The front corner of the room from about waist high and including the ceiling over that portion of the room was gone. Sunlight, bright and cheerful shined throughout the entire room. Sitting on the wall opposite the destruction, was a crib. This room, unlike every other room in the house they had been in, was pristine in its cleanness. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen anywhere.
“Someone must have cast some sort of charm to protect the contents of this room. Perhaps the Impervius Charm along with some others,” Hermione said as she looked around.
Harry didn’t answer. He walked slowly over to the crib and looked down into it.
Unbidden, tears streamed down his face. When he felt the hand on his shoulder, he looked back at Hermione. He could see tears once again shimmering in her eyes. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him and they stood holding each other as they cried.
Unseen by either of them, Ron once again stood alone in the doorway. He was also crying. He was unable to tell if the tears were the result of watching his best friend and girlfriend in such pain, or were they from his own pain at being shut out. Again.
Ron turned and slowly walked downstairs. He went into the living room and, setting the photo album down on the couch, he began looking around. On either side of the fireplace, there were bookshelves. Ron walked over and began looking at the titles of the books. He noticed mixed in with the old school books were books on fighting the Dark
Arts.
Ron wandered over to the table at the end of the couch. He pulled open the drawer and looked inside. The first things Ron saw were several letters. As he pulled them out, he noticed a flash of golden wings. Curious, Ron reached his hand inside the drawer and closed his hand over the small object. Drawing it out, he looked down at it. It was a Snitch. Ron smiled; he knew this must have belonged to Harry’s father. He placed the letters on the tabletop and, still holding the Snitch, he sat down on the couch.
He was unsure if he should go upstairs and show Harry what he had found or just wait until they decided to come down themselves. Ron had expected this trip to be an emotional one for Harry and even for Hermione, but he had never expected to feel so left out. All he wanted to do was to comfort Hermione, but it seemed at least for now, Harry was the only one she wanted to lean on.
Deciding to wait downstairs for them, Ron reached over and picked up the letters. Looking at them, he realized they were from Sirius, Remus and possibly Peter. Glancing towards the staircase, Ron sighed and set the letters and the Snitch on the table. He settled himself a bit more comfortably on the couch and waited for Harry and Hermione to remember he was there.
***
Taking a deep breath, Hermione pulled gently away from Harry. She was tired of crying. She didn’t want to cry anymore. Hoping this last bout of tears would be the last, she smiled softly at her brother.
“Well, if you think you can manage to walk downstairs weighed down by the wetness of your shirt from my tears, maybe we should go down and find Ron.” Hermione didn’t know where the urge to joke came from, but it was a wonderful feeling. Perhaps she had finally cried all her tears.
Harry’s face showed his shock at Hermione’s joke. It was so comical, that Hermione had to laugh. “Come on, bro, let’s go find Ron.” Hermione tucked Lily’s wand that she was still holding into her ever-present beaded handbag. She took Harry’s hand and led him out of the room, stopping only to close the door behind her.
Hermione saw Ron look up as they entered the living room. She could see confusion and for the briefest of instant, suspicion on his face. She didn’t understand the emotions she could feel vibrating from him.
“Ron?” Hermione asked hesitantly, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ron answered quickly, too quickly. “Look what I found.” He pointed to the letters and the Snitch on the tabletop.
“My dad’s old Snitch!” Harry cried as he rushed over to pick it up. “I wonder if this is the one I saw him playing with after his O.W.L.s?”
“What do you mean, you saw him playing with a Snitch? When did you see that? And how?” Hermione looked at Harry questioningly.
“In Snape’s memories. I saw my dad playing with a Snitch before...” Harry broke off his sentence. He had never told them the complete story of that memory. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, especially now. Hermione didn’t need to know about that. Harry had long ago decided to accept the explanations of Remus and Sirius as to why his dad acted the way he did towards Snape.
Setting the Snitch, his father’s wand and the toy broomstick he was still holding on the coffee table, Harry picked up the letters and looked down at them. “Hey, some of these are from Sirius, and Remus. There were a couple letters that he didn’t recognize the handwriting on the envelopes. Wonder what’s in them?” Harry moved to sit on the couch next to Ron.
Hermione knew Harry wasn’t telling them everything, but she decided, with as emotional as the day had already been, she wasn’t going to push for an explanation. Taking her cue from Harry, she moved over and sat on the other side of him. As she started to sit down, she saw the photo album on cushion of the couch where she was going to sit.
Picking it up, she sat down and looked at Harry. “Harry, why don’t we look at these pictures first? Then, we can read those letters.” Hermione passed the album to Harry since he was in the middle.
Harry looked down at the cover of the book. He saw it had golden letters on it reading “The Marauders”. Smiling, Harry quickly opened it to the first page. The first picture was of the four Marauders, arms around each other, smiling broadly. Written underneath in his mother’s familiar handwriting were the words, ‘Moony, Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail, seventh year, 1978.’
Quickly, Harry turned the page. Over the next several pages, they saw various pictures of the Marauders. All had captions written underneath them in his mother’s writing. The pictures followed in chronological order with the exception of the very first photograph.
When they reached the pictures of their seventh year, there was an addition to some of the photos. Lily could now be seen among the four friends. There were shots of her with each of them singly, as well as group shots.
The one picture that had each of them gasping and looking at each other was the picture of Lily with Peter. They had their arms around each other’s waists and were laughing at the camera. Harry had the urge to rip the photo out of the book and tear it into tiny pieces. As he reached to do just that, Hermione grabbed his hand.
“Harry, whatever he did, at this point in time, he was their friend. We don’t know the whole story as to why he betrayed them. And in the end, he didn’t kill you.”
“He didn’t kill me because he couldn’t. I saved his life so he couldn’t take mine. Hermione, he would have killed me if he could have. He killed my, no, he killed our parents,” Harry’s voice trembled with barely suppressed anger.
“Harry is right, Hermione. He doesn’t deserve to be in these pictures. He doesn’t deserve to be remembered,” Ron’s voice was also laced with anger.
Harry resisted the urge to destroy the picture. He knew when he got back to Grimmauld Place he would cut the traitor out of all of the pictures. But for now, he just turned the page. The rest of the pictures were more of the same. It wasn’t until the very last page, Harry found the picture he had been secretly hoping was among them.
On one side, there was a picture of his dad and Sirius standing arm in arm, smiling broadly at the camera. The opposite page showed James and Sirius again, but this time they were in their Animagus forms. Standing side by side was the big black dog and a very large stag. Though Harry knew his father’s Animagus form, seeing it for the first time took his breath away.
“Wow,” Ron said.
Hermione looked at the photo. As she watched, the dog nipped at the stag playfully. The stag lowered his head to butt the dog away. When she saw this, she burst out laughing. Harry and Ron both looked at her then at each other. Within moments, all three were laughing at the antics of the dog and the stag.
When the laughter died down, Harry closed the book and placed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He looked down at the letters that had been on his lap under the photo album.
“I think we should wait until we get back to Grimmauld Place to read these.” He looked down at his watch before continuing, “It’s lunchtime. Do you want to head back into the village and see if we can find someplace to eat, or do you want to go back home to eat? We can come back here anytime you want, Hermione. I’m sure there are other things we will find when we come back.” Harry looked at Hermione awaiting her decision.
“Let’s go back to Grimmauld Place. Like you said, we can come back another day,” Hermione’s voice was soft and sad.
Standing up, Harry picked up the stuff he had set on the coffee table. He tucked the wand into his back pocket, the letters, the photo album and the toy broomstick he handed to Hermione to put in her bag. He then walked over to the mantelpiece to collect the photos there.
Before he could pick the first one up, Hermione said, “Harry, leave them for now. We can get them on our next trip.”
“Hermione, I want you to have these. They are your parents. You should have pictures of them.”
“I know, Harry,” Hermione said as she walked over to him. “How about this, I will take this one, and we can get the rest on our next trip.” Hermione picked up the picture of Lily and James on their wedding day.
How could she explain to Harry that by taking all the pictures she felt like she was betraying the Grangers? She couldn’t understand herself why she felt that way, so she knew she couldn’t make him understand.
Sighing, Harry relented. The three of them walked back into the kitchen and out the back door. Without speaking, they took each other’s hand, with Hermione in the middle and turned on the spot, disappearing with a distinct crack.
Who Am I? by mudbloodproud
Chapter Notes: I wish again to thank my wonderful patient beta, Lexi (Harry_Rulz). Thank you for sticking with me through this story.
Everything you recognize in this story belongs to J. K. Rowling. I am just thankful to get to play in her world.