Celandines

Wind ruffles the fool's parsley, and the celandines turn their yellow faces to the sun. Harry's down at the bottom of the field, mooching around, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. It's a classic Harry posture - shoulders hunched, head down. Defensive Harry at his best.

It's pointless to try and pick my way through the long grass, so I stamp and kick along as best I can. The bottoms of my trousers are soaked, and I'm glad I had the sense to wear old shoes.

All right. I'm glad I listened to Hermione when she told me to wear old shoes.

The ground is rutted and uneven and I almost lose my footing and tumble into a puddle that can't be more than two inches deep. I end up wobbling from one foot to another and bump into a dandelion clock. Hundreds of seeds rise up into the air and drift off on the breeze on their tiny parachutes.

I wish them a safe landing. It's more than some of us had.

Actually, that's not quite fair. In the end, more of us came through than we had any right to expect. The reason for that is here in this field.

I glance back down the hill at Harry. He's still not looking at me.

It'll be a while before he's ready for this. To be honest, I'm surprised that he's agreed to come here at all. He has so much more to forgive than I do, and no good memories to outweigh the bad.

Brambles cover the farthest corner of the field. As I kneel down and push them away, a long curved whip buries its thorns viciously in my hair. It gets the benefit of my extensive vocabulary. Down at the bottom, Harry's head jerks up in alarm as he hears the stream of curses. I wave at him, and he turns away again.

There's blood on my hand as I scrape the moss from the flat grey stone. Already the surface is spotted with lichen and the carved words are beginning to fade. Twenty visits. Twenty years. Time passes so quickly...

Enough. This isn't the time to be morbid.

I wipe the stone clean as best I can, tracing the words with gentle fingers.

'FOR GREAT VALOUR'

That was all the Wizengamot would allow. No name, no description, no date. Only a few people know, and when we're gone countless generations will stumble upon this stone in the corner of an unmarked field and wonder what it means.

For great valour.

For pushing me aside when I tried to get to Harry as he struggled to get up. He was dazed and bleeding after Malfoy's curse; Voldemort was already bringing up his wand. Harry didn't even know he was there. He hadn't a chance.

There's only one foolproof way to block the Killing Curse. Stand between the caster and the target and take the curse yourself. That was my idea, at any rate. But you shoved me out of the way and leapt onto Voldemort, and wrapped that ugly silver hand around his throat. I don't think there was anything in the prophecy about that.

And the rest is history. Harry finished him off, but the Avada Kedavra had hit you in the chest. You were dead when we pulled you off. No time for goodbyes. If there had been... I wonder what we would have said.

Harry's looking at his watch It's time we went.

But there was one thing I wanted to tell you. Hermione and I - we did it. We changed the maps.

Sometimes it helps to be married to the cleverest witch of the age. This is definitely one of those times. We changed the maps and there's not a damn thing the Wizengamot can do about it. Every map ever written. Every map yet to be written.

It may be a faded stone in an unmarked field. But I wonder what future generations will think when they look at their maps and see that the Dark Lord was finally defeated in a field called Peter's Grave.

I wish we could be there to see it.