Hi, and happy Mother's Day! I hope you were all nice to your moms! I made mine chocolate and peanut butter cookie bars, beat that! Also, because I am pathetically desperate for reviews, go ahead and tell me what you did for your mom! Go ahead. No matter how little it is, just click that button below. First oneshot! I thought that I really should do a Mother's Day fic. I was originally going to make this very sad, but hey, it's Mother's Day, I can't do that! So I put a nice happy spin on it at the end. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Harry was glad that nobody was there right now. He didn't want anybody to see the warm tears rolling down his face.

Mother's Day. It could have been so much different.

He, at 21 years old, could have been talking to her, seeing his eyes in her face. He would be able to give her these wild red roses, the exact same color of the hair that he has only, and will only, ever see in pictures. This could have been a happy day.

Mother's Day. It could have been so different.

He could have been with Lily Evans. No, not Lily Evans. Lily Potter. His loving mother, the one that should be smelling the flowers he has given her. He wanted to hear her laugh. Oh, how he desperately wanted to hear her laugh. Instead he hears her scream. A scream that he hears in his dreams, or when dementors come too close for comfort. A scream that, on a day like this, he could still hear ringing in his ears.

Unfairness. It has always been a part of his life. People think of the Boy Who Lived. They think of the invincible, untouchable man who defeated evil. They don't think of a normal human being, with feelings of fear and sadness. He was their idol, someone people could look up to in times of darkness. From the time he was young, he was forced to be strong, forced to carry the world's burdens on his small, frail shoulders.

But what if he didn't want to be strong? What if he wanted to show weakness, to cry, to be vulnerable, without being judged? He was only human, not some Superman who can save the world from every evil. It was so much pressure to take, yet somehow he was destined for it from the time he was one year old.

And people are jealous? They think he enjoys this? That it's fun to be responsible for everyone else's wellbeing? They think of how amazing it must be to wield such... power. What power? What makes him so different from everyone else? Does the world think that his lightening scar gives him some kind of superpower? Is that what it is? That he is somehow special because of thetrauma he has experienced? It could have been Neville Longbottom in his position, for Merlin's sake! He has the same power and abilities as any other wizard. He did not have superpowers, and he was not invincible, and he certainly did not have fun having to save the Wizarding World's sorry behind every year since he was eleven! Yes, Voldemort is dead. He is, without a doubt, gone. But there are still bad people. Just because Voldemort is dead, it doesn't mean that all evil has been eradicated. Death Eaters still commit crimes in the name of their Dark Lord. Evil is still out there. And for some reason, people expect him to get rid of it all! He was just an orphaned boy who wanted his mum back.

And now it was Mother's Day, and no matter how hard he wished, he still had nobody to give these roses to. Harry thought about how ungrateful he was being. He might have been neglected by the Dursleys, but the Weasleys try so hard to fill the void inside him that only a family can fill. And the Weasleys were his family. With them, he felt safe and happy and loved. That's what a family is, right? A group of people who love you so much, and you love them back with such intensity that it doesn't matter if you are related or not, because your hearts are already connected. The Weasleys were that special group of people, yet, no matter how hard they tried, they didn't fill that void completely. There was still a little opening for his parents, because that small, stupid, naive part of his heart still believed he could see them again. That part of his heart couldn't be convinced by all the logic in the world that his parents will never be coming back. So his heart still left that opening, in hopes that one day, Lily and James Potter would have room inside of him, and he would be whole again. Because of that part of his heart, he would never be whole, because there would always be that emptiness that could never be filled. And he hated himself for it.

He felt so selfish, with these tears rolling down his face, because he wasn't supposed to cry. He is supposed to be strong, stoic, even when alone. His parents would be so ashamed of him. He felt like a weak, worthless pile of nothing. He was a grown man, an adult, who still wanted his mother's comfort? Maybe it would have been acceptable in his childhood, to feel so low and to want to bury his head in his mother's shoulder. But that sense of comfort was totally non-existent in his childhood. He even remembered feeling so depraved of love that he made up an imaginary mother. Given, this was from when he was very young. It may have started when he was around three or four years old and ended when he was maybe eight. He still remembered holding his own hand, when he was scared, pretending it was his mother's hand, reaching down to reassure him. When he was sad, he would sit it his dark little cupboard and stroke his own hair, pretending it was his mother wanting to comfort him. When he was happy, he would wrap his arms around himself in a hug, pretending it was his mother's embrace. Whenever Petunia saw his actions, she would snort derisively and mutter "Foolish child!". When Vernon caught sight of it, his ugly face screwed up as he shouted "You're going to end up inside the mad house, you hear me boy?" And even when he wasn't doing anything, Dudley would skip in front of him, saying things like "My parents say you're crazy. They're going to send you far away, with all the other crazy people!" Or other variations of the same message: This is MY, family, and we don't want you in it because you're different. When he was older, the blatant fact that he was motherless had finally been realized, and he grew more solemn and sad. It was times like those that he so desperately wanted his mother's care. But you'd think he would've grown out of it by now? No. No, he hasn't. And Harry doesn't think he ever will.

The tears came down faster, and he finally succumbed to the terrible, raw weakness that Harry has been keeping inside for the sake of his friends, his wife Ginny, and the entire world. Harry sank to his knees, alone in the graveyard, and he wept. He wept because he was sad, scared, alone, and he wanted his mother's love. He felt such an overwhelming need for his mother that he did something he hasn't done in years. He gently brushed his own hair. It felt terribly awkward at first, a foreign movement that went unrecognized by his hands. But as he kept doing it, he eased into it. But it did not have the same effect on him it did as a child. He knows that he is motherless, and he can't pretend otherwise. Not only that, but it barely helped the sadness he was feeling. He wanted the comfort of someone holding his hand, to reassure him, to let him know that he didn't have to be scared, and it would be alright. But he was already tugging at his hair with one hand, so he couldn't hold his other. It only made Harry realize that only a mother can comfort him the way he wants to be comforted. No matter how much he tries to make himself happy, he could never be a substitute for someone who is absent. This only served to make Harry cry a little harder. And then he realized how very stupid he was. Here he lies, a grown man, crying and stroking his hair like a two year old. This was a habit of sleepy toddlers, not men who were a little upset. Yet, no matter how many times he called himself irrational, weak, stupid, and immature, the one fact didn't change:

He wanted his mother to hold his hand.

Then, like a miracle, his hand was squeezed. Harry looked up. It was a ghost... no, it was an angel! The angel of his mother! The figure was illuminated by a bright light, making her hair look like a firey inferno. Her hand was reached out, grasping his. She was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Harry quickly looked into her eyes, finally ready to see the emerald green he has only seen in picture and mirrors. Yet, he wasn't prepared for what he did see. Her eyes were brown. Warm, chocolaty brown. The bright light was the sun, directly behind the figure. This wasn't his mother's angel. No, this definitely wasn't Lily Evans.

He welcomed the tight embrace of Ginevra Potter.

At first he was scared, afraid to be crying in front of her. He needed to be strong for his wife, didn't he? But he couldn't help himself. He buried his face into her shoulder, letting the tears flow freely, unbridled.

"Ginny, I'm...I'm sorry." Harry choked, holding back another sob.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Ginny soothed. "Nothing at all."

Harry finally pulled away, hiccupping. "How could you say that? I'm supposed to be strong... for you."

The Weasley part of Ginny kicked in. "Harry Potter! We are a team. I help you when you're down, and you help me when I'm down. That's the deal, isn't it? That's what husbands and wives do for each other, right? It's perfectly normal to feel upset,"

Harry opened his mouth to explain why he was like this, but was met by Ginny's finger on his mouth, shushing him, telling him to be quiet.

"I already know why. And it's okay. But I want you to know that this is not weakness. This is you expressing your feelings after keeping them locked away inside. You don't have to live like this, Harry," she said, staring into his eyes with intense passion. "You can be Harry when you're around me. I promise." And with that, she kissed him. It was gentle, and soft. Like rose petals.

The roses! Harry bent down and picked them up. With a smile from Ginny, Harry gently laid the wild roses on his parents' grave. He then realized how fitting those flowers were. Yes, her name may be Lily, but she was like a rose. Beautiful in every way, feisty but kind. Like these wild flowers, Harry knew that Lily Evans could never be tamed, and that she was forever free to do what she loved. She was somewhere special now. where, exactly? He did not know. That was a question for a different day. But she was happy, he knew. And she was watching him. And she was smiling. And finally, Harry was happy.

"Come on, Ginny," He spoke quietly with a smile. "Let's go home."

Harry knew that he would not see his parents again; at least not in this lifetime. There might always be that little spot set aside for his parents, but now Harry realized that it was okay. It was okay to be sad, to be scared, to be human. It was okay to express himself, and it was okay to cry. It was okay to miss the family he once had, but look at the family he has now. This was family, and he wouldn't give it up for anything.

"Oh, and Harry? Maybe on the way home you could get me a present. It is Mother's Day, after all." Ginny smiled.

Mother's Day.

Mother's Day.

Mother's Day. The words echoed inside Harry's head, as he tried to process what his wife was saying.

Mother's Day. It could have been so much different; but he wouldn't change it for the world.