The moment the bells chimed in the distance, the choirs began to sing. The soft sounds of their serenades drifted across the white blanketed landscape. A loosely wound couple trudge through the snow, allowing the moment of pause to last longer than a minute; an odd occurrence for the past couple of years. The snow continued it's decent as the couple made their way down the quiet, empty streets. As they traveled further into the small village, its small buildings loomed over them. Their dark shadows standing over the couple and clouded the streets. The darkness didn't scare them nearly as much as the few drunkards who passed by them, or the unmerciful feeling of being watched. Their shoes left small imprints as they continued at their decent pace, and the ground crackled and snapped under the pressure. The small crunches gave them comfort as they glanced behind themselves or into the dark alleys before walking by.
As if entering a clearing, one house stood burned down. Its shell radiating the dark spells of death and magic. The charcoal sewed deeply into the air they breathed as they turned to face the house straight on. Some of the pillars still stood erect, but what had used to be a house, now just stood one wall. The crumpled figure of the house lay scattered along the white floor; the pieces sticking out starkly from the pure color. The door was open, and shivered against the wind that pushed up against it. What the boy remembered to be white had now turned a deep grey.
"This is where they died, Hermione." The voice drifted, feeling a pulsating rage surge through him. The visibility in which he could see his parents dropping dead was almost burning his eyes as the decrepit house wafted its smells over him. He could practically smell Lord Voldemort as he raised his wand, and the crackling sound of the death curse resonated through his ears. "This is where he murdered them."
The dark scent pulsed up against the girl on his arm. It was a scent she hadn't felt so close to her; only the soft distilled scent had filtered through her when she passed through the streets of mourners, or when she had entered a graveyard for the first and last time when her grandfather had died. Hermione leaned further onto Harry's weight as the vision of the house stirred the prickling in her eyes. The dark clog in her throat brought her voice to a stop.
A little bit away a graveyard caught their attention as they passed the house. It had taken Harry moments to recompose himself; to actually tear his feet from the sticky ice that lay beneath his feet. Hermione's insistent tugging had done the trick though as they paused to look into the graveyard. The iron gates waned as little as they curved and acquiesced to the years they had stood. The slight bend caused the rails to hook outwards and snatch onto the coats of those that passed underneath it. The tombstone that lay behind the fence, were coated by the snow; but it was pretty obvious that not many people stepped into that area any more. As Harry and Hermione entered the dark area, the fence cringed and squeaked as it slowly swung open.
Upon entering the couple split, each searching for their own answers. Hermione's timorous steps, lingered around a tombstone with its snow covered name; Ignotus Peverell's name etched deeply within the marble. The sharp contract between his rich tombstone and the other rustic ones had caught her attention. Unlike Hermione, Harry's eyes latched to the double placed stone, which still stood proud and erect, even with the seventeen years of wear; James and Lily Potter. Their names were uncovered, as if they snow avoided that area for a reason. Or had somebody had brushed it away recently.
At the stone's feet, lay a small bundle of lilies and chrysanthemum. The spotted pink and white tilted up against the stone as if caressing it. Harry's eyes wandered over them. The fresh scent still lifted into the air, so obviously they had been placed their recently. It almost felt protective as Harry felt the comfort wrap around him almost like an embrace. Someone still remembered his parents; but who was it? Hermione's body bent down towards the floor and covered Harry's vision of the bouquet for a moment. Her crumpled form took in the present, before adding her own. The ring of flowers lay just over the small bouquet.
"Who left the flowers, Harry?" The question hurt more than Harry could have imagined. There was a deep sense of hope that surged through Harry; one that he wasn't particularly happy to feel at the moment.
"It has to be Evie." The words felt almost surreal to him, as he brought the image of her picture to his mind. Why had she suddenly appeared now? Where had she been? It wasn't long until he felt another surge of anger, quite similar to the one that he had while reliving his house burning down. His gaze pierced the flowers, and while he stared at them longer he couldn't help but to feel placated. She was here, or she had been here, and that was all that mattered. She was alive, and maybe at the end of the war Harry would finally have the answered he felt he deserved. His aunt; he felt the pride surge upward and his happiness resurface. The blood pumped eagerly in his veins as he bit down the bout of giddiness that washed over him. She was alive.
Hermione unfurled as she gripped onto Harry's arm and wrapped herself into the warmth he was emitting. She may never have heard the name, but for once Harry's eyes seemed light. The harsh slump in his shoulder lifted, and even Hermione could feel her hopes rising. There had been a moment, just before, when she had seen Harry's eyes struggling to shift from anger to contentment. They had flickered uncontrollably between the ground, the tombstone and the bouquet. But the sudden look of love that Harry had, made her feel better than ever.
"She's my aunt." The whisper carried, as they continued watching the grace.
"How do you know it's her?" The tremble escaped. She was scared she would break the spell that had befallen them, but the practical side of her brain couldn't stop having doubts. She wanted to feel that overwhelming sense of happiness for a little bit, and while she did feel calmer knowing Harry was happier, she didn't want to set him up for disappointed. Harry smiled his face stiff from the wind and the newly unfamiliar motion.
"I can feel it, Hermione. It has to be her."