In Nomine Amoris

Chapter Fourteen: Godric's Hollow

Harry, Ron, and Hermione reappeared unceremoniously on a deserted cobblestone street in the heart of a small village.

"So..." Ron said, peering down an alleyway. "This is Godric's Hollow?"

"Apparently," Hermione replied, pointing to the sign in front of the shop nearest them, which read 'Godric's Hollow Apothecary.'

Harry did not pay attention to Ron and Hermione's conversation, but only began striding instinctively toward what must have been the village's main intersection and took a left onto another street named 'Leonidas Lane.'

"Where are you going, Harry?" Ron asked worriedly while struggling to keep up with his rapid pace. Strange as it seemed, Harry appeared to know exactly where he was going. Down and down the street he walked, until he was near its end--a dead one at that.

Suddenly, he halted in his tracks, causing both Ron and Hermione to run into him.

"What the--Harry, what are you staring at?" Ron watched his friend gawk at what looked to him like a patch of decrepit grass--they were standing before a small lot that was made more of dirt than plant life.

Harry stooped down to write in the dirt with his finger.

Number Seven Leonidas Lane

The Home of Harry James Potter and Co.

Hermione gasped. "Here, then?" she asked needlessly.

He nodded and rose. "Memorize it."

They did as he told and stepped back. Harry used his foot to wipe the dirt clean of his message. And then, from out of nowhere, a house of considerable size and quality materialized on the lot, which grew bigger accordingly.

"This is the place," Harry affirmed unnecessarily.

"Yep." They gazed at the mansion-like house, struck by its impressive grandeur.

Harry took a tentative step toward his new home, followed again by his friends. They advanced up the drive, trunks in tow, overwhelmed by the magnitude before them.

Once they reached Number Seven's oak double doors, Harry pushed with all his might to open one of them. He did so, revealing an extravagant entrance hall with glassy marble floors and a ceiling as high as that of a cathedral.

"Wow," Ron breathed.

"That," Hermione said, shaking her bushy curls in disagreement, "is a complete understatement."

Ron eyed the street warily before shutting the heavy doors closed. He let out a low whistle once he had turned back to marveling at the sight in front of him.

"So this was the Potter mansion?" said Ron, a smug expression on his face. "I knew it."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, confused.

"Merlin, Harry! Just look around, will you?" Ron ejaculated, gesturing at the splendor of which they were in the midst. "You lived in a palace!"

Harry creased his brow in irritation. "Ron, I hardly think--"

Hermione cut him off, glaring dangerously at Ron. "Ron is quite mistaken. We all live in a palace."

"But Hermione--" Ron started.

"Harry," she said, ignoring Ron, "why don't you check out the upstairs? I think Ron and I need to have a little talk."

"Er...all right," Harry agreed reluctantly, not wanting Hermione to fight this battle for him, but knowing that she would not let Ron's remark go without some form of castigation on her behalf.

And so Harry traipsed up the grand marble staircase, trunk and all, hearing faintly the yelled scolding from Hermione to Ron. He soon found himself in a dim corridor, which was lit by a single torch. He considered it strange that there seemed to be no windows in the corridor, but brushed it off as poor contracting on the builder's part.

"Lumos!" he cast. To his surprise, the spell caused a series of torches to light up along both walls of the corridor.

Raising his eyebrows, Harry put his wand away and instead took one of the numerous torches from its bracket on the wall. Though wrong in his manner of speaking, Ron had a point, Harry realized. This house was not a house, but the most handsome mansion Harry had ever laid his eyes on. This was how his parents had lived...like royalty. Trying to banish such a thought from his mind, Harry entered the room to his right.

It was a nursery--his nursery, the one where his mother had protected him from Voldemort that fateful Halloween night. The room was so quaint, homey; it did not seem to belong in this place at all. Its walls were decorated with a pattern of Puffskeins, and in the center of the room, beside a very old, rickety rocking chair, stood Harry's crib.

The crib was made of wood, and padded with soft baby-blue pillows and blankets. Harry tore his eyes away from it painfully. Perhaps another room would be better.

He left the dark shroud of his memories not-so-long forgotten and entered the next room.

It was an office of sorts. All the furniture was mahogany wood, including the enormous bookcase on the far wall. Harry wondered whether or not the Potter mansion had a library, but decided to leave such an investigation to Hermione. After admiring this room for a moment or two, Harry crossed the hall, into the first bedroom.

This room, unlike the others, was quite normal. In fact, it looked almost new, as if it were an addition to the house during its renovation.

Harry stepped farther into the room and set his torch into a bracket near the doorway. A flash of orange caught his eye on the left wall--a Chudley Cannons poster. Yes, this would be Ron's room, Harry was sure of it. He was about to walk over and open the window's curtains when he felt something scurry over his foot.

Great. Harry glowered at the eight-legged creature on the floor before him.

"It wouldn't do to have you in Ron's room, now, would it?" Harry asked the spider rhetorically, moving to squash it with his foot.

The spider scampered away just in time to miss Harry's shoe, which he consequently stomped on the bare wood floor.

Instead of making a resounding thud! on the wood, Harry's sneaker created an echo among the floorboards, as if the space beneath them were hollow. Intrigued, Harry crouched down to examine the floor. He had been standing alongside the four-poster bed. Running his hand under the bed, Harry found a hard, metal handle.

He traced his finger around in the general vicinity of the handle and felt a distinct depression in the wood, in the shape of a square. Harry picked himself up from his position to use the better part of his strength to push the bed off of what he believed to be a trapdoor of some kind.

After shoving the bed out of the way, Harry finally went over to the window and pulled the curtains open. That's better. He retrieved his torch, despite the vast amount of light now infiltrating the room, expecting the space the trapdoor led to would be pitch-black without one.

Taking a deep breath, and wishing Hermione and Ron would stay out of his way long enough for him to study whatever he might find in peace, he grasped the trapdoor handle tightly. It took even more of his power to open the door, and when he did, sawdust flew into the air, having sat in the crevice between the floor and the actual trapdoor opening for God-knew how many years. The hole Harry found facing him seemed to go on forever. He could make out the beginning of a long spiral staircase, just feet below him. Without any further ado, Harry lowered himself into the abyss, with the torch as his only guide.