Chapter 8: Revelations
"The wand was on display because it was such an important artifact. And Ollivander…he went missing last year, remember? He left without any struggle- what if he took the wand with him into hiding, because he knew it was important, because he knew it was going to be stolen."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, obviously unconvinced.
"It makes sense though, doesn't it?" Harry exclaimed. He could feel his heart beating rapidly inside his chest. "And Florean Fortescue, he somehow upset the Death Eaters and was dragged off. Maybe they wanted information about where Ollivander went, but Fortescue wouldn't give it to him."
"But Harry," argued Hermione, "this is all guesswork. You have no idea-"
"Isn't all of this guesswork?" Harry exclaimed. "I'm not saying it's the right guess, but it's worth a try isn't it?"
Ron and Hermione just stared at him for a few moments before Ron finally spoke up. "You know, I reckon it is worth a try. I mean, Dumbledore wouldn't have let a lead like this go."
The two of them looked anxiously at Hermione, awaiting her response. "You're right," she said finally. "It's worth a shot."
Once again, with the prospect of a new Horcrux, a new lead, Harry felt a wave of emotions sweep through him. Fear, dread, and excitement rushed through his veins as he gave one last look at the faded pillow in the window.
***
`Expelliarmus!' Harry thought to himself, flicking his wand behind him as he ducked behind a chair, out of breath. He saw a jet of blue light stream past him, missing Harry by mere inches. It was the following morning and the trio was in the middle of an intense duel, one that Harry found himself losing out of pure exhaustion. His magic, albeit strong and powerful, was no match against both of his friends, mainly because of the energy and strength needed to dodge two wizard's spells opposed to only one's. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his shirt sticking to his back and he noticed that his friends had hardly broken a sweat; but of course, he was doing twice as much work as them.
If only he could catch his breath; then Harry would be able to concentrate hard enough to make use of his powerful wandless, nonverbal magic. Concentrating hard, Harry thought to himself, `Rictusempra!', as he darted from behind the chair; Hermione, however, was ready and easily blocked the spell.
"Is this all you have, Potter?" Hermione sneered, in a voice very much like Draco Malfoy's. The simple reminder of Malfoy caused Harry to clench his fists tightly. "You expect a tickling charm will defeat Voldemort, do you?" Hermione continued, crossing her arms in a smug manner. Although Harry knew that Hermione was purposely taunting him, purposely imitating Malfoy to get him to fight harder, Harry could feel all of his muscles tensing with anger.
Hermione had said the exact thing that would send Harry over the edge; she had pinpointed the one thing that Harry had been worrying about over the past several weeks, the one thing that had constantly been eating him up inside, causing him to doubt himself.
"You're not good enough to even stand a chance against Voldemort," Hermione sneered again and Harry felt a surge of magic build up within him; he felt his body tingle as the magic ran through him, originating from his heart, and then slowly spreading down his arms, through his hands, and down the tips of his fingers. The magic stayed in his fingers for several moments, causing Harry's hands to shake. And then, without any warning, the magical energy surged from him, casting an enormous yellow glow across the room; the pure force of the magic alone sent both Hermione and Ron flying backwards, landing on the floor in a heap.
The bright light slowly faded away, leaving Harry standing in the center of the room, his hands still held out in front of him, staring in disbelief at his friends on the ground.
"Bloody hell, mate," Ron grumbled, pulling himself up and brushing himself off. "What was that?"
Harry reached down and helped Hermione to her feet, noticing the wide grin that was spread across her face. "Now that," she said happily, "was the kind of magic I was looking for."
"Brilliant magic, Harry," Ron said, rubbing his arm, "but quite painful. I don't reckon anyone in their right mind would want to fight you now, at the risk of being tossed to the ground by a giant ball of magic." And with that, Ron, still grumbling, left the room.
"Well, " Hermione said, pulling Harry over to the couch, where they sat down, the softness of the couch bringing instant relief to Harry's aching muscles. "That was quite powerful magic you did there. Was there even a spell for it?"
Harry shook his head. "When you were taunting me-"
"Sorry about that," Hermione interrupted. "But I needed to spark your magic somehow."
Harry waved his hand, telling her not to worry about it. "I could just feel this magic swelling up inside of me," he continued, "until it basically exploded."
Hermione nodded. "It seems that your emotions play a large role in your powers; you didn't start pushing it into high gear until I started getting you angry."
"Yeah, well," Harry said, looking down, "Snape always said that I wore my emotions on my sleeve; that has always been my weakness."
"No, I don't think so," Hermione said slowly. "I don't think that's a weakness. On the contrary, I think it will help you win, in the end."
"How do you reckon that?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. "I let my emotions play too large a role in my magic."
"Well yeah," Hermione said, twisting herself on the couch so she was facing Harry. "But I honestly think that in this case it may work to your advantage. Voldemort isn't going to be nice to you during the final battle; he's going to try to agitate you, get you all worked up, thinking that you won't be able to think clearly. Knowing him, he's going to say anything and everything to make you mad, assuming that it will only weaken you. But anything he says will only make you stronger, more powerful."
"I think you're right," Harry said slowly, carefully thinking about what Hermione had just told him.
"Well of course I'm right," Hermione joked. "When have I ever been wrong?"
"Never," Harry said simply. He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. "That's one of the things I love about you."
Hermione leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. They sat this way for several moments in silence.
"Hermione?" Harry said suddenly, his voice so soft it was barely audible. "I really do love you. I wouldn't just say it, if I didn't mean it."
"I know, Harry," Hermione said softly. "I love you too."
"I just- I love you so much, more than anything or anyone. You mean the world to me. I mean, look at you; you're brilliant, kind, thoughtful, beautiful," Harry said, pulling her closer to him.
Speechless at his kind words, Hermione managed a quiet, "Thanks." She tilted her head down, trying to hide the blush that had crept onto her cheeks.
"But this is so weird to me…so foreign," Harry continued. "I have never actually said those words to anyone. Not to Ginny or Cho… things weren't really like that with them. And I never got to say it to my parents; I never actually got the chance to…" He drifted off and was silent for several moments. Hermione remained silent as well, not knowing what to say, or if she should even say anything at all. From somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock chimed.
"I want to go to Godric's Hollow," Harry said suddenly. He sat up straight, surprising Hermione who had still been leaning against him. "I think it's time to visit my parents…"
***
Several days later, Harry stood frozen at the end of a narrow path leading up to a small white house. He had known that this was the house long before he heard Remus point in its direction; he felt drawn to it, as if a magical force was attracting him, pulling him towards his old home.
The house sat in the outskirts of a Muggle village; Harry had felt uncomfortable and awkward, as they had made their way down the winding street, passing Muggle children playing in the front yards, under the watchful eyes of their mothers. This could have been where I grew up, Harry had realized. He could have spent his childhood years playing with the other children, instead of being cooped up on Privet Drive, where he was considered to be the child delinquent.
Now, standing in front of the home he once lived in, Harry felt a wave of emotion pass through him. After spending his entire life wondering about his past, he was finally experiencing it; he was finally able to see the home where his happy life started...and ended.
"C'mon, Harry," Hermione said gently, taking Harry by the hand and pulling him towards the house. Harry felt more and more anxiety with every step he took. He realized that the house, which should have been in ruins after the attack, must have been cared for over the years. Despite a few weeds and a broken window, the house looked well cared for…almost lived in.
As if reading his mind, Remus said, "Dumbledore's been taking care of it over the years. He wanted it to look like it had when you lived in it." Harry nodded, feeling his heart swell at the considerate gesture of his late headmaster.
Remus continued, "But keep in mind, there are still marks of the attack…even magic can't erase-" But, Harry wasn't listening. Slowly, he opened the front door and made his way inside.
"Wow…It's just how I remember it," Remus said in awe, looking around.
As his friends explored the house, Harry slowly scoped the room, staying on the front rug; he didn't dare to venture any farther into the house. He felt like an intruder, not belonging in the house. He spotted a rocking chair facing the window, where Harry expected his mother must have rocked him as a baby; there was a tall stack of books on the floor next to the chair. On the mantel there were several pictures, many of them identical to the ones Harry had back at Grimmauld Place in his photo album from Hagrid. Beside the assortment of pictures were several Quidditch trophies that Harry could only assume were his father's.
But then his gaze fell upon the wall opposite him; the wall was scorched and cracked- the only reminder of the killing curse that had killed his father. As if in a daze, Harry walked across the room. He slowly reached out and touched the wall with his hand, and he was flooded with memories…
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"
"But James-"
"Go! Quickly!"
Lily stumbled out of the room, Harry safely in her arms. She quickly made her way up the stairs. Below them, there was a sound of wood splintering, as the front door burst open; Lily gasped with fright and pulled Harry closer to her. Despite her desperate need to run back downstairs to be with her husband, she stayed still. By then, she was crouching in a hallway, peering around the corner to see what was happening below her. The hallway was dark and eerie, the only light coming from the bright, yellow moonlight shining through the windows. Harry began to whimper and Lily quickly pulled him closer to her, muffling his cries. There were sounds of fighting downstairs- a chair being knocked over, the breaking of glass, a cackle of high-pitched laughter, before…
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry slumped against the marked wall, overwhelmed by the memory he hadn't known existed. He had heard glimpses of those fateful moments during his third year with the dementors, but nothing like that…
"Harry? Are you okay?" Hermione asked, coming up next to him. But Harry ignored her, pushing past her and running up the stairs. As if guided, he quickly found what could only be the nursery. The walls, which once had been covered in bright blue wallpaper, had faded over the years. The floor was filled with an assortment of plush animals and other toys, shelves were lined with books and photographs. A toy broomstick lay in the corner, the magic of it wearing off, causing the broom to convulse and twitch every so often. Harry could only imagine that he had spent many happy hours riding that broom, hovering only feet above the ground, yet still delighted at the feeling.
Harry could hear Hermione enter the room as he made his way over to his crib; a mobile of snitches hung above it. It was only then that Harry took in the charred walls, the cracked ceiling. One entire wall looked as if it had endured a fire or an explosion of some kind. But in a way, Harry figured, it had…
"Avada Kedavra!"
Lily choked back a sob as she ran into the nursery and gently set Harry in his crib before running back out into the hall, most likely to check on her husband.
Harry heard her screaming from downstairs, the sound high and penetrating. Then the screaming stopped, and all he could hear was the ticking of the clock above the crib. The door creaked open and he could hear footsteps as his mother came quickly back into the room, careful to make as little noise as possible. Lily's breathing was raspy and uneven and she closed the door quietly. No sooner had she done so, the door swung open again, banging against the wall. He then heard the high-pitched scream again, echoing against the walls of the room.
Suddenly, two blood-red eyes appeared from the dark shadows, horrible, menacing eyes that caused Harry to cry out. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" Lily begged, her voice cracking with fright.
"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside now…," an evil voice said, deep and threatening. There was silence for a moment. Though he could not see her, Harry knew that his mother beside him had remained where she was, either out of bravery or out of fear.
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"
An evil laugh came from the mouth of the stranger and he pushed his way past her. Harry could see the man's face peering into the crib. His eyes were blood red, his nose with slits for nostrils…he was past the point of humanity.
"Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…" Lily pleaded from behind him.
The man turned away from Harry, out of his sight. Harry cried out in fear, wailing for someone to hold him.
Then suddenly the voice rang out, "Avada Kedavra!" There was jet of green light and he could hear a loud thump next to him; his mother had fallen to her death, her screams still echoing against the walls of the room. The evil blood-red eyes once again gleamed menacingly in the shadows. With a chuckle, he snarled, "We meet at last, Harry Potter..."
"Harry!"
Harry opened his eyes and saw Hermione looking down at him, her eyes full of worry. "What just happened?" she asked, pulling him to his feet and Harry wondered when he had fallen. He rubbed his aching scar gingerly, avoiding Hermione's questioning stare.
"I saw it," Harry said, turning away from her. "I saw everything from that night."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, taking a couple of steps closer to him and reaching out to comfort him. But Harry continued.
"I had seen it before- parts of it at least- in dreams, but nothing like this," Harry said, shaking his head slightly.
Hermione bit her bottom lip, not knowing what to say.
"This was just so real, you know?" Harry asked, turning and facing Hermione. She nodded, although she really didn't know at all. She reached out and pulled him into a tight hug; Harry could feel her hot tears soak into the shoulder of his shirt. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him over and over again.
***
Less than an hour later, Harry was standing in the village's cemetery, staring at the graves of his parents, Hermione, Ron, and Remus waiting for him in the street. Falling to his knees, Harry choked back a sob as he traced the names on the tombstones with his finger.
"Hello Mum, hello Dad," he said softly.
"I've never really gotten a chance to come visit you before…All my life, I've dreamed of the day I would see you again; at the Dursley's I would wait for the day to come when you would come knocking on the door to take me back home with you…but of course, that never happened. But now that I'm here, I don't have the slightest clue what to say."
Harry swallowed, hastily wiping away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks.
"I suppose you knew about the prophecy; otherwise you wouldn't have cast the Fidelus charm…Dumbledore told me about the prophecy during the fifth year and since then, I suppose I've just been trying to accept my fate. Hermione and Ron have helped a lot…I don't know what I would do without them- especially Hermione. She's my girlfriend now, in case you didn't know; she's a lot like you, Mum: brilliant and beautiful…you would have really liked her… Remus brought me here today…the last of the Marauders, Dad. He's helped me a lot over the last several years and I think this trip was really hard on him, with all the memories it holds for him as well…
"I am scared- no, terrified- at what I have to do. Sirius and Dumbledore have both died, and the final battle with Voldemort is coming nearer and nearer. I don't know if I can do it- I don't have your brilliance, Mum, or your courage, Dad- but I'm training really hard and I hope that's enough."
"I just hope that's enough," he repeated, his voice barely audible. He was silent for several moments, desperately trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to flow.
"Well, they're all waiting for me, so I suppose I should leave. I-I love you…
And, well, I miss you so much…"
Wiping his eyes furiously, Harry gave the two graves one last glance before standing up and making his way over to where the others were waiting. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself, trying not to let it show how unnerved he was by the visit. Hermione draped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to her as they made their way down the winding street, back to Grimmauld Place, back to their quest.
Author's Note:
Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out; it took a long time for me to figure out what exactly I wanted to happen in this chapter. I hope you like this chapter- Please review!
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