A/N - firstly - thank you to my reviewers and sorry I haven't personally thanked you like I have previously. I love that you've taken time to comment and I wish I could let you know but I had to choose between writing or answering reviews…
Now this chapter has split into two. Oh, and I apologise to any Cornish speakers out there, or even Gaelic speakers, and if I have the word order incorrect, please let me know. You'll find out what this all means by the end…
Chapter 3 - An Dowrgi Chi
The number of days until Harry's birthday was decreasing rapidly and the knowledge that he would be vulnerable and homeless in less than a week began to become a major concern.
Obviously, Grimmauld Place was the best option for somewhere to stay - he had spent so much time there recently it felt like he was basically living there already. And as time progressed, his hatred for the gloomy and depressing dwelling was slowly decreasing.
Every now and then members of the Order were there the same time as the trio, letting the teenagers sit in on the planning they were doing to get rid of a few more Death Eaters while they worked their way towards Voldemort. It seemed that Dumbledore's death had meant many of those not willing to join the Dark Side before felt more free to do so and Voldemort's numbers had increased dramatically. Dumbledore's death also saw many in the wizarding community flee or hide, hindering the recruiting of those willing to fight against the Dark Lord.
Harry had felt a fire start to grow inside of him as he listened to the various strategies, needing to join in and help. Sitting day after day looking through books suddenly didn't seem enough as others talked about going on dangerous missions, putting their lives on the line, ready to give their lives for the cause.
Although he knew he was doing what needed to be done, that the Order didn't know of the prophecy or the Horcruxes, Harry was beginning to get restless. When Remus cornered him one afternoon and suggested that they go to Godric's Hollow the following day, Harry's restlessness was quickly replaced with anxiety.
Harry spent the rest of the evening staring out the window and thinking about what he might see the next day at the place where it all really began for him, ignoring Ron and Hermione's attempts to get him to talk, thankful when they finally gave up and left him alone.
The following morning he still remained withdrawn, just going through the motions as he had done since he had been going to Grimmauld Place - this time waiting for Hermione to return after side Apparating Ron to where they were meeting Remus (they had found early on that Hermione's Apparating skills were such that she had been Apparating herself, Harry and Ron to and from the Black estate all week - although Harry could technically do it himself, they thought it be better not to have the Ministry arrest him right at the moment).
Hearing the familiar crack from Mrs Figg's garden shed (the Apparation point), Harry entered the shed to see a subdued Hermione waiting for him.
"Ready?" she asked to which Harry nodded and took hold of her arm, expecting the now familiar bone-squeezing sensation to begin. Instead they just stood there, making Harry turn to her wondering why. She was watching him, her eyes filled with a compassion that he had seen so often before. But this time there wasn't a sense of pity, or the need to fix him - just an understanding of how difficult the day was going to be. He realised her question was about more than just getting to Grimmauld Place…
"I think so," he replied finally, the first thing he had said for nearly a day.
"Just remember Harry," she said back with an encouraging smile, "you are not alone. Whatever happens today, and I mean whatever, we're here for you. We'll get through it…"
"Together," he finished, with a ghost of a smile of his own.
"Right, together. You and me."
"And Ron," he added, making her laugh.
"Of course, and Ron," she said, blushing slightly, "who will be wondering where we are. Let's go."
After the moments of discomfort that Apparation made him feel, he found himself standing at the designated transfer point in the alley between the buildings on either side of the Black estate. Remus was already there and was listening to a rapidly talking Ron, whose trade-mark red hair was now covered by an American style baseball cap.
"Morning Professor Lupin," Hermione said brightly as they made their way over, disturbing the conversation.
"Hello Hermione," Remus replied with a smile, "and I'm no longer your professor so please call me Remus. Hello Harry, how are you feeling?"
"Fine," Harry mumbled as he looked down at his feet, not seeing Lupin's frown of concern.
"Right, well, we better be going," Remus continued with a false cheerfulness in his voice, "I was just explaining to Ron that we need to catch the tube from Kings Cross to Paddington and then a train from there to Truro…"
"Godric's Hollow is in Cornwall?" Hermione asked, walking in step with Lupin.
"Yes, a little place just outside Kea, on the way to Falmouth," he answered, "there's a bit of travelling, I'm afraid. I'd only been to James and Lily's place a couple of times a very long time ago otherwise we'd Apparate. In fact, I had to get directions on how to get there!"
"How long will it take Pro….I mean, Remus?" Ron questioned, walking on the other side of his old professor, Harry following behind, quietly listening.
"Nearly five hours, I believe. But we can Apparate back to Mrs Figg's so at least we haven't got the return journey to look forward to…"
"Five hours!" the redhead exclaimed, amazed, "what are we going to do for five hours?"
"Talk. Read," Hermione replied exasperated, "honestly Ron, you're not three!"
"I didn't say I was," Ron shot back, leaning in front of Remus to do so, "besides, what has being three got anything to do with anything?"
"Because it is children, hence three year olds, that have such a limited attention span…"
"So you can do nothing for five hours…"
"Of course I can…"
Harry watched as Remus started to drop back slightly, letting Ron and Hermione merge so they could continue their argument without him in the middle, and with a cautious glance at the elder man, Harry saw a sadness mixed in with weariness in the werewolf's pale eyes. As they continued to walk, Harry realised that this trip must also be difficult for the last of the Marauders.
"This is strange," he said as they started the decent into Kings Cross Station, the sound of his voice causing Remus to look at him (Ron and Hermione were consumed by the commuting crowds and their never ending discussion).
"What's that Harry?" Remus asked.
"How much I want to do something and not want to do something, the same thing, at the exact same time." The two looked at each with an understanding, Remus giving him a small smile.
"Yes, yes it is strange," Lupin agreed, taking the ticket from Hermione and making his way into the bowls of the London Underground.
Harry had blissfully forgotten what it was like to be with a non-Muggle when doing Muggle things - though Mr Weasley was not as bad as his son when they had caught the train to the Ministry of Magic a couple of years before.
By Baker Street, the fourth stop on the Hammersmith and City Line between Kings Cross and Paddington Station, Ron had driven them close to madness. His observations of the hoards of commuters around him, all hurrying to their jobs on an average Tuesday morning, had unnerved some of the people squashed in close proximity due to the rush hour crush, all quickly moving away from Ron when they had the opportunity.
Finally, the small party had found seats on the 9.05 to Truro and settled in for the four hour, forty-three minute train ride and after many harsh 'shut ups', Ron finally did. They sat in silence for quite a while; Hermione and Remus reading books they had brought, Ron reading the Quibbler (the photos made not to move just in case one of the other passengers saw it) with an annoyed scowl while Harry just stared out of the window.
"How far is Godric's Hollow from Kea?" Hermione asked breaking the silence, as if the question had been playing on her mind for a while, "will we be walking there or catching a bus?"
"Well, we catch a bus to Pennowen," Remus answered, frowning with thought, "which is where Godric's Hollow is…"
"Right," Hermione said, just as thoughtfully, "is…is Pennowen a Muggle town…?"
"Yes, as far as I know," Lupin replied, "though Dowrgi has belonged to the Potters for generations so…"
"Do-whatsy?" Ron tried to repeat, the Quibbler ignored.
"Doo-wr-gee," Remus phonetically pronounced, "Dowrgi. The Potter's estate…"
"The Potter's estate!" Harry interrupted sharply, "there's a Potter's estate?"
"Yes," Remus continued, "didn't Albus tell you…"
"No, he didn't," Harry snapped again, "I think there are many things that Dumbledore didn't tell me." His words left an uneasy silence as the four exchanged looks, Hermione bowing her head when Harry caught her eye as if she didn't want to look at him. Angrily he returned to the window.
"I'm sure he meant to Harry," Remus said softly, "he always had the best of intentions when it came to your wellbeing, and everything he did was to help you…"
"Well, he's not helping now is he," Harry retorted, "getting himself killed was no bloody help at all!"
Abruptly he stood and stomped away, desperately wanting to get some air but instead found himself storming to the end of the train, staring at a closed door that signalled there was no where else to go. He rested his forehead on the coolness of the metal door and closed his eyes, aware of the curious stares from the other passengers. Taking deep breaths, he tried to get himself under control, rubbing his eyes under his glasses so that the sheath of wetness that had begun to form would disappear.
His anger was unfounded, he knew that, but knowing there was yet another secret kept from him, a family home that he never even knew about, made him wonder when it was all going to end and whether he would ever find out totally about his past and who he really was. He remained like that for quite a while as he thought, ignoring all the sounds around him until he heard a familiar voice
"Harry?" Hermione was tentative and Harry could tell she was standing a little distance back as if not to crowd him. Taking a deep breath he turned around and faced her.
"What?" he said a bit more harshly than he intended, making her flinch slightly.
"We're nearly at Truro. We need to change trains," she continued a bit more steadily.
"Right."
He waited for her to say something more but instead she just turned and led the way back to Ron and Remus. As he was walking behind her, absently watching how her hair bounced each time she took a step, he realised he owed an apology to Remus - plus he had to work out how he really felt about Albus Dumbledore's death. Sighing, the thought of why couldn't his life ever be easy flashed across his mind.
He stayed pretty silent as they got on the connecting train to Falmouth and the short trip to Kea, where they then caught the bus that would pass through Pennowen. When he finally stepped out into the main street of the tiny seaside town, even if he was talking, he would've been lost for words.
The street was separated from a tiny beach by a shin high stone wall and a steep cliff face that could be accessed by some stairs which began where the bus had dropped them off. Across the cobbled street were five shops, all looking ancient and as typical as you could get - a baker, grocers, fish monger, butcher and a pub. More shops and homes fell behind the lead five filling the small plain.
"Wow," Ron gasped, and Harry agreed with him - wow pretty much covered it.
They crossed the road, which was bustling with a mixture of local residents and obvious tourists enjoying the quaintness of the town, when an elderly woman rounded the corner and nearly bumped into Hermione.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Hermione said quickly, picking up the woman's fallen basket.
"That's fine sweetheart," the woman assured, "nothing bro…" but the sentence wasn't finished as she looked past Hermione and saw Harry, her face turning white as a sheet.
"Madam, are you okay?" Remus asked, concerned, but the woman ignored him and kept staring at Harry.
"I don't believe it," she said, breathlessly, "after all this time…"
"Are you all right?" Hermione repeated, looking between Harry and the old lady.
"Yes, yes. Thank you dear," the woman acknowledged absently, once more glancing at Hermione before looking back to Harry, "we never thought we'd see you again…"
"Pardon?" Harry finally managed to splutter out.
"When they took you away," she continued, taking Harry's hand in both of her own and holding it fondly, "when you were a baby, on that awful, awful night when we lost James and Lily; we thought we'd never have a Potter in this town ever again. Lily, bless her soul, had the most awful family and when Mr Dumbledore told us that's where you were going to live, well, we were sure…oh, welcome home Mr Potter!"
"Er, thank you Mrs…." Harry said awkwardly, looking for support from the others.
"Emily Baker, Miss Emily Baker," Miss Baker gushed, "goodness, I thought you were a bunch of tourists, that's all that keeps the town going now as you can see, but as soon as I saw that hair - you could only be a Potter! The men in your family have had the same untameable hair for many generations. However it is good to see some of Lily in you too with those wonderful eyes - ah, bless me she was a lovely, lovely woman," she suddenly turned to Hermione, "seeing you dear, reminds me of her a little - you have the same shine of intelligence that sweet Lily had…"
"Thank you," Hermione blushed, shaking Miss Baker's offered hand, "um, I'm Hermione Granger, Harry's friend."
"Well, with a name like Hermione, you'd have to be smart," the old lady beamed before turning her attention to Ron, "and your name young sir?"
"Ron. Ron Weasley," he said shortly, the tips of his ears going red, also giving a polite handshake before trying to hide behind Harry. The woman then turned to Remus, a light of recognition hitting her eyes.
"Your face is familiar, young man," she smiled, "but you were only a boy when I saw you last I think."
"Well, it has been a few years Miss Baker," Remus returned, also smiling, "the last time I was here was for James and Lily's wedding…"
"You and that other boy, oh what was his name…" Miss Baker paused in thought, "cheeky lad and very handsome. He and James would get into so much mischief! You were the more sensible one if I recall."
"I tried…"
"Stephen, Stuart - something like that. An unusual name, and so was yours…"
"I'm Remus Lupin and the man you're trying to remember is Sirius Black…"
"Of course!" she exclaimed, "how could I forget. Many of the Potter friends had such unusual names! Well, young Mr Potter, what brings you back after all this time. Have you been to Dowrgi yet? Martin has looked after it so well…"
"Ah, no," Harry answered, allowing himself to be steered off the main street and up one of the narrow winding roads leading away from the sea, the others following behind him, "I…I didn't know about the estate. Um, I've come to see where my mum and dad are buried…"
"Oh my poor love," Miss Baker cried, tears coming to her eyes, "those horrid people had never let you see where you're parents are laid to rest! And not know about An Dowrgi Chi? Child, that house has been in the hands of a Potter for close to five hundred years! Well, you have to visit, that's all there is to it. Martin will be thrilled! He'll have to draw himself away from the paying customer, though, but oh - to have a Potter back at An Dowrgi Chi!"
Though quite elderly, Miss Baker was sprightly forcing Harry and the others to jog slightly to keep up with her as she made her way out of the village to follow a road that led into the countryside, chattering all the way. He only heard bits of what she was saying, her reminiscences often meaning nothing to him, but as they rounded a corner in the lane and saw an elegant stone house in the distance, he stopped and stared letting the woman continue on without him.
It was beautiful. Not as large as he had been picturing in his head, and was grateful for that, but still bigger than Grimmauld Place with many chimney stacks poking from the slate-tiled roof and a sweeping u-shaped driveway leading to the front. The entrance had about a dozen large curved stairs beginning quite long down on the driveway and decreasing in size as they reached the pillared and covered front landing. People were wandering in and out of the open front door, or walking around the well kept gardens, a continuation of the tourists that were in the village.
"This is amazing Harry," Hermione whispered in awe, "absolutely beautiful."
"Just as I remembered it," Remus breathed.
"Wow," Ron exclaimed again, breaking Harry out of his spell in time to see Miss Baker hurriedly making her way to them with a beaming, squat middle-age gentleman by her side.
"Do you believe me now Martin!" she admonished when they rejoined the group, "but I must dash, my errands won't wait. Do say goodbye before you leave Mr Potter, it has been an honour. Look after them now Martin!" And with a departing wave, she was gone.
"Oh my, oh my," the man called Martin said, shaking Harry's hand vigorously, drawing his attention away from the quickly disappearing Miss Baker, "welcome home Mr Potter, welcome home. I'm Martin Stephens, I've been managing the estate since Mrs Mary…"
"Mrs Mary?" Ron asked, confused.
"James's mother," Martin answered, glancing at Ron before looking back at Harry, "your grandmother. I was made trustee and manager after Mrs Mary died as James wanted to keep it all separate from him and Lily…because of the war."
"War?" Hermione questioned, "what war was that Mr Stephens?"
"The war against You-Know-Who," he said, sounding a bit surprised, "you know, the first war."
"You're a wizard?" Ron blurted out unthinkingly, earning a glare from Hermione.
"Why, yes I am," Martin replied as he began to walk towards the house, "but we don't sing and dance about it - after all, this is a Muggle town."
"Sorry," Ron mumbled.
"So people like Miss Baker don't know you're a wizard?" Harry asked, his voice low as they came closer to the estate's visitors.
"No, not really," Martin answered, also quietly, "the villagers know that the Potters were different and that we here at the estate do things unlike other people, but the relationship has been around for so long that the strangeness is just accepted. We don't openly do spells and they don't question how a repair job to the roof that should take months only takes days. The Potters have been well loved and respected in this village for many years which makes our lives so much easier."
"That's pretty incredible," Hermione said, "the two cultures working so well side by side."
"Well, you have your boyfriend's family to thank for that," Martin said proudly.
"Oh, no," Harry said hastily, blushing, "Hermione's not my girlfriend…"
"…we're only friends," she finished for him, also blushing.
Martin stopped at the entrance and looked at them both strangely before smiling apologetically, purposely ignoring the frown from Ron and the amused grin from Remus.
"Oh golly," the Cornishman enthused, "how presumptuous of me! Please accept my humblest of apologies and I hope I haven't offended you…"
"Don't worry," Ron said grumpily, "it happens all the time."
Ron shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched into the house where, with a sigh, Hermione did the same. Releasing a sigh himself, Harry followed his friends and entered into the hallway of his ancestral home
Directly in front of him was a large staircase and a portrait of who he suspected were his grandparents and father looking down at all of those entering through the front doors. There was a desk with a cash register, various stands with postcards and tourist information plus a few tourists scattered around, the décor tasteful but undoubtedly old.
"Would you like a full tour?" Martin asked, indicating to the young girl at the register that she was not to worry about payment from his four guests.
"Unfortunately we haven't got too much time," Remus answered, "the estate wasn't on our schedule…"
"Perhaps then the drawing room, ballroom and library," Martin continued, leading the way down the hall way to his right, "they would be of most interest. First, the drawing room."
The first door lead into a reasonable sized room that was definitely set out to receive guests - two arm chairs and a two seater surrounded a small table and faced a wonderful fireplace. Various side tables adorned the edges of the room, ancient looking vases and statuettes on their surfaces. A large window over looked the driveway and front garden with a huge mirror over the fireplace reflecting all within. There were little velvet rope barriers keeping the tourists away from the furniture, but Martin unfastened one, motioned the group to go through before putting the barrier back in place and joining them.
"This was Mr and Mrs Potter senior, your grandparents, favourite room," Martin said fondly, "they loved to sit in here and just relax. But the reason this room should interest you, Mr Potter, is this."
Martin indicated to a tapestry on the wall, not that unlike the one hanging in the Black estate, which had the Potter family tree. It was intensive and large, the first entry recorded in 1437 but luckily it seemed that resulting families were always small with only one or two offspring for each branch. They all stood and read what they could but for Harry, all they were were names.
"Hey, my grandmother's maiden name was Bussleton," Ron exclaimed, pointing to an entry a couple of generations earlier, "I remember because mum made us look at all these old photos one winter and kept going on about Great Grandmother Bussleton and how she used to always smell of fish…"
"What was your grandmother's first name?" Martin asked curiously.
"Er, Ethel I think," Ron replied, "she died before I was born."
"Well, Mrs Mary had an aunt Ethel…"
"So Harry and I are related?"
"By marriage, and very distantly," Hermione answered with a bit of a smile.
"Wicked," Ron grinned, exchanging a look with Harry, who genuinely smiled back - he already felt part of Ron's family and knowing there was an official link, however tenuous, was a good feeling.
"Let's move on," Martin instructed, showing them out of the drawing room and into a room on the opposite side of the hall. It was large, with very little furniture - its floor beautifully polished and a grand piano sitting on its own in the corner. There were pictures covering the walls and as Harry looked around, he could see himself in the images.
"Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed as he too, looked at the portraits.
"Harry," Hermione breathed, her voice close to his ear, "these are your family."
He drew his eyes down from the image of a black haired man standing proudly next to a woman with auburn hair and brilliant green eyes who was holding a baby (that was less than a year old) lovingly in her arms, and glanced at his friend, taking a deep breath when he saw the tears in her eyes, trying so hard not to cry himself. Quickly, both of them returned to looking at the paintings.
"This is the ballroom, and these, Mr Potter, are your ancestors - portraits dating back to the seventeenth century."
"Blimey Harry, you have a ballroom," Ron muttered as he walked around the room.
Harry stayed silent as he looked at each picture carefully. They all seemed to have a man with hair as messy as his own though looking just that little bit different from their neighbour, all with different women and different babies - but they were all Potters. They were his family.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked as she walked beside him - Harry just nodded. Ron had already done the circuit and re-joined Harry and Hermione.
"Well," Ron began, "it seems you Potter men have a thing for redheads."
"Smart redheads," Martin corrected, "but not all Potter's have fallen for red hair…"
"James always went for redheads," Remus remembered, "which, in our case, was only Lily - no Weasley's in our year!"
"There you go Harry," Hermione quipped, "things with Ginny may not be over after all - you are destined to be with a redhead!" Harry could hear the lightness in her voice, but Hermione's comment dug a bit - as far as he was concerned, destiny had caused nothing but trouble and the way things were going, there probably won't be any more Potter family portraits added to this room.
"You said the library will be of interest," Harry said sharply, ignoring his friends and looking directly at Martin, "are we able to have a look?"
"Of course," their guide said quickly and led them out of the room. They crossed the hall once more and made their way past the drawing room and to a closed door just past the stairs. Martin produced a key and unlocked the door, letting the small party inside.
Harry heard Hermione take an intake of breath and had to smile - this room was his bookwormish friend's idea of heaven. Every available space was filled with books but unlike Grimmauld Place, this library was welcoming. He watched as she began to circle the room, her hand lovingly tracing lightly over the multitude of spines. Harry glanced at Ron, who rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation but stayed silent with a smile, letting her enjoy the moment.
"The Potters always seemed to marry women who loved to read," Martin said quietly, "so this library continued to grow."
"There are quite a few books on the four founders," Hermione noted, "and the history of magic…"
"Mrs Mary was a history buff and was also a governor on the Hogwarts School board - she liked to collect information on the school…"
Hermione shot a look at Harry that told him she was thinking the same as he was - the information on the Ravenclaw Horcrux could be within these walls.
"No doubt there will be a copy of Hogwarts: A History then," Ron muttered, oblivious, just before his stomach omitted an extremely loud rumble, "whoops," he laughed as a way of apology.
"Oh my, what a terrible host I am," Martin exclaimed, "have you not eaten? It's nearly three!"
"That's okay, we can…" Harry began, getting a scowl from Ron.
"No, no I will not hear of it," Martin bustled, heading for the door, "I will get you all some food. Please, make yourselves comfortable - the public aren't allowed in this room so you won't be disturbed."
Without a second glance, Martin left and the four stood silently in his wake. Harry looked back at an excited Hermione and smiled - this could be the break they were waiting for.
"Why do you two look so pleased?" Remus asked, making his way to Hermione as he waited for an answer.
"Dumbledore needed to find information about artefacts from the four founders," Harry started tentatively, thinking hard about his words so he didn't share too much, "we have Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor but don't know anything about Ravenclaw. We will probably find something out here…"
"Is that what you're doing at Grimmauld Place's library?"
"No, that's something…different," Harry looked at Remus, who nodded with a wary understanding.
"Well, I'm sure Martin will let you spend some time here looking," Remus said, sitting down in the desk chair, "but after a quick bite to eat, we better shove on, it's getting late."
"We passed the churchyard on the way here," Hermione remarked, quickly turning back to the books.
"We did?" Harry questioned, not remembering seeing anything. But all discussion ceased as Martin returned with trays of food and glasses of juice, which they attacked hungrily until all that could be heard was munching.
However Harry sat picking at his sandwich, thinking about what he had seen and what he was soon going to see. Everything was so confusing for him - he didn't know whether he should be feeling angry, excited, scared, sad or even just curious. At times it seemed he was feeling all of these things at once. He suddenly felt very tired.
"You need to eat Harry," Hermione said quietly, leaning towards him to do so.
"Not really hungry," he mumbled.
"You haven't eaten since yesterday," she said more forcefully, "we are not leaving here until you eat at least a whole sandwich."
Harry looked at her in surprise - it was the first time she had spoken to him like that since fifth year and he could see that familiar fire in her eyes. Realising it was useless to argue, he took a bite and forced it down, aware she was watching him until she was satisfied before turning back to Martin.
"How long has the Potter estate been open to the public Mr Stephens?" she asked.
"Since Mrs Mary got ill," Martin answered, pleased to be talking again, "James had indicated he didn't want to live here and wanted to keep Dowrgi separate from himself until the war was over. Therefore when Mrs Mary died, a manager would be appointed and the estate would be run as a Muggle historical house. James built a home for his family on the property's boundaries and helped managed the running of An Dowrgi Chi once he graduated from Hogwarts. Of course, he didn't need to work at all however he felt he should whenever he could spare time away from the war."
"An Dowrgi Chi, is that Gaelic?" Hermione continued, her brow creased in curiosity.
"Why yes, Cornish Gaelic to be exact," Martin continued, "meaning 'the Otter House'. It seems that when Art Potter brought his young family to this site to check on the progress of this building's construction, they had a picnic by the river that runs through the back of the gardens and saw a family of otters building their home. Art's young son, Harold, was so taken by the little creatures that the house became known as the Otter House and as Elaine Potter was a fluent speaker of the native tongue, it was quickly translated hence An Dowrgi Chi."
"What a lovely story," Hermione sighed dreamily before turning to Harry, who quickly shoved another mouthful of his previously forgotten sandwich in his mouth.
"Legend has it that as long as there is a Potter living in this house, there will be otters in the river," Martin said relevantly, "which we didn't really believe until someone noticed that the river was empty after James had been killed. Albus told us to have faith, however, and he was right! Here you are!"
"Don't get too carried away," Harry grumbled, "I don't know about living here. Dumbledore hadn't even told me this place existed…"
"Well, that isn't actually Albus's fault," Martin started hesitantly, "you see, James willed that if both he and Lily died, that you wouldn't inherit Dowrgi, or even know about it, until you turn of age. This house is the ancestral soul of the Potter family and James wanted to protect it at all costs. His thoughts were that if both he and Lily were gone, it meant that He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named would have control. He didn't want them to know about Dowrgi."
"Then that's how it should stay," Harry said forcefully, standing from his seat in one of the large armchairs that were in the room, "I'm guessing there are wards and protections on the place?"
"Oh yes, Albus made sure…"
"Are you able to let Hermione know?" Harry interrupted, "and will it be okay if she comes and uses this library?"
"Of course Mr Potter, of course, we can discuss…"
"Another day, perhaps," Harry once again interrupted, "right now, I would like to see my parents home and where they…are."
"I understand," Martin said, "let me tell the staff where I am and I will take you to the church yard and then Godric's Hollow. Please, wait for me in the hall, I shan't be long."
"That was a bit harsh," Hermione snapped as she followed Harry out into the hallway.
"Yeah mate, he was only being friendly," Ron put in.
"Look, I'm tired and I would like to get this over with," Harry replied angrily, "and I've had enough finding out about my family from strangers."
He didn't wait for their reply and instead stalked out of the house and into the brightness of the summer day that had continued without him. At the foot of the stairs he paused and waited, knowing that whatever he said, the next part would be the hardest - there was no way he could go to Godric's Hollow alone.
A/N - there you go. I chose Cornwall because that's where my dad is from and it's a beautiful part of England (it's also quite 'magical'). Kea? As well as being an actual place, it is also my favourite NZ native bird so I had to use it. The next chapter is just bursting to be written and I want to get it done before our overseas visitors arrive because then I won't have much time for three weeks! Anyway, it may get posted more sooner than later.