Eugh. It's short. Just like all of my other stories are. I have absolutely no inspiration at all, ever, when I'm sick, but I suddenly got this.

The red-haired girl glanced down at the grave with a quiet frown, pulling her hair back into a ponytail with a simple, black leather band. She always liked black; while Albus liked green and silver, and James liked red and gold, she simply liked black. They called her weird and she had believed them for years, until her father had talked to her. And then she began to admire somebody she did not even know, and for years and years, Harry would tell her stories about the bravest man he ever knew.

She knew of The Bravest Man's patronus, and his life, and how he loved her grandmother and how her father did not know and hated him for years until he finally knew, but then it was too late. The stories were always sad, always made her go into a fit of tears for a man she didn't know and wished she did know.

She knelt down over the grave, bowing her head in respect. Her red hair barely brushed the marble of the grave, and she hugged the ever-lasting bundle of red lilies to her chest. She knew why her father had instructed her to bring red lilies. She had put an everlasting charm on them. People had brought roses and other flowers, but never lilies, to the grave. They were all wilted, never bothered to be removed.

She glared and swept the flowers angrily out of her way, to sit directly infront of the grave. She toyed with a lily nervously inbetween her fingers.

And then, she began talking. "Hi." She whispered. It was clear morning, and yet she still whispered, and she did not know why, exactly, but she did it, anyways. It just felt right, in a strange way.

"My name is Lily." She continued, and she could've sworn that she felt the grass shiver around her and drifting footsteps behind her and the scent of potions, but she didn't look around, she simply talked.

"James never bothered to come here, the big git. But maybe you would remember Albus? He came here a couple of times, but he hasn't had time to lately. This is my first time. Dad didn't let me come earlier. I wanted to, really, but I was terribly forbidden." And she was; her father had literally forbidden her from coming to The Bravest Man's grave until she turned 15.

She paused, for a moment, looking up at the sky. And then she flopped down on the ground, red lilies splayed across her stomach, tickling the soft skin there as her shirt pulled up slightly above her bellybutton. Air brushed across her face and she sighed, nestling her face into the cool grass.

"Dad always said that you were the bravest man he ever knew. I never knew why, he never told me why. I asked and asked, but he never got angry, he just stared out of the window and smiled sadly and told me to go back up to my room and play with my dolls. I was angry. I wanted to know you. I wanted to know you when you were alive, you sounded wonderful." The air shifted roughly suddenly, as if it were laughing. She smiled.

"I'm sorry." She spoke suddenly, smile falling from her face. The wind brushed against her cheek, carressing her temple, as if asking why.

"You know. For, my grandmother. I'm sorry she didn't, love you. You'd be a nice grandfather." The wind froze but she continued on, flipping over onto her stomach and wiggling and squirming until she was infront of the grave on her stomach, elbows propping her up and chin in her cupped hands as she lifted her legs behind her and kicked them in the air absentmindedly.

"I mean, I like my grandfather, but you'd be a great one, too." The air around her relaxed and she felt a slight brush against her hair before it was gone.

"Mom didn't really agree with Dad's views on you, though." She felt a curious brush against her shoulder.

"Well, not at first, really. Then Dad explained everything, more thoroughly to her, and then Mom agreed. She got me these lilies, and was able to put the everlasting charm on them, and everything. She's great at charms like these."

The redhead grinned, looking aside. Across to the left was her aunt Luna, talking in her regular abnormal dizzy way to Lucius Malfoy's grave. She stood briefly, looking around. It was a wide, full graveyard of people who had died in the war, Death Eaters or not. The only person who did not have a grave was Voldemort. Every grave was different.

Lucius Malfoy's grave was simpler, but somehow elegant, with engraved ribbons wrapping across the top and bottom.

Luna wiggled her fingers at her and she smiled widely at her crazy aunt before sitting down again, curling her knees to her chest. "It's not really fair, you know. How Voldemort killed you, it wasn't at all fair. But, you were miserable, right? So I guess he only put you out of your misery. Maybe that's why I'm not crying." She did wonder why she wasn't crying.

The breeze moved.

"Aunt Luna always comes every year, too. Not even to talk to her father. I mean, she does that, but always at the last minute when she is about to leave. It's sort of confusing, but I don't ask. She just sits for hours at his grave, talking."

She laughed suddenly, loosening her hair until it was easily tugged out of it's band. The red strands pressed against her freckled face, shielding her vision.

"Well, that's kind of what I'm doing, isn't it?"

The wind seemed to laugh along with her.

She let out a soft breath and tore up a few strands of grass, letting them go and float around in the wind, before landing limply a few feet away, at Fred Weasley's grave.

"I cry. I mean.. I cry, for Uncle Remus, and Uncle Fred and even Uncle George who did not even die, because his other half is gone. I cry for Aunt Tonks, too, and everybody who died. But I can't cry for you, because I know it's better there, for you, isn't it?"

The wind shifted, whirling around her and stopping abruptly.

"Yeah. I thought so." She nodded, and minutes passed in silence.

She raised her hand, pulling her sleeve up to her wrist to see her magical watch that Grandma Molly gave her. It was halfway onto 'Dinner'.

"Oh. I better go... it's almost time for dinner."

The wind froze but then nudged her lightly, as if telling her to leave.

Lifting herself up, she brushed her knees off, ad with a final touch to the grave, placed the red lilies down on the ground and left with a single promise. "I'll be back another day."