A/N: *really nervous laughter* Hi there, long time no see, heh-heh. I know there really is no excuse for the length of time it's taken me to get this chapter out but I've had a bit of writer's block, a lot of laziness and a shot of school to get through. Thankfully, the writer's block did me good. I've never been good with plans and during that time I lost the original plan for this story so everything from here onwards is based on memory and imagination, my two favourite things. I hope you like those things too.
Anyway, on the other front, I think I made a mistake with this chapter. I made it the pivotal chapter for the story and it isn't. Godric's Hollow may be where Harry goes to find out how this all started out, but it isn't going to just reveal something big all on one page. At least not here. Instead, it's where the foundations of the tale lie, and had I remembered that, you would have had this chapter sooner.
Disclaimer: Not mine, the owner is currently writing the real seventh book in Scotland and probably having a great laugh at the nonsense I'm trying to pull off.
*****
Godric's Hollow
Harry wasn't quite sure what he expected to find when they finally got to his parents' house in Godric's Hollow. His best thoughts were of a new house on the old lot, with a new family blissfully unaware of the history within their property lines. His worst, of Death Eaters using magic to turn it into a shrine for their master under the noses of the unsuspecting Muggles, or even more terrible, a meeting place to plan their attacks. But none of them came anything close to what they actually met, to this.
From what Lupin had told him, the house had basically imploded, fallen in on itself, in the apparent blast that had destroyed Voldemort's body. From what he was seeing now, the Muggle officials who had come round after the fact had removed the top half and basically cleared the lot, but left standing the severed ruin of the ground floor and foundation of the house. Not only that, but the residents had in fact created a shrine, a memorial to the young couple and their infant son, strewing the overgrown front yard and ruin with flowers, toys, candles and cards and some of it recent. He hadn't been sure of what would have been awaiting him in Godric's Hollow, but he was very glad that it was this.
Hermione and Ron stood silent behind him. Not wanting to disturb him yet, while themselves digesting the gravity of it, they chose to remain his bastions. When he was ready he would lead them on, when he knew what he wanted they would follow him to it. There was no hurry, not yet at least.
Out of the corner of his eye though, Harry could see Hermione fidgeting where she stood. Since they had arrived this morning she had been that way, antsy, as nervous as a rabbit too far from its hole, and it had increased with each step that brought them closer to the house. Ron fidgeted too, but his seemed more from concern of discovery than resisting the urge to say something comforting.
He had been that way since they first set out that morning before dawn. Deciding against waking the house-which would have probably made their early morning departure more conspicuous-they had slipped away under the cover of the darkness before dawn, Disillusionment Charms and the Invisibility Cloak.
They could not all fit under the cloak of course, but in the face of the united insistence of Ron and Hermione, Harry had to wear it.
No cloak in the world though, could have masked the rippling fear that temporarily overtook him as at last the Burrow, his foster home of sorts, vanished from view.
But at least he had the comfort in knowing that as much as he felt it, Ron and Hermione were feeling it too. They were probably the bravest people he knew, but this time it didn't matter as much that they were a little frightened.
Their departure from the house though, was not the complete secret they had hoped it to be. When they had gotten out of their rooms and down to the kitchen on their way out, they found that Mrs Weasley had prepared breakfast and lunch. In all likelihood, she had probably been preparing for the night they left as much as they had. Harry could just see her setting out the little packages night after night and then sighing with relief each morning she came down and saw them still there.
Harry could not resist a small "Thank you" note, after all she had done for him, it was the least he could do.
By now the others were surely all awake and carrying on as best they could as if they were still there. Though it would be suspicious that they were not out and playing Quidditch, the sky as they left Ottery St Catchpole threatened rain. It would not last forever, their ruse, but it would last as long as they needed it to. If their "Top Secret Mission" was to succeed, it had to.
When a slight wind blew through the trees surrounding the ruin of the Potter house, Harry dared to take his eyes away from the scene to finally have a good look around him. Anxious to get to the house that morning, wavering between apprehension and excitement, he had barely taken proper stock of the town. Alternatively it seemed that none of the residents had taken stock of the three teenagers emerging from their forest and walking somewhat aimlessly through their streets. Now though, under the light of the mid-morning sun shining gold over them and Stagge Lane, he allowed his eyes to wander.
The Potter house ruin stood as the second structure on the street that was Stagge Lane, comfortably surrounded by a few trees, a short stone wall with a rotted wooden gate and the neighbouring homes. The neighbours were nowhere to be seen, but Harry was sure that from quite a few windows they were being watched. It was the middle of summer, and if not adults, there were sure to be a few children in at least one of the wooden two-storey structures that lined either side of the lane.
He refused to think on the fact that were it not for a split-second decision he just might have been one of them. Were it not for a fraud's prophecy and the murderer who had overheard her, his parents would be alive.
Other than that, the street was pretty normal. Garages replaced broomstick sheds, post-boxes eliminated the need for owl post, and the sound of stereos and television sets left on too loud filled the air, drowning the sound of birds and small animals. The town bordered a forest and a river, so that a street adjoining Stagge Lane came to a dead-end at a line of trees and in the distance, just under the sound of the stereos but still there, a river slowly rambled. The earth was fairly craggy going off into the trees too, as they had come to know that morning when they descended to wait out the sunrise, but the residents didn't seem to mind. This was their home, and save for the frightful incident that had left an eyesore in their street, it was still and would always be beautiful.
Hermione, unable to stand it any longer, broke through Harry's thoughts then with a question, "We may have to spend the night… here…. Do you think there's an available inn downtown?"
She purposely avoided another one. He let her.
"That may not be a good idea. The longer we stay here, the greater the chance they're going to spot us," he replied.
"I know, but… moving about too quickly when we're trying to keep a cover isn't such a great one either. If someone from either side sees us out when we should be at the Burrow…" she allowed her voice to trail off.
After a moment of silence where he seemed to be contemplating it, he said, "We'll ask someone. We're just passing through; backpacking through Wales… that shouldn't be too suspicious."
Backpacking through Wales, it was the excuse they had come up with in case they were asked. Their backpacks were a little small, they didn't seem to be carrying around a lot of money, and they didn't even have bicycles, but they were "backpacking". Oh how he wished it were true.
At this Ron could finally take it no more, and said, "I don't mean to… but I don't think we can just stand here forever looking at it."
"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione, alarmed at his tactlessness.
Harry shrugged it off, "He's right, c'mon." And with only a moment's hesitation longer, he took the lead to the gate that would take him home. Hermione looked to Ron, still glaring slightly, and followed him in.
As they stepped past the front gate, the first thing they encountered was the overgrown remains of a path. A moss-covered teddy bear and an old faded birthday card ("Now you're 3!") in a clear plastic bag served as welcome mat. In the midst of the lawn to their left someone had erected a jungle gym and hung toy trucks, cars, a cricket bat, and more birthday cards, the newest attached to a football on the top "17teen Reasons You're Cool!" A few steps further brought them to the wire frame and strips of ribbon that may have once made up a wreath, with a startlingly realistic sketch of his parents.
Hermione fell so quiet that the only way Harry knew she was breathing was that she still walking behind him. Sneaking a glance to his left revealed that Ron had gone unhealthily pale, and it stood out starkly against his bright red hair. Harry's own heart felt as if were systematically climbing into his throat, and until he left this place it would not stop.
To distract himself, Harry looked up at the house again.
It had once been white, something barely discernable now that it was covered in ivy, with a dark red door and white windows. There was almost no front door now, but some of the walls within still stood all the way to the back. There were no visible furniture, of course, but the kitchen cupboards were mostly intact and with luck might still contain a few items. Other than that, the house was gone, and he could barely bring himself to imagine what it must have looked like.
But he wondered slightly then, what, if anything, there would be for them in there. For the past few weeks it had been drawing him, calling him to it with the promise of answers. But what answers? What answers could it possibly contain if he wasn't even sure of the question?
Well, that wasn't entirely accurate, he did know the question. What exactly happened that night when Voldemort "died" and he "lived"? But he had long learned that answer, "love" destroyed him. So what else was there?
When they got to what was left of the front door, he stopped and allowed himself a moment to calm down. Waves of anxiety had been rippling through him with each step he took, fury and sadness had been clawing at his heart with a knife and striking deep, and the ever-present fear had dared to rear its head. He had no idea what he might have to fear in the old ruin, but still it was there.
But once the moment had passed, he stepped past the threshold of the house and said, "I don't know what we might find here… if anything at all… so I think we should spread out a bit. Lupin didn't mention a cellar, but if there is one there might be something in there. Just call, okay?"
Ron and Hermione nodded, and they spread out into the house: him to the kitchen, Ron down the halls to the left, and Hermione to the right. In the absence of the upper floor it would not be long before they ran out of places and he declared the day wasted, but with less places to look they would be a lot more vigilant. For example, like how they all noticed they skeletal remains of a long dead something (Harry hoped it had happened naturally) in their path at the front door just before they stepped on it.
But Harry would be the first to find something on his own.
In the kitchen, as expected, a lot had been cleaned up and removed. The old appliances were gone, along with the linoleum, some paint and any decoration that was not stuck to the walls with glue. Even though it had been years, he could still see the small circular impressions where a kitchenette set must have been, and the back door still hung open on its bottom hinges. But the one thing that had caught his eye, and stood out sharply so, were the kitchen cupboards.
They had all had their doors removed, but two cupboards, in the corner closest the back door had been left as they were, shut up tight. And the moment he noticed this Harry made a beeline to them, surprisingly crunching pieces of glass under his trainers as he went.
The doors to the cupboard must have been magically sealed, drawing his wand; he knelt before them and almost whispered, "Alohomora!" At once they gently popped open and it was at this that he paused. Now that he had found something, he was assaulted by the anxiety, the fear, of before. But he steeled his nerve, and slowly drew open a door to peer in.
The first thing to hit him was the smell. This must have been a secret potions store, the acrid scent of the long expired ingredients burned his nostrils and made his eyes water. He drew back a bit and flung open the other door. The smell hit him full on and he was mildly alarmed to see a few wisps of coloured smoke come out after it.
But then something at the back, beyond the grey and decayed pile of ingredients caught his eye.
He dared to put his hand in and shift aside some of the mess, knocking over a bottle of something that must have once been lacewing flies? With the doors open and the roof gone, the mid-morning sun reflecting off the floor poured into the cupboard and lit it up. The object was a notebook, an old black notebook covered with grime and dirt, and yellowed by age, but there nonetheless.
He didn't have to remove it to know the owner.
"Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my house. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."
It had belonged to his mother.
For a time he just remained kneeling before it, his hand still in the cupboard, not daring to reach over and touch it… but then the sound of Ron calling him from the room next door ("Hey Harry, I think I've got something!") had him start and snatch it out. He shrunk and shoved it into his backpack at once, resealed the cupboard, and then rose and walked over to join him.
Hermione came hurrying over just as Harry did to find Ron standing in what must have once been a closet. In this closet there was an old battered door, and from the looks of it, the Muggles had been through it more than once. But it was something, the cellar it probably led to might have many more locked cupboards.
Ron was still standing at the door with an anxious look on his face. Harry reassured him, "If it's still intact it might have been specially sealed, the only thing is by whom and why?"
Ron visibly relaxed, just as Hermione warned, "Be careful, we don't know how stable this floor is."
"It's stood this long hasn't it?" asked Ron.
To stop the argument before it began, Harry went to the door, took hold of its knob and turned. No surprise, it was locked, and tightly.
He drew his wand again, "Alohomora!"
Nothing, the door refused to budge.
At this he turned to them confused, and Hermione sighed heavily, "It must have been locked with a key. Look for one; hopefully it's still around here somewhere."
They separated again at once, eyes to the floor and what remained of the walls, looking for something, anything that was out of place and could serve as a hiding place. This took Harry back to the kitchen and its door-less cupboards, and he immediately went back to the potions store.
This time though, there was nothing to find. And why would there be, it couldn't really be this easy could it?
He turned his attentions then to the others. After years of being exposed to the elements they were battered, rotting and falling apart. The ones mounted on the walls above the kitchen sink and counters were almost completely gone, though a few contained a complementary rack of spiders. As he had seen the first time, the ones below were all completely bare… save one.
The last one before the door leading out into the hall also still had its door attached, and he hadn't noticed it before. He noticed now though, and especially since his name was written on it in big colourful letters, "H-A-R-R-Y".
This was his cupboard.
Immediately forgetting what he originally came here to look for, and mildly wondering why the people who came to the house after the explosion had left so much behind, he went to it. The door popped open before his fingers grazed the handle, but he barely noticed. He threw open the door and dropped to his knees to peer inside, but went no further.
Standing just as he might have left them sixteen years before, were six toy soldiers, twelve building blocks, five of which spelt his father's name, "J-A-M-E-S" and an old story book, placed, curiously, in the same position as his mother's notebook at the back of the shelf. For some reason he was not entirely surprised to see these things. Though he should have been far too young to remember them, he still felt a sense of familiarity, of recognition as he peered into the cupboard.
"Found it!" suddenly called Hermione, and then he heard her rushing down the hall again to Ron at the closet.
Oh right, he had come here looking for a key.
But now knowing this, Harry still did not hasten his departure. Instead, he removed his backpack, and not bothering to shrink anything, shoved it all in with his mother's notebook. He then carefully resealed the cupboard, took one last sweeping look round the kitchen and walked out to rejoin Ron and Hermione.
As he stepped out into the hall though, he ran into Hermione first.
They only narrowly avoided colliding, but Hermione still had to grab onto to him to stop herself from falling as he suddenly appeared before her. He grasped her arms to steady her as well, and then had to draw her into an embrace to stop them both from ending up on the floor. They exchanged embarrassed apologies, her cheek bumped his own as she pulled away from him and then they turned and headed back to Ron.
He had not heard her call out to him, and knowing her the moment he had not responded she went off looking for him. He had to remember that he wasn't alone and it was not safe to do that.
"Where were you?" asked Ron suspiciously, as he came up behind Hermione.
"The kitchen," he replied, and then looking to his hand, asked, "Is that the key?"
Still looking at them warily, Ron nodded, and turning to the door again, slipped it into the lock, turned, and pushed. The door gave easily, and then they were treated to the musty scent of abandon and disuse. Clearly no one had been down here in years, all the more wonderful, and frightful, for them. But just as with the cupboards, the sunlight quickly flooded the stairwell, pouring into the hollow darkness of the cellar. The "hollow" of it was not at all comforting.
Harry tried to see beyond the glimmer of the light pool, but quickly gave up. If they wanted anything in there, they would have to go in.
Without waiting to debate it, he was first in, tentatively stepping onto an old wooden stair, and once sure that it would take his weight, continued down into the darkness with his wand drawn. Hermione and Ron were quickly at his heels, and after a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the dim light they spread out around the room.
It was a small, neglected space, filled with cobwebs, dust and unseen insects skittering about just out of sight, devoid of anything else save an old wardrobe and some boxes. Ron took two steps into the room, walked into webbing, declared that he was going to "keep watch" and went back up again. Hermione, not at all affected, slipped Harry a mischievous grin, and asked, "What do you think we'll find here?"
He looked around the room, and walked to the wardrobe, "Nothing… anything."
He heard her open up a box, cough on dust aspirated by her movements and then close it again with a muttered, "Empty…." She moved on to another and he turned his attention to the old wardrobe.
In silence they worked their way around the room, looking for the "nothing, anything", and found a lot of the former and little of the latter. The cellar had probably been used to store items from when his parents moved there, and though he was grateful, he was a bit surprised that it hadn't been completely raided yet. There were plates and cutlery, Christmas decorations, extra drapes, and in the wardrobe, lots of old clothes. Every now and then they would find a stray toy, behind the wardrobe there was a side of an old pair of trainers, and under the stairs were the leavings of a cat that must have slipped in from an opening near the solitary still-shut window.
Otherwise there was nothing, absolutely nothing save that notebook and his toys; it was almost a wasted journey.
As he turned to Hermione to tell her so, he just caught her in the act of palming something off. He at once made to question her about it… but the sound of voices from above silenced him.
"-where are your friends? This place isn't some excuse for mischief!"
"'Mischief'? Sir, I don't know what you're talking about. We're just having a look around."
"Now listen to me boy-"
At this Harry came running up the stairs with Hermione behind him, calling, "We're just having a look around, sir. We were passing through and-"
"Oh my God!" exclaimed the man, and started away from them slightly.
Harry stopped where he was, not expecting this reaction, and Hermione, not expecting his, walked right into him. He did not apologise or attempt to move though, and she was forced to step back and wait, as he repeated, "We haven't done anything wrong, sir…."
But the man, a stout middle-aged fellow with a full head of black and grey hair, kindly dark blue eyes and wearing a dark green sou'wester and a matching jacket, waved off his reply. He took a moment though, before he stammered, "You… you look just like him…."
At this Harry tensed slightly, and Ron took on a rather defensive stance. Hermione, still trapped behind Harry, was forced to step further down into the cellar again as he asked, "Who?"
"You look just like that young man… James… but it can't be… the baby disappeared…" continued the man, staring at Harry as if he had seen a ghost.
In all likelihood, as all who knew James and met Harry, he had.
Harry took a chance and decided to put him out of his misery, "My name is Harry Potter, sir, I'm his son. I was staying with my relatives… I haven't been here since-"
The man's expression changed from shock and astonishment to sympathy at lightening speed and he advanced to Harry with an outstretched hand.
"Ioan Llewellyn, I'm so terribly sorry, but it's a pleasure to meet you. I live just across the street, I wasn't home the night it happened but when I came back… how we had been hoping that you were alright." He eagerly shook all their hands in turn-Hermione's from behind Harry who still would not let her pass-and asked, "This is your first time back here… since…. Have you-have you been to their graves yet?"
Harry shook his head, "We just got here…."
"I can take you there," said Mr Llewellyn, quickly. "If you want…. We here, every year-well, the ones who remember really-we try to have a little memorial for your family. So young, to have their lives snuffed out like that… the gas company refused to accept blame, said nothing they had in the house was responsible…."
Harry shook his head again, "Some friends told us where they were… thanks, but-"
He caught on quickly, "-you would rather be alone. I see… well, um… I'll leave you to that then…. But I should tell you, they went over this place with a fine-tooth comb after the explosion, no one found a thing. There were some locked up cupboards in the kitchen, and one upstairs, but unless you had the key…. We took the other doors off just in case the other kids around got into them…."
"Well we were just looking around, don't expect to find anything," Harry told him. "I mean, this place has been abandoned for years, whatever was there is gone now right?"
He refused to acknowledge how true the words rang in his head.
Mr Llewellyn nodded and smiled, somewhat sadly, then turned and left them to the house. He had a rather youthful gait for a man his age, and rather quickly vanished into his own cottage.
Once he was out of earshot, Ron said, "I don't think we should wait around and find out if he believes us or not."
Harry looked at the man go and shook his head, "Neither do I, he has three choices of people to call. Let's just take one last look and get out of here."
"To the cemetery?" asked Hermione, quietly, finally let by and surprisingly unruffled by it.
Harry nodded.
*****
Mr Llewellyn had apparently taken up one of the choices, they found some time later, as they walked away from the Potter cottage in search of the town cemetery. With each house they passed along Stagge Lane a curtain would part slightly and they would just catch a glimpse of the occupant within peering out. Everyone it seemed wanting to see themselves if it was true: that the Potter boy was alive and come with friends to visit the home and the parents he had lost.
Harry, for his part, took no notice of them. The cemetery of Godric's Hollow was conveniently within walking distance, just some twenty minutes away once they left Stagge Lane and were on the main street again. His thoughts were only focused on one thing at the moment, getting there.
Ron and Hermione were a little more attentive, and though they tried to hide it, more than a little concerned about Mr Llewellyn. If for nothing else Harry had to be grateful that they were there to worry when he couldn't.
The cemetery came into view on the left just as it got to midday. But the weather had shifted, the sun and sky were now masked behind an endless pale grey cloud, and the wind had completely died.
Harry wondered what the weather had been like the day they buried his parents. Had it been sunny, like with Dumbledore? Had the rain fallen like he wanted it too? Or had it been just been cold, and dull, and grey?
When they stood at the entrance all that stood in their way was small rusted old gate. It creaked and whined noisily as they opened it, dragged in the dirt as they shut it behind them and left Harry's hands coated in a fine sharp dust.
How many had attended the service? Were there many, though they did not want to draw attention to themselves? Were there a few, to keep it simple and private? Did his Aunt Petunia even bother to attend? Did (and he gritted his teeth as he thought of it) Peter Pettigrew?
They slowly and quietly weaved their way amongst the gravestones with their heads bowed, their eyes anxiously darting from marker to marker trying to find the familiar names. Lupin had told them that they were far from the gate, six rows up, and the eleventh and twelfth, side by side, in the seventh. The marker was small, dark grey stone and marble, but nothing too prominent to prevent desecration.
Someday he would get them a proper monument, something that everyone could see, and know and never forget. Someday he would visit them without having to worry about who the neighbours spoke to. Someday soon, he promised himself, someday….
At last they found them, and as Lupin had said they were simple and insignificant.
"Here lie James and Lily Evans-Potter, beloved friends and parents. 1960-1981. May their sacrifice, not be in vain, and they rest in peace together, forever."
Harry dropped to his knees before them and felt a clenching in his throat. His fingers trembled as he traced their names etched into the cold dark stone. He was not going to cry, he never really had when he thought about it and he wasn't going to start now. Ron put his hand on his shoulder, Hermione did not touch him but he could feel her behind him, and that was more than enough.
It was some time before he moved. He looked up away from the gravestones towards Hermione… and then sprang to his feet and dragged her behind him. Alarmed, she cried out, but Ron had already spotted what had alerted Harry, and pushed her even further.
Standing just some ways off from them, poorly concealed by a tree, was Harry's Privet Drive Order guard. At first they had not recognised him, which was the reason for Harry's reaction, but now that they did, Harry was furious.
He made to go after him, but Hermione held his arm and pulled, "No Harry… you told Lupin where we were going remember? I don't think he would have let us go alone as long as he knew where we were."
Ron looked just as ready to pounce too, but held back when Hermione spoke up and fumed, "We told him we have to do this alone!"
Harry wrenched his arm from Hermione's and said, "He should at least leave us alone here, he wasn't around at the house was he?"
Hermione grabbed him again, "He probably was, and we just didn't see him. Harry… no…."
He turned to her, annoyed, and demanded, "And why not?"
Ron joined him, "Yeah Hermione, why not? Why shouldn't we kick the git out of here?"
"Because," she began and leaned forward and nodded back to the gate, "he's not the only one. You can't throw them out can you?"
The two followed her indication to the gate and found that they had more company. Mr Llewellyn stood unabashedly at the head of the group and as the boys spied him, gave what should have been an encouraging nod. Harry at first refused to acknowledge it, but Hermione glared at him and then hissed, "They don't care or know that you're the 'Boy-Who-Lived', (she said this contemptuously) to them you're Harry Potter, the boy they thought died! They cared about your parents and they just want to see you!"
He smiled stiffly at Mr Llewellyn, then and whispered, "We're going back to the Burrow, as soon as we can. I think we need to have another talk."
At this Hermione suddenly stopped and blinked at him. And then she looked sharply between him and the people now beginning to file into the gate to join them, and her expression brightened into a smile.
"Yes… I think we do need to talk."
Somehow, Harry didn't think she was talking about Lupin and the Order.
A/N: After all this time to leave you with a slight cliff-hanger… I am terrible. Sorry, couldn't be helped.
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