Chapter Text
“I’ve been thinking. I… I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”
Hermione looked up at Harry, but her eyes were unfocused, and he was sure she wasn’t still thinking about the million other things that they had to do the moment before he interrupted him.
“Wha? Godric’s Hollow?”
“Yeah. Look,” Harry moved to sit next to her on the couch.
Hermione was curled up with just about every spare blanket they had to help ward off the cold in the tent.
“Look. We’re beating our heads against the wall here. We don’t know why Dumbledore gave you that book. We don’t know where the sword of Gryffindor is. We don’t know how to destroy this blasted horcrux. So… I want to visit my parents' graves.”
Hermione’s eyes began to tear up.
“Oh, Harry.”
“Look. I know it’s dangerous, but if we’re going to die and I never got to see them even once to pay my respects I’ll never forgive myself.”
Hermione reached out and enveloped Harry in a warm hug. It was all she could do. Harry was never good at expressing his emotions. Nor was he good about receiving care. The best thing she had ever been able to do for him was to show him that she was always there for him.
“Yes,” she said. “In all honesty I’ve been thinking about it too.”
“What?” Harry asked. “Why were you thinking about Godric’s Hollow?”
“I mean, I can’t think of anywhere else the Sword of Gryffindor could be,” she said matter-of-factly. “The more I think about it, the more likely it seems it’s there.”
“How so?”
“Well, you, Dumbledore, and Godric are all from there. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“Really?” Harry exclaimed, “Gryffindor came from Godric’s Hollow?”
“Harry,” Hermione gave him a withering glare, “Did you ever even open A History of Magic?”
“Erm,” he said, smiling. “I might’ve opened it, you know, when I bought it… just once…”
“Honestly!” Hermione exclaimed, rolling her eyes at him. “The village is named after him! I’d have thought you might have made the connection.”
She sounded much more like her old self; Harry half expected her to announce that she was off to the library.
“There’s a bit about the village in A History of Magic, wait…”
She stood and went to grab her beaded bag and rummaged for a while, finally extracting her copy of their old school textbook, which she thumbed through until finding the page she wanted. Once she was satisfied, she moved back over, this time planting herself on right next to Harry so they could read together.
Harry noticed Hermione had been doing this a lot more since Ron had abandoned them. This closeness. He… liked it. He knew that Ron fancied Hermione. He had known for years. That’s why he had tried not to get in the way of their happiness. He tried not to put Hermione down into his problems, any more so than he already was.
But she did choose him.
She chose him over Ron. She chose him. Did that mean more than just her hope that he could defeat Voldemort? Could she like him as more than just a friend? Could she like him just as much as he liked her?
Was she choosing him over Ron?
He had been denying his feelings for Hermione since she helped him rescue Sirius in their third year. He could even go further back and say that in second year when she had recovered from being petrified and ran to him in the Great Hall and hugged him, he had felt the most indescribable feeling in the world.
Something had shifted and changed then and it took him until the end of their third year to put a name to it. When she risked everything including messing with time to save his godfather. It showed how much she cared.
He fell for her on the back of Buckbeak flying up to free Sirius. He could remember her holding onto him for dear life. Here they were, breaking the laws of time.
And she was still afraid of heights.
But even then she was facing her fears to help him rescue Sirius. Just another fearless act by Hermione Jean Granger.
Just another thing that made her amazing.
But then his stupid hormones and insecurities got in the way. In fourth year, when Harry saw Ron act all stupid with her at the Yule Ball. With him thrown into the Triwizard Tournament, where he was sure he was going to die. How could he ask Hermione to sign up for a life of danger and death?
Stupid in hindsight. She went with Krum to the Yule Ball and then was in the lake anyway. He still hated Krum for that.
Then in 5th year he was so wrapped up in his own self hatred and pity that he didn’t have time to do anything. Well, besides getting Sirius killed. If he had just listened to Hermione, Sirius would’ve lived.
Another reason why he could do nothing right without her.
Then in 6th year he had all but given up when Hermione had started showing interest in Ron.
So he went after what he thought was a safe bet, Ginny.
Ginny had always had a crush on him. It should’ve been easy. And it was. Ginny was all passion and action. There was no time for second guessing. She supported Harry’s every action. She was a wonderful woman.
But at the same time he would catch her looking at him with a strange twinkle in her eyes. A twinkle that he had thought she had gotten rid of. The twinkle of hero worship. It was all confirmed when Dumbledore had to go and die and the entire world had to go to hell.
Ginny thought just like Ron did that Harry already had a full plan outlined and ready to go. When in reality Dumbledore didn’t tell him anything!
And so Ginny stayed behind. And then Ron abandoned them. And now it was just Harry and Hermione.
So now here they were. In a tent. In the middle of nowhere. Together. With no one else around to get in the way.
And he still couldn’t get things right.
“Harry? Are you listening?”
“Mmm? Yeah. I’m listening,” he replied automatically.
Hermione gave him another withering stare.
“Oh really? What did I just say?”
Harry sighed.
“Harry, you're an idiot who’s not paying attention because you're getting lost in your own thoughts.”
Hermione smirked at him.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Ah, but you were thinking it.”
“You were doing it,” Hermione retorted.
Harry laughed in agreement and nodded.
“You're right of course. So. What were you saying before I so rudely interrupted you?”
Hermione gave him a sarcastic shake of her head before she went back to her book.
“Upon the signature of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good,” Hermione began to read.
This time Harry actually paid attention. But he also paid attention to the curve of her throat and the way that her hair was escaping the messy knot she had thrown it in this morning.
She was beautiful. He didn’t need the Yule Ball to figure that out like Ron did. He knew since she walked into his compartment on the Hogwarts Express.
Harry couldn’t help but smile again at the familiarity of it all.
“You and your parents aren’t mentioned,” Hermione said, closing the book, “because Professor Bagshot doesn’t cover anything later than the end of the nineteenth century. But you see? Godric’s Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor’s sword, you pulling it out of the Hat. You are basically the Heir of Gryffindor. Don’t you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?”
Harry shrugged
“Its the best lead we’ve got on the sword right now that’s for sure.”
But for Harry, the lure of the village lay in his parents’ grave. The house where he had narrowly escaped death. And in the person of Bathilda Bagshot.
“Remember what Muriel said?” he asked eventually.
“Who?”
“You know,” he hesitated: He did not want to say Ron’s name. “Ginny’s great-aunt. At the wedding. The one who said you had skinny ankles.”
“Oh,” said Hermione. It was a sticky moment. Harry knew that she had sensed Ron’s name in the offing. So he rushed on.
“She said Bathilda Bagshot still lives in Godric’s Hollow.”
Hermione ran her index finger over Bathilda’s embossed name on the front cover of A History of Magic.
“Well, I suppose…”
She gasped so dramatically that Harry’s insides turned over; he drew his wand, looking around so quickly at the entrance that Hermione was thrown off of him. He had expected to see a hand forcing its way through the entrance flap, but there was nothing there.
“What?” he said, half angry, half relieved. “What did you do that for? I thought you’d seen a Death Eater unzipping the tent, at least…”
“Harry, what if Bathilda’s got the sword?” Hermione said. “What if Dumbledore entrusted it to her?”
Harry considered this possibility. Bathilda would be an extremely old woman by now, and according to Muriel, she was “gaga”.
But now was not the time to cast doubt on Hermione’s theory, not when she was so surprisingly willing to fall in with Harry’s dearest wish.
“Yeah, he might have! So, are we going to go?”
“Yes, but we’ll have to think it through carefully, Harry.”
Hermione stood up from the couch and made her way over to the table. Harry was already missing her warmth and closeness as she walked away.
At the table she shuffled around their many notes and half-baked plans and lists of possible Horcrux locations sat. Harry followed her, and could tell that the prospect of having a plan again had lifted her mood as much as his.
“We’ll need to practice Disapparating together under the invisibility cloak for a start…”
Harry let her talk, nodding and agreeing whenever there was a pause, but his mind had left the conversation. He was about to go home, about to return to the place where he had had a family.
It was in Godric’s Hollow that, if not for Voldemort, he would have grown up and spent every school holiday. He could have invited friends to his house…
He might even have had brothers and sisters… It would have been his mother who had made his seventeenth birthday cake. The life he had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him.
Harry looked at Hermione as she continued to talk through their plan of action.
He was going to go back with the girl he cared for most in this world. The girl… The person he wished so much his parents could have met.
“…and perhaps disillusionment charms would be sensible too, unless you think we should go the whole hog and use Polyjuice Potion? In that case we’ll need to collect hair from somebody. I actually think we’d better do that, Harry, the thicker our disguises the better…”
“No,” Harry said quickly. Hermione stopped her monologue, looking slightly taken aback. “I just… I just mean, I want to go back as myself, Hermione.”
Her gaze softened.
“But Harry…”
“No, I’m not going as someone else,” he said firmly. “I need to do this as me, Hermione. For it to be us.”
He took her hand as he emphasised the last part, but it wasn’t untrue. He wanted it to be Harry and Hermione returning to the place he was raised. Where his parents had died.
Not a pair of random muggles.
“Okay,” she relented.
Almost two weeks later, once Hermione had mastered applying a disillusionment charm to them and they had practiced Apparating and Disapparating while underneath the invisibility cloak together, that she finally agreed to make the journey.
They were to apparate to the village under cover of darkness. So after a serving of soup for dinner, they packed away the tent and ensured all of their possessions, including Harry’s rucksack, were in the beaded bag, which Hermione had tucked into an inside pocket of her buttoned-up coat.
Hermione took one last look up at the night sky before Harry lowered the invisibility cloak over them.
“Mars is bright tonight.”
“What?”
“Look,” she pointed at a glowing dot in the sky that looked like all the others to Harry. “Mars. It’s brighter than it usually is.”
“If you say so,” Harry shrugged, something tugged at his memories, but he was too anxious to get to Godric’s Hallow. “Are you ready?”
Hermione nodded and reached out to take his hand.
“Together.”
“Together.”
And with that Harry and Hermione spun on the spot. And spun. And spun. And spun.
Harry began to panic. Apparition didn’t take this long. But as soon as he started to panic he felt the familiar pull.
Heart beating in his throat, Harry opened his eyes. They were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering feebly.
Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the centre of the village.
“All this snow!” Hermione whispered beneath the cloak. “Why didn’t we think of snow? We’ll leave prints! We’ll just have to get rid of them. You go in front, I’ll do it…”
Harry did not want to enter the village like a pantomime horse, trying to keep themselves concealed while magically covering their traces.
“Let’s take off the cloak,” he said. When she looked frightened he added, “Oh, come on, you’ve applied all the disillusionment charms you know and there’s no one around.”
Her breath hitched but he didn’t give her any more time to protest. Hurling the cloak off of them and stowing it in his jacket pocket, Harry linked their arms together and they made their way forward unhampered. The icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages.
Any one of them might have been the one in which James and Lily had once lived or where Bathilda lived now. Harry gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches, wondering whether he remembered any of them, knowing deep inside that it was impossible.
He had been little more than a year old when he had left this place forever. He was not even sure whether he would be able to see the cottage at all. He did not know what happened when the subjects of a Fidelius Charm died. Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.
Strung all around with coloured lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.
The snow here had become impacted. It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by street lamps, but Harry was strangely confident that, even if the disillusionment charms didn’t work, they would simply see a young couple taking an evening stroll.
They heard a snatch of laughter and music as the pub door opened and closed; then they heard a carol start up inside the little church.
“Harry, I think it’s Christmas Eve,” said Hermione.
“Is it?”
He had lost track of the date; they had not seen a newspaper for weeks.
“I’m sure it is,” said Hermione, her eyes upon the church. “They… they’ll be in there, won’t they? Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it.”
Harry felt a thrill of something that was beyond excitement, more like fear. Now that he was so near, he wondered whether he wanted to see it after all. Perhaps Hermione knew how he was feeling, because she reached for his hand and took the lead for the first time, pulling him forward.
Halfway across the square, however, she stopped dead.
“Harry, look!”
She was pointing at the war memorial. As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of being covered in names of the soldiers who died in the war, there was a rune and an accompanied inscription.
As Hermione looked upon the monument it hit her. This was the exact same rune that was in Dumbledore’s book. A triangle with a circle in it bisected by a vertical line.
“Oh my god. Harry this is it. This is it!”
Hermione dragged Harry towards the monument. As they got closer they could finally read the writing on it. It wasn't too dissimilar from the muggle monument.
Let the monument be a testament to the memories of the lives lost because of the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald and his evil forces. This man tried to co-opt this sacred symbol of the Peverell Family to his own ends. Godric’s Hallow remembers. There has never lived a Peverell who forgot an oath. And with House Peverell, the Hallow will follow.
“Grindelwald? Is that what Dumbledore wanted us to get out of that symbol?”
“No Harry look! It says Grindelwald stole the symbol from House Peverell. That’s the clue. We need to find out all we can about that House. It says the Hallow will follow House Peverell. That means that there must be more information about the family here!”
“And how are we going to do that? We just find the local library? I doubt they’re open on Christmas Eve. And I’ve never…”
Harry froze.
“Harry?” Hermione looked at him, concern clearly written across her face.
“I have heard that name before.”
“Really?” Hermione was shocked. “Where? When?”
Harry was focusing on the feeling. The feeling of familiarity. And then suddenly it hit him.
“The ring! The horcrux ring! Dumbledore showed me a memory of a man that went and visited Marvolo Gaunt, HIS grandfather. Gaunt waved the ring around like it was his prized possession. He claimed that the ring had the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone. He said that the man wouldn’t believe how much money he had been offered just for the ring. And that same ring was turned into a horcrux! The horcrux that cursed Dumbledore!”
Hermione looked up at Harry in amazement.
“Harry this is the best clue we’ve gotten since this whole thing started! If HIS family had the ring they might’ve been connected to the Peverell family.”
“The Gaunts were descendants of Salazar Slytherin,” Harry started trying to think things through. “That’s why HE claimed to be his last living descendant. But then wouldn’t that also possibly make him the last descendant of the Peverell family?”
“Not necessarily,” Hermione added. “There’s always cousins, sisters, brothers… BROTHERS!”
“Shush! Hermione.”
“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry, but… But what if… What if there were brothers?”
“Ok. What would that mean?”
“It could mean nothing. Or it could mean everything.”
“You’re not making any sense, Hermione.”
Hermione shook her head.
“Reguardless, we won't solve the problem standing here. And we don’t have a lot of time left on the disillusionment charms. We’ll need to get to a safe place to reapply them or a place where we can reappear without anyone noticing.”
Harry gave her a cheeky grin.
“As long as no-one has noticed two disembodied voices talking by the old war memorial.”
Hermione shot him a withering glare.
“C’mon then,” said Harry.
They turned again toward the church. As they crossed the road, he glanced over his shoulder. As they moved further away the inscription on the monument had turned back into the list of names of the soldiers who lost their lives during the war.
The Peverell family crest along with the Hollows declaration of their support of the Peverell Family.
The singing grew louder as they approached the church. It made Harry’s throat constrict, it reminded him so forcefully of Hogwarts. Of Peeves bellowing rude versions of carols from inside suits of armour, of the Great Hall’s twelve Christmas trees, of Dumbledore wearing a bonnet he had won in a cracker, of Ron in a hand-knitted sweater from his mum…
There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Hermione pushed it open as quietly as possible and they edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay untouched.
They moved through it, carving trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows.
Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow.
Keeping his free hand closed tightly on the wand in his jacket pocket, Harry moved toward the nearest grave.
“Look at this, it’s an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah’s!”
“Yes, but please Harry, keep your voice down,” Hermione begged him.
“Oh now you care about our voices,” Harry quipped sarcastically.
“Quiet!” Hermione hissed back.
They waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, eventually splitting up and gouging dark tracks into the snow behind them, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that they were unaccompanied.
“Harry, look here!” Hermione was two rows of tombstones away; he had to wade back to her, his heart positively banging in his chest.
“Is it…?”
“No, but look!”
She pointed to the dark stone. Harry stooped down and saw, upon the frozen, lichen-spotted granite, the words Kendra Dumbledore and, a short way below her dates of birth and death, her Daughter Ariana. There was also a quotation.
Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
So Rita Skeeter and Muriel had got some of their facts right. The Dumbledore family had indeed lived here, and part of it had died here.
Seeing the grave was worse than hearing about it. Harry could not help thinking that he and Dumbledore both had deep roots in this graveyard, and that Dumbledore ought to have told him so, yet he had never thought to share the connection.
They could have visited the place together; for a moment Harry imagined coming here with Dumbledore, of what a bond that would have been, of how much it would have meant to him.
But it seemed that to Dumbledore, the fact that their families lay side by side in the same graveyard had been an unimportant coincidence, irrelevant, perhaps, to the job he wanted Harry to do.
Harry scowled.
It seemed more and more he found out about Dumbledore the more he learned just how little the man actually thought of him. How little Dumbledore actually cared for him. In fact, it was more like every action led to the exact opposite.
Dumbledore’s every action only led Harry to more pain.
Hermione was looking at Harry, and she could see the turmoil on his face, even half hidden in shadow.
She knew that this entire journey was bit by bit destroying everything Harry had believed in. His belief in Dumbledore. His love for the man that was as close to a father figure as he ever had.
She had to admit that it was also doing the same to her. It would be a lie to say that she hadn’t believed that Harry had been told some grand plan by Dumbledore on how to hunt the rest of the horcruxes. To learn that Harry had shared basically everything Dumbledore had ever told him was astonishing in two ways.
It was extremely heartwarming. Harry had such trust in her and Ron that he told them everything. Nothing was held back. Every memory, every conversation with Dumbledore was relayed to his best friends. While they might not have seen or heard everything first hand, Harry told them everything. His trust in them was absolute. Even when she and Ron had been fighting and arguing every second of the day.
It made Ron’s betrayal even more heart breaking. The fact that Ron had been told everything but still thought Harry was holding on on them. It made her rethink everything she had thought she knew about their former red-headed best friend.
The other side of the coin was extreme terror. There was no plan. There was no laid out path for them to follow. Even more so they were behind where they were expected to be. Without the sword of Gryffindor they couldn’t destroy the Horcrux that they had found.
Ever since then Dumbledore had fallen from his pedestal in her eyes. For everything that he put Harry through. He might’ve been a powerful wizard, but he for sure wasn’t a perfect man. Far far far from it.
Harry was oblivious to Hermione’s searching gaze. He was re-reading the words on the tombstone again.
Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
He did not understand what these words meant.
Surely Dumbledore had chosen them, as the eldest member of the family once his mother had died.
“Are you sure he never mentioned…” Hermione began.
“No,” he said curtly. “Let’s keep looking.”
Harry turned away, wishing he had not seen the stone. He did not want his excited trepidation tainted with resentment.
“Oh my God! Harry!” cried Hermione again a few moments later from out of the darkness.
Harry rushed over to find Hermione rubbing at a crumbling, mossy stone.
“What is it this time?” He did not want to be sidetracked again.
“Look!”
The grave was extremely old, weathered so that Harry could hardly make out the name. Hermione showed him the symbol beneath it.
“Harry, that’s the mark again! And this name. Ignotus Peverell.”
Harry rolled his eyes.
“Great. I’m glad we’ve got a name to look up. Your brother’s theory is looking better. Now see if you can go find the other brothers. Meanwhile, I’m going to keep looking for my parents. All right?”
Harry set off again stopping through the snow, leaving her crouched beside the old grave.
Every now and then he recognised a surname, there were a great number of Abbotts in this graveyard. Was Hannah’s family a lot closer to his than he knew? Why didn’t she say anything to him?
Questions for another time. If he ever saw her again.
Right now he just wanted to find his family.
Sometimes there were several generations of the same wizarding family represented in the graveyard. Harry could tell from the dates that it had either died out, or the current members had moved away from Godric’s Hollow.
Deeper and deeper amongst the graves he went, and every time he reached a new headstone he felt a little lurch of apprehension and anticipation.
The darkness and the silence seemed to become, all of a sudden, much deeper. Harry looked around, worried, thinking of dementors, then realised that the carols had finished, that the chatter and flurry of churchgoers were fading away as they made their way back into the square.
Somebody inside the church had just turned off the lights.
Then Hermione’s voice came out of the blackness for the third time, sharp and clear from a few yards away.
“Harry…”
And he knew by her tone that it was his mother and father this time.
Harry strode over to her feeling as if something heavy were pressing on his chest. It was the same sensation he had had right after Dumbledore had died. A grief that had actually weighed on his heart and lungs.
The headstone was only two rows behind Kendra and Ariana’s. It was made of white marble. Which made the engraving very easy to read. But when he looked down… It wasn’t his parents.
Charlus & Dorea Potter
Died July 24, 1977
The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed Is Death.
Harry was confused.
“These were… my grandparents?”
“The dates would match up to around that time.”
Harry frowned at the engraving.
“What the bloody hell was dad thinking? The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed Is Death. That… That’s some Death Eater shite! Why’s that there?”
“It’s not Harry. It’s not,” Hermione tried to soothe him, her voice gentle. “It’s from the Bible. 1 Corinthians 15:26. It doesn’t mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry. In Christian teaching, death entered the world through sin, making it an adversary to God and humanity. Christian’s believe that Jesus' resurrection is the first step in conquering death.”
Harry scowled.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“By itself it may not, but in context it does. Did the Dursely’s never take you to church?”
“Church? HA!” Harry barked a laugh at that. “Never! The Church asks for money for the poor. The Dursely’s would never go there.”
“Well regardless there’s something else, Harry. The graves…”
“But where are my parents?”
Harry’s irritation was bordering on frustration. As he looked at the graves next to Charlus and Dorea Potter. But there was nothing. Empty spaces where something could go but nothing was there.
Just what the bloody hell was going on here!
“Harry… Harry…” Hermione was tugging his arm furiously, “Harry, we’re not alone.”
Harry turned to look. Once Hermione pointed them out he couldn’t miss them. The couple was moving through the graveyard from the direction of the church. They must’ve just left the service that had just ended. They were walking with a purpose and talking animatedly.
“We need to go,” Hermione whispered. “Quickly.”
“But, my parents!”
“Harry, we can't get caught!”
“But…”
“Oye!”
A shout broke through their argument and they looked up to see the couple had noticed them and was now rapidly moving towards them. A man with dark hair was leading, striding forward with a purpose, while a woman bundled up in a white cap that hid her hair was only a step behind him.
The couple stopped about 10 yards away from Harry and Hermione. Before Harry could come up with an excuse and get him and Hermione out of there the man cut him off.
“Just what are you two doing to my parents' graves?”
Time seemed to stop.
Harry would’ve sworn he could no longer feel the cold night air blowing. Nor the snow falling upon his head.
Harry finally looked at the face of the man that stood in front of him. The face that was now so hauntingly familiar.
How could he not have recognized this face from the very beginning? How could he ever have forgotten this face? He had stared at those photographs Hagrid had given him every day until he memorized each and every single one of them.
“James…”
The woman’s voice drew Harry’s attention to her. She was just as beautiful as she was in the photos. A heart shaped face and long straight auburn hair. But it was her eyes. Harry’s eyes.
For the first time in his life Harry truly understood what everyone else was saying when they mentioned Lily’s eyes. They were… hypnotic. Like emeralds cut to reflect the light for eternity into the depths. This is what everyone saw when they looked at him.
“Mum?”
The one word slipped out before he could stop it.
In that split second James’ wand snapped into his hand and was pointing at Harry and Hermione.
“I won’t ask again. Who are you? And what are you doing to my parents' graves?”
Hermione grabbed onto Harry trying to pull him back to some sort of safety, but Harry didn’t want to go anywhere. This is where he always wanted to be. He had no idea how this had happened, but he didn’t care.
His parents were right in front of him.
Now he just needed to get his father not to hex him into next week.
“My name is Harry. This is Hermione. We were looking for someone in this graveyard and came across your parents. We were expecting to find someone else.”
James narrowed his eyes at Harry.
“Who were you expecting to find?”
Harry sighed.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
Harry sighed again.
“My mum and dad.”
Harry could see James’ temper rising.
“Stop playing games boy. Their names. Now.”
Harry slowly swallowed what little moisture he had in his dry mouth. He really wished Hermione was the one talking. But he had to open his big mouth first. Oh well. Here goes… everything.
Harry looked James straight in the eyes.
“Lily and James Potter.”
The next second everything went black as the stunning spell hit him in the face.
“Rennervate!” Hermione shouted, casting the spell as quickly as Harry had been stunned.
Harry hit the ground and began rolling toward a gravestone for cover while Hermione darted the other way.
“I’m telling the truth!” Harry shouted at James.
“That’s a load of bollocks!” James shouted back, sending a stunner along with his retort.
“It’s true! Prongs! I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”
James' arm froze in mid-motion. For a moment Harry thought that he had gotten through to his father. But then a salvo one hundred times worse than what he had ever dealt with began raining down upon him.
“Who did you kill? Was it Peter? Was it Remus? If you killed Sirius I will make your death the most painful thing this world has ever seen!”
The gravestones Harry was hiding behind were reduced to rubble so quickly he had to scramble behind 5 different ones before James' first salvo finally broke.
“I didn’t hurt them. I have the map! Your map, dad. I have your cloak! Just listen to me, please!”
But his only response was the start of another onslaught of spells.
Hermione was in a full blown panic right now. Not only were they in a duel with people well beyond their skill level. They were dueling Harry’s not-dead parents. Because they had to be dueling Harry’s not-dead parents because if she allowed herself to think of the other possibilities then she would probably shut down and not be able to help Harry.
“This is bad,” she whispered as she tried to peek out around the corner of the grave stone she was hiding behind. “This is really really bad.”
“I agree,” came a calm voice from behind her as she felt the tip of a wand tap the back of her head.
Hermione froze. How was that even possible? She didn’t even notice Lily move. Were her spells that good?
Hermione slowly raised her hands in surrender.
“Please. We’re not here to harm you. Harry really is the son of James and Lily Potter.”
For a moment Lily didn’t respond.
“Turn around… Slowly. I’m giving you a bit of trust, betray that trust and you will die. Do you understand?”
Hermione nodded vigorously before she slowly turned around. And saw… nothing. That was until Lily materialized out of nowhere by pulling off the invisibility cloak.
Hermione gasped.
“The invisibility cloak!”
Lily's eyebrow raised.
“The invisibility cloak?”
“It’s the same one Harry has. I would recognize it anywhere. It’s the same one Dumbledore gave him. The one passed down from James. We used it all the time to sneak out around the castle. Harry has it on him right now. It’s in his jacket pocket.”
Hermione watched as Lily seemed to come to a decision very quickly.
“Come with me. Keep your wand holstered. But if you need to defend yourself, do so. But remember… I’m trusting you. Break that trust and you will die.”
Hermione took note of the ice cold look Lily was giving her. Whatever stories people told Harry about his mother being the kindest person they had ever met, had completely forgotten to tell him about how deadly she could be as well.
“I promise. Harry is your son. If anything, we need your help now more than ever.”
Lily gave Hermione an appraising look.
“Come.”
“This is totally not how I thought this would go,” Harry thought as he dodged another spell salvo from his father.
Here he was. Somehow in front of his not-dead mother and father. And they were dueling. The Potter bad luck couldn’t get any worse.
“You can’t hide forever.”
“I don’t know dad. Think of this like all the games of Hide-and-Go-Seek that we didn’t get to play together.”
Harry’s goading was probably not the smartest idea, because it only made James' next salvo even worse.
“James!”
A voice cut through the spell fire.
“James!”
Harry heard it clearer this time. It was Lily, his mum. He peeked out from behind the gravestone he was hiding behind to see Hermione being led by Lily towards James' position.
Harry sighed. Not because he was worried for Hermione's safety, but just because of the fact that he didn't know what they were going to do.
Harry saw them speak for a moment in hushed voices, but he couldn’t hear them. Then Lily turned back in his direction.
“Harry? Harry? Please come out, Harry. James will not attack you. Hermione says you have your invisibility cloak on you. Please bring it here. We can verify who you are beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
Harry sighed in relief as he slowly got up from behind the gravestone he was hiding behind and began walking over to everyone else.
As he was walking over James was waving his wand and going about fixing all the damage he caused. As Harry got closer he heard James grumbling about always being on clean up duty.
Lily gave James a smirk at that.
“If you don’t want to do the clean up, dear, don’t make the mess.”
“But where’s the fun in that,” James grumbled.
Lily shook her head and turned to Harry.
“Well, now that we got that out of our systems. Let’s actually figure out what’s going on here. Harry, your cloak.”
Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lily.
Lily lifted up both cloaks and started examining them. After a few moments she singled out one specific section.
“Here we are.”
“What did you find?” James asked.
“Remember that time that we had that late night date on top of the astronomy tower?”
“Of course. We had to escape the prefects on duty. Can’t have the Head Girl and Boy getting caught doing–”
“Yes,” Lily cut him off quickly. “And do you remember what happened after that?”
“Yeah you were nak—“
“Ah hem—“ Lily cleared her throat and glared at James.
James gave her a sheepish grin back.
Meanwhile Hermione had gone completely red and Harry was contemplating joining the graves here with his own right about now.
“I mean,” James started again, “we were in a rush and the cloak got a tear in it. But you were able to patch it with some yarn made from demiguise hairs.”
“Yes I did. And I took the time to stitch something in there that I never told anyone.”
James looked shocked.
“You did?”
Lily smirked and held out both cloaks to James.
“What do you see?”
James examined the stitching. For a long moment he was silent.
“I’ll be damned,” he finally said.
Harry and Hermione leaned in and saw the stitching. It was quite intricate work. Identical intricate work. On both cloaks it read: Lily loves James.
“I never noticed that before,” Hermione remarked.
“You wouldn’t,” Lily agreed. “It’s by where your feet would be. Unless you were examining the cloak extremely carefully you would never find it.”
“So that means… that you’re our son,” James concluded.
Harry could only nod his throat welling up with emotions.
“Well I’ll be damned,” James whispered, as he looked over at Lily tears forming in his eyes.
“So now we just need to figure out how the two of you were resurrected,” Hermione concluded. “We could really use your help. HE’S back. Dumbledore’s dead, and we’ve got these horcruxes to find. We really really need the help.”
James whirled back around to look at Hermione.
“What are you talking about?”
Harry and Hermione looked at each other in confusion.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked James and Lily, “You’re back from the dead. I don’t know how it happened or what led to this but we need your help. The Order needs your help. Remus is the only one left who can do anything right now.”
“Hermione…. Hermione,” Lily started carefully cutting off Hermione’s growing deluge of information. “What year is it?”
“It’s Christmas Eve, December 24th, 1997.”
James and Lily exchanged a knowing look. Before Lily turned back to Harry and Hermione.
“Harry… Hermione… It’s Christmas Eve December 24th, 1979.”