A chilly breeze waved through the deserted streets. Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione were walking strictly towards a playground. Harry looked around. And again, as the last time, he had been here, there was this weird feeling in side of him. As if something was pulling him, pulling towards somewhere. 'Somewhere over there my mum had lived as a child.', he thought. Then he pulled himself together and steadily walked on. They reached the playgrounds, which also was deserted. On their first occasion being her, Ron had asked, what he reckoned how many children still played her. Harry had answered, none. And that was, what it looked like. The swing was rusty and one seat was hanging loosely, just held by one string. In the sandpit grass sprang up and had already turned yellow. No one had played here in quite sometime.
They walked on, into the near by trees. The was a clearing, not far away from the playgrounds. The remaining beams of sunlight, gleamed through the branches. In it fluffs were dancing, giving the clearing a romantic flare.
In the middle of it a white stone stood. Flowers, already withered, rested in front of it. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione stepped in front of the stone. Someone had put a picture on its left side. In it a grumpy looking wizard, with greasy black hair and a crooked nose, was dozing. There had also been flowers planted before the grave, they were still blooming, forming an odd opposition to the faded flowers, as if to say that there was still life and still hope.
On the white stone stood in solid letters 'Severus Snape born January 9th, 1981 died June 15th, 1997 former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'.
Harry took out the letter and unfolded it again. He cleared his throat and then started to read. “Dear Severus”. With the sound of his voice echoing in the silence of the clearing, the portrait of the wizard awoke startled. He looked at him with curious, piercing eyes and Harry again felt an odd trickling in the back of his head as he had used to, when his former potion master was still alive. He kept on reading, trying not to chock on the words, but read them clearly.
When he finished, he could see Ginny having tears in her eyes and Hermione resting her head on Rons shoulder. Harry looked up. The man in the portrait looked at Harry astonished and deeply moved. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it off hastily. Harry still looked, then he said: “I thought, you should know.”
He folded the letter again, gave it another glance and put it next to the picture. He straightened up. “Now, you can rest in peace.” And as if in agreement a stronger blow of wind waved through the clearing, ruffling his already untidy hair.
He took another glance at the picture and then turned around and walked away.
