Something Better Than This

Chapter 4: Godric's Hollow

"I've got to go," Harry explained a few mornings later over a breakfast that bid fair to make him too weighed down to fly. The shock of Greyback's intrusion and of Madame Delacour's killing him had started to wear off, and Tonks had apparently managed to smoothe things over with the Ministry as self-defense, or at any rate defense of Gabrielle. Nobody seemed inclined to prosecute on Greyback's behalf, at any rate. "There are... there are things I need to do."

He didn't want to explain all of them to everyone there; Dumbledore hadn't told him to tell the entire Order about the Horcruxes, or for that matter the entire Weasley family, and considering that Percy was still there, he really didn't want to get into details. He was thinking about telling Ginny, even though Dumbledore hadn't mentioned that; he was divided in mind between whether this would give her a better chance at survival (and at taking out Voldemort if he failed, a burden he didn't want her to have but couldn't quite see denying her) or if it would just put her in more immediate danger to know. But he certainly didn't want to tell Percy, even if Percy had come home and talked half the night with his parents, coming down to breakfast with shadowed eyes. Harry was happy for Mrs. Weasley that Percy was visiting more again, but he still wasn't about to confide in him.

"I was thinking," Harry continued, "that I'd go by broomstick. I don't know anywhere to Floo to nearby, and I haven't got my Apparition license yet." He didn't have any real scruples about Apparating without a license, but on the other hand, he didn't see any reason to attract more attention from the Ministry that he had to.

"Godric's Hollow is a long flight," Mrs. Weasley pointed out dubiously.

"I like flying," he told her.

She pursed her lips. "There's also," she said delicately, "a... a certain amount of... fuss, there. Not quite tourism, but people sometimes go to see the... the place where it all happened. Where You-Know-Who fell. There may be fewer of them at the moment, but I don't believe most of the visitors would have quite the same attitude to it as you. And you might be recognized."

Harry stopped with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth, set it down, and swallowed hard. He hadn't thought of that. "What is it like? You've been there?"

"There's a barrier up," Mrs. Weasley said. She had been there. "All around the house. What used to be the house. I'm afraid it's... not there anymore. I don't think anyone ever tries to cross the barrier. People draw on it, though."

"Huh." Harry frowned at the eggs, which did not deserve this, and started eating them again. "Well... thanks for telling me. If there are many people around, I'll -- I'll wait and come back at night. Maybe I should go at night anyway."

"We're going with him," Ron added. "Hermione and I, that is." He looked over at his mother. "We promised we'd go with him to the Dursleys', too."

"I suppose you're going to tell me I ought to stay here," Ginny said, sounding oddly resigned.

Her mother turned to her sharply. "I'd like to keep at least one of you safe!"

Ginny opened her mouth for an angry retort, but Harry broke in quietly, "So would I."

Ginny looked pointedly over toward the clock, where every hand -- including Percy's -- still pointed to "Mortal Peril." But she didn't say anything.

-----

They estimated the time it would take to fly to Godric's Hollow, adjusting for the speed of the slowest broom and the need to remain inconspicuous.

"I think you could borrow one of the ones nobody's using, Hermione," Ron said. "We'll have to ask around, though, before we can really figure how long it'll take... unless you want to wait until we get there and then Apparate, or something. Since you can."

"Wouldn't she need a picture or something?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Actually," Hermione said thoughtfully, "I think perhaps it's about time I bought my own broom. I can't say I like flying that well, but it's very true that there are times Apparating isn't the most suitable method of travel. I've been researching what sorts are best if you don't intend to play Quidditch...." She trailed off and looked at Ron. "But if either of you has any recommendations to make on the subject, I'd be glad to hear them."

"I've mostly been interested in the Quidditch ones," Ron admitted, his ears going red for some inexplicable reason. "I know what people say about the others, though. You might actually want a Quidditch broomstick after all, not one of the really high-end ones maybe, but some of the companies pay more attention to quality on their Quidditch lines, and if you get one meant for a Chaser or Beater it'll be maneuverable and good for the long haul, without being as touchy as the top of the line ones meant for Seekers or professionals. A Beater's broom might be especially good, they don't run as expensive and they're responsive but don't have much risk of wobbling over or veering off course if you don't sit perfectly steady."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and sniffed. "You don't think I can sit steadily on a broomstick?"

Ron gave her a cheeky grin. "Well, you know. A broomstick meant for somebody who's going to swing a bat around ought to suit if you're balancing a bag of heavy books and one on your knee...."

Hermione laughed. "Ron! I'm not going to try to read while I'm flying!"

"I bet you will!"

"You know," Harry said, "it's early yet. You two could go shop for a broomstick and be back before we'd have to leave, since we don't want to get there before dark. Get one with good Cushioning Charms, though. It's going to be tiring if this is your first really long flight."

Hermione and Ron disappeared to shop for a broom, and came back with a secondhand Beater's broom, made by Cleansweep, that had seen moderate use but had clearly been well cared for. With enhanced cushioning charms. Hermione took half an hour or so to get the hang of using one again, but the broomstick had evidently been a good purchase. It leapt to her hand on the first try, leaving her looking comically surprised, and it flew straight and true even if she twisted around to carry on a conversation -- or, at Ron's insistence, to try balancing a massive book on her knee. Or, for that matter, a large cat.

Mrs. Weasley packed them an enormous quantity of sandwiches, and they each stuck those and a change of clothes into their book bags. Harry deferred to the Weasleys' enforcement of the Decree for Restriction of Underage Magic and let Ron and Hermione do the Disillusionment charms, and late that afternoon they went on their way.

They arrived in Godric's Hollow just after sunset and walked into town, still Disillusioned and being very careful not to bump into anybody. It was a mixed community, magic and Muggle, and Harry noticed that the witches and wizards there seemed to have a much better notion of how to blend in than most of the ones he'd seen elsewhere. A young woman in jeans and a t-shirt (and not a Weird Sisters one, for that matter) stepped into an inconspicuous corner, turned off her cell phone, and drew her wand. Harry and his friends walked on, quietly.

The Potter's old house, or where it used to be, wasn't quite easy to find. There were signs posted discreetly for magical eyes to read, but they walked past it three times before passing close enough to discover that the ruins were not only invisible to Muggles, but invisible to wizards who didn't step off the pavement and into the dead grass.

From the pavement, it merely looked like a vacant lot, dead and unkempt and overgrown. No one turned to look at it, and no one stepped onto it; no children played there. Most people passed by on the opposite side of the pavement, or better yet, on the opposite side of the street. None of the Muggles seemed to realize what they were doing. Witches and wizards, some of them, glanced sideways and lowered their heads as they passed.

Harry was trying to avoid bumping into an elderly wizard charging along at a fast walk with his head down when he dragged Ron and Hermione both off the pavement and into the grass. And then he forgot about not bumping into people, because everything seemed to grow darker at once, and he saw the neat low wooden fence, decorated with colorful graffiti, with a field of dark ashes and rubble just beyond it.

He swallowed hard, staring. Then he and Ron and Hermione edged carefully back onto the pavement, and walked back out of town to sit down on living green grass and eat Mrs. Weasley's sandwiches.

They went back when it was full dark. There was a little moonlight to go by, and Hermione taught them a variation on Lumos that would keep the light focused. As it turned out, this wasn't needed; there was a soft, eerie light that seemed cast from the inside of the barrier.

They stood just off the pavement for a long moment before Harry walked forward and pushed the gate open. It swung silently, unlatched, and let them in. Some barrier.

After another long pause, Hermione broke the silence in a hushed voice. "So... where do we look?"

"I don't know." Harry shut his eyes and called up the memories the Dementors had first evoked, the ones that had left him weak but tantalized by his only chance at hearing his parents' voices. "I think -- I think Voldemort came to the front door." He took a few steps, then remembered to open his eyes, and found himself at the very edge of the ruined house. The splintered wood there might have been a doorframe once, indeed. "My father tried to stop him. And died. Then he went further in to where Mum was with me...."

"Harry," Ron said in a peculiar tone, "there's footprints. Hagrid-sized."

Harry looked where Ron was pointing. "...Yeah," he said after a moment. "Yeah. Hagrid said he was the one who took me away from here, didn't he? Sirius...." He swallowed, feeling his throat try to clog up. "Sirius wanted to, but he gave Hagrid his motorcycle and went looking for Wormtail instead."

It didn't appear that much of anyone else had gone walking through the rubble and ashes since that last night. The bodies weren't there, so someone must have moved them, but maybe they'd levitated them from a distance. There were only a few sets of footprints.

They followed Hagrid's, having nothing better to do. He must have gone to where Harry had been lying, as a baby, in the ruins of -- no. Harry blinked hard as what he'd thought to be only some propped-up broken pieces of house resolved into a battered but intact cot.

Hagrid must have gone there.

Harry didn't want to think about how they'd probably walked right across where his father had made his last stand against Voldemort. Thinking too hard about his father made his stomach flip, now. His mother must have stood... between him and the door, probably, but where was the door to this room? Those looked like the remains of a doorframe, there, maybe. His mother must have stood....

Here. A chill ran down his spine, and he turned, looking for... something. He wasn't sure what.

"Harry?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

"Shh." He didn't know what he'd meant to find here. He didn't know what neighbors he might be able to ask, wasn't even sure which ones would still be around who had known the young Potters before they went into hiding, or remembered them now. He'd just had to see the place for himself.

Now he felt he should find something. He kept turning slowly, very slowly, on the spot.

Ron and Hermione watched him.

"I don't know what I'm looking for," he said abruptly after a moment. "If you two want to look around...."

Crookshanks jumped off Hermione's shoulder, making her wobble, and went picking his way across the ground. Hermione went slowly after him, and Ron shrugged and began carefully poking around.

Harry kept turning.

In the end, he sank to sit on the ground, lowering his head into his hands. And then he saw it. Underneath the cot lay a smooth stick of wood.... He reached out his left hand, holding his own wand ready, and picked up what had to be his mother's wand. It sifted a trail of weeping silver sparks, fine as dust, and then lay quiet in his hand. Harry sat looking at it for a long moment without saying anything, then jumped to his feet and went hunting for his father's, starting at the door and working back away from it, kicking aside broken pieces of walls and furniture. Ron and Hermione looked up from their own more aimless searches and started toward him, but Harry gave up on his casting around, concentrated hard, and said, "Accio James Potter's wand!"

Ron and Hermione stopped. But all Harry got was a handful of burnt splinters.

He stared at them for a long moment. "...Huh."

"It --" Hermione began. "It must have been broken when --"

"The house exploded?"

"I thought... when Voldemort cursed him...."

"He killed my mum, too, and her wand's right here." Harry regarded them morosely... his own wand, his mother's whole one, and his father's blasted into splinters. "It was probably when he cursed me. The whole house came down...."

Something moved, back near the cot. It was only the tiniest disturbance at first, but then Crookshanks came leaping over a shattered wall in a blurring orange arc. There was a frantic squeak, and the motion near the cot turned into a frantic scurry. Crookshanks pounced -- there was an anguished squeal -- and the cat shook his head violently and then strolled up to them, purring, with a large rat in his mouth.

As Crookshanks came closer, Ron gasped. Harry's eyes narrowed. When the light hit the rat, it glimmered off something golden clasped in the tiny paws and teeth -- still clasped, despite Crookshanks's teeth, despite tight-squinched eyes and a curling, cringing tail. And the right front paw shone silver.

"Scabbers," Ron said.

At the same time, Harry growled, "Wormtail." He shoved the splinters of his father's wand into a pocket, wincing as one poked him, and pointed his own wand at the rat.

There was something very like an explosion as the rat transformed, rapidly and unexpectedly, to full human size. Crookshanks was thrown backward with a yowl, and Peter Pettigrew crouched before them, blood streaming from the back of his neck. Before any of them could react, he pounced, seizing Crookshanks by the neck with his powerful silvery magic hand. Then he straightened up, turning to face them and holding the cat in front of him like a shield. Crookshanks clawed at his arm, to no avail, and gagged. His breath was harsh and strained, Pettigrew's little less so.

"Let go," Hermione said, her voice shrill. "You're choking him."

"What should I care? He'd eat me, would he?"

"You'd've deserved it," Ron said bitterly.

"You might as well let the cat go," Harry said coolly. His wand was still steady in his hand. "D'you think I can't aim past him?"

Pettigrew's voice rose hysterically. "Start one word of a spell and I'll crush his skull!"

Harry smirked. "Did you stop paying attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts after OWLs? We started nonverbal incantations last year."

"You won't kill me."

"Why won't I?" The words burst out of Harry before he thought about them. He wavered for a second, shocked at what he'd just said, but then he thought about where they were and what Pettigrew had done and he steeled. "We're standing in Godric's Hollow, Wormtail. Where my parents lived. Where my parents went into hiding. Where you were supposed to keep them protected and where you gave them up to Voldemort." Pettigrew winced. Harry glowered. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now."

Pettigrew's throat worked. "Your father," he rasped. "If he wouldn't have wanted them -- Sirius and Remus -- to become killers... just for me... what makes you think he'd want... want you to?"

"My father's dead. Sirius is dead. And I'm not sure I like them very much after I saw how they used to act at school with Snape, and I hate him."

"So do I," muttered Pettigrew, then looked up pleadingly. "Your mother, then -- Lily --"

"Don't TALK about my mother! You don't get to talk about her! But it doesn't matter if they'd want me to become a murderer," Harry continued relentlessly, "considering I've got to kill Voldemort anyway. Yes, Voldemort. Stop flinching. VOLDEMORT!" Pettigrew cowered and let go of Crookshanks, who ran to stand in front of Hermione, fluffed up and hissing. Hermione picked him up. "I don't want to hear anything about how he's winning and there's nothing to be gained by resisting him. There is, and there always will be, and he's NOT going to win. But you, you helped him. You helped him the first time and you brought him back. I watched you do it. You took my blood and cut off your own hand to do it. Now tell me why I shouldn't kill you?"

"Harry--" Hermione began.

"Shut up."

Pettigrew's eyes were squeezed shut, and his left hand was still closed around whatever he'd been holding as a rat. "I owe you," he whispered. "You own me. He doesn't know. But I can't stop you."

"I don't own anybody." Well, maybe Kreacher, Harry thought guiltily. But that hadn't been his idea.

"You saved my life once. You were merciful once. If you've changed that much, go ahead, I'll have to go back to him otherwise and at least this is quicker."

Harry held onto the anger, feeding it with the knowledge of betrayal, of watching Pettigrew fawn on Voldemort, of seeing Cedric fall, of disgust at Pettigrew's cringing, whining, manipulative begging for mercy and the rage every time Pettigrew begged in the name of friends he had destroyed. He aimed his wand and opened his mouth....

...And said, "What have you got in your other hand? That's not a wand."

Pettigrew opened his eyes and extended his left hand, uncurling the fingers. "It's a key. He sent me back for it."

"A key to what?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" Pettigrew flinched again, as if expecting a blow.

"Did it belong to my parents?" Harry demanded.

"He brought it with him! He said... he said it would be the last."

The last. Did that mean the last Horcrux? "Give it to me," Harry ordered.

He tried to cover his surprise when Pettigrew pressed the golden key into his hand. "Here. Take -- t-t-take it."

Harry frowned, suspicion dawning.

Ron articulated it before he did. "If he was sent to get this, why'd he hand it over so easy? And why didn't anybody find it here all this time?"

"Nobody found my mum's wand," Harry pointed out. "I don't think they looked very hard here. But I don't know about that first question...."

"He's not here now," Pettigrew muttered. "You are. And if you, if you, if you can --" He clutched at his left forearm with his right hand, then winced and pulled it away as if he'd bruised himself. He held up the shining hand and shook it in Harry's face, not exactly threateningly. "You see this... I was afraid, I gave in to him, I wish to God I hadn't. He'll take me to pieces in the end, take all of us. There's only the one left who really wants to serve him. Take--"

Pettigrew cut himself off in midsentence, transformed to a rat again, and ran at top speed for the barrier. Crookshanks kicked away from Hermione's arms, scratching her badly, and chased after him -- but Wormtail was through a tiny hole in the barrier before Crookshanks caught him. The cat crouched at the hole, hissing; Harry ran out through the gate and around, but there was no sign of rat or man.

Harry swore.

Then he pocketed the key and went in to cast Episkey on Hermione's crop of scratches, although he ended up with an armful of apologetic Crookshanks and told Ron how to do it instead. Feeling there was nothing else to do here, they flew home to the Burrow, where they didn't talk much and all very quickly fell asleep.

-----

"What do you mean, it wasn't there, Wormtail?" Harry heard himself asking in a high, cold, level voice. His head was throbbing, as if the scar had a heart of its own that was beating, and threatening to split it open since naturally there wasn't enough room for a heart in his forehead....

Pettigrew cringed on the floor in front of him. "It wasn't there, m-my lord. I looked and looked."

"And why did you not take it with you from the Potters' house and preserve it as you did my wand? That was very presumptuous of you, but it came to a good end. This is just carelessness."

"I knew the wand was important," Pettigrew wailed, his eyes darting madly in every direction so that glaring into them was impossible. "You only told me the key would be once the boy was dead! You didn't say you'd cast any spells on it already!"

"How dare you try to blame me for your shortcomings? Crucio!" As Pettigrew writhed and screamed, the cold voice continued, "I have reason to believe that key belonged to Godric Gryffindor. You ought to appreciate that, if none of my other Death Eaters do." Harry raised his head to see a white snakelike face and red eyes in the mirror across the room, and standing next to it, with his hood thrown back and mask off, the familiar features of Severus Snape. "I should have given you the honor of coming with me instead."

Snape inclined his head, expressionless.

Rage welled up in Harry, his own rage -- and at that, he felt a sudden shock of surprise, and then a door slammed shut in his mind.

He sat up in bed, in the dark, and touched his fingers to his scar where pain was rapidly fading.

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