It was a beautiful hillside, with a lovely view from its slopes. But beside an ash tree on that hillside stood a gravestone, marking where someone lay at rest.
With the distinctive sound of Apparition, a figure in black appeared out of thin air before the grave, holding a bouquet of flowers.
"I wasn't sure what flowers you liked, but I'm certain you didn't like roses, right?" Harry Potter said to the gravestone, then placed the flowers before it.
Cedric Diggory's name was engraved on the stone. Born in 1977, died in 1995. He had lived in this world for only eighteen years.
"Your father has left the Ministry of Magic. He went after Peter Pettigrew, the murderer who killed you," Harry said softly. "Some people believe he was carrying one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, made by killing you. I still can't believe it, because everything happened right in front of me. How could I not have noticed?"
Of course, no one answered. Only the calls of turtledoves echoed across the hillside.
"I dreamed about you today. Your face was on Voldemort's body, and he told me that I killed Quirrell with these hands of mine." Harry held his hands up before him again. They looked utterly clean. "I don't know what happened back then. The first time I touched Quirrell, he started smoking. It frightened me at the time. Later, I realized attacking him that way worked, so I pressed my hands against his face again. I didn't mean to kill him."
Harry paused, then continued, "I wanted to seriously injure him first, then find the professors to deal with him. I never thought taking someone's life was something to enjoy. But I never thought I had killed someone either, and felt guilty about it. I mean, it was magic.