Chapter 10
A Hollow Victory
One Horcrux was gone, one of the last four that Voldemort had made, but the euphoria of its destruction was tempered by the fact that there were three left and they were still out there somewhere. The identity of these three was as shrouded in confusion and misdirection as had been the others, but Harry was more convinced than ever that Dumbledore had been correct in his assumption that the locket and Nagini, Voldemort's pet snake, were important. If Riddle stayed true to form it was the founder's artefacts that would provide the most likely resting places for the other fragments of his soul.
The only known relics of Gryffindor were the Sword and the Sorting Hat and try as he might Harry could not imagine either of those objects subjecting themselves to carrying part of Voldemort around with them. That left Rowena Ravenclaw, possibly the most secretive of the four founders, so little was known of her or left in records. Even the private papers, now in the possession of the Horcrux hunters, shed little light on this most mysterious witch. However, three of the items on Ollivander and Fortescue's list where supposed to belong to this particular founder. Harry, Hermione and Ron had already checked out one of these to find it was a false lead and were lucky to get away without any injuries, after facing the dragon guarding it. Now as October drew to a close Harry decided they should determine if the other two were false or not.
Fortescue had provided good descriptions of the items they were looking for. A metal banded staff that Ravenclaw was thought to have used in her later years, was currently residing in an exhibition of medieval artefacts, in a large muggle museum, and so should not be too difficult to find. The second trinket was a small cloak brooch and that unfortunately was in the possession of a witch who was suspected of having connections with several dark wizards who were possibly some of Voldemort's Death Eaters.
Harry and Hermione were sitting at their worktable with Professor McGonagall. They hadn't seen her for nearly two weeks and the sporadic tutorials had become even more rare than usual. It had taken her nearly the whole of the first week to clean up the mess she had been left with after the incident in the Trophy room. Umbridge and her full committee had descended on the school and things were looking bad, but after Mandeville Sulgrave's body had been examined by St. Mungo's healers and the dark mark on his arm pronounced genuine a lot of the wind had disappeared from Delores's sails. Sulgrave, as it turned out, was personal appointee by the head of the committee, no less, and Umbridge found herself with difficult questions of her own to answer, but again she had wriggled out of a tight corner.
So Harry and Hermione took the mild telling off from the Headmistress for not letting her know that they were going to expose Sulgrave and that there was likely to be trouble, and then they told her that they were leaving for a few days research into Rowena Ravenclaw's past. Even at this stage they didn't want to tell her everything but Harry knew they wouldn't be able to keep her in the dark for ever.
* * *
One of Harry's promises he had made himself after Dumbledore's death, had been to visit the home of James and Lily at Godrics Hollow, his only problem was that he did not know where it was, but he did know someone who did. In the two week hiatus of McGonagall's lessons Harry had badgered Hagrid to tell him how to get there.
"I don't know if it's the sor'a place you'm really wan'a go to, 'arry," Hagrid had told him, not at all happy that the subject had come to light.
"But, don't you see Hagrid, I must. I'll never be able to put my Mum and Dad's death behind me if I don't understand," Harry had almost pleaded.
The half giant had looked down on the boy and smiled sadly. "Do you really think you can put that behind you, Harry." Harry's eyes shot up to stare at Hagrid, the words had been spoken so softly and without any trace of his usual lazy accent. There was an expression of remembered pain and sadness on the rugged hairy countenance of Harry's oldest wizarding friend.
"No," Harry had answered, "but it will help me to cope with it."
Hagrid had clapped him on the shoulder nearly driving him to his knees, and then in a voice much more like his usual said, "Well I'd bet'er show ye then, woo'dn wan' ye t' get laast."
So the half giant he had provided Harry with a map and also a much better way of getting there. Hagrid had assumed correctly that Hermione would be going as well and he knew that doubling up on a broom, although cosy, was very uncomfortable, especially if you had a long way to go. He had almost shamefacedly admitted the existence of Sirius' motorbike, unaware that Harry touched the bike like a talisman every time he passed through the garage. Harry had registered the right amount of surprise and wonder at the large machine when Hagrid had shown it to him, and marvelled at the way it shone after so many years hidden away. He allowed Hagrid the pride of telling him how he cared for the bike, and he thanked him for it.
Hermione was very dubious about using the motorcycle and tried to get Harry to change his mind and catch a muggle train or bus or anything that stayed on the ground, but after a few circuits of the deserted hills and mountains that ringed Hogwarts, even she admitted that it was rather exhilarating. This feeling may have been due to their safe return to the ground each time rather than the experience itself, because she quite candidly told Harry that she still didn't like flying.
Ron wasn't very happy about being left behind, when he was told where Harry and Hermione were going, but he realised there was no way he could disappear from school during the week. However he was going to be far from idle because beside all his normal school work Hermione had asked him to search the castle for anything Ravenclaw, and with his most important Ravenclaw to find date to help him, Ron decided he didn't mind quite so much.
On a still October evening Harry touched his wand to the handlebars of the Brutus Vampire and the engine purred into life. For such a large machine it was very quiet, as Harry opened the throttle and it rose out of the clearing by the garage, it whispered a deep note and sped away over the tree tops. Harry was in his element, flying was a release from so many tensions, but this motorcycle presented him with a new one. Hermione was sitting behind him on the pillion; she pulled her body as close as possible to his, holding on to him tightly with both her arms around his waist. This made Harry very aware of her presence, and although the sensation was very pleasant as far as he was concerned, he could not dwell on it because flying the bike took a lot of concentration. He decided to talk to Hermione later and see if they could recreate the feeling in more comfortable circumstances.
As they sped above the countryside their position was shown on Hagrid's map as a small red dot which blinked at Harry like a heartbeat guiding him relentlessly toward the place his parents had called home. As the sun rose over the horizon and the darkness receded Harry could see that they were travelling over water, and as he expected in the distance he could make out a rugged coastline of towering cliffs with a restless sea smashing itself against the deep brown rock. They were getting close now, and moments after passing over the top of the cliffs a small muggle village came into view. Harry urged the motor bike higher to avoid detection.
The village was at the far end of a short valley, which stretched inland from the cliff top, its gently sloping sides were covered with fields, edged with hedges and stone walls, and it all looked very peaceful. Harry and Hermione's goal was not in the village itself but just to one side of the small cluster of houses. Here they could see a copse of trees that were set on the ridge of the valley; even in the burgeoning daylight they appeared dark and quiet. The trees were so closely packed that it was difficult to see the ground beneath them but as Harry turned the bike in the air to approach from a different direction a small clearing opened up and in this space, white paint shining dully in the morning sun, Harry could see the blasted remains of his parent's home.
Hermione felt Harry tense in her arms and for one of the few times in the trip she eased herself from Harry's back and dared to look over his shoulder. Below on the ground she could see the devastation Voldemort had wrought on James and Lily's home, and she felt the catch in Harry's chest as he stifled a sob that almost escaped his lips. Then in turn her emotions rose as through the trees she could see what had upset Harry. Not far from the remains of the house there was a white stone marker and set alongside it a second, Hermione knew that they were looking down on the earthly resting place of Harry's Mum and Dad.
She held him tight again, for his comfort this time not her own, and once the bike had landed softly on the ground she leapt off to be at his side. Harry dragged his eyes away from his parent's graves to the girl close to him, she saw the tears rolling gently down his face and it was made all the more poignant because there were no sobs, no hysterics, just the devastated expression and the silent tears that he could not stop. She eased him away from the bike and arm in arm they went to pay their respects. Harry's grief rose and fell throughout most of that morning, Hermione sat with him at the base of a tree close to the graves, quietly comforting him when his grief was bad and simply being there for him in the times he appeared to be able to control it. In those few hours the pair reached a depth of understanding that few couples attain, their lives were so intertwined that life for one without the other would be very hard. It would have made James and Lily happy to know that even in death they were able to do one more thing for their remarkable son.
* * *
The old manor in Little Hangleton rang once again to the screams of an insane mind, Voldemort had felt the instant the Horcrux in the Trophy Room had been destroyed just as he had when Dumbledore had stumbled on Marvolo's ring.
He alone knew the truth of the enchantments and the strengths of the Horcruxes, and why he had not felt the loss of the first part of his soul that had resided in the old school diary. A seventh of the soul of a sixteen year old boy was not as profound as that of the grown man, and although he had caused her death he had not personally killed that girl in the bathroom. Never the less he used his part in her death to split the first part of his soul away, but it was small and insignificant, not so the others.
His soul may be split into seven pieces but those pieces were not equal, as he had grown in age and experience so the power residing in the Horcruxes had increased. The segment in the cup had been from his youth as well, but a stronger more accomplished Voldemort had prepared that one, and its loss hurt him. The fragment of his soul set in the ring was more powerful still, and Dumbledore had been unprepared for its strength and the enchantment that protected it. Its loss was significant but at least it had allowed a weakened Dumbledore to be destroyed, the trade off was acceptable.
Voldemort remembered the deaths that had allowed him to carve his soul apart, each was lovingly catalogued in full detail, the thrill of the planned deed, and the ecstasy of carrying it out; the power that flowed through him as life was riven from his victim. Only the creation of one Horcrux was unplanned, and that part of his soul was the strongest of all, but hidden in the snake it was the best protected.
He was alone, always alone; unless he summoned his followers to his presence he remained aloof and apart from them, now he required one of them to do his bidding and the call went out. Bellatrix Lestrange appeared before her lord and master, clutching her left forearm where her mark burned with his summons; she bowed low and slyly glanced around gratified to see that she was the only one he had seen fit to call.
"Ah Bella, so good of you to come," the dry voice dripped with sarcasm, "I have need of your services," Bella's eyes lit with anticipation, "No fool, I have no time and no inclination for those sort of distractions."
"As my Lord demands," she said sullenly.
Voldemort ignored his petulant and somewhat perverted lover, "Someone has taken Dumbledore's task to heart, they are trying to diminish me, they do not realise that it is the final Horcrux that holds the key, that it is the final enchantment that will make all the difference." Voldemort became silent his mind in quiet turmoil and Bellatrix, knowing her masters volatility said nothing. Eventually Voldemort ceased his mental wanderings and his burning red eyes were raised once more to take in the grovelling woman. "It is Harry Potter who searches, find him, I want him here alive."
"But my Lord, Potter is supposed to be out of the country." Bella commented unwisely. "Your Death Eaters search abroad for him now."
Voldemort's anger flared, the curse was brief, but painful none the less, "NEVER question my orders, you should know that Bella," the claw like hand reached out to caress the cringing figure in front of him. He cupped her chin in his skeletal fingers, the caress turned into a vicious grip. "Our Harry is wiser than we thought; he has laid a false trail. He is here, I doubt that he ever left, and he has had more luck than he deserves. Find him; that is your task."
Voldemort let Bella go and sank back in his tall backed chair distracted once more by the convolutions of his dark mind. The witch free of her master's attention slipped hastily out of the room, there was nothing to be gained by delay she would have to recall the others to widen the watch for Potter. However her advantage above the other Death Eaters was not all lost, she had men of her own out looking for any sign of the boy and they were here at home. They had been searching for months ever since that little display in Diagon Alley, what had only now occurred to her Dark Lord she had realised from the beginning, and she smiled in dark satisfaction. Her own lackeys would bring her great praise from Voldemort, when they found the boy.
* * *
The evening before Harry and Hermione arrived at the house near Godrics Hollow and elderly man and a young boy were finishing a lazy afternoon walk, making the most of the good late October weather. As they turned for home they crossed the tree lined ridge and looked down on the small village nestling in the valley. The old man looked around and sighed with contentment, this was his home, this tiny out of the way place, and he loved it, but he knew that in times past it had been even better. Throughout all of his seventy five years, except for the last fifteen or so this place had buzzed with a sort of magic that no one had ever been able to explain, then in one awful night something happened and that ever present tingle, that spark of special-ness had disappeared. He remembered the cries, shouts and screams of that night, the green fire and the explosion that destroyed the small cottage that used to be in these woods. He remembered the family that had always called that cottage home. The Potters had lived there for as long as he could remember, firstly the old couple, then in time they had left and their son had arrived with his new wife to set up home. They had a little boy of their own and appeared very happy but all three of them had vanished on the day the magic left Godrics Hollow. He remembered much more of that night, but he never spoke about it, because the other villagers who were with him that evening as they searched the rubble for the Potters remembered nothing, nothing at all.
George Davis scrabbled through the shattered remains of the Potter's cottage, Pete, Dick, Charlie, and Jo the landlord of the Three Feathers were with him. They had heard the dull boom echo across the village just as Jo was calling last orders, and piling out of the pub had seen the lights in the sky and what appeared to be the flicker of flame through the trees. As they had raced up the hill they could hear shouts and screams, faint but discernable, then the noise had stopped, a dreadful silence had fallen, and all five men feared the worst. None of them saw the single light, like a shooting star moving in reverse, rise out of the trees and head off to the west, to disappear over the sea, nor did they hear the faint sound of a motorcycle that accompanied it.
The house had been completely destroyed and as they hunted for survivors with their bare hands George heard a noise off in the woods. Somewhere out in the trees someone was crying, George could hear it quite clearly and it drew him away from the search and the other searchers. Not far away there was a man kneeling next to what could only be two fresh graves and he was sobbing, a sound so full of remorse that George wondered if the man could have been the instigator of all this destruction and was now regretting his actions. Then the man slowly climbed to his feet, he was tall with dark hair and as he stood next to the graves he pointed at them with something that he held in his hand, and two white grave stones materialised at the head of each of the sad piles of earth. George closed his eyes for a moment for he did not really believe what he had seen, but when he opened them again the grave markers were still there, and the man had turned and was walking back toward the cottage.
He had passed George, hiding in the trees, not realising he was there and reached the clearing that contained the remains of the cottage. By the light of the moon George saw him raise his arm and point what appeared to be a stick at the four men who had paused in their search to stare at him. The tall dark man said one word "Pergatio" and a violet stream of misty tendrils shot from the end of his stick to wind themselves around the head of each man. As one they stopped their task and as if they were in a trance, turned to head back to the village. George skirted the clearing and the man now standing alone lost in his sorrow, and at a distance followed his friends back to the pub. He caught up with them at the entrance of the Three Feathers and as Jo put his hand to the door George saw the others blink their eyes and shake the cobwebs out of their heads, and the trance lifted.
"Well then goodnight lads," Jo said quite unconcerned and locked the pub door as he did each night.
With the sound of "Night then," "See you tomorrow," George stood in silence as his companions of the evening began to drift off back to their homes.
"Coming George?" Pete asked.
"Err…Yes sure. You feeling OK Pete?"
"Fine," replied his friend and they started off toward the short row of houses at the far end of the village,
"Do you think The Rovers will win at the weekend?"
George dragged his eyes from the wooded ridge dark and silent in the night back to the man by his side, "Quite possibly Pete, nothing would really surprise me any more."
Since that night none of George's friends or even George himself had spoken of what had occurred on the wooded ridge, and although the usual gossip in the village about other families continued the Potters were never mentioned, it was as if they had never existed. Only George Davis held the memory of the Potters and their fate and on that pleasant afternoon in October he felt the need to tell someone the strange story. So he and the child sat on an old fallen tree trunk and as the sun dipped into the sea and evening dusk arrived he passed the tale on to his grandson.
In a tree above the two muggles sat, or rather squatted, a bird, it was too big for a crow and not large enough for a raven. Perhaps you could have called it a craven and it would have fitted its characteristics well, but in truth it wasn't a bird at all but an unregistered animagus, Neb Covey by name, and he was enamoured of Bella Lestrange.
He had fallen under the Death Eater's thrall some time ago and he along with several others were her eyes and ears, spying for her, usually on other Death Eaters, allowing her to stay ahead of the game. Now at Bella's orders he was watching for signs of Harry Potter. Everyone was now calling him 'the chosen one', the animagus didn't know why, but whatever name he went under he would be dead meat if Neb caught him.
Neb listened to the story the old muggle told, it passed the time, and to be honest he was getting a little bored of this assignment. He'd waited in this small and to him unattractive wood for the best part of two months, not all the time of course, but it felt like it, keeping guard on some dying trees and a pile of bricks and smashed timbers that smelt musty with damp and rot. The significance of this spot to the Potter boy was obvious but apart from the two below him he had seen no one. He decided to stay one more day then he would take another of his unofficial breaks.
So it was by luck that Neb was still sitting on his perch the following day when the sound of a Brutus Vampire was once more heard in the air above Godrics Hollow. The black untidy looking bird stared down on the young witch and wizard as they sat beneath his tree. If a bird can sneer then he sneered at the couple as they acted all lovey-dovey with each other, the girl hugging the boy as his grief overcame him, to a dark wizard it was all really rather pathetic. Neb knew he would have to act but there were two of them not one, he didn't like the odds and his natural caution got the better of him, which for his sake was probably a good thing. He listened as they talked.
"I want to make this all right again Hermione," Harry said as he surveyed the remains of the cottage, "I owe it to Mum and Dad and maybe, if everything comes out right, it would be nice to live here." He smiled grimly, "despite what it looks like, it actually feels like home."
Hermione standing slightly behind him gave her young man a look of sadly remembered wishes of another time when Harry thought that he and Sirius might one day live as Godfather and son in a place such as this. She moved up beside him and slipped an arm around his waist feeling him counter with an arm over her shoulders, Hermione gazed from the protection of their embrace at the sad ruin.
"Yes," she said, "You're right; this would be a lovely place to live." And turning her face towards his kissed him full on the lips.
Neb strained his ears and as the couple talked on he definitely heard the words "Oxford", and "back tomorrow or day after", and then the couple had mounted the motorbike and with its engine throbbing quietly had headed off towards the east. 'Fine,' he thought, 'tomorrow, or the day after then, this will be too easy and I know just who to bring along.' With an ungainly flap of his black ragged wings Neb Covey headed off to find the help he needed to deal with Harry Potter and his friend for good.
* * *
Ron and Luna had spent all their free time that day searching the many nooks and crannies of the castle for any sign of anything Ravenclaw, but the trouble was that there were just so many out of the way places it would take an army to search them all and there were only the two of them. The only real evidence they could find was the large statue which stood with those of the other three founders in the entrance hall. Rowena Ravenclaw was depicted standing in a typically studious pose with a book held open in the palm of one hand and a wand at the ready in the other. The eagle that depicted her house was perched on a stylised log by her side, strewn around her feet were objects that would not have looked out of place in many of the classrooms in use in the castle today.
Teaching and learning had obviously been her forte and as Ron's gaze took in the statue his eyes were drawn to something hanging from Ravenclaw's belt which appeared to be rather out of place. It had a short straight handle, only long enough to be held in one hand, and this handle was attached to a round knob-like end, about the size of an apple, which was heavily decorated. It could have been a child's rattle but it was too solid and heavy for that, its weight was made clear by the strain depicted on the belt holding it, and the way it pushed into the folds of Ravenclaw's robes.
"What do you reckon that is Luna?" Ron asked pointing to the object of his scrutiny.
Luna glanced in the direction of his pointing finger. "That, Ronald, is Rowena Ravenclaw's silver seal, everyone knows that." Then at the look of total incomprehension on Ron's face added, "Well, everyone in Ravenclaw that is."
"So what is it?" asked Ron again.
"Oh Ronald are you being deliberately dense?" asked Luna in a very creditable impersonation of a certain Miss H. Granger, that made Ron wince. "Ravenclaw never signed anything she always used her seal and stamped its impression at the bottom of any document. Even those few papers that Harry and Hermione have are marked that way."
"So it would be really important to her, possibly important enough for Voldemort to use as a Horcrux," he sighed, "Damn I wish we knew where it was."
"That's easy," said Luna infuriatingly brightly, "It's on the great mantle in Ravenclaw common room."
Ron waited in the corridor outside the Ravenclaw common room for what seemed like hours, it was actually only twenty minutes. Then the section of wall which carried an image of a sleeping knight in armour chiselled into its surface quietly swung open to reveal Luna who beckoned to him and whispered "Come on all clear."
Ron slipped over the threshold and recoiled at the ghastly sight that was revealed to him. Only in his worst nightmares had he found himself is such terrifying surroundings, there were books everywhere. He shuddered at the horror of it all and allowed Luna to lead him by the hand toward the massive fireplace and the huge marble mantle that surrounded it. There, about half way up, in a niche, protected by a fine glass case, the silver bright and shiny, and looking every inch a Horcrux, was Ravenclaw's seal.
"YES," shouted Ron in excitement.
"Shsssh," warned Luna holding a finger to her lips.
"Sorry, forgot," Ron whispered back, "but this is great, just the sort of thing we're looking for." In his excitement he grabbed Luna and swung her around, almost knocking over a large pile of books, then lowering his lips to hers lost himself in a passionate kiss that for the moment blanked out thoughts of Horcruxes, Voldemort, and even Harry and Hermione.
* * *
The Brutus Vampire slowly descended into the centre of Oxford as early morning workers were wending their way through the streets, fortunately none of them looked up and the quiet throb of the motorcycle went unnoticed in the general noise of the light traffic. They landed in a narrow lane and Harry pushed the bike around the corner into a small parking area, set aside for motorcycles and bicycles. Hermione produced a chain and padlock with a flick of her wand, and then secured the machine to a large metal post imbedded in the ground for just such a purpose. Satisfied that they had hidden the bike well, by leaving it in plain sight and locked up as any muggle would have done, Harry and Hermione headed off to find the Museum.
"It doesn't open until ten," said Harry as he read the notice board attached to the glass panelled doors. He pushed at them once more, they were still locked. "What do we do Hermione, open them ourselves?"
"Not worth it, the place is probably stuffed with alarms and such, there's no point in rushing it," she replied and turned away pulling her impatient boyfriend back down the steps. "Let's go and have some breakfast, I'm starving."
"Good idea," said Harry wistfully, "but, no muggle money."
"Just as well one of us is prepared," she smiled at him and pulled a couple of ten pound notes out of the pocket of her long black coat. "Look's like the meal is on me."
Sharp at ten the doors of the museum swung open and Harry and Hermione headed up to the first floor where the Medieval Magic Exhibition was situated. It was full of all the usual rubbish the muggles associated with magic, large black cauldrons, seven toed cats, stuffed ones anyway, a mannequin dressed in a long grey cloak wielding a wand, and a witch in black, with a longed hooked nose and a pointed wide brimmed hat, riding on a broom stick. Harry eyed the effigy of the wizard with some disquiet; his long grey beard and half moon glasses made him look uncannily like Dumbledore. Then he caught a glance of the expression on Hermione's face, outrage would possibly be an accurate description, Harry could see her desperately trying to control her temper. She was reading the description from the card hung under the flying witch,
"All witches were notoriously ugly," she read aloud. "The possession of magic by women encouraged the growth of warts and unsightly facial hair." her voice rose in pitch with indignity. "Oh Harry will you look at this."
"Yes I see it," he said trying to keep a straight face.
"Well what do you think?"
"Oh it's all twaddle," he said reassuringly.
"I'm glad you think so," Hermione said feeling somewhat better.
"Yes, if she sat on a broom like that, she'd fall off as soon as she tried a turn," he said quickly, and ducked.
But Hermione didn't respond to his leg pull, because she had seen, in the corner of display leaning casually up against the wall a long staff banded with silver and on the top band was the image of an eagle, its wings outstretched and its talons thrust forward, Ravenclaw's staff. It looked in very good condition, the wood was polished and the silver shone, it looked brand new. The card beside the staff said "Warlock's Magical Staff, from the early 14th Century." (Reconditioned.) Harry groaned.
"All this way and it's not the real thing." he said in desperation.
"Hang on Harry, it says reconditioned not replica, some of it may be original." Hermione tried to sound encouraging. "Check it out."
Harry shrugged his shoulders and looking to see if any of the Museum security staff were about stepped over the barrier and wormed his way to the back of the exhibit. The silver bands were Ravenclaw's alright, the mark Harry recognised from the papers McGonagall had given them, was stamped into the soft metal of each of them, but the wood of the staff was new and smelled of varnish. He drew his wand not expecting any reaction from this supposed Horcrux and he wasn't disappointed, he barely even felt the wands acknowledgement that there was some connection with the staff to Ravenclaw. It was another dead end.
"Never mind Harry, said Hermione, trying without much success to alleviate his disappointment, as they made their way back to the motorbike, "At least there is one less possibility to worry about."
Then as they rounded the last corner they saw there was another potential worry and he was closely examining the motorcycle. The pair walked up to the dark suited man and he stood at their approach, he was very tall and quite imposing in his uniform, the muggle policeman looked down at Harry and Hermione and took in their leather like clothing.
"This yours young man?" he asked Harry.
"Err yes, officer," said Harry remembering his muggle manners. "Is there a problem?" he asked as casually as he could.
"No, no, not at all, it's just I've never seen a bike like this before," the policeman said gazing with something like adoration at the gleaming machine. "I used to have a Triumph Bonnie, when I was much younger, wonderful feeling," he appeared to be lost in some memory of times past, he sighed. "God that bike could really fly."
"Err… yes I'm sure it could," said Harry not wanting to be drawn into a subject he knew absolutely nothing about. "I'm sorry, love to chat, but we must go, we have quite a way to travel." he added as unlocked the chain. He mounted the Brutus Vampire and Hermione dropped on to the pillion behind him.
"Of course, sorry didn't mean to hold you up."
The policeman watched as Harry kicked away the stand and with a hidden hand touched his wand to the bike which began its throaty rumble as the engine came to life. The officer's expression which was enwrapped in the wonderful sound suddenly became stern. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he said, tapping his head.
"Sorry?" Harry obviously didn't understand.
"Crash helmet, can't ride without one." he was told matter of factly.
Harry wondered if he could get away with a memory charm on the policeman when Hermione tapped him on the shoulder.
"Here Harry," and she passed him a replica of the crash helmet she was already wearing. Harry smiled gratefully for Hermione's quick thinking and masterful transfiguration skills, placing the helmet over his head they waved goodbye to the policeman and he took the bike slowly out onto the road. With some difficulty Harry negotiated the traffic which was considerably heavier now but once the found a clear stretch of road he urged the motorcycle into the air and as Hermione's disillusionment charm faded them from sight he felt the comforting presence of her arms around his waist gripping him tightly.
* * *
They flew at a leisurely pace back towards Godrics Hollow, Harry hadn't mentioned why he specifically wanted to return before they sought out the last of Ravenclaw's trinkets, but Hermione thought she knew, if she was correct the timing would be just right. It would certainly be a quite difficult spell, but she hoped they would be able to pull it off. Her train of thought was broken as the bike twitched slightly in a patch of unstable air and Hermione squeezed herself into Harry's back. There was not way she would ever consider flying her favourite means of transportation, but she did feel safe with Harry. She knew he wouldn't let anything happen to her, and even her hastily transfigured crash helmet was helping, it enclosed her in a little world of her own and it kept her ears nice and warm.
Hermione felt Harry send the bike into a shallow dive and as they descended she dared to have a quick look down. They were circling over the wood dropping lower with each circuit and through the trees she caught occasional glimpses of the clearing with the remains of Harry's house, she also saw something else. It could have been, by pure luck, a glint of the moon or some careless movement, but right at the edge of the clearing there was a figure, and a quick grasp at her hand told her that Harry had seen it too. He gave no other sign that he was concerned but he did steepen the dive so that the bike came to rest on the far side of the clearing from where they had last seen the figure. The place was also partly hidden by the ruins of the house and this allowed the two of them to get off the bike and crouch down, wands at the ready.
Neb Covey had been waiting for this moment, this was where he was going to hit the big time, the wizard who brought Harry Potter down and delivered him to the Dark Lord. Through the beautiful Bella of course, but she would have to acknowledge his part in it; it would do him nothing but good. He had returned to the wood with two of his more dependable friends and they had hidden themselves well but it had been a long wait and as he was stretching the cramp out of his legs he had heard, then seen, Potter and the girl coming into land. Hastily whispered instructions to his fellows and they were ready and prepared to fight. To Neb's disappointment the bike disappeared behind the pile of rubble, so he and his companions moved forward out of the trees to get a better look, they were in no way prepared for what happened next.
A glowing ball of light rose into the air and passed over the ruins to hang above the three dark wizards bathing them in a bright light and throwing Harry and Hermione's side of the clearing into deep shadow. Two bright red streaks shot out of that darkness to impact squarely on the chests of the two wizards standing on either side of Neb. As they collapsed to the ground the animagus realised he was hopelessly outclassed by Potter and his friend, and with a tap of his wand to his head he shimmered into his animal form and the scruffy bird took to the sky with a loud shriek. He hadn't even cleared the tops of the trees when the shorter of two, black coated, helmeted figures, raise a wand and although Neb never heard her she spoke the word "Amovépenn" and a sickly yellow spiral shot from the wand to wrap itself around the bird. The bird cried out once again when with an audible snap all those tatty black feathers came away and a naked bird looking like a plucked chicken plummeted downwards.
Neb was fortunate that he had not been very far from the ground and that he was still in his bird form when he hit it again, but the fall knocked him out as easily as the stunners had his friends. He lay there on the ground, totally unaware as the two still helmeted figures walked across the clearing and looked down on the three fallen wizards. Hermione quickly looked away again because Neb had returned to his human shape but was as naked as he had been as a bird and it was not a pretty sight. Harry, his shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle at Hermione's sensibilities, conjured some garments onto the unconscious man. Then Harry removed his crash helmet and touched his girlfriend on the arm.
"It's OK you can look now," he said.
"Good," came the muffled reply, as she too discarded her helmet and turned back to their failed attackers. "What do we do with them Harry?" she asked indicating the crumpled forms on the ground.
Harry considered his options, there weren't many of them. "We wipe their memories and dump them somewhere where they will be found, I suppose. It's either that or…" he left the alternative unspoken.
"Fine," said Hermione quickly a little shocked that Harry had even thought of disposing of them permanently.
The deed was quickly done and the three obliviated wizards dragged close together, and tied up so that they were all touching each other. Hermione had insisted on doing the next bit as she correctly told Harry she was better at apparation than he was, gripping a free arm there was a moments thought and then she and the assailants vanished. Harry worried for the five seconds it took Hermione to reappear and his relief at seeing her again so quickly was obvious for her to see.
"OK?" he said as she came forward to him.
"No problem," she replied as he drew her into a hug.
"Where did you leave them?" he whispered into the short bouncy curls of her hair.
"Foyer of St. Mungo's." she murmured into his lips as the relief of defeating the ambush was finally let free.
A little way down the hill an old man walked slowly toward its top. George Davis had left the Three Feathers early, and had seen the light circling the wooded ridge. He watched it descend behind the trees and then the flashes of coloured lights that had followed a minute or so later. He could not believe it, tonight of all nights, was it happening all over again? He knew he had to know, so turning away from the pub he had started up the track to the woods on the hill.
Harry and Hermione stood side by side in front of the ruined cottage, their wands in their hands and hope in their hearts that the spell would work. Harry wasn't sure, he had never tried it on anything so large before, or something that had been so completely ripped apart, but Hermione had come up with an idea. They had their wand hands clasped together and held their wands alongside each other touching down the whole of their lengths. They said the spell together and released the magic slowly "Repairo", it was a very basic spell but it was spoken with a lot of feeling, and the way you felt when you cast a spell was very important to its outcome. The false Moody had taught them that years ago, even an unforgivable spell spoken without the thought behind it would be ineffectual, but there was plenty of thought behind this one.
The bright blue streams that issued from the touching wands wound themselves together and then spread out to touch every single piece of the ruined building. The power of the spell began to spin, and like a tornado, picked up the bricks and pieces of wood and spun them round and round. Before Harry and Hermione's eyes the building began to repair itself and as it did so the light at the centre of the spell became brighter and brighter, and eventually they had to turn from it. Then the light was gone and in its place the white painted cottage stood once more, complete in every respect, every brick, every nail, every tile was in its proper place, everything was where it should be, everything save for its former owners, who still resided in the soft brown earth near the edge of the wood.
Harry looked in awe at the cottage; it stood there exactly as it had the evening that Voldemort had come to kill him. He could feel the pricking of emotion at the back of his eyes then the sensation of Hermione's lips against his began to drive the sadness away, and he dared to look into her dark brown eyes and he saw the love they contained for him. Right at the edge of his senses he began to hear a song, he had thought he had heard once before since the old man had gone, then it had been quite faint, but now it was louder and this time Hermione could hear it too. She looked at him questioningly.
"Fawkes," he said simply. Then with a rush of sound the song of the phoenix burst forth and above the house a brilliant red and gold plumed bird flashed into existence. Fawkes flew back and forward over the cottage weaving golden strands as he went, they flowed down to hold the building in a golden cage, to hide it and protect it from its enemies. Perhaps now he belonged to no one, but for as long as magic lasted in the world the immortal phoenix would be there. Fawkes, as wise as he was old, knew those that deserved his help and he would always willingly give it.
George Davis reached the crest of the rise just as the light was fading from Harry and Hermione's repairing spell. He stood and looked at the building in much the way Harry had done. Sixteen years ago, that was the last time he had seen this cottage whole, he had worked it out the other day when he was regaling the tale to his grandson, sixteen years this very night the cottage had been destroyed. Then his awe gave way to incredularity as the large bird appeared in the sky and singing its beautiful song, wove the golden cage that surrounded the cottage. The bird vanished again and the golden cage began to dim and with it the house itself became faint and indistinct until it was only with great difficulty that he could see it at all, and he knew it was there.
He looked instead at the young man and woman standing in front of the now ghostly cottage, they held each other in such a tender embrace and the looks on their faces spoke of such love that his heart went out to them. He turned away and started back down the hill, knowing that neither he nor any of the other villagers would be welcome in this place. He did not mind, and he suspected that none of the others would ever know or care, but George was happy, happier than he had been in a very long time because he knew now that the magic had returned to Godrics Hollow.
* * *