There was complete silence between the three of them as they walked down the lane towards the Potter home. Halfway up the lane, Harry stopped. He looked toward the cottage sitting there.
As Hermione turned to ask Harry why he stopped, she realized they were in front of Bathilda Bagshot’s home. Reaching out, she took Harry’s hand and squeezed it.
“Harry, it’s okay. We’re okay. It’s all over now.” Hermione was worried Harry was reliving the terrifying scene on the second floor of the house.
“I’m fine, Hermione. I was just wondering if she had any family.” Harry gave Hermione a brief smile.
“Whose house is this?” Ron asked.
“Ron, this was Bathilda Bagshot’s home. This is where Harry was attacked by Nagini last year.” Hermione stated this with impatience in her voice.
“Oh. Is that the window where you two jumped out of the house?” Ron pointed to the broken window on the side of the house.
Looking up, Harry nodded. He then started walking up the little hill towards his parents’ home. As they approached, Harry noticed it the only change he could see to the cottage was the snow was gone. As he did last time, he placed his hands on the gate. Once again the sign rose out of the ground.
The amount of writing on the sign had increased since they were here last December. But, the messages over the well wishes were what drew Harry’s attention. Scribbled in many different coloured inks, by many different hands, were the same two words over and over again.
Thank you.
Those two simple words meant as much to Harry as all the well wishes they were written on. It did not matter it had been written dozens of times, it could have been written one single time and he would have felt the same. He felt his heart swell with something he couldn’t describe. All he knew was unknown witches and wizards had come to this spot and wrote on the sign to thank him not knowing if he would ever see it.
Taking a deep breath, Harry gently pushed on the gate to open it. It opened silently and easily under his hand. He did not think to ask Kingsley if he had to be physically touching anyone he wanted to bring into the yard, so he took Hermione’s hand in one of his and with the other gripped the top of Ron’s arm. Slowly, they made their way through the gate and into the overgrown yard. Once they had cleared the gate, Harry let go of them and turned and closed the gate.
Then without looking right or left, Harry walked directly to the front door. Now that he was faced with the reality of going into the house where he had lived the first fifteen months of his life, he hesitated.
What would he find when he opened the door? Would there be obvious signs of where his parents died? Harry knew his father had died in the entryway. In his mind, he could see the events of that terrible night. He didn’t know if he could walk through this door knowing he was walking over the spot where his dad died trying to save him and his mother. Shaking, he backed away from the door.
“Harry, what’s wrong? I thought we were going to go in?” Ron asked.
“Harry, do you want to see if there is a back door?” Hermione asked him gently. She had an idea of what he was thinking about. She knew as hard as this was on her, it was much harder for Harry. He had been here that night. He had seen exactly what had happened to his parents, to their parents, the night they were killed through Voldemort’s memories after their last disastrous trip here.
“What? Another door?” Harry sounded confused.
“Yes, maybe there is another door around the back we can use. Ron, why don’t you go and look. I’ll stay here with Harry.” Hermione moved closer to Harry and laid her hand on his arm.
Shrugging his shoulders, Ron set off around the house to look for another door. After only a few moments, he returned.
“There is a door out back. It looks like it goes into the kitchen.” Ron told them when he returned.
“Harry, why don’t we go in that way?” Hermione gently tugged on Harry’s arm.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.” Harry started to follow Ron around the house.
The yard in the back was even more overgrown than the front. Here, though, flowers were mixed throughout the weeds and grass. Harry was amazed the flowers had survived the neglect of the past seventeen years. Walking straight to the door, Harry turned the handle and opened the door into the kitchen. Once again, he took Hermione’s hand and Ron’s arm as they walked squeezed awkwardly through the doorway.
The kitchen looked as if it was frozen in time. The only evidence to the fact no one lived here for years was the thick layer of dust on every surface. Slowly, Harry walked around the kitchen looking at everything, but touching nothing.
Hermione stood next to the door looking unsure. Ron reached over and took her hand and led her to the centre of the room.
After walking around the room twice, Harry stopped at the door leading deeper into the house. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. It led into the living room. As in the kitchen, this room was also covered in dust. Every surface had a greyish cast to it. He heard Hermione and Ron enter the room behind him.
Harry walked directly over to the fireplace. Picking up the first photograph on the mantle, he wiped the dust off to look at the picture. It was a picture of his parents. He knew this picture well because it was one of the pictures that were in the photograph album Hagrid had given Harry at the end of his first year of Hogwarts.
Harry sensed Hermione and Ron standing next to him. He handed the picture to Hermione before he picked up the second photograph. It wasn’t until the very last photograph he found one he didn’t already have. This picture was of Sirius holding him. Harry could tell by the look on Sirius’ face he was enjoying holding him.
Turning to Hermione, he said, “Hermione, I have all this photos in my album from Hagrid, except for this one. I want you to have those.”
Hermione looked from Harry to the pictures on the mantle to the one she still held in her hands. Without any warning, Hermione burst into tears. Ron looked at Harry and then pulled Hermione into his arms. Though she stiffened slightly at his touch, within moments she relaxed into his embrace.
Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t mean to make Hermione cry, again. He turned his back on them and walked over the door on the other side of the room. Pulling it open, he found it was a closet. He had a brief flash of a memory of sitting by this closet door crying. Harry didn’t know why he had been crying other than there was something in here he had wanted.
Moving aside the coats and robes that had surely belonged to his parents, Harry spotted something small propped up in the back corner. Reaching in, he grabbed it and pulled it out. It was a broomstick, a toy broomstick. This must be the one Sirius bought him for his first birthday.
“Guys, look at this. It’s the broomstick Sirius sent me for my first birthday!” Harry cried excitedly.
Hermione pulled out of Ron’s arms and both walked quickly over to him.
“Blimey, Harry. It’s so small. Just think, you used to ride on that.” Ron’s voice held a definite note of amusement.
Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the image Ron’s words put in her mind. She knew coming here was what she needed to do to help her to find out who she was, but she should have realized what this trip would mean to Harry. He has searched for the past seventeen years for answers. Hermione was glad she suggested coming here, not for herself, but for Harry.
“Harry, do you want to go upstairs? I think it would be safe as long as we stay away from... that part of the house.” She couldn’t say ‘your bedroom’. She couldn’t say it because she knew her mother had died in that room. Hermione was finally beginning to accept that the Potters were her parents, too.
Hermione didn’t wait for an answer from Harry, she just reached out and took his free hand and walked towards the open doorway. She only hoped they could get through the next few minutes of crossing over the area at the bottom of the stairs where their father died and actually go upstairs.
Crossing the foyer was probably one of the hardest things Harry or Hermione ever did. Harry could see his father’s broken body lying on the floor. He knew it was just a memory, but he also knew it was an accurate memory. Trying his best to block the image from his mind, Harry started up the stairs with Hermione at his side and Ron trailing behind… Again.
At the top of the stairs, Harry turned left. He didn’t know why, he was just going on instinct. There was a door at the end of the hall. Slowly, he opened it. As downstairs, the room was covered in dust. He knew immediately he had found his parents’ bedroom. Walking in slowly, he looked around.
In between two windows on the far wall stood a bed with small dressers on each side of it. On each side wall there was a dresser. The one on his right had more photos on it. But, it was the one on his left that caught his attention. Sitting on top of the dresser was a long thin box. As Harry approached the dresser, he noticed the layer of dust was less on the box than on all the other surfaces in the house.
On the top of box there was a letter. He set the toy broomstick down behind the box and picked up the letter. Harry was shocked to see it had his name on it. Without hesitation, he ripped open the letter. Hermione and Ron joined him at the dresser. Harry unfolded the piece of parchment and held it so both of them could read it with him. The first thing he noticed before he had even read a single word was it was written in Dumbledore’s familiar writing.
Harry,
I have asked Hagrid to bring this box and letter to the one place I know you will eventually find it. I know without a doubt you will seek answers and I hope closure. To that end, I felt leaving these here would be the best course of action.
I know you are going to question why I did not give these to you when you were in school. I believe the timing of returning these to you is very important. Though I do believe you probably should have been given these before now, I think you will appreciate them more now.
I can only assume you are reading this because you came to your childhood home to finally put the past to rest. To find acceptance and, for lack of a better term, to be able to move on with your life.
I have kept these safe for you as I have kept the house safe. I wish I could say I managed to keep you as safe through the years. But, alas, that is another topic for discussion.
Professor Dumbledore
Harry handed the letter to Hermione. He quickly picked up the box and lifted the lid. Inside were two wands. Harry had a flash of memory of Mr. Ollivander telling him about his parents’ wands.
“It seems only yesterday your mother was in here buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.
“Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration.” *
Harry drew out the mahogany wand. Looking down at it, he smiled. Whether or not the wand really chose the wizard, a wand excellent for transfiguration was exactly what his father had needed. He reached into the box and drawing out his mother’s willow wand, turned to Hermione.
“I think you should have this. It was Mum’s. I am going to keep Dad’s, but I want you to have Mum’s.” Harry handed the wand to Hermione.
Hermione looked down at the wand she held in her hand. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Harry giving this to her. He had told her to take the pictures downstairs, but this… This was too much.
“Harry, I don’t need to have this. I think you should keep it. You can give it to your daughter, if you have one.” Hermione made to hand the wand back to Harry.
“Hermione, I want you to have it. You can give it to your daughter when you have one.” Smiling, Harry looked from Hermione to Ron. The look on Ron’s face was a mixture of shock, embarrassment and something that looked like longing to Harry.
At Harry glance, Ron shrugged his shoulders. He looked around the room desperate for something to take the image of Hermione pregnant with his child out of his mind. He spotted a book lying on the dresser on the opposite wall. Walking over, he picked it up.
He could tell from just looking at it, it was a photo album. “Harry, look at this. It’s a photo album.”
Ron watched as Harry walked over to him. He noticed Hermione didn’t move from her place by the dresser. She still held the wand in her hand and was staring down at it. Ron could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Ron didn’t know what to do to help her through this. He always thought of Hermione as the strong one in their little group. Over the past twenty-four hours, he had seen her cry more than he had in the entire time he knew her.
As Harry approached Ron, Ron held out the photo album to him. Harry started to reach for it, but at the last moment, pulled his hand back. He turned and walked back to the other dresser, he once again picked up the toy broomstick then looking at Hermione, said, “Let’s go downstairs and look at the photo album.”
“Okay,” Hermione said simply.
Ron started towards the door of the bedroom followed by Hermione and then Harry. Ron was halfway down the stairs when he heard Harry say, “Hermione, what is it?”
Hermione had stopped at the top of the stairs and was staring down the short hallway. Harry looked over Hermione’s shoulder to see what it was that had her standing so still.
At the end of the short hallway there was a door. From under the door, bright sunlight could be seen. Harry knew instantly that was the door to his old bedroom.
“What’s going on? What are you doing?” Ron’s voice echoed up the stairs.
Hermione walked slowly towards the door and before Harry could catch up with her and stop her, she opened the door.
Who Am I? by mudbloodproud
Chapter Notes: Once again, I want to thank my beta, Harry_Rulz (Lexi). Without her, this story would not be what it is.
Everything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. I am only playing in her world. A world I am very thankful to be able to play in.
Chapter Endnotes: * Quote from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s /Sorcerer’s Stone. Chapter five, page 83, American Scholastic paperback edition.