The old, weather-beaten walls, the ones that still remain, seem to quiver as I approach the battered buildings, bringing back memories I never knew I had. Although the population is now zero, I can see in your mind the busy people of the past, roaming the streets of the now-empty village. You remember the night, and her screams…his yells… this is my welcome to Godric's Hollow.

The place, the home I never knew, is a disaster. I am angry beyond belief; I am in a fuming rage. Why didn't anyone come, just to clean up the village? Why wasn't an Auror here when they knew this place was in danger? Why did this have to happen?

Anger quickly turns to grief, a painful, knowing grief. The weight of the world is quite literally on my shoulders. I have left my friends behind for this one visit; this one moment of my own. I am alone now, so alone, and even heroes cry.

My face now tear stained, I continue on, approaching the house…the rubble…I know it once belonged to me, to my family. Silence surrounding, I walk through the ash of my home. My brain is screaming, 'Why?', but in my heart, the depth of my very soul where no one ventures, I know. His followers must not have been far, when he came. They…the 'Death Eaters'…were not afraid to cause destruction, or pain, to anyone around. The innocent would be struck down, the courageous tortured. I wonder, now, why I came.

The house fills me with even more memories, shadows of people who once walked these empty halls. I see fragments of objects that once had places in the rooms of the house, the objects of my past: utensils, furniture, a baby's mobile…

I stop, standing in the emptiness, letting the silence consume me, and I pick up a small ornament, which seems like the kind you would hang on a Christmas tree. It is a golden snitch, with the names James, Lily, and Harry inscribed on it. It was plastic, and wouldn't truly hold much value, but sentimentally, for me, it is priceless.

I journey on, following a small dirt path set apart from the village, until I reach two small graves in a beautiful, grassy place near your house. Kneeling beside the stones, I feel a great sense of peace, yet at the same time a feeling of deep, cutting sadness.

The first stone reads:

James Potter

A friend

A father

A hero

And the second:

Lily Evans Potter

Intelligent

Motherly

Loving

I look away, tears again in my eyes, threatening to spill, wanting to give way. I start to walk back slowly the way I came, and then break into a run. The sad little village becomes a blur as I race past, shedding the grief, wanting to leave the anguish behind. My brain is having a conflict I can't avoid—I want to stay, and yet desperately I want to leave forever.

And just as suddenly as I began, I stop. I am at the edge of the place; the spot where this had all began: the heartache, the pain, the pit of sorrow.

And then, on impulse, I say, "I swear," my voice is hoarse, but it echoes over the destruction. "I swear I will come back. I will come back and fix this."

And I leave; my Pilgrimage is over. What I got I do not know, I am still uncertain, yet confident in some way, I am sure of that at least. I know I'll be back, though: Over time I have learned when Harry Potter swears, he will always fulfill his promise.

The End