Night had fallen over the quiet village of Godric's Hollow. The streets were empty; not a soul stirred. From time to time, a dog barked somewhere in the dark, then fell silent again.
Under the faint shimmer of starlight, a narrow alleyway suddenly gave off two soft cracks. For a moment, there was nothing, then, beside a trash bin, three pairs of shoes and the lower halves of three legs appeared, half-swallowed by shadow.
"Anyone around?" Ron whispered from beneath the Invisibility Cloak.
"Doesn't look like it," Harry murmured back.
"There wouldn't be," Hermione said, stepping carefully out from under the cloak and away from the bin.
Harry and Ron followed, pushing the cloak off their shoulders. Once in the open air, they both took deep breaths, relieved to be standing properly again.
Hermione peered cautiously around the corner. "Alright. Disguises are fine, and this is definitely the right place. Shall we go?"
"Yeah," said Harry and Ron together, tightening their grips on their wands.
Keeping close to the walls, they moved slowly down the street.
"At the next junction there's the square," Harry whispered over his shoulder. "Then right at the church. That's where the graveyard is."
"This place is too quiet," Ron muttered, holding his wand a little too tightly.
No sooner had he spoken than a dog barked from the far end of the street, followed by the sound of a door opening and someone cursing loudly. The trio froze, pressed against the wall, and waited until silence returned before moving again.
When they reached the corner, the heart of the village came into view, a small square.
At its center stood a war memorial draped with fairy lights. Around it were a few shops, a post office, a pub, and a modest church whose stained-glass windows reflected the lights like scattered gems.
"Come on," said Hermione quietly.
They crossed the square, but halfway across, Harry suddenly stopped. Hermione and Ron halted behind him.
Before their eyes, the war memorial shimmered and transformed, no longer a stone obelisk carved with names, but a statue of three figures: a man with messy hair and glasses, a woman with kind, beautiful features and long hair, and a baby boy sitting in her arms.
"What the, ?" Ron breathed, staring.
"It's Harry's parents," Hermione whispered. "And Harry… when he was a baby."
She didn't try to stop Harry as he stepped forward. She simply held her wand tighter, standing watch.
Harry gazed up at the stone faces of his parents. He had never imagined there would be a statue of them, of him. How strange, to see himself carved in stone: a smiling infant, unmarred by the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"Let's go," Harry said softly at last. He turned back to the others, eyes dry but voice tight.
Together, they continued toward the church. When Harry glanced back once more, the statue had turned back into a plain war memorial.
The gate at the churchyard entrance creaked faintly as Hermione pushed it open. The path leading up to the door was slick and damp, it must have rained earlier. Carefully, they skirted the building toward the graveyard behind.
Rows of headstones stood among the grass. The stained-glass windows cast patches of red, gold, and green light across the ground, like scattered jewels among the graves.
"Look at this one, 'Abbott.' Maybe one of Hannah's relatives?" Ron whispered, but his voice sounded too loud in the stillness.
"Keep your voice down," Hermione hissed, and Ron clamped a hand over his mouth with a sheepish nod.
They began checking each grave in turn, searching for any name that might hold a clue, anything tied to Dumbledore, or to the Horcruxes.
"Over here," Ron called softly a few minutes later.
Hermione and Harry hurried over. Ron pointed to a dark, moss-covered gravestone. The engraving was faint but legible:
Kendra Dumbledore
and beneath it,
her daughter, Ariana.
Under the names was an inscription:
Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
"Who's Ariana?" Ron asked quietly.
"Dumbledore's sister," Harry answered.
"Dumbledore had a sister?" Ron gaped. "Harry, you never told us!"
"I did," Hermione said briefly, jotting notes into her little notebook. "You just forgot. After Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?"
"Oh, right, you and I were—"
"Let's move on," Hermione cut him off quickly, closing her notebook. "We can go over details later."
They searched on.
"Here!" Hermione said suddenly, excitement creeping into her voice.
Harry and Ron joined her as she scrubbed at a crumbling stone thick with moss. Beneath her fingers, faint lines began to appear.
"Look, that's the symbol from the book!" she said, pointing.
The name was almost unreadable, but below it, faintly etched into the stone, was a triangle with a line and a circle within it.
"It could be…" Harry murmured.
Hermione raised her wand, illuminating the carving. "Ignotus… Ignotus Peverell. I'll write it down."
She extinguished the light and quickly noted the name in her notebook.
They pressed deeper into the graveyard. The air grew colder, darker, heavier.
"Harry… here," Ron whispered. Something in his tone made Hermione's chest tighten, he'd found the grave.
Harry seemed to know, too. His steps slowed, each one heavier than the last.
The gravestone stood only two rows from the Dumbledores'. Like Dumbledore's own, it was pure white marble, glowing faintly even in the darkness. The lettering was sharp and clear; Harry didn't need to kneel or even come close to read it.
James Potter
Lily Potter
Born 27 March 1960 Born 30 January 1960
Died 31 October 1981 Died 31 October 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Harry read the words slowly, as though he might only get one chance to truly understand them. His lips moved again as he murmured the final line aloud.
"'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death…'" A cold thought pierced him, a wave of panic following. "Isn't that something Death Eaters believe? How could it be here?"
"It doesn't mean what they think it means, Harry," Hermione said gently. "It's about… you know, love outlasting death. Life beyond it."
But they're not alive, Harry thought numbly. The words carved in marble couldn't hide the truth: his parents' bodies lay beneath that earth, cold, still, decaying.
Tears welled up before he could stop them. He let them fall silently, staring at the grave. Beneath that stone lay Lily and James Potter, now only bones and dust, unaware that their son stood just above them, heart pounding, alive because of their sacrifice.
Hermione took his hand, then drew him into a quiet embrace. Ron joined them without a word, one arm around Harry's shoulders.
Lifting her wand, Hermione traced a circle in the air. A cluster of white flowers bloomed in front of them. Harry caught them and placed them on the grave.
"Thanks," he whispered, wiping his eyes.
"I picked them from the church garden," Hermione said softly. "No one will mind."
"Let's go," Harry said after a long moment. "There's nothing more we can learn here."
Ron and Hermione nodded and walked with him out of the graveyard, one on each side.
Their next stop was the small village museum, once known for its Quidditch exhibit and now home to relics of the Potters. Hermione jotted notes furiously as they went through what little they could find. When they finally stepped back out into the street, she suddenly froze.
Her wand snapped up, pointing toward a hedge.
Harry and Ron immediately followed suit, wands raised.
Silence.
"What is it?" Ron whispered.
"I saw something move," Hermione said tensely. "Someone's watching us."
"I felt it too," Harry said quietly. "Stay alert—"
They waited. A gust of wind stirred the leaves; a few fluttered loose and drifted to the ground.
"Probably just a cat… or something small," Ron muttered. "If it were Death Eaters, we'd already be fighting, right? Let's go. It's late."
Hermione hesitated, peering once more into the shadows, then slowly lowered her wand. "Alright."
Even as they walked on, she and Harry kept glancing back over their shoulders.
"This street," Hermione said at last, leading them around a corner, "turn right here, it's our final stop tonight."
She halted suddenly.
"What is it?" Harry asked, wand raised again.
"It's fine," she said quietly, pointing ahead. "That house, or what's left of it. Harry, the map says this was your home. Your old home."
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