The Doll

Harry stared out the window of the bus. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about the field trip the class was taking.

The fifth and sixth years, as a special treat, were going to a small village where a lot of wizarding families lived. There was said to be interesting local history there. Harry knew all too well what the history--or at least some of it--about the village was. The name of the place was Godric's Hollow.

The bus pulled to a stop. "All right, kids," announced the bus driver "Godric's Hollow. All out."

Feeling a bit queasy, Harry jumped out with Hermione. Ron was waiting for them rather impatiently. "Come on, let's go," he urged. "I hear there's a great sweet-shop, and since we changed out some of our money..." He waved a stack of money cheerfully. "Come on, hurry up!"

Harry shook his head. "You and Hermione go ahead. There's something else I want to go look at."

Hermione squeezed his hand. "I think I'll come with you," she said with a smile. Harry smiled back, glad for her company.

Ron looked startled. "Suit yourselves," he said with a shrug, following the main part of the group deeper into town.

Harry stared after him for a moment, then turned to Hermione. "Mione? Umm...I guess what I wanted to tell you was...well..."

"Yes?" Hermione said, her piercing brown eyes looking into his bright green ones.

It was on the tip of his tongue, but it sounded so silly that Harry couldn't bring himself to say it. Instead he said, "Er...I'm looking for--for my parents' old house. I mean, I know it was destroyed, but I just wanted to know if there was anything left..."

"Oh." For a minute Hermione seemed a touch disappointed, then said briskly, "Well, that should be easy to do. All we have to do is find the oldest resident, then ask about it."

Harry nodded. "Come on, then."

~~~

The old man puffed away on his pipe. "Potter? Sure, I knew the Potters. Lived just down the road from me. Man and his wife--couldn't have been more than eighteen when they first moved in. It was about two years before the accident. Had a baby near about a year after they moved in--little boy. Oh, that woman thought the world of her baby. My daughter was about nine then, and the woman came over once to show my girl the baby. Don't imagine it survived. Couldn't have survived that kind of explosion."

"It did," Harry said with a small smile. "I was that baby."

"You don't say!" The old man's face split into a wide grin. "Say, Alice! Come out here a minute!"

A tall young woman with long blonde hair came out. "Yeah, Dad, what is it?"

"Alice, do you remember that baby of the Potters?"

Alice smiled. "Such a sweet, dear little boy. Why?"

The old man gestured to Harry. "Alice, this boy here is that baby."

Alice's face split into a wide grin. "So you're little Harry Potter! Not so little anymore, are you? Looking for your old home, eh?"

"Actually, yes," Harry said eagerly. "Do you know where it is?"

"Sure do," Alice said cheerfully. "Follow me."

~~~

Harry knelt at the edge of a place that looked like a war zone. Plaster, shingles, and bits of broken glass littered the area. This had been his home.

Hermione gave him an anxious look. "Is this it, Harry?"

Harry looked around, then nodded slowly. "Yes, this is it. This is my home. This is where I was born."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Harry..."

Harry wiped his own eyes, straightened up, and took her hand. "Come on, Mione. Let's go in."

~~~

The house was absolutely destroyed. Here and there could be seen bits of the home the Potters had loved: fragments of a hall table, the shattered remains of Lily Potter's favourite vase, shredded tablecloths. Harry knelt and picked up a picture in a frame. The glass was cracked, but the people in it could be clearly seen. A man with messy black hair and hazel eyes stood behind a sofa, looking proud and protective. A second man sat on the sofa, cradling a bundle of blankets, a man with dark brown hair and lauging, tender brown eyes. As Harry watched, a third man walked in, a man with a kind face and brown hair, and started to say something. The man behind the sofa hushed him hurriedly, but the bundle of blankets moved. A small hand came out and reached for the man holding it, who smiled tenderly. Harry's eyes filled with tears. The baby was himself. The man behind the sofa was his father. The man who had walked in was Remus Lupin. And the man holding the baby, the man who had looked so lovingly on little Harry, was Sirius Black.

Hermione glanced nervously at Harry. "Harry? What is it?"

Without a word, Harry passed her the picture. She looked at it and gasped. "Oh, Harry..."

"It's all right," Harry said hurriedly, standing up. He took the picture back and slipped it into his bag. "Come on, let's see what we can find."

The two of them moved a little deeper into the ruins. The pictures were all over--Harry supposed they were either in what was left of the hall or the living room. He picked quite a few of them up and put them in his bag. The pictures his father (Harry suspected his mother hadn't had much to do with it) had seen fit to hang were mainly of James Potter and his friends. It did not escape Harry's notice that none of the pictures had Pettigrew in them.

Hermione's voice floated over to Harry, who had stopped to pick up a picture of his father, a laughing Sirius, and a shy Remus when they were no more than thirteen. "Harry! Come look at this!"

Harry hurried over to where she stood and looked down. Hermione was pointing to the remnants of a white crib. This had been Harry's room.

A little more digging unearthed the charred remains of a rocker and a book. But while looking under a piece of plaster, Harry caught a glimpse of pale blue. Another piece shifted, and a bit of bright orange could be seen. Harry dug deeper, his heart racing. Finally, he unearthed a fragile-looking yarn doll with a long orange braid. Harry picked it up and stared for a long time at it.

Sirius had given him this doll. It was a gift from his beloved godfather. Harry held the doll to his chest, then showed it to Hermione.

"It was a gift from Sirius," he told her. "Hermione, you have no idea how much this means to me."

Harry held the doll tightly again, whispering an echo of old words.

I promise...