This is an entry for Artistic Gymnastics in the 2012 summer Hogwarts Games over on HPFC. The challenge was to write a one shot of any length with an Original Character being the focus of the story. I hope you enjoy reading it!
Godric's Hollow
She was five years old when she first realised she was different from the other children, not in a bad way, they were her friends – it was just that she liked to do different things, play in different places and she saw so much more.
'Extraordinary attention span' the doctors call it, once they finished poking and prodding at her, running all of their tests, 'nothing to worry about – she's just a little bit different.' There's that word again – at five years old she's been marked for life; the strange little blonde girl from Godric's Hollow who likes to play in graveyards.
From her bedroom window she can see this one grave of in the distant corner of the graveyard, it's her favourite because it always seems to shine in the moonlight and because of the people who come to visit it, strange, unusual people.
30th January 1990
Its early morning on the second last day of January and all of the window ledges in Godric's Hollow are coated in a thick layer of snow, the freezing cold travelling up the window panes and creating intricate silver patterns on the glass.
The little girl carefully unbolts the front door of her house and runs out into the snow covered street her long stripy scarf trailing behind her in the wind. Hers are the first shoes to make an indent into the fresh snow – tiny, neat rows of boot prints leading to the small kissing gate at the entrance of the cemetery.
She zooms between the headstones; arms outstretched playing that all too familiar childhood game of aeroplanes. She's not paying the slightest bit of attention to where she's going so it's no surprise when she crashes headlong into a tall man.
"Watch where you're going," he mutters, the sleeves of his dark clothing billowing in the wind as he sets her back on her feet and moves swiftly away.
She follows him, how could she not? She's seven and altogether too curious for her own good, besides this stranger is interesting, dressed from head to toe in black, with a hood covering his hair and masking his features in shadow. He walks with a single minded purpose, not pausing to look around – he knows exactly where he's going and she's pretty sure she knows as well.
She isn't proved wrong, barely half a minute late he stops in front of her favourite grave, the white marble almost the same colour as the snow. The man hardly pauses, taking perhaps a second to lay down a single flower on the icy earth in front of the headstone and whisper a few words, perhaps a sentence – she isn't quite sure, before he is gone again.
23rd June 1993
The girl sits in the long grass, back leant up against a tree, the swaying branches making the sunlight dance across the page of her sketchbook. She moves the pencil deftly across the page, stroke after stroke adding detail to the picture. As she draws, a man with sandy blonde hair and the tracing remains of scars spiralled across his face, pushes open the kissing gate next to the church at the front most fence of the graveyard. He paces slowly, head bent low, hands in pockets, towards where the girl sits. Stopping just a few metres away next to the headstone of Lily and James potter, without, apparently noticing her.
She keeps her eyes on the picture though she listens to his monologue with avid though undetectable interest. "Hi James, Lily…I guess I should have brought something, flowers maybe. Isn't that what you're supposed to do? The man fingered the tattered edge of his jacket before beginning to speak again, "I've got a new job, Dumbledore finally persuaded me, I'm going to see Harry again… Godric," He said, voice thick with emotion, "… you would have laughed at that James, A marauder, a teacher, and then," he continued, "Lily would have told you off and said you were both proud of me and we'd have gone out and gotten pissed at the pub." He laughed bitterly, "How far the mighty have fallen."
The man spins quickly on the spot, making to leave. He must have caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye because he lets out a small gasp before making his way over to her. "Hello," he says kindly, squatting so that he's on a level with her.
"Hullo." She replies, watching him shyly through her eyelashes.
"Can I have a look" the man asks pointing at the sketchbook.
Wordlessly she passes it over. He takes it in one hand and flips it round so that he's seeing it from the right angle. He smiles softly, tracing a finger round the pencil lines of the names engraved on the grave she's drawn, the one he was visiting. "It's beautiful." He sighs, "How old are you?"
"Nine," she answers, keeping her eyes fixed on the page, "But I'll be ten next week and then Matt won't be able to call me a baby anymore," she smiles, "He's in my class at school and he's already nine. I don't like him, he tugs my braids and he thinks he's amazing but he's not."
To the little girls surprise the man chuckles, eyes lighting up, "I knew a little girl who said the same thing once." He says grinning down at her.
"What happened to her?" she asks interestedly
The man pauses for a moment before answering, "she grew up," he answered "and I guess she realised that he wasn't all that bad after all, she married him and they had a little baby," he gestured towards the grave, "the boys name was James and he was the best friend I ever had…" he broke off and gave her the tiniest of smiles, "I'd better be going now," he says, holding out his hand for her to shake, "goodbye."
She hesitates for a brief moment before taking his hand, "goodbye." She echoed.
15th July 1993
Her Granddad taught her about the stars. He taught her about supernovas and giant balls of gas, shooting stars and all the stories behind the names. He taught her that when she couldn't get to sleep at night she should count the stars because stars are so much harder to run out of than cows jumping over a stupid fence and so, so much better to dream about.
It's on one such night when insomnia is holding her in a tighter grip than usual, that she sits up on her bed, elbows supporting her head as she stares out into the night's sky, counting and losing track and beginning to count again, that she sees it. A huge black shape standing in front of the grave of Lily and James Potter and howling. She isn't quite sure what it is, but when she finally falls asleep that night she dreams of the brightest star in all of the sky.
31st October 1996
It's the one night of the year when no one questions her odd habits; it's sort of expected that the local kids will go and muck around in the graveyard on Halloween , even if she's the only one that ever does.
She sits in the shadows, dressed in her own slightly odd attempt at a bat costume, having declined her older brother's slightly reluctant invitation to come trick or treating with him and his friends. She can hear the excited noises of the other kids, hyped up on a crazy excess of sugar, half way across the village, so she's slightly surprised to hear the gate swing open creakily and someone walk into the graveyard, stopping only a row in front of where she is and begin talking. She only catches a few brief snatches of the mans – she can tell that much from his tone of voice- words and it sounds like he's apologising for something, saying, "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry." over and over again.
She leans forward to try and hear better, when suddenly, out of nowhere the man turns the corner- with no time to disguise her attempts at eavesdropping she simply opts for turning bright red and almost toppling over.
The man regards he for a minute, giving her time to realise what odd looking guy he is; old, but not at the same time, with a long silver beard, an outlandishly coloured suit, which she supposes must be part of his costume (because nobody would wear that colour out of choice) and seemingly timeless blue eyes that twinkle when he finally breaks into a smile which she answers with a wide, if slightly sheepish, grin, "Hello"
"Hello," he answers, before rooting around in the inside pocket of his suit and producing a slightly crumpled brown paper bag, "I believe it's customary to offer sweets on the night of All Hallows Eve" he says, holding out the bag to her.
She smiles slightly hesitantly, her mother always told her never to accept sweets from strangers (and this man is about as strange as it gets), "Normally you have to do a performance-thing first," she explains awkwardly.
He smiles again, "I thought you already had, I haven't seen anyone blush that hard since I caught those two kissing," he indicated the white marble grave with a sweep of his hand.
"Point taken." She smiled, reaching up and taking a sweet out of the bag still blushing slightly, she looked up furtively, hoping the man wouldn't notice and comment, but he seemed lost in thought, "thank you sir," she adds conventionally, but he doesn't seem to hear
"They could have been so much more," he says almost to himself, "so much more than the got the chance to be...But," he sighs, "that is all in the past, and it is the future we must look to now." He shakes himself, breaking out of his reverie and smiling once more, "Ignore me," he continues jovially, "these are but the ramblings of an old man" and with that he was gone.
24th December 1997
She joined the church choir primarily because they paid you for your services, sure It meant that you had to sing in front of the old folks every Sunday morning at the crack of dawn and on bigger events like this dust off the full outfit and look stupid while singing hymns to a bunch of people who looked like the wanted to be there almost as much as she did.
It's safe to say that about fifteen minutes into midnight mass, which starts unnecessarily early, she finds her attention wandering to the graveyard beyond the confines of the church walls. It doesn't take long for someone to catch her notice, two someone's actually – a man and a woman, holding hands in the way that only friends can – making their way across the snow lined churchyard, through the kissing gate and towards the headstones, an unmistakably defeated slump to their shoulders.
She doesn't get to watch any longer because the choir is called to the front to sing another number, silent night, and by the time she is back in her seat they are gone. Only a trail of boot-prints and a circular wreath of roses to mark the fact that they had visited the grave of Lily and James Potter.
20th April 1998
She's engrossed in her art homework when a family walks into the graveyard. She barely looks up until they stop almost directly in front of her and the man begins to speak, she almost gasps out loud because she knows that voice – she's heard it before, coming from the mouth of the man with the scars and the tatty clothes. It's him, she thinks looking up in surprise, the jackets the same – patched and torn – even if his demeanour is completely different, there's no slump in his shoulders and he's hand in hand with a pink haired woman whose cradling a baby on her hip, "Hi, James…Lily," The man says, "I've done the right things this time, brought flowers," he lays some violets on the earth, "and…" he hesitates, "someone to meet you, this is Teddy." He says gesturing to the tiny baby whose head is entirely covered by a crochet hat, "He's my son – Godric I wish you'd gotten the chance to meet him, he would have loved you both."
The pink haired woman lays a comforting hand on his shoulder as he continues, "Harry's doing okay, I saw him a couple of weeks ago – made him Ted's godfather, he was the only one left who could ever have had that job."
She stifles a small sneeze and the man twirls round his hand reaching for his pocket, "I'm so sorry," she says, turning crimson, "I didn't want to interrupt anything," she explains.
"That's okay," he says looking at her quizzically, "Do I know you from somewhere?"
She smiles, "We've met before, here actually – though I was only nine at the time."
"That's right," he nods, "you were drawing?"
"Yeah." She answers nodding back, "you told me about your friends," she gestures at the grave, "Actually, I should probably thank you for that – when Matt asked me out last year it was one of the reasons I said yes."
The man grins back at her, "James would have loved that!" he exclaims grinning.
"Sorry," The pink haired woman asks, "Remus? Am I missing something here?"
"No," he answers lightly, I've just met this girl before, that's all."
"Cool," the pink haired woman grins, reaching down to shake her hand, "I'm Tonks – his wife and this" she bounced the baby, "is Teddy"
"Hi," the girls says, shaking Tonks' hand and waving her fingers at Teddy. She doesn't give her name.
The man – Remus glances at his watch, "We'd better go," he says to his wife, "We promised your mum we'd be back for four – we don't want her to send the cavalry after us."
"Oh bother…your right" Tonks says, checking her own watch before turning towards the girl, "I'm afraid we have to go."
The small family give her one last wave before turning round and walking back along the path towards the gate. She watches them until they're out of sight before going back to her sketch pad.
9th September 2001
It's the first time she ever puts flowers on the grave –her colleagues from her weekend job at the florists had presented her with a massive bunch of leftover flowers to take home with her in honour of her departure from both the job and the village, to brighten your table, her boss told her, but she thinks that this is a better use for them.
She's about to stand up and leave, having covered the grave in a bright array of colourful flowers, when she bumps into a tall man with messy black hair and his glasses perched on his nose at an odd angle, "Hey," he said questioningly "What are you doing here? Did you know my parents?"
It's a stupid question, Lily and James Potter were dead before she was even born, but she answers him anyway, she feels that she owes it too this kid after spending so much of her childhood trespassing on his parents grave, "No…" she says, "but I grew up just over the road and I used to play in here all the time… I always liked this headstone – slightly morbid I know," she laughs, "but it was an interesting one."
"Cool," the man said doubtfully, "I'm Harry, by the way, Harry Potter."
She grinned up at him, "Aislinn Grant."
16 years later…
Just before Michael turns eleven a round faced man appears on her doorstep claiming that her son is a wizard. It takes a while but eventually he has her convinced and within a few months she's waving him off on a platform that doesn't exist and there's owls tapping on her windows and delivering letters full of magic spells and cauldrons.
It's a strange world, one that she'll never truly be able to fathom, but it's at moments like this, she's so unquestionably happy that her son's a wizard;
"Mum"
"Yes Mike?" she asks.
"Granny and Gramps live in Godric's Hollow don't they?"
"Yes honey, just beside the church" she answers, "Why?"
"Oh… There's just a bit about it in my history textbook, that's all. Says it's the birthplace of Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter?" She asks in a strangled voice
"Yeah, the guy who killed Voldemort, his parent's died there – apparently they left their house standing with some signs and stuff explaining what it is… here" he says, "they've got what the sign says in the book…look"
She bends over and reads the cramped text next to a picture of a house -so like the one she grew up in – with half its roof blown off,
On this spot, on the night of the 31st October 1981,
Lily and James Potter lost their lives,
Their son Harry, remains the only wizard ever
to have survived the killing curse.
This house, invisible to muggles, has been left
in it's ruined state as a monument to the Potters
and as a reminder of the violence
that tore apart their family
And Finally, after so long, she understands.