Note to MNFF Staff: A big thank you to Robin for her suggestions and for moderating my previous chapters. I’d like to request that she also review this submission.
Disclaimer: The usual, none of the characters are mine; they were created by Ms. J.K. Rowling. The only thing I can claim to own in all this is my imagination.
The tranquil atmosphere in the living room at thirteen, Edgeware Road, London, was only occasionally broken by the rustle of paper, or to be more precise, the rustle of an atlas that a Harry was peering keenly at. He had been studying the atlas diligently for over two days now, hoping that he would find some clue to the whereabouts of Godric’s Hollow. But so far it would seem that it was too small a village to figure in any of the maps that the Grangers had in their home, or in the one that he had used to navigate to London on his flight. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had no knowledge of the possible location of the village either. They had even gone to the length of asking their friends about it, but to no avail. Now Harry had turned to these maps in a last-ditch attempt to find the village, but he was fast losing hope of ever doing so.
Two weeks had now passed since Harry had arrived at the Grangers’ front door and he knew that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna would have returned to Hogwarts for their final year. Sometimes when he lay awake at night, he would reflect on how painful it was that they were going to get to spend their year together while he was all alone, trying to find ways to defeat Voldemort. Then he would furiously berate himself for such selfish thoughts and tell himself that this was the only thing to do, for all their sakes.
With an angry gesture and a whispered expletive, Harry pushed the map aside. It, too, had proven to be a broken reed in assisting him in finding Godric’s Hollow. Harry eased back on the sofa that he was seated on, and leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and began to consider his options. Apparition was out of the question; he needed to know where he was going to be able to concentrate on it. And the last thing he needed, after his painstaking attempts at staying hidden, was to end up splinched and having to return to St. Mungo’s and report to the Ministry of Magic. Flying was useless as well; unless he learnt to converse with birds and ask them directions, he would again be hopelessly lost. The ideal mode of transport in the situation would be the Knight Bus. But with Stan Shunpike still in Azkaban and the threat of Voldemort growing by the day, the Ministry had decided to temporarily halt the services of the Knight Bus. In the infinite wisdom that comes to men in power, they had felt that it was one less target for the Death Eaters to attack; though whether the Death Eaters would really bother to attack a bus that traveled like the wind is debatable. However, the painful knowledge, that comes to all and sundry when dealing in matters decreed by the government, had allowed witches and wizards throughout England to bite the bullet and carry on gamely without the Knight Bus.
Try as he might, Harry could not think of any other way of getting to Godric’s Hollow. He was just considering drastically altering his plans and trying to contact Lupin to ask him the way, when he heard someone clear their throat. Opening his eyes, he saw Mrs. Granger standing at entrance to the living room, smiling at him and holding a cup of steaming hot liquid.
“Some tea might help your search,” she said, smiling. “And perhaps calm your nerves, as well?” she added, looking at the map that had been unceremoniously dumped on the floor.
Harry hastily picked the map up and folding it neatly, he placed it on the table by the time Mrs. Granger placed the cup of tea before him. She cut short his apologies with a smile and a wave of the hand, as she seated herself on a comfortable armchair facing him.
“After all these years of marriage, I think I know a certain amount about men and their tempers,” she said, “Besides, you’re under a great deal of pressure so it’s only understandable.”
Harry settled himself comfortably in the sofa again and took a sip of the tea. And indeed it did cause him to calm down almost immediately. He took another sip and felt himself begin to relax. “This is good tea,” he said, feeling the warmth course through him.
“Thank you, Harry,” replied Mrs. Granger. “So I take it your search hasn’t been very successful?”
“It’s been a total fiasco really,” said Harry meditatively. “It was the one weak link and because of it, all my plans have been destroyed, or at least drastically altered.”
“Well, I find that when I’m getting frustrated by a case, it helps to talk of something totally unrelated. It can clear the mind, and then when you return to the problem, you’re more likely to get to the solution. Why don’t you try that?” she suggested.
“But what can I talk about?” asked Harry.
“How about sports? Mr. Granger was lamenting your apparent lack on interest in cricket and football,” she confided, “But surely there must be some sport that interests you.”
“There is one. A magical sport called Quidditch,” replied Harry, his eyes holding the faraway look of one recollecting better days, “I play that… or rather I used to play that at Hogwarts.”
“Now I remember,” said Mrs. Granger suddenly, “Wasn’t there a… Kwidditch World Cup final or something a couple of years ago? Hermione mentioned that she was going with you and the Weasleys, for that match.”
“Yes Ma’am, just before our fourth year it was,” Harry said, remembering that famous match, “Ireland against Bulgaria. Ireland won.”
“I see. But surely a World Cup final of even a magical sport would require quite a lot of space for the stadium and the people attending, so was there enough space for everyone?” Mrs. Granger asked, interested.
“Oh yes,” answered Harry, “it was held in a sort of moor and there was lot of magic used to make sure non-magical folk couldn’t see it.”
“Oh, and is this close to where the Weasleys live?” asked Mrs. Granger, “If I remember correctly, Hermione went to the Weasleys’ house and she said that you’d be going to the World Cup from there.”
“No, it’s not close to the Burrow at all,” said Harry quickly, “in fact, to get to the stadium we had to use a…”
“Harry, are you alright?” asked Mrs. Granger with concern. For Harry had sat up suddenly, and but for the fact that he had already finished his tea, he probably would have sent it flying across the table in front of him. His eyes were shining with the light of sudden realization.
“Of course,” he cried, “I’ve been so blind.”
“I beg your pardon,” asked Mrs. Granger clearly not abreast of what was going on.
Harry did not enlighten her further, if anything he plunged her further into confusion by asking a rather strange question. “Mrs. Granger, do you have an old bottle or a soft drink can or something like that?”
Mrs. Granger remained seated, unsure of what to do, and wondering whether Harry had gone off his head. An old bottle or soft drinks can? Whatever would he want with those?
Harry correctly interpreted her thoughts and smiled. It wasn’t the first time people had thought him a nutter. “I assure you, Mrs. Granger, it’s important because it can help me get to Godric’s Hollow,” he said and then seeing that this had the effect of causing her to look even more skeptical, he added, “With magic, of course.”
Mrs. Granger still had her doubts but she decided to trust Harry on this and so she left the room and returned a few moments later with an old bottle. Harry said a quick thank you and was about to rush out of the room when he paused.
“Since I’ve found the way to reach Godric’s Hollow, Mrs. Granger, I'll be leaving tonight,” he said, “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.” And he ran out of the room, before she could say anything, and almost collided with Mr. Granger, who had just returned home, in the corridor outside.
“Where’s the fire, Harry?” Mr. Granger asked, once he had recovered his balance after the rather ungainly two-step he’d had to do to avoid the collision.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Granger,” said Harry, “It’s just that I’ve found out how to get to Godric’s Hollow so I’m leaving now.”
“At nine in the night? Are you sure its wise, Harry?” asked Mrs. Granger who had come out into the corridor and was looking slightly worried, “Wouldn’t it be better to leave in the morning?”
“I must go now, Mrs. Granger, it’s time I got around to getting on with what I have to do,” Harry said, then noticing the worried frown on her face, he continued softly, “And before that I have to see where my parents were buried… for the first time.”
Mrs. Granger’s expression softened and slowly she nodded, as did Mr. Granger who was smiling at Harry. Harry hastened upstairs to his room and opening his trunk and put the bottle right at the top. His trunk was all packed in readiness for his departure. All the contents of the bag that he had taken to the Burrow had also been bundled into the trunk. Hedwig was sleeping inside her cage. Shutting his trunk, Harry stood up and walking over to the cage he gently stroked the owl’s head.
“Time to get up, old girl,” he said softly, “We have to be off.”
Hedwig hooted sleepily, but she was soon alert, her eyes roving across the room. Harry quickly checked that he had got everything. Satisfied, he made his way to Hermione’s room. There he pulled down one of her magically hidden books. Flipping through the pages he finally came to the chapter he wanted… portkeys. Harry quickly read through the whole chapter, making sure that he knew exactly how to create a portkey and avoid any unfortunate accidents. Once he was confident of creating them, he shut the book, replaced it and returned to his room. He thanked his lucky stars that he had overheard Mr. Weasley and Lupin discussing the fact that the Ministry had passed a decree allowing portkeys to be set up without authorization. He pulled his trunk, which was on casters, with one hand and with the other he held Hedwig’s cage as he headed downstairs.
After one near mishap, when he almost lost control of the trunk, Harry got downstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were standing by the door, waiting to see him off. Harry put Hedwig’s cage on the floor and stood the trunk vertically. He gripped Mr. Granger’s extended hand and shook it.
“Best of luck, Harry, and be careful,” said Mr. Granger.
“I will, sir, and thank you for letting me stay for so long,” said Harry earnestly.
“Oh nonsense,” replied Mr. Granger waving his hand dismissively, “We’ve enjoyed having you here.”
“Goodbye, Harry,” said Mrs. Granger, as she pulled Harry into a hug which, thankfully for him, wasn’t as rib cracking as Mrs. Weasley’s hugs. “Take care of yourself,” she admonished as he stepped back, and then she smiled at him and softly said, “Your parents would be proud of you.”
Harry nodded, a lump rising in his throat; wanting to believe that she was right, and knowing that he had a long way to go before he could truly admit to having made his parents proud. He picked up cage and gripped his trunk. Mr. Granger opened the door for him and Harry stepped out into the cool night air.
“Oh, and Harry,” Mrs. Granger called out.
Harry turned to face her and she continued, “Thank you.”
“For what, Mrs. Granger?” asked Harry bewildered, wondering what she could be thanking him for.
“For taking care of Hermione,” she answered.
Harry had to smile, “Well, I should be the one thanking her,” he said, “She’s probably taken better care of me, than I have of her.”
“Thanks all the same,” said Mrs. Granger smiling.
“You’re welcome,” he said, and turning, he walked down to the driveway and out to the pavement. Once on the pavement, Harry looked back and waved to the two people standing in the doorway, and they waved back to him. Then, taking a firm grip of his trunk and Hedwig’s cage, he strode purposefully into the night and was gone.
Harry strode along quickly, knowing that a young man with a broomstick strapped to his trunk and holding a cage with a snowy white owl was likely to cause comment. He had the hood of his jacket drawn over his forehead but he knew that it was unlikely to keep him from detection for long. However, luck was with him and after walking for about five minutes he came upon a house for sale, its front garden completely dark and shielded from the road by a tall, thick hedge. Harry checked up and down the road for any sign of activity, or of people who might wonder at his entering an empty house. The road happened to be empty, save for a man walking a dog about two hundred metres away. Harry tried to be as inconspicuous as possible and soon the man entered one of the houses without having cast a single glance towards Harry.
Harry checked up and down again and satisfied that the road was now empty; he sneaked into the garden of the house through the unlocked gate. He withdrew to the darkest corner of the garden and making sure that he couldn’t be seen from the road; he opened his trunk, took out the bottle and placed it on the ground. He ran through the chapter on portkeys in his mind again. Drawing his wand, Harry concentrated on where he had to go and then, pointing the wand at the bottle, he said “Portus”. The bottle glowed briefly before resuming its normal, innocent appearance. Harry gripped both his trunk and Hedwig’s cage firmly in his left hand and then extending his right he took hold of the bottle. Immediately he felt the tug behind his navel and had the sensation of being spun around very fast. And then, almost as soon as it had begun, the spinning stopped and Harry went sprawling along a cobbled pavement, losing his grip on the cage and trunk, and sending them clattering away.
Harry picked himself up quickly, his ears still ringing with the clanging of the trunk bouncing along the ground. He felt sure that someone would have heard the din and would come to investigate, and if it were to be a policeman, then he would most probably have quite a lot of quick explaining to do. But as he picked up his trunk and ran over to soothe Hedwig, who was feeling rather disgruntled at this shoddy treatment, no one came and the street that he was on, remained as silent and empty as it had been. Harry took a good look around at his surroundings. He was in a narrow street lined with two-storey houses, all of which looked alike. It was almost like being back at Privet Drive; only these houses were nothing like the ones he had seen, growing up. These houses were grimy and coated with layers of dirt. The paint was peeling off the walls and most of the windows were broken, most likely by random stones and cricket balls. Obviously the inhabitants of Godric’s Hollow didn’t bother too much about outwardly appearances. Harry picked up the bottle and dropped into a nearby dustbin, which was already overflowing with garbage from all the kitchens of the houses on that street. Harry knew he had to look around and perhaps find someone who could guide him to his parents’ house, and he couldn’t do that, encumbered as he was with a trunk and a cage. He dragged the trunk and placed it next to the dustbin so that it was out of the way of any passers-by, and he placed Hedwig’s cage on top of it.
“I’m going to have to explore a bit, Hedwig,” he told the owl, “I’ll be back soon, until then stay still and don’t make a sound.”
Hedwig hooted in reply, a trifle coldly, Harry thought, but she was silent after that. Harry had taken out his invisibility cloak and he now draped it over the cage and the trunk so that they were completely invisible. Then he began to walk towards the next street that intersected with the one he was on, about a hundred meters further. He wished fervently that he would meet someone who could direct him without asking too many questions.
Strangely enough, Godric’s Hollow seemed to have called it a night and Harry didn’t meet a soul. He was, in fact, beginning to suspect that he had stumbled onto a ghost town but the lights in the windows of the houses confirmed that there were people there; however, none of them seemed to roam the streets at night. Harry was starting to wonder if he should just walk up to one of the houses, knock on the door and ask whoever answered whether they knew where the Potters had lived. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to doing this, so he stood undecided on the street; letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would”, like the poor cat i’ the adage*. It was as he was looking up uncertainly at the windows of the house nearest to him, that he heard someone mumbling incoherently, and the sound of approaching footsteps.
Looking up the street, Harry could make out the silhouette of a man, the first human he had seen in Godric’s Hollow up until then. The man was swaying rather than walking and it was quite obvious that he was gloriously drunk. In his hand was clasped a bottle, and he occasionally took swigs from it as he walked. Harry didn’t particularly want to converse with the town drunk and he began to walk hurriedly along, trying to avoid looking at the man. The man was coming closer, now they were abreast and then as Harry was almost past him, the man stumbled on a stone and pitched forward, Instinctively, Harry darted towards him and caught him before his head hit the pavement. Hauling him up, Harry supported his weight and guided him over to the steps that led up to one of the houses, and eased him onto them. The man sat down as comfortably as he could, and he hiccupped his thanks to Harry. Harry looked up and down the street but there was still no other sign of life, unless you counted a cat that scuttled behind a dustbin looking for scraps to feed on. Feeling that he could do no worse than question the drunkard after all, Harry seated himself down next to him. The man regarded him with bleary eyes.
“Aye, not as young as I once was. Shansks hic… shanks for catchin’ me,” he slurred. Harry made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat; the fumes emanating from the man were starting to make him feel light-headed. The man took another large gulp out of his bottle and turned a watery gaze on Harry.
“I ain’t seen you around these parts. You new here?” he asked. Harry nodded in response.
“Thought so… hic. So whereabouts you from?” he continued the interrogation.
“London,” mumbled Harry. The man lifted the bottle to his lips, and then he eyed Harry as keenly as his eyes would permit in his rather brightly illuminated condition.
“So, what is a young man from London doin’ in Godric’s Hollow?” he asked. Harry thought quickly, obviously this drunkard was no fool even when completely inebriated, so he needed a good story.
“Well, I’m related to some people who used to live here; the Potters,” Harry began, “They died about sixteen years ago in a gas explosion.”
The man took another drink but now his whole demeanor had changed, his back had slumped and his eyes had the unfocused look of one who is about to reminisce.
“I knew them, the Potters,” he began, “Mr. James he was such a gentleman, always helping people out around the village and taking good care of his family. And then Miss Lily, she was the sweetest lady you could ever know. She’d always give me something whenever I passed by their house.” The man sighed, “Yup, you couldn’t find a more happy and wonderful couple anywhere.”
Harry felt the familiar lump in his throat rising again. This was the first muggle who admitted to knowing and admiring his parents; the Dursleys had always been derisive of them. In his mind, a picture arose of his parents as they might have been when they had moved into Godric's Hollow.
The man continued talking, “And they had a son, Harry I think his name was, and you wouldn’t find a better-behaved baby. Never used to cry or anythin’,” he said smiling, “I reckon he’d be about your age by now.”
“What do you mean? Didn’t he die in the explosion,” Harry asked, quickly latching on to what the man had said.
“No one really knows. They found Mr. James and Miss Lily’s bodies but not the baby’s. And then, strange folk began to show up around here, looking at the house and some looking right happy to see it. That’s when the rest of the folk here began to be more careful. Ain’t nobody come out after dark now,” he finished and slaked his thirst with another go at the bottle.
“And why is that?” asked Harry, now fishing for more answers.
The man lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Some say it was no gas explosion that killed the Potters. Someone did them in and it wasn’t by any way that folks here know of, though they guess often enough. Something happened that night… something evil. That’s what…” the man yawned widely, “That’s what folks around here believe anyhow.”
“So where was their house?” asked Harry desperately.
“Eh... oh, straight down this street, left at the lamp-post you see there, then first right. That be the area where all them bigger houses be,” the man explained, “You can’t miss it, it’s still charred from the explosion. There’s no one who’ll go near that house no more. ‘nfact, people next door moved out too. That street’s deserted now,” said the man, and then he yawned again.
Harry waited a few moments, and then the bottle slipped out of the man’s hand and dropped to the ground, where it luckily did not break but rather rolled away into the street. Harry could hear the man’s snores, and slowly, the man began to slide sideways. Harry grabbed the man’s shoulders and leant him more comfortably against the wall of the house on whose steps he was seated. Making sure that the man was as comfortable as could be expected in the situation; Harry got up and ran back to where he had left Hedwig and the trunk. A half hour later, Harry Potter was standing in front of the house that he had spent the first year of his life in.
It was unlike any house that he had seen. Almost the whole front of the house had been blown away and he could see clearly into many of the rooms. Even though the explosion had blackened the paint on the house, it was the most beautiful place in the world to Harry. Silently checking to see that no one was watching, Harry walked forward, there was no door anymore, and soon he was standing inside the house itself, and feeling for the first time outside of Hogwarts; that he was home.
It didn’t take Harry very long to explore the house. As he walked through this place that he should have remembered for the joy but only knew of the sorrow, he felt that he had become a vortex of emotions, unsure of exactly what he was feeling. Sadness for what had happened to his parents. Thoughts of vengeance jostled for their place in his mind as well. He felt a small measure of happiness for having been able to return at least once. And finally there was some guilt too; wondering if that all that had happened was in some indirect way, his fault. All these thoughts swirled around in his mind.
The living room, which was he standing in, was unrecognizable as such, having been blown away completely; Harry figured this was where his father had battled Voldemort. The battle had then moved to the dining room, where he had probably made his final stand while urging his wife to take the baby and run. The kitchen was relatively normal and the dining room wasn’t as badly affected as the living room, making it clear that James Potter’s final stand hadn’t lasted long.
Harry climbed the rickety staircase that led up to the first floor. The guest room was untouched and there were only two rooms left in the floor. One was his parent’s bedroom, which seemed to be unaffected, though the door had been blown open; the other was his own. Harry paused before opening the door, dreading what he would see. As he entered his eyes fell upon a cradle, in which he had probably sat, or perhaps even slept, as Voldemort had walked through the house. He could imagine the scene, his mother standing in front of the cradle shielding him; Voldemort blasting open the door; his mother pleading, not for her own life, but for the life of her son and then falling as the killing curse hit her. And once Lily was gone, Voldemort had turned his wand to baby Harry, and had said the two words that should have killed him instantly. Only they hadn’t, all because of his mother’s sacrifice.
Harry felt tears sting his eyes and he angrily brushed them away. The time for tears is over, there's work to be done, he told himself sternly. Taking one last look at the remnants of his old playroom, Harry closed the door and returned to the ground floor; and then he began to search.
For five hours Harry diligently searched the entire house; knocking on walls, looking under rugs, and even pulling up loose, and some not so loose, floorboards; looking for anything that could even remotely be a Horcrux. But finally at four in the morning, he admitted defeat. There was nothing in the house that Voldemort could have turned into a Horcrux. As Harry stood in the destroyed living room looking out on the empty street in front, he suddenly realized that he was exhausted. He knew that this wasn’t the safest place to be; that he had to move along and continue the search; that he had to see his parents’ graves as well. But for the moment, sleep was the only thing that he could think of. Wearily, weighed down by failure and sadness, Harry got his trunk. He let Hedwig out for her nightly hunt and as she flew away into the night sky, he trudged up the staircase and went into the guest room that still had a bed; probably his parents had kept it prepared just in case any visitors dropped in. Welcome visitors, that is. The bed was covered with layers of dust but Harry really couldn’t care less. He dusted it off as best he could and then fell on it. He took his glasses off and placed them on top of his trunk, and then he was overcome by tiredness and he slept.
It was the sunlight filtering in through the open window that woke Harry in the morning. Yawning, he checked the time and saw that it was already ten in the morning. He dragged himself out of bed, and stood looking out the window at the back garden of the house, which was now overgrown with weeds due to sixteen years of neglect. He felt hungry and dirty from having spent the whole of the previous night in the dusty old house but he didn't focus on these things. He put on his glasses and went back to searching the house. He went through it, this time with a fine toothcomb, making sure that he did not miss anything. He even checked in the gardens, both in the front and the back, pulling up weeds and throwing them hither and thither as he searched. From time to time he looked out onto the street in front of the house, expecting to see someone pass by. But not a single person passed in all the time that he spent searching the house, it was almost as if this area was no longer considered part of Godric's Hollow. Harry spent the whole morning and the most part of the afternoon searching. It was only when the sun was making it trajectory downwards towards the west that he admitted defeat; there was no Horcrux in the house.
Harry sat on the bed in the guest room again, thinking of any other possible places that the Horcruxes could have been hidden. He was sorely disappointed that the search of his parents' house had turned up nothing. It was as he was looking out the window at nothing in particular, that he noticed the steeple of a small church. He quickly strode over to the window to take a closer look, sure enough, there was the church and next to it was a small grove of trees, which seemed to be shielding a small plot of land. Harry focused his keen, Seeker eyes on a gap between the trees and he could just make out... gravestones. He had found the Godric's Hollow cemetery. Harry's mind was in a quandary, one the one hand he didn't want to leave yet. On the other, he knew it wasn't safe to spend another night in the house, unprotected as he was. And he needed to see his parents' graves as well. Thinking hard, Harry came to a decision, his trunk was still packed and Hedwig had returned after a night of successful hunting. It was time for him to leave his parents' house.
Harry took hold of the trunk and the cage and set off downstairs, but this time he exited the house from the back, which seemed to be the shortest way to the church. He walked briskly, constantly looking over his shoulder to check if there was someone watching him. But he needn't have feared because he saw no one and he walked on, thinking that in all his time in Godric's Hollow he had only met one human being, and he didn't even know that man's name. Lost in his thoughts, he almost walked on past the church compound. The church itself was small, likely to seat about two hundred people at most and it was white in colour though it had faded over the years. The gardens in front were well maintained and to the left were the trees, which formed a screen to the cemetery, affording a measure of privacy for mourners. Harry quietly entered the church compound and followed the path that entered the cemetery. He walked through the silent graveyard; the twittering of birds was the only sound that broke the silence. Idly, Harry read the names on some of the gravestones as we walked by until he came upon two graves that were set together. Slowly, Harry walked closer and he could see that he had finally found his parents. After sixteen years, he had found their final resting place; two graves marked, James and Lily Potter.
Harry knelt down and with his bare palm he swept off the leaves and dust that had accumulated on top of the graves. Then, opening his trunk he took out two candles that he had nicked from Privet Drive. Checking to see that no one was watching, he drew out his wand and lit the two candles and placed them on his parents' graves. He then conjured up two bouquets, and placed them by the candles. Satisfied, he sat down, cross-legged, on the ground in front of the graves, unsure of what else he could do. Shouldn't I be crying for my parents? Yet no tears would come, and he could only look at the gravestones, all that remained of two of the most wonderful people in the world. And then, without meaning to, he began to talk to them.
“Hi Mum, hi Dad,” he began, “So here I am, finally. Took me long enough to find you, I suppose.” He paused feeling incredibly foolish, yet unbelievably happy at the same time.
“The time's come for me to go after Voldemort and destroy him. He has taken too many lives; too many of those that I have cared about. I can't let him go on,” he said, his voice getting stronger. And then just as suddenly, his voice dropped.
“It's hard that I have to do this alone,” he conceded, “But it has to be this way. Ron and Hermione, they'd come anywhere if I asked them too, but I can't. I won't put them in the same situation. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to either of them, it would destroy me.”
Harry paused, looked at his father's grave and smiled. “I think you would have liked Ron, Dad. He does tend to enjoy attention when he can get it but he never lets it go to his head. He's great to be with, loads of fun. I could go on and on about how he's cheered me up when I've needed it.”
Then he turned and looking fondly at his mother's grave, Harry spoke to her. “And I think you would've liked Hermione, Mum. She's exactly like you were. Smart; after all she is the best witch in our year. She's passionate about whatever she believes in, and she can't bear to see any injustice being done. She probably would have sold you the idea of S.P.E.W. as well,” he said, grinning.
Harry paused and heaving a huge sigh, he continued, “I miss them so much; I wish they were here. But they can't be, and I just have to live with that.”
A light breeze began to blow through the cemetery. The candles sputtered in the wind, and before Harry could do anything about it, they went out. Harry smiled grimly. Story of my life, he thought, every time I have a chance at happiness, something comes along and blows out the light.
Harry stood up and dusted off the seat of his jeans as he returned to the task at hand. He unstrapped his broom and took out his invisibility cloak, and then he remembered. “Oh and Dad, thanks for the invisibility cloak. It's been really useful,” he said, addressing his remarks to the gravestone marked James Potter. Harry quietly attached Hedwig's cage and his trunk to the broom, then checking one last time that there were no onlookers, he mounted the broom and drew the cloak over himself, the broom, the cage and the trunk. Though weighted heavily, Harry knew that the finely tuned performance of the Firebolt XL would enable it to handle the additional load.
Ready to leave, Harry turned one last time towards the two graves, “Bye, Mum, Dad, I love you. I know that you'll be there with me, wherever I go. I hope that, one day, I can make you proud by destroying Voldemort and ending all this fear that the magical world is living in.”
Then he turned to face the darkening sky and kicking off lightly from the ground, he was soon soaring away, leaving behind the village of Godric's Hollow. Next stop: the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
A/N: Once again, I am so sorry that this chapter took so long. I was completely overwhelmed with work. I also need to profusely thank my beta reader again for her tips and her encouragement; this chapter is a lot better thanks to her. Though this chapter focused solely on Harry, have no fears, I have not forgotten the rest of the gang and we shall be meeting them soon.
*”Letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would’, like the poor cat i’ the adage” “ is taken from Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’ Act I Scene VII.
Chow for now.
Scarhead Steve.