Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to the wonderful and talented J.K. Rowling and associates (Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and anyone else in connection to Harry Potter Universe). I make no money from this story, just pure enjoyment. No Copy Right Infringement is meant.

Author's Notes: I want to welcome anyone reading this story. This idea has been with me for a while and something that has captured my fancy completely! This is a repost and edited. Hopefully better than before.

This first chapter is just the prelude – the background if you will. It lays the foundation for the story. Without further ado…

Simplistic Sophistication

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. − Leonardo da Vinci

Prelude

Courage is not the absence of fear, but simply moving on with dignity despite that fear. − Pat Riley

December 1997 – Hermione's POV

The light of the moon shined through the clouds, giving light to us as we saw what remained of the explosion. The house stood as a frozen illustration to the atrocities that had taken place. The damage was irreconcilable as were the crimes which were committed on that cold night so very long ago. What used to be a two story cottage nestled in a thatch of woods, was now a broken down pile of shattered dreams. The second floor was all but demolished.

The left part of the roof seemed still intact, but the right side of the roof line was completely missing; the room open to the elements. I wondered how many snow storms and rain showers that opened room had seen and suffered.

It had once been a happy, peaceful place that a little child called his nursery, but now it resembled a demolished battle zone where happy dreams were ruined and bitterly taken away. Stinging tears traveled down my face, falling to the cold ground. I didn't even try to dry my face. My tears came from real pain, and it was an insult to try to hide the ache.

I felt a hand grab clasp mine, giving comfort, love, and empathy. Squeezing back, I tried giving back even more of those emotions. It had become customary for one of us to grasp the hand of the other when one was under duress. It was a sign of love and deep friendship.

A friendship forged through the adolescent and stressful years of Hogwarts. A deep and abiding friendship between a boy-who-lived named Harry and his know-it-all Hermione.

Seven years later and here we stood outside of Godric's Hallow; a place Harry wanted to visit more than any place we had already traveled. It was a place to him that represented so many different things and caused so many conflicting emotions within him. Above everything else, it was a place where he'd spent his last moments with his parents.

Snow crunched under our boots as we approached the wrought iron gate protecting the little broken cottage. Upon closer inspection, one was able to see that the elements had also affected it. The tarnish on the metal had built up over the years and destroyed something that had once probably been cared for. Reaching out with our entangled fingers, I touched the corroded gate. We both gasped in surprise as a sign rose from magic. Messages had been scrolled on the plaque which greeted visitors. Thankful notes for Harry and his family.

On it were words written about what had taken place at this very spot and the crimes against nature that had been committed. The house was left in status as a monument to the time and that fatal event. More tears fell from our eyes, our hands tightened on the other as we read heartfelt messages left behind.

That small boy-who-lived-turned-man who carried the fate of Wizarding Britain on his shoulders. At times he resented having to be that boy and carry that mantle. But he always rose to the challenge. Through his faults and inadequacies, he triumphed time and time again. I was privileged to stand by his side, hold his hand and be the strength he needed in the most tying of times.

"Alohomora," Harry spoke gently, pulling me from my musings. A loud creak and small bits of rust flew into the cold air as the iron gate opened. Taking a deep breath Harry started his journey home. We walked in sync through the opened gate, and with a flick of his wand it slowly closed again.

The path up to the house was an overgrown. We had to stop several times or face the prospect of falling over years of growth. We finally stopped at the entrance to the house, and I felt a shudder go through my body. It was as if I could feel the residue of dark magic that had been used long ago. Unexpectedly I was pulled into Harry's arms as he tucked his face into my long bushy hair he adored. I wrapped my arms around his neck, slowly caressed his neck and back.

"I know, Harry, love," I murmured to him, not in a placating voice, but one of understanding. "We can turn around and leave. I would never think less of you." He shook his head. My brave Harry.

His breath against the skin of my neck mingled with his fallen tears and sent a new wave of shivers over me. Slowly pulling away, he pushed his shoulders back and gathered up his tattered strength. Humbly, I willingly gave him all the courage I had left over. He moved the hair from about my neck and replaced it with his lips. It was a tender kiss on my pulse point that lasted for a mere second, but spoke of his thankfulness. He lifted his head again, and I looked up into his hurting jade-colored eyes.

"It's something I just have to do, love."

My hands surrounded his beautiful haunting face, lite stubble tickling my fingers. "I understand, Harry. We all have to conquer the ghosts of our past at some point." A half-smile lingered on his lips before he looked up at the foreboding cottage that had been in both his reality and night terrors. He again exhaled, trying to remove the fright from his body.

"I'll be in after you, love," I whispered to him in a comforting voice. "I know you want to go in alone, and I respect that choice, Harry. It's your past and your decision."

I wiped away at that last of his tears because I knew he wanted to enter the house with his head held high and his emotions in some kind of balance. I leaned into his strong, lean frame and tenderly placed my lips to his. They were cold from the winter but still soft. I put a little pressure behind the kiss and he returned it with his heart. We broke away after a few seconds of indulging ourselves for comfort. "For good luck, Harry." His responding rusty grin was wobbly, but there still.

My resilient best friend.

I took out my wand and placed a status charm to the structure, not completely trusting the old magic that held the place together. The strength of the magic whirled around us, causing snowflakes to dance on the night air. I felt a little light-headed after, having to quickly sit down. The spell wouldn't last forever, but it gave me peace of mind with Harry wanting to enter. I felt Harry's hand on my shoulder and knew he was worried about my weakness.

"I'm fine, love. Just more magic passed than I had anticipated. I'm not sure how long it will last, but it should cover you for an hour. Just be careful of other things like debris and pieces of ceiling littering the ground, yeah?"

He kissed my check before using my shoulder as leverage to stand. I placed my hand over his and gave it a little squeeze before he pulled it away. The sound of his footsteps faded the further he traveled into the first house he had once lived. I gave him ten minutes, in which I collected myself, to traverse into the house without my hovering.

Feeling better, I followed the steps of my best friend into the cottage. This was my chance to look over the wreckage in silence. Many phantom images passed over my vision. Stories of a boy and his parents.

I had been working on a project for Harry for several years. He had no knowledge of what I was doing. Originally I got the idea from Hagrid and the photo album he made for a boy who had never seen an image of his parents.

For one of his birthdays, I wanted to give a present he would simply adore. I had been collecting anything I could find of Harry's family, not only of his parents, but of his grandparents and other family members. I wanted to give him a piece of himself. Harry knew who he was as an individual, but not as a member of his collective family.

So after researching through old books, writing owls to people whom had known anyone from his family, scouring through old editions of the Daily Prophet and other publications of the Wizarding world, I had amassed quite a collection of stories, anecdotes, pictures, family trees, and letters written by the family members themselves. It was a project of both labor and love, but something that ended up meaning more to me than I could have ever imagined. I learned much about the Wizarding world though the project, and even more about the family of my best friend

I wasn't quite done with my side project, but when complete, I knew Harry would appreciate it, cherish it.

.

The down stair rooms were eerily silent. I grasped the handle to the front door and slowly shut it. I didn't want anyone walking by and knowing there were actual people here. I looked around the door frame and noticed how many cobwebs had been spun, how much termite damage there was, how many nesting creatures had been here. Pulling out my wand, I started to clean some of the dirtiness. I wondered what Ron would have done if presented with some of these webs. My heart hurt more than I could bear with thinking of him.

Bending over, I started to work my way around the back of the door, the filthiness thick enough to choke a Thestral. My hand hit something hard and I let out a little yowl from the pain. I pushed past my annoyance and pain and stuck my hand in the mess, pulling out a stick. Spiders crawled up the peeling wallpaper to safety.

Wiping away the gossamer labyrinth from the wood I was able to make out what hurt me. Instinctively I knew who this belonged to, and in knowing, pain clenched at my heart. Gasping and clasping at my chest, I painfully fell to my knees. I was in shock from what I held. I couldn't understand how it was never recovered and placed to rest. It had been left behind with the crumbling cottage.

Thick, fat tears fell from my eyes in fast waves. I wiped the tears with my dirty hands, needing to get a better look. It didn't seem fair, yet here it was before my very eyes. I shakily reached my hand out and reverently touched the grimy wood. My heart broke at the state of it, but already knew these were wasted emotions that accomplished nothing.

Shuddering breaths left my achy chest. Flares of heat coursed through my fingers, lingering on my raw skin as I caressed the wand. Ignoring the wild flares tingling along my flesh, I put the forgotten piece of wood on my shirt and used it to clean away the years of muck caked on it. The state of it was unforgivable.

I wondered who had been so carless with something that had fought evil. I studied the now semi-clean wand and saw the beauty of it. Heat continued to travel through it and into my tingling skin. I wondered if the wand was thankful that someone had finally rescued it from its ensnared trap, giving it the attention it was due. Nonsensically I could imagine the wand missed the touch of smooth skin against it and that why it flared with heat.

Never had I heard of a wand doing such a thing, and thus scared me a bit.

I remembered Harry telling us about his wand acting of its own accord and I had chosen not to believe him. I was ashamed of my actions and my response to him. I thought about whose wand this could have been and remembered the story Harry told.

"My mother was in the room with me, Hermione. She stood in front of me and risked her life so that I could live. She begged him and that Bastard just laughed at her like she was some silly girl. If I had never hated that monster before, that very moment cemented my hatred." He fiercely wiped the tear from his eyes and looked up.

"Where was your father, love?" I spoke softly, knowing he wanted to tell me the story, needing it out in the open and out of his head. His sad eyes returned to me and I placed my hand in his. He entwined our fingers.

"He was down stairs trying to keep Voldemort away from us. He told my mother to take me upstairs. He was dead before he even got a chance to defend himself."

We both had cried after, holding onto each other for a long while.

I was holding James Potter's wand.

It was mahogany and eleven inches. I knew from a missive I had received from Ollivanderwhich described Harry's parents' wands. I knew he had originally told Harry (when they had first met) about his parents' wands, which was what gave me the idea to write to him.

I wanted to know the stories of how excited his parents were and how they showed that excitement. I wanted to know what emotions were displayed on their faces and how long it had taken for them to finally find their right match. These were stories that Harry should have gotten from his parents, but was robbed of that opportunity.

Ollivander said that James Potter's wand was a little different because it was carved with Celtic Knots which stood for eternity . . . the eternity of life . . . the eternity of love . . . and the eternity of nature. I found that information beyond amazing and so interesting.

The wand was even more beautiful than the concept. The knots wove together in long continuous strands and wound from the tip almost down to the handle. I was floored to have been holding something so special. I also knew this would be something that Harry would appreciate for life.

I was almost finished with his present, and I was going to give everything to him on his next birthday, including something that had quickly become the pièce de résistance. I gently touched along the grooves of the knots and cried at the thankfulness I could feel coming from the wand.

Hearing footsteps descending the steps, I quickly took out my shrunken rucksack. I wandlessly enlarged it before I stuck the wand gently into it and shrunk it back. I was planning on giving the wand to Harry, but I wanted it to be on his birthday and the surprise he loved the most. I stuck my bag back into my pocket as Harry turned the corner. I could see the lingering wetness in his eyes and on skin. I quickly stood up and made my way to him. He willingly came into my arms as I pulled him down. We stood there for a time before we heard the house shifting around us.

We both pulled away and I stroked the face of my beloved friend.

"Were you able to do what you needed, love?" He nodded his head, and pulled my hand into his.

Harry walked out of my arms and turned us toward the door. I knew this was his way of telling me he was ready. He opened the front door and looked around one last time before we both stepped out again. He shut the door lovingly, and fingered the knob with his free hand one last time.

"And thus closes another chapter in the Harry Potter Saga," he sadly jested, but I read between his meanings. He was finally letting go of something that never had any closure. He would always mourn his parents and their unfair ending, but in coming here he was able to listen to the ghosts of the past and return them to their rightful place.

He let go of the door handle, and with us both giving one last look to the house, we walked silently to the gate, opened it up, and closed it behind us as we walked on. The only things we could hear was the sound of our shoes as they hit the snow-covered path, the wind that blew past our ears and the creak of the gate as it closed once more and latched into place, barring the memories to follow.

.