Harry Potter and the War of the Wands

Chapter 5 - Godric's Hollow

A lone figure stood atop the steep hill which led into the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow. It was half past five in the morning, and although the moon had disappeared, the sun still hadn't fully emerged. There was a light breeze that caused the young man's tousled, raven black hair to flop around inside his hood.

There were no sounds except for the leaves rustling in the trees. No one was awake in the whole place, as the stranger made his way slowly, step by step, down towards the village.

As he got to the foot of the hill, the young man pulled his hood down. "So... this is where I lived," he said quietly to himself. Harry Potter had returned to Godric's Hollow.

He walked along till he came to a fork in the road. Instinctively, he took the gravel path leading down to the right. Small cottage-type houses were lined along the road. It looked like a very cosy place to live, Harry thought.

He reached the end of the row, and again, knew instinctively to turn left. A short way further down this new path, he could see the cottage at the end of the row. This was Shundsfell Cottage. He knew it in his heart as soon as he saw it. This was where he had lived.

As he got closer to it he could see that parts of the brickwork had been blasted away, as had part of the roof. Small piles of rubble were scattered around the garden, and the front door was lying open. He supposed the Ministry had put up wards to keep people away from it. When he reached the gate he could feel magic in the air, and knew he was right about the wards. The whole area was covered in them. He could sense Disillusionment charms to fool the Muggles and anti-apparition wards, and more, to keep away wizards. He wasn't sure how he could feel and distinguish the magic, but he could. He remembered Dumbledore in the cave telling him simply, "This place has seen magic."

Fortunately, as rightful owner of the house, none of the barriers affected Harry. The gate creaked as he pushed it open and slowly walked up the garden, stepping over the various piles of rubble. He stepped inside the front door.

Looking inside, he could see that the Ministry hadn't disturbed anything in the house. In fact, if it weren't for the rubble on the floor, or the half destroyed stairway, you would hardly be able to tell the tragic history of the cottage. As Harry moved through the house, he could feel a sense of familiarity. He'd only been a year old when he left this place, but he knew this had been a happy home. He stopped in the living room to look at a photograph on the mantelpiece. It was of his mother, holding him in the garden. There were also photographs arranged in a cabinet against the wall. Harry recognised Sirius at once, waving and grinning, with baby Harry nestled in a basket atop his motorcycle.

He smiled sadly at his godfather's picture and moved on. Reaching the foot of the stairway he braced himself. His father had died at the top of these stairs protecting his mother and him. He knew he was right. Harry began to climb carefully up the broken stairway. At the top of the stairs there was a small cabinet which had been smashed to pieces. Harry knew instinctively that this is where his father had stood his ground, as he pushed Harry and his mother into the bedroom away from Voldemort.

Harry forced himself to keep moving. He reached the bedroom in a daze and stepped inside. There was a cot in the corner, and toys were still scattered around the floor. Voldemort had tried to kill him in this very room. This was where it all started. The connection to Voldemort... the Prophesy... his own destiny. Harry sat down on the floor in a haze of conflicting emotions, and eventually, he let himself cry.

****

Harry had no idea how long it was he sat there in that room, but when he finally came to his senses, the sun had risen, and it was a beautiful morning outside. He could feel a warm breeze working its way into the room through the missing brickwork.

As he made his way back downstairs he felt at ease with himself. This could be a happy place again, he thought to himself. He made a silent promise to himself, that, if he made it through this war, he would repair the cottage and make it a home once more.

Now it was time to visit his parents' graves, Harry thought. He realised though that he had no idea where the cemetery was. Deciding that he'd need to find a local to get directions to the grave, he left the house behind him, closing the door as he left.

As it was still early on a Sunday morning, Harry thought he'd have to track down the local shop to find someone to ask. Remembering he'd seen a Post Office sign on one of the buildings on the way down, Harry made his way back up the gravel path, and round the corner.

Sure enough on its door the little building had a sign saying "Open". Harry wasn't sure if his parents had been the only wizards in the village, but decided to stow away his travelling cloak, so as not to draw attention to himself, just in case. The weather was warm enough in any event. He opened the door, and at once the smell of freshly baked bread wafted out. He hadn't eaten in almost a day, having had more important things on his mind.

"How can I help you, dearie?" the old woman behind the counter asked. By Harry's guess, she must have been in her early seventies. It appeared that in genuine small village fashion this was the only shop around. It was the local post office, bakery and newsagents, all rolled into one.

"Uhm, hello, ma'am," said Harry politely. "I was wondering, could you direct me to the local cemetery, please?" He could tell she was sizing him up, being a strange new face in the village.

She was apparently impressed by Harry's courteous manner, as she smiled at him and responded.

"Of course I can, petal," she replied. "You're new to the village, are you?" she asked.

"Sort of, ma'am. My parents lived here when I was a baby. I wanted to visit their graves before I... before I go travelling." Harry decided that honesty was the best policy with this lady, but obviously didn't want to say too much.

"What were their names, my dear?" she asked. Harry held back a little, which the old woman seemed to catch. "It's just that there are two separate plots of graves, so I thought I might recognise the name and be able to tell you the right one first time," she continued, with a kind smile.

"Oh, right," faltered Harry slightly. "My parents were James and Lily Potter," he said. The fact that there were two graveyards suggested to Harry that there were probably more wizards in the area, and he was worried that the Potter name might be heard by the wrong people.

"You're little Harry Potter?" the old woman asked, without taking her eyes off him. Harry nodded warily. He was beginning to think he'd said too much when the old woman smiled widely. "I knew I recognised you when you walked through that door. I knew your parents and you're your father's spitting image."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously, this woman had been in the village for years and years, it was understandable that she'd have known the Potters. But, how much did she know about them? Harry was almost sure she wasn't a witch, but did she know about the magical world at all?

"You knew my parents?" he asked, with genuine relief.

"Yes, dearie, I did. They were a little eccentric, if truth be told, but you couldn't meet a nicer couple than Lily and James. They'd only lived here a year or so... before the accident. It was the cooker, supposedly... gas explosion." The old woman had a curious look on her face whilst telling Harry this. It took him a few seconds before it clicked. The ministry had performed memory charms on everyone to make them forget what really happened.

"Yeah, erm, I've been living with relatives ever since; but now, since I plan on going away soon, I wanted to visit their grave," he said sincerely.

"That's touching, Harry, very touching," she replied with a slight tear in her eye. "Right, well the mausoleum you're looking for is down to the right, past your old cottage. Just keep going to the end of the road and you can't miss it."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Harry gratefully.

"My name is Isabella Hargrove," she said, with a smile. "And do you need anything else, young Harry? If you don't mind me saying, you look like you've been through the wars," she added whilst looking at his cuts and torn clothes.

Not yet, I haven't, thought Harry. But, what he said aloud was, "Not just now, Mrs Hargrove. I'll come back soon for some supplies, though, if that's okay?" he asked.

"We close up at four o'clock. Any time before that is fine. See you soon, dearie," she said.

"Bye." And with that, Harry left the shop in the direction of the graveyard.

****

As he walked down the street toward the graveyard the village was coming to life slowly. A few early risers were up and out on the street, or in their car. Harry quickened his pace and kept his head down. He didn't want to bring any attention to himself. Especially to any wizards who might still live in Godric's Hollow. It would be disastrous for the Daily Prophet to print details of his whereabouts. It would put everyone in the village, himself included, in danger, and he would also run the risk of getting found by the Order and made to go back to Headquarters.

He reached the graveyard without any hassle and made his way up a slight incline, towards a white mausoleum which was standing apart from the rest of the graves. He recognised the Gryffindor crest on the door and knew this was the right one. He pushed the heavy door open and went inside. There were dim lights in each corner which allowed him to see the two marble tombs, sitting side by side in the centre.

Here lie James & Lily Potter

Died tragically 31^st October 1981

They lived pure and fought bravely

May their struggle prove worthwhile

Harry read the plaque several times to himself, proudly. Tears were welling up in his startling green eyes again.

"Mum, Dad, I'm here," he said quietly. Harry knelt down and wiped the dust from the plaque. "I've missed you both. I know what you went through. I want you to know that I'm going to stop him. I won't give up hope."

After a few minutes, Harry stood up slowly and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He controlled himself. "I'll come back when I've finished, I promise. Look after Sirius too, will you?" he said with a smile. "You know what he's like." He had turned his back, and begun to head out, when he noticed a metal stand in the corner. On top of it sat a large, leather bound book.

Harry opened it and saw pages and pages of signatures. It was a remembrance book, he thought. He scanned through the book and realised he knew a lot of the names. The Weasleys were there, as was Dumbledore and Hagrid. All of his professors had signed, except Snape, of course, and he recognised lots of names from Diagon Alley too. He smiled to himself when he realised just how much his parents had been missed by everyone. There was a quill lying next to the book, which he picked up. He flicked through to the very last entry and nearly choked when he saw the name.

Petunia Evans Dursley

"Aunt Petunia!" Harry spat out loud. He was stunned to think that his aunt had travelled all this way to say goodbye. He wished again that he had said more to her before they left Little Whinging. Leaning down, he wrote his name under his relative. As soon as he finished the signature, a white flash went up from the book. Harry shielded his eyes from the intensity of it. He could hear a grinding sound coming from behind him. He whirled round.

When the glare had died down, Harry lowered his hand and opened his eyes. His parents' tombs had split apart to reveal a narrow passageway, which led underground. The remembrance book must have been the trigger. The passageway must have been designed to show itself only to Harry, whenever he wrote his name in the book. Harry, eager to find out why his parents had made this elaborate surprise, lit his wand, and stepped down into the passageway.

Taking his time, Harry walked carefully downwards, until the stairs ended and the corridor levelled off. By wand light, he could just make out torches lined along each wall. He reached out and touched the nearest one, which lit immediately. The others followed suit, and lit the way down the long corridor. Harry extinguished his wand. The walls were hewn of rough stone, as was the floor. Anticipation was building in Harry's heart as he made his way quickly along the stone passage. Eventually, he came to a small stone door. No matter how hard he pushed against it, it wouldn't budge.

"Alohamora!" he said sharply with a wave of his wand. Nothing. Still no movement. Harry huffed in annoyance. His parents must have wanted it to be easy for him to get here, but hard for anyone else. He was struck by a sudden, simple idea.

"I am Harry James Potter," he said confidently. There were a few seconds of anxiety, when Harry's heart was beating so loudly he thought he could hear the echo along the passageway; but then, the stone door opened slowly. Holding his breath, he stepped inside the room.

****

There were bookcases lined up along each wall, all filled with hundreds of books. He was in some sort of study, Harry thought. A large desk stood in the centre, with chairs around it, and there was also a small sofa in the corner. The whole feel of the room was quite homely. Harry reached the centre of the room, and looked around at each wall. He gaped.

Hanging on the wall behind him, was a portrait of his mother and father. They appeared to be sleeping peacefully in what he recognised as the sitting room of Shundsfell Cottage. Lily was resting on James's shoulder and they both looked content. Harry was dumbstruck. When had his parents had this done, and why hadn't anyone told him about it, he wondered.

He was about to speak to his mother and father for the first time, and he was very conscious of the fact his clothes were torn slightly, and he still had cuts on his face. Straightening himself up, and clearing his throat, he finally mustered the courage to speak.

"Mum, Dad," he said quietly. There was no response. "It's me ... Harry," he said more loudly. The figures in the portrait stirred gently, and opened their eyes. As soon as he saw him, James jumped up, spilling Lily onto the carpet with a thud.

"Honey, are you okay?" asked James quickly, helping his wife up. Harry smiled. Lily had an annoyed expression on her face, which washed away as her eyes met Harry's. Harry was looking up into the portrait at his mother and father together.

"Harry?" asked Lily tenderly. Harry nodded gently. A tear escaped his mother's eye, as she beamed at him. She sat down again.

"Of course it is, honey. I always told you he'd gotten my good looks," laughed his father, "and your eyes. Everyone said he had your beautiful eyes." He winked at Harry with a wide grin on his face.

"Well, son, you managed to find your way home," said James seriously. "I knew you would. That's why we commissioned this portrait of ourselves, to help you in case anything happened to us ... which it obviously did." Harry nodded solemnly.

"Dad, what is this place?" asked Harry. "Why was it hidden so well?"

"This place was a great little idea of your mother's," he replied with a nod in Lily's direction. She smiled in return. "When we knew that Voldemort was after us, we decided that it would be safer to have a little getaway plan." Harry noted proudly that his father hadn't avoided using Voldemort's name. Lily stood up again, and spoke.

"This room leads from a secret exit, behind the fireplace in the living room, to an escape route, out into the old mausoleum," she said. "We also used it as a research room and library when we were working to bring Voldemort down." Lily looked proudly at her husband. "Your father and I were very dedicated to the cause."

"But, Professor Dumbledore had already hidden you using the Fidelius Charm, hadn't he?" asked Harry. "You could only be found if Wormtail told someone." Harry spat out his name.

"We were worried that something might go wrong," said James. "It was a very risky time, Harry. We didn't want to take any chances. Peter could be captured and tortured, or maybe the Fidelius wouldn't work like it should. Dumbledore and Sirius were the only two people that knew of this room."

"He didn't need to be captured, Dad," said Harry quietly. James eyes widened. "He went straight to Voldemort anyway."

"Peter ... Peter sold us out?" he asked in disbelief. Lily was shaking her head. "He couldn't ... he wouldn't," he continued.

"I'm sorry, but he did. He told Voldemort exactly where you were," said Harry. "Voldemort came for me, and when you wouldn't give me to him ... he killed you both." Harry's eyes were welling up. "He tried to kill me too, but the curse rebounded on him, and I wasn't hurt." Harry knew the story all too well, but somehow, telling it to his parents' portrait was much harder than telling anyone else.

"That rotten son of a...."

"James!" Lily snapped. "Not in front of Harry," she said soothingly.

"When Sirius found out what had happened, he went after Wormtail," continued Harry. James nodded approvingly. "Peter was ready for him though, and killed a group of Muggles, and faked his own death. Sirius got the blame for it, and ended up in Azkaban for years."

"No!" James yelled. "Not Azkaban. Didn't Dumbledore stop them? Of course ... he couldn't ... he thought it was Padfoot we'd used as secret keeper. We didn't tell him we changed," he said with a sigh in answer to his own question. Lily was stroking his arm to console him.

Harry swayed slightly where he stood in front of the portrait. Lily noticed immediately that something was wrong, and ordered Harry to sit down.

"I've been travelling all night, and haven't eaten in a while," said Harry in response to the questioning look from his parents. "If it's okay, I'm just going to rest on the sofa for a while before I head out for provisions?" Lily smiled and nodded.

"Have a good rest, son, we'll be here when you wake up," said James, finally calming down.

He dropped off as soon as he lay down; his portrait parents looking down on him as he slept.

****

When Harry woke up, the first thing he noticed was how hungry he was. He'd need to go to the local shop and stock up for his journey. He also wanted to clean himself up and mend his clothes.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Lily asked. James had dozed off again in the chair, but his mother had obviously been guarding him intently. Harry rubbed his eyes, and stood up.

"A little better, thanks," he replied. His stomach made a rumbling noise. "But, I think I'd better get something to eat." She smiled down at him. Harry returned the smile sincerely.

"Okay then," said Lily. "You can get out through the stone door you came in. It's designed to be able to push open to escape, but, obviously, only we were able to get in the other end. But, it would be easier to head back through the cottage. It's behind that bookcase, over by the far wall." Lily pointed over into the corner, behind Harry, at the largest bookcase. "You're looking for the copy of Magic & Muggle - The vast difference. All you need to do is pull it out, and the secret door will appear."

"Thanks, Mum," said Harry gladly. "I won't be too long."

"He'll still be snoring when you come back, sweetie, don't worry," she replied with a smile.

The door appeared, just as described, and Harry made his way out of the fireplace into the living room. He'd luckily had enough sense to pack some Muggle money in his holdall before going to Godric's Hollow, so he would be able to get everything he needed. He was just walking down the garden path when something caught his eye. There was a dark green snake with black rings around its body, slithering in the corner of the garden. It was at least a metre long, and Harry could see it was tracking a mouse nearby.

The snake must have heard Harry approach; it stopped its hunt, and raised his head towards him.

He made eye contact with the snake, and stepped forward slowly. The snake didn't budge.

"I won't hurt you," hissed Harry in Parseltongue as he continued to move towards the serpent.

"Ssss, I could ssense you were nearby," the snake responded. It coiled itself, and rose up taller. "Thissss hass never happened before ... Humanssss have never been able to undersstand me. Who are you?"

Harry knelt down, until he was level with its eyes. "My name is Harry Potter. Not many of us are able to speak to your kind, you're right." He bowed his head in greeting, to which the snake responded.

"My name isss Laranole. How do you know of thiss place? Thisss hasss been my home for a long time, and no one hasss ever disssturbed me, before now. Itsss asss iff they don't sssee it at all...."

"Well, Laranole, this was my parents' house. I lived here with them when I was a baby," replied Harry. "And the reason no-one ever comes here is because there are magical barriers to stop them," he explained clearly. Being one of the few times Harry had ever spoken to a snake, he was genuinely worried he may offend it if he wasn't polite enough. "I'm going to stay here for a while, until I figure out where I need to go, but, obviously you're more than welcome to stay. I could make up some place warm in the house for you, if you'd like?"

Laranole hesitated for a few seconds before lowering back to the ground. "It isss a very kind offer. Thank you. I am on the hunt jussst now, but I ssshall ssseee you sssooon." He moved off with remarkable speed, after the mouse which had been scurrying close to the edge of the garden.

Harry returned half an hour later laden with supplies. He had chatted politely with the shopkeeper again, but made sure he didn't let her in on any of his plans. Laranole was waiting on the doorstep when Harry stepped into the garden. They greeted each other again, and made their way to the secret room behind the fireplace.

After introducing his new acquaintance to the portrait, and making something to eat, Harry spent the rest of the night bringing his parents up to speed with everything that had happened to him. It felt good being able to confide in them, even if it wasn't actually his real parents. It was the closest thing he'd ever had.

Harry started off with the way he found out he was a wizard. His father had laughed when hearing about Dudley's pig tail. He moved onto his Quidditch triumphs, to which his father beamed with pride. Lily, on the other hand, seemed happier that he'd manage to get through his OWL's with all that he'd gone up against.

When Harry finally moved onto the important stuff concerning Voldemort Laranole listened intently, and was especially enraged to hear about the level of control Voldemort exercised over Nagini.

"Ssss thisss Nagini should not be enssslaved by sssuch a man," said Laranole forcefully.

Harry told them about all the clues Dumbledore had confided to him, and together, they decided that the first step was to go back to Voldemort's roots. The orphanage on Vauxhall Road in London was where Tom Riddle had been brought up, and it was there he, Harry, had to start. If there was anything at all that could help him learn about Voldemort the boy, it would be there. Eventually exhausted, he fell asleep on the sofa with Laranole curled around his arm for warmth, and drifted off into peaceful dreams, watched over by his parents for the first time.

****