The End

Chapter 20: Heroes or Ghosts

Harry wandered slowly down the street, gazing idly at the houses around him. Some faces in the windows gazed back. He had been reminded of his resemblance to his father enough times to wonder if his parents' former neighbors somehow recognized him, although he supposed that they just might not be accustomed to people simply appearing in the middle of the street. He'd neglected to consider the possibility that Godric's Hollow might be a Muggle village, which seemed a near certainty now that he'd gotten a look at the place: the houses certainly didn't look very magical. He was coming to realize that he'd forgotten to do a great many things, but he wasn't in the mood to rectify any of them. All that mattered to him was finding his parents' house.

He'd expected the house to be difficult, if not impossible, to tell apart from the others. After all, he had no idea where his house was or what it looked like, someone else could have moved in over the last seventeen years or the house could have been knocked down and replaced. He hadn't expected find a dingy and dusty looking house that was half collapsed and leaning at a strange angle. It looked as though the vines creeping up its sides were the only things keeping it standing. The building looked so out of place next to the neat little houses nearby that Harry suspected the neighbors would have done something about it if they only could have seen it. There was no doubt about it anymore; this had to be his old house, preserved by the Fidelius charm.

Harry drew his wand out of his pocket and stealthily cast a precautionary strengthening charm on the structure as he approached, wishing he could do the same to himself.

The front door opened easily, but hung crazily from its bottom hinge now that it was free of its frame, and Harry stepped into a modest entrance hall. There was a closed door to the left and a large living room on his right, at least that's what it used to be, judging by the remnants of a sofa, which was now crushed by a bathtub that had fallen through the ceiling with the rest of the bathroom and a bedroom.

"Neville!" Harry cried. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Do you?" Neville yelled back.

It was a question of complexity beyond anything Harry had been prepared for. Of course he wanted Bellatrix dead, or at least unable to cause anyone else harm, but he didn't want to be the one who put her that way, and he hoped that Neville didn't want to either. Still, if anyone was going to decide what should be done with her, it ought to be Neville, who'd suffered the most because of her handiwork.

Neville took Harry's silence as a no and refocused his entire attention on Bellatrix.

The Death Eater laughed. "Even little Harry Potter is afraid to face me, but you think you can do it alone? This should be entertaining."

As she was speaking, Neville pointed his wand at the suit of armor behind her. Misjudging where he'd aimed, Bellatrix leapt unnecessarily out of the way, but laughed even harder when she saw the result of Neville's attempt. His transfiguration had always been somewhat substandard, so his idea in someone else's hands might have been exactly what was needed to win the battle. However, as it was, it resulted only in a suit of armor which drew a sword and half heartedly raised it to attack Bellatrix before losing its purpose and freezing in place.

"Ooh, a distraction," Bellatrix cooed. "I'll be sure to watch out for that."

Without any further warning, Bellatrix brought her wand up and performed the same slashing spell that had incapacitated Hermione during the battle in the Department of Mysteries.

"Protego!" Neville yelped, stumbling backward as the purple spell overtook him.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny rushed forward, but before they were close enough to be of any help, Neville regained his footing and held up a hand, asking them to stay back. His other arm was occupied with clutching at his ribs. Apparently his shield charm hadn't been entirely effective.

He straightened up and faced Bellatrix, somehow looking even more determined than he had before.

"Eager for more?" Bellatrix asked, laughing shrilly. "I'll see what I can do, then."

A spell erupted from her wand before she'd even finished speaking, but Neville was ready for it this time and jumped out of the way, sending a curse back at his opponent.

It became immediately clear that any extended battle between Neville and Bellatrix could only end in favor of the Death Eater. Already, Neville's supply of advanced spells had been proven ineffective against his powerful opponent and he was reduced to trying to catch her off guard with the more basic ones.

Just as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had decided to ignore their friend's requests and join the fight, Neville finally landed a banishing charm on Bellatrix.

She tripped backwards into the suit of armor which Neville had attempted to transfigure and, consequently, directly into its sword, which impaled her through the stomach.

Bellatrix glanced down at the bloody sword which was now extending out from her midriff, but instead of looking surprised or horrified or even in pain, she threw her head back and laughed. It was sickening, watching her revel in the irony of her own undoing even as blood dripped from her torso and mouth.

Then Bellatrix did something no one anticipated- she raised her wand, pointed it at Neville, and shouted, "Cruc-!"

"Stupefy!" Neville replied, cutting her off.

Bellatrix immediately went slack and fell to the side, pulling the suit of armor down on top of her.

Neville didn't move as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny took Bellatrix's wand and tied her in ropes, just in case she managed to wake up.

"Neville, are you okay?" Harry asked carefully. The wizard in question seemed to be in shock: he hadn't even lowered his wand.

For a moment it looked like Neville hadn't heard Harry, then he said, "I wonder if they'll be alright now."

"Who?" Harry asked. The only 'they' he could think of were the Death Eaters, but that didn't make much sense.

"My parents," Neville replied hopefully, finally turning to face Harry. "After a wizard dies the spells they've cast disappear."

"Oh," Harry sighed, finding himself suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with Neville. He knew that wizards can't maintain their spells after death; he'd discovered that when Dumbledore died, but there was a radical difference between a freezing charm and insanity caused by being tortured with the Cruciatus curse. However, Harry couldn't stand the idea of crushing Neville's hopes so soon after he'd found them, especially since he didn't know for sure, so he said sadly, "Maybe they will."

Harry paused and closed his eyes momentarily. Even months after the event, he could scarcely stand to think about his conversation with Neville after his triumph over Bellatrix. Neville's parents had yet to show any sign of recovery.

Eager for a distraction, Harry spent a brief moment in mental debate, then opened the door on his left and stepped into the garage. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to find in such a room, a car would have been the obvious choice, except that Hagrid had once said that the Dursleys' version of Harry's parents' deaths, a car crash, was ludicrous. Consciously or not, he hadn't had high expectations, after all, a garage wasn't usually the most interesting place to explore, but that wouldn't have been the case at all if he'd known what was in there.

Unlike the rest of the house, the garage wasn't half destroyed, in fact, aside from the thick layer of dust covering everything; it looked as though it could have been used yesterday.

Garage didn't seem an appropriate label for this room. As expected, there was no car to be found. Instead, the place could best be described as a workshop. Hundreds of projects sat scattered across tables, on shelves, or on the floor where they glittered, whirled smoked, or simply waited dully. Judging by the state of some of the experiments, it was a minor miracle that the place still existed, although Harry supposed that the same person who removed the bodies from the house could have made sure that nothing here was liable to explode if left unattended.

Harry picked up the nearest object, which was about the same size and shape of an egg, cleared the durst off as well as he could, and held it out in his left hand. It levitated about an inch above his palm, spun silently, and then stopped with its pointed end facing Harry's right. Harry gave it a curious spin and watched it align itself once again in the exact same direction. Intrigued now, Harry chanced a glance in the direction the device was pointing, but all that was there was a wall covered in magical tools. Harry approached the wall then walked back and forth in front of it, watching the object. It did not change direction even when Harry's hand rotated underneath it. If it was pointing at something, it was very far away. Harry wondered vaguely if it was pointing at London, and jumped in surprise when the device rotated so that it was pointing back towards him.

Sensing a connection, Harry pulled out his wand and said, "Point me." Like the strange device, Harry's wand spun around in his open hand and came to rest indicating the same direction the device had originally shown.

"North!" Harry whispered, awestruck.

The device turned and aligned itself to Harry's wand. It was a compass, but it was more than that, it had been able to point at London as well.

"Hogwarts," Harry said and the compass twitched, pointing in a slightly different direction than the wand.

Wondering just how specific this compass could get, Harry said, "Mum and Dad's bedroom," and it obediently flipped itself on its blunt end and pointed a few degrees shy of straight up.

Harry was impressed, but wondered if this compass had the same limitation as the Marauder's Map, unable to show any place his parents hadn't known about, such as the Room of Requirement, but even as he considered this, the compass tipped itself back on its side and point itself in the same direction it had when Harry had asked for the location of Hogwarts.

The potential value of something like this was astounding, Harry knew, especially considering his present situation.

"Malfoy Manor," Harry said, and the compass pointed to his left.

A sudden and brilliant thought occurred to Harry, and he said, "Ron!"

His hand shook, but the compass did not. Somewhere inside him a very large balloon was suddenly full to bursting. However, spotting a potential source of error, Harry tried requesting the direction of several different locations before asking for Ron's again, but the result was the same. There was no longer any doubt about it; Ron was still in Malfoy Manor.

"Michael!" Harry said, practically laughing.

Instead of remaining still as Harry had expected, the compass performed a slow turn as though it was confused, then fell limp in his hand.

"Michael Vaughn!" Harry demanded, shaking it slightly, but its behavior remained the same.

The balloon inside of Harry popped. He tired to convince himself that the compass didn't know where Michael was because he was a Muggle, not because he was dead, but he couldn't do it. He knew he could test either theory by requesting the location of Dumbledore or Sydney, but didn't because he knew he wouldn't be able to stand it if the results didn't go his way, not to mention the fact that this ambiguity saved him from potentially having to tell Sydney that he had evidence Michael was dead.

Sadly, Harry closed his hand around the compass, but despite his present horrified state, he couldn't help but be impressed when he felt the compass shrink to the size of a pebble.

Harry stared in wonder at the new insight the compass had provided. He'd never seen anything like this in any magical shop, and it had the potential to solve a great mystery. Harry had never known much about his parents. Aside from being in the original Order of the Phoenix, he'd had no idea what they did with their time. Now he had a strong suspicion that they'd been inventors. What's more, from the look of their workshop, they could have given even Fred and George some tough competition.

Harry meandered through the room, experimenting with any device that looked completed and pocketing those which turned out to be especially useful. Before long he had a device which attempted to bind itself around his legs and trip him and a small orb which flew around the room searching for victims then ran into him several times which numbing force until he found out how to turn it off.

Satisfied that he'd found enough helpful devices to justify his side trip, Harry departed the garage and passed a hazardous looking staircase, turning instead towards a table that was standing nearly sideways with only two rickety legs for balance. Two broken down chairs and a toppled highchair lay near it. Without truly realizing what he was doing Harry magically repaired and cleaned the set then paused a moment to smile at the effect this had on the room.

Harry had no sooner stepped on the furry ground in the kitchen than exited it again. Apparently, no one had thought to clear out his parents' food stores after they died. Professor Sprout might have been comfortable in such a place, but Harry was in no mood to risk an encounter with a newly evolved species of mold creature, so he returned to the stairs and hit them with another strengthening spell before beginning his ascent, carefully ducking hanging beams and dodging gaping holes.

Unfortunately, the second level wasn't in any better state than the first, in fact, it looked much worse. It seemed that there wasn't an unbroken window in the place and immediately to his left there was a void where several rooms had collapsed into the living room. Above, the roof resembled nothing so much as the ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts; only in this case it was because large chunks were missing: there was far more open space than solid wood. The floor wasn't much better. Harry had to constantly watch his step or risk falling through.

A short hallway extended in front of him, or at least it would have been if the left side wasn't missing. As it was, it bore more of a resemblance to a catwalk.

Harry stepped up to the second door on the right and pushed it open; keeping his feet firmly in the hall in case the room beyond had collapsed as well. It hadn't, but he still tested it gingerly before stepping inside his parents' bedroom.

There was nothing else it could have been, of course. A large bed, toppled and bent now, would have extended out from the far wall, two dressers stood against adjacent walls, and a closet was built into the fourth wall. Harry investigated this first, sliding the door open with some difficulty.

Within were two equal sides. One, apparently his Mother's, was a little more cramped but nevertheless more organized, while the other, his Dad's, was somewhat cluttered, with wizard robes and Muggle clothes intermingled. Harry took out one of his father's robes, but it practically disintegrated in his hand. He pulled out his wand and repaired it carefully, but it still looked depressingly limp and lifeless despite his best efforts.

Harry turned his attention now to the dressers, but he didn't dare open them as dark creatures were sure to have infested many of the drawers. In truth, he should have been more careful to ensure that the ratty old robe he held and its closeted companions weren't infested with doxies. Instead, he was practically drawn to the objects on top of the dressers. There were pictures, at least a dozen of them. Their glass was broken and falling out and the pictures themselves water stained and bleached by the sun, but Harry gathered them up carefully and made for the bed, which he repaired and straightened before sitting down.

He delicately removed each picture from its frame and studied it before moving on to the next one. Many of the pictures he'd seen before, duplicates of those Hagrid had given him in his first year, but some were new to him. One depicted his Dad pushing a young Harry carefully on a swing while another showed Harry, his parents, and a number of their friends at what looked like Harry's first birthday party. After a thorough examination Harry discovered that Dumbledore had been in attendance, and that he was the only person in the picture wearing an expression of any sort of concern. Harry wondered vaguely if the former headmaster looked fearful because of Voldemort and the prophecy. The fateful choosing of the secret-keeper and the performing of the Fidelius charm had occurred only a few months after this, perhaps this was the occasion on which Dumbledore suggested the maneuver. The last picture Harry dislodged depicted all four Marauders, all smiling impishly, as though they'd just committed some brilliant practical joke, which seemed likely, based on the frightened and annoyed expressions on the people in the background and the way the Marauders kept shooting concerned glances past where the camera would have been, as though they were keeping an eye out for teachers. It took all the restraint Harry had to keep himself from blowing a hole in the picture where Pettigrew's smiling head was.

Slightly misty eyed, Harry pocketed the pictures, stacked the empty frames on a dresser, and straightened the moth-eaten blanket and pillows on the bed before weaving his way back to the hallway and closing the door. Only one accessible room remained upstairs, so Harry walked into it and gasped.

It looked as though a small bomb had gone off in this room. The two walls that would have bordered the outside of the house had crumbled and there was no roof overhead nor wreckage of it on the floor, although that could have been because there wasn't much floor left for it to land on. The two remaining walls were covered in holes and Harry discovered that by looking through them at the correct angle, other holes in different walls would line up until he could see clear through to the outside of the house. He suspected that if he stood at a point in the center of the room he might have been able to see through all the holes at once but was unable to test his theory because the center of the room was home to the largest hole in the floor he'd seen yet. Another gaping hole stood in the wall with the door. There could be no doubt about it: this room was the sight of that fateful first meeting of Harry and Voldemort.

The room was sparse except for a crib, which lay on its side in the corner. Harry carefully wove his way over for a closer look. It was unremarkable except that it was in at least ten more pieces than it should have been. The paint was peeling and all the exposed wood was slowly disintegrating into dust. Harry picked up a soft blanket that had been spilling onto the ground. Beneath it was a mobile, attached to the one end of the crib. It featured seven tiny broomsticks and snitches and tried feebly to rotate on its metal pivot at his touch. With a smile, Harry realized that this was exactly the sort of thing his Dad would have gotten him.

Harry longed to stay longer, to discover what other secrets the room had to offer, but his scattered memories of that famous incident were starting to clamor at the edge of his consciousness, especially those forced upon him by the Dementors in his third year.

Reluctantly, Harry straightened up and turned to leave; hoping that getting out of the room would put his mind at rest. However, before he'd made it even half way back across the room he spotted something he hadn't seen before. On the floor between the largest holes in the wall and the floor, was a tangle of black rags. It was precisely where evidence indicated that Voldemort would have stood during their confrontation. Harry gagged.