Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Anastasia, from which this story draws inspiration. All rights go to respective owners.

Once Upon a December

"Harry? What are you doing?" Hermione whispered loudly. "Harry!"

But Harry ignored her. He had thought he could handle it. But standing in the drifting snow and cold of Godric's Hollow, he was overcome with emotion. It was here, right here. He was standing in front of his childhood home. The little cottage at the end of the lane was in ruins and a plaque commemorating that night was riddled with graffiti. Harry took a step closer to look at it, and his eyes began to sting with unshed tears.

Witches and wizards had left messages on the sign, showing their support for him, as well as their gratitude. He felt his heart swell at the encouragement. Most, if not all, of them didn't know him personally. But they still supported him.

"Harry, we have to keep moving," Hermione said softly. But he was already shaking his head in the negative. He had this intense feeling that he needed to go inside. This was his home. His family had lived here. At one point, he had, too.

They were in the middle of a war; he could die tomorrow. He wanted to see this.

No, he needed to see it.

"I have to go inside, Hermione," he replied firmly. Harry looked back and met her horrified expression. He could practically hear her thoughts: Had he been put under a curse? They were on a mission; the two of them were possibly the most wanted magical people in Britain; it could be a trap; they could miss their only chance to meet Bathilda Bagshot.

"But … Harry—"

"I need to do this," he continued more softly. "I know this was not the plan. You don't have to come with me." And with that, he carefully pushed open the half-destroyed gate and began walking up the path to the front door.

The icy gravel crunched beneath his feet. With every step, the feeling of déjà vu grew stronger. Shaking off the unnerving sensation, he climbed the damaged steps to the door. Just as Harry was reaching for the doorknob, he suddenly heard rapid footsteps behind him. Instinctively, he spun toward the sound, drawing his wand in one smooth motion…

…only to find himself facing down the end of Hermione's wand.

After a second of tense silence, Harry watched as Hermione lowered her wand. She grinned ruefully at him.

"I thought you were going to curse me for a second," she said. He shook his head in amusement and also lowered his wand.

"And I thought I was going to get jumped by a Death Eater," he retorted. "Don't scare me like that! Besides, what happened to not coming with me?"

Hermione snorted at his last statement and raised a mocking eyebrow.

"Like I would ever leave you, Harry," she said reproachfully. "I would follow you to hell and back. And don't you ever forget it."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, just as quietly. "Are you … are you doing okay?" She looked up and met his eyes. Her perspective gaze seemed to search his face, reading the emotions he couldn't quite verbalize. He nodded and thickly swallowed. The tears were back.

"I think so," he replied honestly. Hermione reached out and gently took his hand. Squeezing it softly, she gave a nod in understanding.

Taking a deep breath, Harry once again faced forward and pushed open the door.

The ivy, which had taken over the outside of house, had also crept inside. Picture frames were knocked off the walls in the entry hall. To the right was what Harry thought had once been the living room. The brick fireplace, which he imagined at one point in time had been lovely, had been mostly obliterated.

Through the living room, he could just see an entrance to a small kitchen. At the end of the entry hall were stairs, which led up to the second floor. Harry looked up and saw that there were holes in the ceiling. He could see through to the upper floor and into the night sky; the roof was completely gone.

Harry saw all of it. And yet … at the same time he saw none of it. In his mind's eye, the house — and his family — remained whole.

He saw the soft carpet in the living room and the homey furniture. There was a grate around the fireplace, which contained a crackling fire. His parents — so young and happy — laughed as a younger version of himself crawled on the ground, chasing the pet cat. James, his father, chuckled and swooped him up. Toddler-Harry giggled and smiled happily at James.

The cat made her escape into the kitchen.

Subconsciously, Harry followed the path the cat took, in the present. Hermione quietly followed.

The kitchen was the room that had been mostly spared of the destruction from that night, but it still lay in ruin. But instead, Harry saw his mother in an apron, cleaning the dishes. Or at least, she was attempting to. A younger version of himself was splashing the water in the sink. Lily chuckled and scooped up bubbles. She gently blew them in his face. Instead of crying, Toddler-Harry clapped happily.

Tears blurred his vision. Furiously rubbing them away, Harry reopened his eyes.

The kitchen was grey and lifeless, debris scattered on the floor. The visions — Memories, Harry realized — were gone. He turned to find Hermione looking at him, tears uncontrollably falling down her face. Without saying anything, he pulled her into the hug they both so desperately needed.

And as the chilled wind whistled through the cracks of the desecrated cottage, Harry felt the uncanny presence of his family, both his parents and generations long since past. They pressed upon him, calling out to him. Lives lost and those that could have been; he was connected to all of them.

I'm so sorry, but welcome home, they seemed to whisper to him.

Welcome home.

Prompt (Prompt of the Day — The Golden Snitch): (scenario) a loved one coming back home

Word count (not including title and author's notes): 991