He slipped his loosened tie off from around his neck and lifted his school jumper over his head, exhaling deeply as his arms dropped back down to his side. Glancing quickly around the room, only lit by what little firelight had escaped through the grill of the potbellied stove, Harry saw the sleeping figures of his bunkmates, who were completely unaware of his late arrival. He tossed the inside-out jumper onto his trunk and while unbuckling his belt, pried off his trainers with his toes. He let his trousers lay where they fell, pulled back the thick bedcovers of his four-poster and took a seat on the edge of the bed. It was almost too much to effort to raise his ankle to his knee, one at a time, to remove his socks. Taking off his glasses and setting them in their usual spot on the night table, he rubbed his brow briefly and slightly shook his head of remaining thoughts before reaching up and pulling his bed hangings closed. Stretching out fully, he rolled over onto his stomach, and like a dog before it settles in for the night, nestled down into his familiar hollow in the mattress.
The rain continued to lash at the tall windows, bouncing off the pane and the stone of the tower. Listening to its sporadic rhythm, directed by gusts of wind, Harry closed his eyes. A faint smile drifted momentarily on his face, Ginny had said ‘Goodnight’ in a way only they could.
It was good to be back at Hogwarts, with everything that had happened over the holidays, it was a welcome respite, at least the first few hours of it were. The professors had no qualms about putting the student’s back to work. The weather cooperated, going from blizzards to constant rain within a matter of weeks with no variation in-between. The sun was something that just wasn’t seen. Therefore, assignments were long and arduous and the students’ collective mood matched the dark, rain-laden sky.
Harry and Ron actually applied themselves during personal study period and were grateful for the allotted time. Their counter parts, Ginny and Hermione, looked worse for the wear. Hermione was starting to feel the pressure of all of her N.E.W.T. classes. With her experience over the holiday, she took her thirst for knowledge to a new level, both Harry and Ron thought that such a thing wasn’t possible. She had told them, during the first breakfast back that she did not want to be in a position she couldn’t get herself out of. Ron consoled her saying that there was nothing more she could have done and what she did do, impressed the greatest wizard alive, but he still found himself helping her sift through the library nonetheless, anything to make her feel better.
January bled into February without much notice. Quidditch practices were miserable. It was alright to fly in the occasional deluge, Harry often felt more alive when he battled against the elements. Somehow getting soaked to the bone and still being able to catch the ever-elusive Snitch gave him a feeling of a well-deserved victory. The chasers, however, were having a rough go of it. The Quaffle would slip from their grip and the Bludgers were hard to distinguish against the steel gray backdrop. By the third such practice session, Ron had called it short. If anything, Harry agreed with the captain, the other teams wouldn’t be practicing either. So with Quidditch on hold, expect for the occasional planning session that would spontaneously be held at the Gryffindor table between bites, Harry had hoped to have gained more time with Ginny, but that was not the case.
They had kept their newfound relationship quiet, doing nothing more than what they had always done. It was only during those few instances of complete privacy, that Harry felt comfortable enough for anything else. Ron and Hermione seemed to follow the same self-imposed guidelines. Valentines, however, was the exception. The boys treated girls to the evening by the fire in the common room during the dinner hour. Harry had arranged to have Dobby set a proper table for the four of them and to have each of their favorite dishes brought up. Before Hermione could voice her disapproval, both Ron and Harry paid him for his trouble; a sickle, knut, last years maroon jumper, and a new pair of tube socks with matching maroon stripes on the rib.
With dinner finished and the dessert plates empty, they retired to their familiar places on the sofa and side chair, and waited for the tide of returning students to rise and ebb away. It was only then that Harry and Ron gave their respective girlfriends a gift. Harry had written Ginny a poem reminiscent of the one she had written for him during her first year and Professor Lockhart’s floundering idea of a student body pick-me-up. It wasn’t much, but Ginny appreciated the sentiment that he had remembered, albeit to her slight embarrassment.
Apparently, Ron had done a bang up job on Hermione’s card, the three of them watched her sit stock-still, the half-opened card in her lap, and an unreadable expression that leaned more towards the perplexed side of things. However, the collective breath was released when she turned and lunged at Ron, wrapping herself tightly around his neck.
“I take it you didn’t like yours that much?” Harry whispered to Ginny, whose legs were draped across his lap as she leaned against the arm of the sofa.
“Of course I did.” She smiled, then checked to see that a mess of bushy brown hair had safely blinded her bother before proceeding to thank him properly for it.
Harry and Ginny were well into their lessons with Dumbledore. At first they met only once a week, but with progress being made on the Vitas Potestas bond, both wanted to push forward. Like a steady, distant drum beat carried on the wind, the mutual feeling that the time when they would need to use it, was quickening it’s pace. With a few minor adjustments, Harry could perform basic spells with such precision and power that Dumbledore would let slip a smile of approval and Ginny proved that she was just a formidable. He was learning to feel ‘the glass’ as Ginny had originally put it, able to determine and gauge how to transfer the magic back and forth without any harm to the both of them.
Tonight, after one such lesson, the two of them stayed together in the common room, failing to notice the early hours of the new day. The conversation that had taken place was not for the faint of heart. Unable to ignore the rising attacks, Voldemort’s blatant strikes against the ones he loved and care for, Harry had started to plan his offensive. And by the time they climbed their separate staircases, the only thing that had been decided upon was that he was going to need all the help he could get.
“Oh no.” Harry could hear Neville moan through the velvet curtains of his four-poster, followed by the distinguished creaking noise of a large, leather-bound book being opened and it’s pages flipped through at a rapid pace.
He continued to lie in bed, his body not wanting to be moved from the comfort, trying to figure out what exactly it was that had Neville bothered. After a few minutes of very light sleep, deciding that sooner or later he would have to get up and trying to delay it would make it worse, Harry cracked his eyes open just as the thud of the book being rather hastily closed reached his ears.
“Hey, Neville.” Harry’s voice muffled out from behind the bed hangings.
“’Morning.”
Finally giving it up, Harry let in the rest of the world, or at least the rest of his dorm. He reached for his glasses and then addressed Neville who was looking rather bleak.
“Something wrong?”
“Don’t know.” He shrugged, looking down at the expansive text in his lap as if it had wronged him somehow.
“Anything I can do?” Harry offered, pushing off the bedclothes and swinging his legs around to the other side.
“No, not unless you’re a Herbology expert.”
“I’m afraid that you’re the most qualified in the room.” Harry said, digging through his trunk for a fresh set of clothes.
“Look at it.” Neville set the tome on the nightstand.
Peeking over the lid, he saw what Neville had wanted him to see. Knowing that now was not the time to express his indifferent and potentially unfavorable opinion on the matter he asked, “Is something wrong with it. It doesn’t look so good.”
“That’s just it, I don’t know.” Neville slowly revolved the pot, examining it closely with every fraction it turned. Harry had thought to himself that it looked just as unpleasant as ever, but humored him anyway.
“See this bump, it’s new.” Neville pointed to the main trunk of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia. “And see how its lost volume... it looks like it shriveling, but I’ve watered it properly. See?”
Harry shuffled over, the toes of his bare feet curled up in retreat against the cold stone floor. He bent lower and followed Neville’s finger, careful to keep his nose a safe distance away. “There?”
“Yeah, right there.”
“The darker green spot?” He asked, not really noticing much of a difference. He wasn’t about to prod it, he had already learned that lesson on the train before fifth year.
“So you see it too?” Neville needed conformation.
“Uh, yeah, I think so.” Harry honestly replied, “I haven’t spent much time looking at it, but it does seem new, now that you mention it.”
“Well, this book has absolutely no information about it.” Neville straighten back up, “I’ll have to ask Professor Sprout, but we’ve already discussed the Mimbletonia plant when I first brought it to Hogwarts and she said that she doesn’t know a whole lot about it either.”
“Worth a try, Neville.” Harry walked back to his trunk and picked up his wad of clothes before heading to the loo and a much-needed shower. “Good luck with it.”
“Thanks.” He replied distractedly, watching the plant like it was going to tell him the answers to his questions. “Oh, everyone’s still down at breakfast, Harry.”
“Thanks again.” Harry shrugged and slipped out of the room, not surprised that he missed it.
The weekend was over before it had even begun and Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor’s were back at it. It wasn’t very often that they came across Malfoy, just as Dumbledore had assured them, he kept his distance. However, Harry made sure to keep an eye on him if he was ever around. Ron, apparently, had taken up the same hobby.
“Seen Malfoy today?”
“No.” Harry answered distractedly, stuffing his Potions essay into his book bag, crunching the top half as he jammed it in further. “I haven’t been looking too hard.”
Watching him, Ron asked off-handedly, “Things on your mind?”
“You could say that.” Harry said, letting Ron know that now wasn’t the time to talk about it.
“Any news?” Ron’s brow furrowed, hoping that Harry hadn’t been getting any more giddy ‘spikes’ from Voldemort. “Hermione and I didn’t read anything in the Prophet today, not that it doesn’t mean that anything didn’t happened of course, but...”
“No, nothing like that.” Harry hoisted his bag over his shoulder and started to head out the portrait hole.
Ron followed suit and together they trudged down the crowded halls to the dungeon in silence. Hermione, as usual, was already waiting for them just outside the heavy wooden door.
“Hey.” She said, falling into step between Harry and Ron as they found their table.
Ron was just about to answer her, but before he could do anything other than open his mouth, he was interrupted.
“Sit.” Snape barked, not bothering to look up from his desk behind the students. Harry turned to see exactly what it was that had him acting exceptionally loathsome this afternoon.
“This is going to be fun.” Ron whispered sarcastically out the side of his mouth as he too checked over his shoulder. “Doesn’t look happy today- not that he’s ever looked happy.”
“Shh,” Hermione whispered and immediately took her seat. “Sit down.”
Just then the Potions Master folded the parchment he had been reading in half, running his tightly pinched fingers along the edge creating a razor-sharp crease. He then tucked it into his vest pocket and strode to the front of the class, making sure to give his least favorite pupil his trademark sneer as he pasted by.
“What do you think that was about?” Ron asked from below the tabletop, pulling his Potions book from his bag on the floor. Hermione nudged him and looked displeased that he had even breathed a word.
Harry quickly glanced around the room as Snape was delving headfirst into today’s lesson. There in the far right corner was the stark blonde hair that belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. He was slouching, but watching Snape attentively. Harry thought he seemed nervous in a way, however, there was nothing outwardly different about his behavior that would confirm his suspicions. It was just a hunch.
“What are the properties of Aconite, Mr. Potter?” Snape’s condescending tone ripped his attention back to the front of the classroom. Harry’s mind immediately flashed to his ‘potions’ trunk. He knew the answer.
“Aconite?” Snape asked again, gaining a few snickers across the room.
“Wolfsbane, Monkshood, Aconite- they’re all the same, Professor.” Harry replied coolly, “They all contain the poison Aconitine. Highly deadly in small doses if not properly mixed with other ingredients.”
“Very well.” He snapped, “I dare say it took you the better part of six years to acquire the answer you should have known your first. Let us all hope that you can grasp the more basic concepts a little faster next time.”
“Hey, Ginny.” Harry said as she descended the girls’ dormitory stairs. “Ready?”
“Sure.” She smiled, pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail. “Are you?”
Harry let out a small sigh and pushed open the portrait hole door, “Now is as good as any time, right?”
“I’m sure Dumbledore will help, he’s always helped you.” Ginny reassured him as they walked side by side down the corridor.
“But what if he disagrees... what if he says no, that now is not the time or that-”
“Look, Harry, it’s not like you’re going out tonight to find him.” For an instant, Ginny’s expression matched that of her mothers.
“Maybe not tonight, but at some point I’m going to have too.” Harry had no idea as to why he was so worried, it wasn’t like he was expecting Dumbledore to yell or tell him ‘no’ outright, but it was the only thing he could think of.
“He gave you the key, didn’t he? He knows, he’ll understand. Just ask.” Ginny took hold of his hand as they rounded the final corner to the seventh corridor. “Besides, I’ll be with you.”
Harry squeezed her smaller hand in his, “Good thing.”
“Arctic Ice Mints” Ginny smiled and opened the passageway to Dumbledore’s office.
“Enter.” Dumbledore called from behind the door, it was slightly ajar.
‘Don’t worry.’ Harry heard Ginny’s thought before they walked into the Headmasters office.
“Good evening, Miss Weasley, Harry.” Dumbledore got up from his desk and offered them their usual seats.
“Good evening, Professor.” Ginny replied lightly, “I like your robes today, they match your eyes.”
“Why, thank you.” Dumbledore cheeks tinged while he settled back down behind his desk. “So, what would you like to work on this evening?”
Harry knew that this was it and shifted uneasily in his seat until he was perched at the edge of it. “Professor?”
“Yes, Harry.”
“I was hoping that you could tell me what it is exactly that the key unlocks.” The words just poured out of him. “You had said that it was important to my past, my future, and Voldemorts undoing. I’ve been thinking a lot about things...” He sat up a little straighter and met his mentors pale eyes. “I need your help.”
Harry watched as Dumbledore’s expression fell ever so slightly. He let out a sigh and looked at Ginny over his half-moon spectacles before settling back on him. “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you everything you need to know.”
“What?” Harry let his shoulders drop, he was confused. This was not the answer he was expecting. “Why not?”
“Some things, Harry, cannot be said.” Dumbledore reached for the quill lying on his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment from the drawer. “I’m assuming that you would like Miss Weasley’s presence.”
“Where? To what?” Harry was taken back by the turn of events and the ease in which it came. “Professor, what exactly does the key do?”
“It opens a lock, of course.” Dumbledore smiled and Ginny matched his with one of her own.
“Professor, I want to know what it does. I just can’t take Ginny with me if I don’t know what’s at stake.” Harry started to backpedal, “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“I wouldn’t want either of you to come to any harm, Harry.” Dumbledore put down his quill and laced his fingers together on top of the blank parchment. “Harry, this key needs to be taken to Godric’s Hollow.” Harry remained silent. “As I said, it is a key to your past.”
Dumbstruck by this newest revelation, Harry asked, “But Hagrid said that Voldemort destroyed the house.”
“It was an unfortunate byproduct of the failed curse against you. Yes, your parents temporary home was left in ruins, Harry, but magic has a way of fixing things such as wood and stone.” Dumbledore smiled and encouraged him to continue.
“But how does that have to do with my future... how am I supposed to defeat him with a key and a house I don’t even remember?”
“Which brings us back to Miss Weasley.” Dumbledore noticed that Ginny, although she had kept quiet during the entire conversation, was carefully following along. “Would you like her to accompany you to Godric’s Hollow?”
“Is it safe?” Harry blurted out before he even had time to think.
“It’s well protected, yes. But Harry, you know more than most that everything has its risks, however small they may be.”
“Ron and Hermione, can they come too?” He felt that they deserved to go along as well.
“If you prefer.” Dumbledore pulled open the top left drawer and retrieved another sheet of parchment. “Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will have to give their permission for Miss Weasley to attend, but I will be including Mr. Ronald Weasley, though he will be of age, and of course I will asking Mr. and Mrs. Granger on Miss Grangers behalf.”
“Are you coming, Professor?” Ginny asked.
“I would like to attend.” He smiled and dipped his crimson quill into the uncapped inkwell.
“Yes, please do.” Harry said quickly, he had assumed that it was a given. “Who else needs to come?”
“Nobody that you do not wish.” Dumbledore did not bother to look up from his writing.
Harry looked to Ginny, “Then I think that will be all.”
“Professor, when will we go?” Ginny asked.
“Two weeks from Saturday.” His quill glided across the parchment in a swirling pattern. “I have a few thing I need to arrange first.”
“Sir, is there anything else I need to know about the key?”
“No, I don’t think so.” The Headmaster had finished his first letter, “It is important that you keep the key safe. In the wrong hands, it will be of no use to you. Everything will become clear, Harry.”
Harry sat back in his chair, they both watched as Dumbledore began his second letter, which was most likely addressed to the Grangers.
“Professor?” Harry waited this time until he had his full attention, “Something is coming, isn’t it? I can feel it. Ginny can feel it too. Time is running out and I have to be ready to... to end it.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the air became heavy and thick. Dumbledore took a deep breath of it, taking the time to ponder on his next words.
“Harry, nobody would know better than you.”
“But how do I know that it’s not just nerves, fear. Sometimes I just want it to be over, whichever way it ends, I don’t care. I want to be done with it.”
“You’ve carried the burden squarely on your shoulders your entire life, whether you have known the exact details of the situation or not, it has never left you. It would be only natural to want it to end. Great and capable men have failed with far lesser trials than what you have already endured. But Harry,” Dumbledore’s countenance became thick, as if the air had finally seeped into him. “When you’re ready, when there is nothing more for you to learn, you will know....” The aged wizard paused, slowing closing his eyes and swallowing hard before he spoke again. “And it will be I that will follow you.”
“But Sir,” Harry blurted out, a feeling of panic lit in the pit of his stomach, “Why would you-”
It was Ginny’s hand on his arm that stopped him, suddenly he knew what the Greatest Wizard in the World was trying to say. Fawkes cooed softly on his perch behind him and Dumbledore nodded in acceptance.
“Until the time of our departure, Harry, I would like this to stay between us, Mr. Ron Weasley and Miss Granger. We will continue our lessons, twice a week”
“Yes, Sir.”
“If there is anything else then, Harry, Miss Weasley, I have much I need to prepare.” Dumbledore said with a tired yet gentle smile, sufficiently dismissing them for the evening.
Ginny was the first up. “Thank you, Professor.”
Harry stood, he wanted to say something, but nothing that came to mind seemed good enough- worthy enough- to convey what he felt for his Headmaster. Instead, shying away from Dumbledore’s gaze, he mumbled ‘Thank you’ and lead Ginny through the arched door.
“Really?” Ron perked up, scooting himself up into the front of Hermione’s chair.
“Ouch, Ron.” Hermione whispered through a sharp breath, pulling her foot out from underneath him.
“Sorry.” Ron mumbled, absently patting her foot. “We really get to go?”
Harry and Ginny had just relayed almost the entire conversation they had earlier that evening with the Headmaster.
“If Mum and Dad say so.” Ginny shrugged.
“Dumbledore wrote to your parents and the Grangers while we were there.” Harry said.
“But I’ll be of age next week, why does he need ask?” Ron started off on the defensive. “ Harry, if you need me- if you want me there, I will be and I don’t think for one second that-”
“Ron, I’m sure it’s just a formality.” Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m of age too, remember.”
“Look, I’m the only one here that technically won’t be able to go without their permission.” Ginny’s tone settled Ron down, he knew that if anyone needed to go with Harry, it was her.
“What do you think you’ll find, Harry.” Hermione asked, taking some of the pressure off of Ginny.
“I have no idea.” He shook his head, the thought of returning to Godric’s Hollow, the place where it had all began, was still sinking in. “I haven’t really had the time to think about it.”
“Dumbledore said that it was important.” Ginny added, watching the crackling fire.
“There must me something there.” Hermione’s mind was already at work, lacing in the newest bit of information with what they already knew.
“Maybe it’s a rare, magical object... like the cloak.” Ron remembered their first Christmas morning at Hogwarts when Harry received his fathers invisibility cloak.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s important.” Harry looked to the floor, watching an ember glow brightly on the hearthrug, a small spiral of smoke wafting up off it before it extinguished itself in one last brilliant flash of light. “Two weeks from today.”
Like with all things that are highly anticipated, the next week crawled by. Lectures droned on. Harry, too lost in the thought of what he might find, let them wash over him, failing to take in anything more than a few disjointed words. It was during Thursday’s Defense Against the Dark Arts with Lupin that Harry had been called on it.
“I’ll meet you back in the common room.” Harry said over his shoulder to Ron and Hermione. He was making his way to the front of the room, towards Lupin who was busy straightening a stack of parchment.
“Sure, later then.” Ron replied. He and Hermione gathered their things from up off the table and followed the rest of their classmates out of the large stone chamber.
Harry slowed his approach, realizing that when he got to his destination he wouldn’t have known what to say.
“Hello, Harry.” Lupin said, not looking up from the stack of essays he was arranging. He had beaten him to it.
“Hi, Professor.” He mumbled back, not sure of where the conversation was going.
“Ah, there we go.” Lupin clicked shut his briefcase; the essays safely stored inside and motioned Harry to join him up the stairs to his office.
He followed behind, letting the other guide the topic of discussion.
“So, everything all right?” Lupin said, stowing his briefcase underneath his desk and taking an easy seat on the corner of it.
“Yeah.” Harry tried to sound as normal as possible, understanding that Lupin’s nod was for him to take a seat. Slowly sitting down, he added, “Thanks, Professor.”
“You can drop the Professor for now, Harry.” He smiled knowingly. “How are things going?”
“Fine.”
“Anything you’d like to talk about?” Lupin edged to the front of his desk and leaned casually against it.
“No. I’m fine, really.” His voice cracked, giving him away.
Lupin folded his arms across his chest. The hint of gray in his mousy brown hair told Harry that his age and experience knew better.
“I just can’t stop thinking about it.” Harry finally admitted, knowing more likely than not, Dumbledore had told him what was going on. If the Weasley’s and the Grangers were notified, then his temporary guardian would be as well.
His fathers’ friend said nothing, only casting his gaze down to the floor momentarily, waiting for his young ward to continue.
“What am I going to find?” Harry gave in and relaxed into the chair. Suddenly his cuticles became a distraction, pushing them back with his thumbnail.
“What are you afraid of finding?” It was just like him to answer a question with another question.
“I don’t know.” Continuing his crude, spur of the moment manicure to his index finger. “I honestly don’t know.”
Lupin quietly cleared his throat. Harry thought that it was more or less to clear his own.
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about going back. I don’t even remember it.”
Lupin gently pushed off his desk and took a seat in the rickety chair next to him. “Nobody is going to tell you how you’re supposed to feel, Harry.”
Then, without knowing the exact words that he was about to say, Harry said what had been on his mind. “They’re not there, are they?”
“Your parents?” Lupin’s voice quietly returned, “No, Harry. They’re not.” An unexplained relief enveloped him before Lupin finished his words. “They weren’t buried in Godric’s Hollow.”
After taking a deep breath and averting his gaze to a large, rough sawn beam spanning the distance across the ceiling, Harry continued. “Do you know what’s there?”
“I’m afraid that I do not.” Lupin admitted, “Honestly, I don’t think anybody but Dumbledore knows. I’ve just learned myself that the cottage was still standing.”
“Really?” Harry was surprised that Lupin had not known.
“I was away when it happened, Harry.” He looked at him with a sideways glance. “I wasn’t even at the wedding... Oh, I knew about it, of course, your parents kept me updated.”
“The note you gave me for Christmas.” Harry smiled, remembering its simplicity.
“I knew when you were born. I don’t think James had been so proud- so happy, than he was the day that you were born.”
“Where were you?” Harry dared to ask, he couldn’t imagine not telling Ron or Hermione if the situation was reversed.
“Business.” Lupin smiled half-heartedly. Harry detected a pang of hurt hidden underneath it. “I don’t need to remind you how dire the war had become."
Harry grunted understandingly.
“Anyway, I’ve never been to the cottage at Godric’s Hollow.” Lupin shifted in the uncomfortable chair, the wood moaning under his weight.
“Look, he betrayed them... and you.” Harry recalled the night Wormtail’s treason was uncovered. “Don’t blame yourself for thinking Sirius was guilty.”
“I can still regret it, Harry.” Lupin continued, “Anyway, I never knew where exactly it was that your parents went into hiding. Sirius, Dumbledore, and of course, Peter. It was too much of a risk for me to know their whereabouts, Sirius and Dumbledore would have been too obvious to be the secret keeper and both were already targets. Peter, as we have learned a few years back, was thought to be the perfect choice, everyone believed that he would have been easily looked over. Unfortunately, it was us that over-looked him, a mistake in which the cost was too much to bear, especially for you.”
“So you really don’t know.” Harry stated, satisfied with Lupin’s answers.
“No, I don’t. But if Dumbledore feels it’s important, then it is.” He finished lamely. “I wish I could be more helpful.”
“No, you’ve been very helpful.” Harry assured him. “I’m not sure that I want to visit their graves just yet.”
“Why is that?” Lupin asked, picking a matted bit of wool off the elbow his jumper.
“I... I guess I’m just not ready.” Harry said quietly, “I’ve seen them in pictures, the Mirror of Erised my first year at Hogwarts... then again during the Priori Incantatem. I guess in some small way they seemed still alive to me, even though I knew that they are dead.”
“And to visit their graves would only reinforce that.” Lupin had understood. “Don’t let it be as final as you believe it to be. Graves only mark where their bodies, now useless in this life, are laid.”
Harry snorted, remembering what Sirius had once told him and he shared it with Lupin.
“Yeah, that sounds like something he would say.”
“It’s about the veil, isn’t it.” He could see it in his minds’ eye. The stone archway set upon the dais, it’s thin gossamer sheet draped across the opening, the one that Harry had heard whispers behind, reminding him of Ron- that moments later, would swallow Sirius into the unknown.
“It’s a mystery, Harry. Nobody knows for sure.” With that, Lupin checked his watch, stood and faced him. “And I don’t think were supposed to.”
“Yeah, that’s why it’s in the Department of Mysteries.” Harry said dryly, he knew that his time with Lupin was up, another class would be arriving soon. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He picked a text up off of his desk and headed for the door and his third year students that had started to trickle in. “Harry, anytime.”
Harry nodded in appreciation, gathered his book bag from off the floor and then he too, left the office.
The air had a sweet, musty smell to it; winter’s grip was giving way to spring in Godric’s Hollow. Harry stood with his eyes closed, taking in as much as he could. Listening, smelling, tasting, wondering if any of it would tell its secrets and remind of what he had forgotten. He felt the weight of the key in his trouser pocket and Ginny’s fingertips weaving through his own, assuring him that everything was okay. It was only then that he opened his eyes and saw a quaint, white-washed cottage peeking out from behind a small grove of budding birch trees, framed by a dilapidated rock fence, as if to say ‘Welcome Home, Harry’.
There was a crunch of gravel on pavement to his left and the figures of Ron and Hermione edged into view, but he could not tear his attention away from the cottage. Harry closed his eyes again, shutting them tight; the cool breeze was an unexpected breath of life.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Dumbledore’s voice came from behind.
“Yeah, sure.” Harry shook it off. “Just go through the gate?”
“Lead the way.” The headmaster now gestured to the crooked gate whose hinges, rusted and decayed by the elements and time, valiantly stood guard.
Harry let Ginny’s hand fall and stepped towards the gate. Carefully he reached out, not knowing what to expect, and took hold of the latch. He took a deep breath and tried to release the gate. It did not budge. He tried again, using a little more force this time, but to no avail.
“Sir, is it sealed?” He turned and asked Dumbledore.
“No, I don’t believe so.” Dumbledore replied. “At least not by my doing.”
This time, with proper leverage, the rusted latch groaned as Harry pried it open. He picked up the gate, the end of it had fallen to the ground when it was released from the latch, and forced it open.
“After you.” He said and ushered his friends down the flagstone path.
The yard was simple. Last summer’s dead grass laid matted on its side and small spears of green poked through the at random. The hedges were wild, the upper branches thick and woody from years of neglect. As he drew closer to the small front porch, he noticed clumps of tiny purple flowers that had pushed their way through the flowerbed wall, a remarkable feat from something so small and delicate.
Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore and Ginny all stood beneath the overhang, waiting for him to join them at the front door. He hesitated at the first of three small steps. They were covered in bright green moss; bricks were either cracked or all together missing. Without any further trepidation, he came home.
“I suppose this is where we need the key?” Harry said as lightly as he could and pulled it from his pocket.
“No, not here.” Dumbledore shook his head, a small garden spider dangled precariously on its invisible thread from off his hat. He pulled the thread out of mid air and let the spider rest on the window sash to the side of him. “You’ll know when you need to use it, Harry.”
‘Great’ Harry whispered to himself, ‘I have to break into my own house.’
“So how do we get in?” Harry asked.
“Magic.” He said matter-of-factly.
“But-“ Harry stammered.
“Maybe Miss Granger would like to do the honors?” Dumbledore suggested. “A simple spell would do.”
Harry looked to Hermione who had obviously been flattered by Dumbledore’s suggestion. “Harry, I...”
“No, please do.” He encouraged her; “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”
“Are you sure?” She asked hesitantly. Ron had put his hand on her shoulder in support.
“Absolutely.”
Quietly, Hermione had uttered the spell and stowed her wand in a blink of an eye. The click of the deadbolt sliding back into place told him that the job was done.
“Thanks.” Harry said and took hold of the dull brass handle.
“Maybe we should knock.” Ron chuckled just as Harry was about to disengage the remaining latch that kept the weathered oak door in place. It had its desired effect; Harry smiled and pushed it open.
The stale air rushed at him, the house let out a long mournful sigh, one that had been held for the past fifteen years. The smell reminded him of some of the old, forgotten rooms of Grimmauld Place.
“Well, it doesn’t smell like fresh baked cookies.” Harry coughed and walked over the threshold.
They entered a small foyer; a narrow staircase reached up from the floor, to the left and right, arched passageways that opened up into larger rooms. Straight ahead, a short hall ending at a closed, off-white paneled door. The rest of the group had filed through, making the foyer cramped.
“Professor?” Harry asked, noticing that he remained on the porch. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“No, not today, thank you.” The Headmaster replied. “I’d like to walk through the garden, if you don’t mind.”
Harry look at him quizzically.
“You’ll be fine, Harry.” He said and stepped down off the porch, disappearing from the view of the open door.
“Well, where to first, Harry?” Ginny asked, pulling his attention back.
“Right.”
Swiping at the cobwebs as he walked through, Harry entered the parlor. It was small and cozy. A brick fireplace, whose warm fire had long been extinguished, stood out prominently from the exterior wall. Multiple layers of dust covered the intimate seating area, what remained of a moth eaten hearthrug, and the objects resting upon the blackened mantle.
Harry reached for one of the frames and wiped it off with the sleeve of his jumper. Behind the clouded glass was a picture of his mother, his father, and a bundle of blankets that could have only been him, tucked safely away in her arms.
“That’s a nice picture.” Ginny said, peering around his arm. He could feel her warmth against him.
“Yeah.” Harry put it back with the rest and brushed off the frame next to it. “Uh...”
“Let me see.” She nudged in closer and giggled.
“I guess this is pay back for all the stories your mother told me?”
“Na... I think it’s cute.” Ginny took the picture from his hands and examined it more closely. “Did you really eat the soap?”
“Good thing I can’t remember if I did.” Harry had moved on to the next picture. “Hey, look at this.”
Ron and Hermione, who had given him plenty of space, wandered over.
“That’s Lupin.” Ron said, removing a smudge with his thumb. “And Sirius.”
“It looks like graduation day at Hogwarts.” Hermione laughed, “And bath time.”
“What?” Ron asked, “What are you talking about, Hermione?”
“Never mind, mate.” Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing you want to see. Let alone display proudly on the mantle.”
“One of those pictures?” Ron said knowingly. “Yeah, I try to hide them whenever possible.”
The rest of the pictures were of Lily, James, and Harry. A happy collage of what life had been like for the Potters. A bittersweet reminder of what was and of what could have been.
“Mind if I take care of the sofa, Harry.” Hermione asked.
“No, good luck.” Harry replied, still gazing at the last picture of him and his parents.
“Come on, Ron.” Hermione said, prying him away from Harry’s side. “Have a seat.”
“Where to next?” Ginny asked him, finally putting what was clearly her favorite picture of Harry back on the mantle.
“You choose.”
“Well, I’m guessing that through here, is the kitchen.” Ginny smiled and backed into the door, pushing it open for Harry.
Sure enough, they had entered the kitchen. Various pots and pans of all different sizes hung like over-sized Christmas ornaments from a suspended ceiling rack above the stove. And hidden behind the upper, glass-front cabinets were rows of glasses and stacks of plates, bowls and serving dishes. Below a small mullioned window, a single basin sink broke up the counter top, its high arcing faucet bone dry. Harry stood in the middle of it, imagining his mother at the small stove, preparing an evening meal. The imaginary smell of rosemary, pork roast, and warm bread, filtered through the air as he reveled in the illusion. He wondered if his father had helped with the dishes or even liked to help cook.
“There’s the swing.” Ginny woke him. She was leaning over the sink, peering though the window. “It’s just out back.”
For a moment, Harry was taken aback by her long, flowing red hair. His mother’s hair was darker.
He walked over to the back door, rubbed at the dirty widow and looked out across the back garden. There, tied to an old oak tree, was the swing he had just seen in the picture on the mantle. It was of him and his mother, it was fall, and the leaves were golden and flaming reds. Now, as it was, the tree looked more like a dead hand, its gnarled, arthritic fingers reaching upwards towards the sky. The swing, barely hanging on by its frayed ropes, sat motionless. There were only echoes of laughter.
“Yeah, we’ll check it out later.” Harry said, “Let’s get Ron and Hermione and move on to the next room.”
“Sure.” Ginny exited the kitchen with a small smile.
The next two rooms were plain. The relatively empty dining room in the far corner and a completely empty room that Harry had no clue as to what it could have been used for. Hermione had suggested that it was a study, by the waist high bookcases that lined the wall. With that, the downstairs was finished and they were back to square one, the foyer.
Harry rested his hand on the newel post, knowing what rooms awaited him at the end of the staircase.
“Uh, Hermione found a book in one of the end tables. We’ll go check it out.” Ron said, making his way back towards the parlor. “We’ll wait right here. Take your time.”
“I can stay here too.” Ginny whispered, Harry hadn’t moved.
“No.” It was barely audible. “No... Just give me a minute. I... I-“
“I’m here if you need me, right behind you, the entire way.” Ginny always knew what to say. He needed her support and she willingly gave it.
It felt like an eternity to climb the stairs. Each step brought him closer to what he was looking for, Dumbledore said that he would know when he had found it. The growing knot in his stomach and the dryness in his throat had nothing to do with the acrid smell or the years of accumulated dust that was wafting through the air with every step he took. He had made it to the landing that opened up into a small hall of sorts. There were three doors.
Choosing the first on his left, he opened it and stepped inside. It was completely empty except for a can of paint and a drab blue piece of fabric draped across a plain wooden rod that hung over the window seat alcove. The ceiling pitched at different angles, reflecting the roofline of the cottage.
“Looks like this was going to be your room.” Ginny entered from behind and walked over to the window seat. She picked at the fabric, folding back a crease, and gave a quiet chuckle. “See, there’s Snitches on this curtain. It looks like your parents knew it all along.”
“Lucky guess.” Harry shrugged, turning towards the door. He didn’t remember a single thing about this room and like it, his mind was empty. “Shall we?”
“Yeah.”
The door down the hall a bit was the next choice.
“Door number two.” Ginny said, “Any guesses?”
“Nope.” Harry answered and turned the doorknob.
“Uh! Yuck.” Ginny gasped.
“It’s horrible.” He agreed with her first assessment.
They were standing inside a small bathroom classically decorated in vintage 1960’s garb. The floor tiles were a peachy color, although they probably were closer to orange than soft peach. Mustard wainscoting, vanity, loo and sink; thus far it was the most amusing room in the entire house. The mirror, even through the cobwebs and grimy film, was speckled with gold flecks and jig-sawed veins that ran around the outer edge. The tub and surround was an unnatural green, it was the least ugly thing in the room.
“There’s no way my parents liked this.” Harry shook his head and stifled a laugh. He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, but it couldn’t be helped. “Please tell me that someone other than my parents decorated this...”
“Monstrosity? Maybe it was a work in progress.” Ginny joined in. “Although I recognize the pea green tub.”
“Remind me to take that picture when we leave.”
“Can I have it?” Ginny whined teasingly, “Please?”
“No way.”
“But it’s so cute.”
“Ginny.”
She playfully bumped into him and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re the boss.”
“Sure I am.” He bumped back.
“One room left.” Ginny said seriously, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.” He took her hand and led her out of the time warp they had found themselves in, to the last unopened door in the cottage.
“Do you need the key?” She asked, Harry had stopped in front of the door.
“No, I don’t think so.” He mumbled.
Harry took a deep breath, trying hard not to cough as his throat clinched. The knot had returned in spades despite its momentary absence in the loo. He felt that latch click back into the door. All he had to do now was to push it forward. And he did.
It was like a dream, his legs carried him to the center of the room where he could take it all in. A double bed, with its curve headboard, rested against the wall opposite the door. Despite the dust, it looked like it had recently been slept in and its occupants had just peeled back the duvet to venture off for a late night snack and a glass of warm milk in the kitchen.
Harry ran his fingers gently along the edge of the bed, wanting to feel the warmth that he knew wasn’t there. He could see his mother in her nightdress, leaning against a bank of feathered pillows, her face bright with laugher and youth. His father, who had rescued his son from slumber, lying on his side, sandwiching young Harry between them as he tickled and played with him despite her half-hearted attempts in telling her boys to settle down. Whether it was a real memory or not, Harry held onto the scene before him, it was the best he could do. He felt the grain in the footboard as he crossed over it, then returned soft cotton of the duvet, still living in the dream. This was his parents’ bed. This is where they slept.
Harry’s gaze shifted, he was now looking at a crib, his crib. He looked back to the bed and then the crib not more than two feet from it. Unsure if he should touch it or not, he slowly reached out. The top rail was riddled with pockmarks, tiny indentations made by a tooth or two, which he bit into the wood wherever the plastic guard didn’t cover. A small, blue gingham blanket was balled up into the corner far corner; the edge of it had fallen through the tightly spaced spindles of the crib. Harry reached for the blanket; there was an inexplicable need to touch it. As if being struck by lightening, shattered bits and pieces came flooding back in quick secession like a disjointed, fragmented movie played in fast forward. He sucked in a sharp breath. Something was bubbling up inside him.
“No!” His screamed cracked through the silent cottage. “No!”
In an instant Ginny was by his side, she had grabbed him by the shoulders, her eyes searching his, they were wide with fear.
“Harry, what is it?” She said forcefully. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
He let the blanket fall from his grasp; his quick, hard breaths had drained the color from his face.
“Is it him?” She asked outright.
Ginny saw the slightest eye movement in the negative; it was all she needed to know.
When the two had settled back down, becoming aware of their surroundings, Harry staggered backwards and sat on the bed, a billow of dust curled up around him. Ginny knelt on the floor in front of him, watching him closely.
“What happened?” Ron asked. He and Hermione stood just inside the room.
“I saw it.” Harry answered, “I saw what happened here.”
A tearful Ginny confirmed what he had said. “He... he remembers.”
“It was like I did it.” Harry’s voice was tight. “Like when I saw your Dad being attacked, but at the same time I was watching from the crib, looking at myself.”
“You were just a baby, Harry.” Hermione whispered. “You were just a baby.”
“I saw pieces through Voldemorts eyes!” Harry’s voice strained and his pulse quickened, he felt physically sick. “I felt what he felt. He killed my father and was happy to do it. Then he toyed with my mum, she begged him- begged him to take her, to trade her life for his, he hesitated but then he killed her too.”
“Harry-“ Hermione spoke.
“No, Hermione, I know what I saw.” He snapped back.
“We believe you, mate. We’re just trying to understand.” Ron was the voice of reason. “Are you saying that you had two different views of what happened?”
Harry thought about what Ron had said, his answer reverberated throughout the room. “Yes.”
The room was silent except for the occasional echo of a muffled sniffle. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to be here anymore, he wasn’t sure if he should have even came at all.
“I’m fine.” He finally said, forcing his voice to remain steady, “It’s just a lot to handle. I’ll be down in awhile.”
“Sure, we’ll join Dumbledore outside.” Ron wrapped his arm around a visibly shaken Hermione and left the room, their footsteps fading in the distance.
“Harry,” Ginny said, slowly getting up off the floor and sitting next to him on the bed. “Harry, I’m so sorry. I...”
He leaned over, resting his head on her shoulder. Ginny reached up and cradled the back of it; his thick, dark locks between her fingers as he slowly slid down onto her lap. His eyes remained open, not wanting to watch what was behind them, staring at the empty crib in front of him. Ginny’s soothing hand, rhythmically brushing through his hair, was enough to keep him calm while he tried to process a lifetime’s worth of pain and a memory he would never have wanted to see.
It was awhile before he regained his composure, gently picking himself up and drying what tears had fallen before Ginny could notice, but he had been too late.
Her own eyes damp and puffy she whispered, “It’s all right, Harry.”
Looking down at her pant leg, he laughed a little, there was a damp spot just above her knee. “I’m sorry.”
“What, for this?” Laughing, Ginny picked at her jeans. “It’s the very least I could do.”
Harry’s countenance sobered up again, “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You would have been fine.” She wiped the cuff of her sleeve over her cheeks where half-fallen tears slid to a stop and said with a chuckle, “You might have been a bit muddy with all the dust in here, but you would have been fine.”
“Either way, Ginny. I’m glad you’re with me.”
“And I’m glad to be with you.”
Harry sighed deeply, “I suppose we should go.”
“Only when you’re ready. I’m sure they understand.” Ginny wanted to make sure he wasn’t rushing out.
“No, I think I’ve found what I needed to.” He shrugged, “Although, I don’t see how it helps.”
“I don’t know how or why, Harry.” Ginny smiled, her complete faith in him was unwavering. “But it must and it will.”
“Come on,” He held his open hand on her lap, waiting for her to take hold. “Let’s’ go.”
He was making his way across the bedroom and felt the floor give way. It felt familiar somehow. "Wait a minute.”
“What is it?” Ginny asked, not sure of what brought on this latest revelation. She watched as he walked back and forth from the edge of the bed, over the tattered rug and to the door. Each time staring at the floor and bouncing on spot from time to time.
“Help me with the rug.” He said, grabbing one of the corners and peeling it back onto itself.
Ginny did as he asked, “Did you find something?”
Harry was on his hands and knees now, blindly searching for something across the wooden planks of the floor.
“There it is.” His fingers traced the outside of a smaller piece of wood. He searched his pockets for something sharp, something to pry the board up.
Ginny had joined him on the floor and tried to slip her thumbnail into the crack. “There’s something under there.”
“Yeah... I used to keep things hidden from the Dursleys in a loose floorboard in my bedroom.” Harry’s voice was feverish, “They would have never noticed it.”
“Ah, I think I got it.” Ginny hissed, her fingernail dug into the wood and she slowly started to lift it up.
Harry grabbed the plank as soon as she had lifted it high enough to slip his fingers underneath it. Without a second thought, he pulled it free, revealing the buried treasure below.
Inside was a box, wrapped in a ragged cloth. He reached down and removed it from its hiding place. Quickly, he pushed off the protective shroud and marveled at the find. It was a mahogany box. In the center was an intricately engraved, burnished silver plate, its pattern looked vaguely familiar as the vines wound themselves around an elegant P.
“It needs a key.” Ginny breathed, pointing to a keyhole on the front of the box.
He had found what he was looking for, just exactly what it was, he was only moments away of finding out. The jagged teeth of the key fit perfectly, the faint blue glow that Harry had witness when he had first touched it, shone bright and then faded. A gentle turn of the wrist was all that was needed for the lid of the box to ease open. With the key still in place, Harry opened the box.
“There must be at least fifty in there.” Ginny was awestruck.
Harry now held in his hands a bundle of envelopes, each one addressed ~ For Harry ~ and marked with various dates, the last being October 31st, 1981. Some of the handwriting had to be his mothers; it was elegant and flowed beautifully over the parchment. The others, without a doubt, had to be from his father. From the looks of his somewhat intelligible scrawl, Harry had inherited another trait besides his mess black hair. Thumbing through the stack, he found the earliest one, it was thick and dated six months before his first birthday.
“Are you going to open one?” Ginny asked softly.
“Now?” Harry did not look up from the bundle. “Uh... I don’t know. I mean, this is a lot.”
“You don’t have to open them now, Harry.” Ginny backpedaled, “I’m sure you can take them with you.”
“But Voldemort can’t find them.” Harry said, tightening his grip, “He can’t find them.”
“Dumbledore can take care of that, Harry.” She had a point, “He can keep them safe until we get back to Hogwarts, then you can read them when you’re ready.”
“Yeah...” Harry hesitated a moment before he put the bundle back into the box, making sure to lock it properly.
Ginny helped wrap it back in the cloth they had found it in; together they replaced the plank and rolled the rug back into place, matching the dusty outline on the floor. Harry took one last look around the room, at his parent’s bed, and the crib. Taking Ginny’s hand, cradling the box in the other, he turned his back to them and walked out.
So many thoughts, so many questions ran through his mind. In the common room later that night, he read through the very first letter written to him by his parents with Ginny curled up by his side, her presence alone gave him comfort. The etched words told him of their love for him, and the dangers they knew he would be in if their worst fears came true. They were honest and foreboding, yet he could feel the love and protection; glimmers of hope in-between the lines, hope in him. It was his mothers’ idea, that if they didn’t make it- that somehow both were unable to escape the unknown, he would have something to know them by. It was deeply personal. He now understood why Dumbledore did not give him the key earlier, he would not have been able to understand them, and to know first hand the sick-to-your-stomach fear of possibly losing someone you loved. This first letter was only the beginning.
He gently kissed Ginny’s head to wake her up. By now the fire had burnt down to a meager pile of embers.
“Gin?” He whispered into her hair.
“Hmm” She snuggled, trying to escape the inevitable moment when she would have to get up.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Harry lifted his jumper over his head, exhaling deeply as his arms dropped back down to his side. Glancing quickly around the room, only lit by what little firelight had escaped through the grill of the potbellied stove, Harry saw the sleeping figures of his bunkmates, who were completely unaware of his late arrival. He tossed the inside-out jumper onto his trunk and while unbuckling his belt, pried off his trainers with his toes. He let his jeans lay where they fell, pulled back the thick bedcovers of his four-poster and took a seat on the edge of the bed. It was almost too much to effort to raise his ankle to his knee, one at a time, to remove his socks. Taking off his glasses and setting them in their usual spot on the night table, he noticed the protruding pustules on Neville’s Mimbletonia. If he had to guess what it was, seeds were the likely answer. Stretching out fully, feeling a small kink in his neck from reading, he rolled over onto his stomach and nestled down into his familiar hollow in the mattress.
The rain, like it has been for the last month, continued to lash at the tall windows, bouncing off the pane and the stone of the tower. Listening to its sporadic rhythm that was now like a lullaby of sorts, Harry closed his eyes. A faint smile drifted momentarily on his face, this time it was him who had wished Ginny goodnight.
A/N: I can see the light... Things are going to get busy for Harry and the gang. I expect to have this story finished up in the next few chapters. Thanks so much for sticking with me, it's been a long ride with lots of 'rest stops' in-between. Take care! ~Patrony :)