Harry stood in the cemetery holding a bunch of pretty everblooming red roses and spring lilies, his green eyes gazing forlornly at the marble headstone beneath which his mother now slept for all eternity. The engraving on the headstone was simple yet poignant.

It read:

There were several other bouquets of flowers there already, and five-year-old Harry knelt and placed his next to them, saying softly, "Happy Mother's Day, Mum."

Then he peered up at the solemn face of his adopted father, Master Healer Snape, and asked uncertainly, "Dad, can Mum hear me when I talk to her? Because sometimes . . .I just need to tell her stuff . . .and I really want to know if she can hear me. Gran says she can, ‘cause she's an angel now, but . . .I was just wondering."

Severus drew in a sharp breath before answering the plaintive question. It was normal for Harry to want to speak with his mother. It had only been a year since she had passed and both of them still felt the hollow ache of her loss deeply. Not a day went by when Severus did not wake reaching for her, to hold and embrace, only to discover his arms empty, longing for one who was only in his dreams. And the longing would turn into a fierce bitter pain constricting his heart and making tears come to his eyes. And he would wonder anew how he could go on when the other half of his heart no longer beat beside him, but was forever still in the cold unforgiving earth.

Lily, God how I miss you! If only . . .

He clamped down hard on that part of himself that insisted he could have done more, as both a Healer and a wizard, to prolong her life. He knew, logically, that there had been nothing to be done, the disease had been too advanced, and had swept through her like wildfire, but at least she had not suffered long. If there was one thing to be grateful for, that was it.

I miss you, little flower. And always will.

Blinking back tears, he at last looked down at his son, and said, "Harry, your grandmother was right. Your mum is an angel and she can hear every word you say, aloud or even just thinking, because that's the magic of a guardian angel, son. They are the messengers, and she will always hear you. So don't be afraid to talk to her if you need to, Harry."

He put an arm about his son and hugged him.

Harry sniffed hard, he didn't want to start crying, because he knew his dad was awful sad too and he didn't want to make him feel bad. "Do you talk to her too, Dad?"

"All the time." Sev lifted a hand and dashed away the sudden tears. Only she never answers me. He set down the small picture of him and Harry that he had taken just before she had died, and had intended to give to her as Christmas gift. "Happy Mother's Day, my love." Then he bent and kissed the headstone, which contained a small moving portrait of Lily in an oval above her name.

"Come, Harry. Let's go home."

His son took his hand and together they departed the cemetery, their thoughts filled with memories of an auburn-haired witch who had been the most special person in the world to them, and who would never be forgotten.

Severus paused at the entrance to the cemetery, and gazed back one last time at the grave. I've regretted many things in my life, but the one thing I never regretted was loving you, Lily. His vision misted with tears.

And as he raised a hand to brush them away, he hated when he cried, he thought he saw a wispy figure with fiery hair and emerald eyes standing there, smiling her familiar grin, one hand lifted in farewell.

Then he blinked and rubbed his eyes and the figure vanished.

Harry gasped. "Dad, did you see her?"

Severus hesitated. Had he really seen his wife's phantom? "I . . ." Slowly he nodded. "Yes, I did. She came to say goodbye. Or maybe hello."

"Did you see her wings, Dad? They were all silvery and glowy."

Severus hadn't noticed that. But he didn't doubt his son's assertion. Harry was an innocent and the innocent children always saw angels. "I believe you, Harry. Now, let's go home. It's almost time for supper."

They resumed their walk out the iron gates and Harry asked, "Dad, do angels eat food in heaven? Like spun sugar and angel food cake and stuff?"

"Uh . . .I really don't know, Harry . . ."

"Guess I'll have to ask Mum then," the little boy said matter-of-factly, wiping away the tears that had been flowing quietly down his cheeks.

"You do that, son," Sev said, then he lifted his child into his arms and Apparated back to their home, leaving the cemetery to the elements and the spirits.