Chapter 1-
Harry stepped onto the grounds of where his parent's house once stood. No one had bothered to rebuild in this part of Godric's Hollow and for that Harry was glad. He had been almost eager to go back to the place where it all had started. He was sure that there would be some heartache by doing this, but as he stepped onto the lot covered in ash that no one bothered to clear, Harry's heart sank and broke simultaniously. He kicked what he thought was a soot-covered rock, but thought better of it since he truly couldn't say what it was. Maybe that was why nobody had come to clear the area; it seemed disrespectful.
Maybe this was a bad idea, he thought. Maybe he wasn't ready to revisit this part of his life. Harry suddenly felt very overwhelmed. He turned to go, but hesitated. He wanted to know. There was a very slim chance of him finding anything to help with his search or even the past he never knew, but he wanted to try. Slowly, Harry took a few more steps onto the lot. The earth crunched and broke underneath each step. He came upon a dirt covered mound of rumble and gently bent down to pick it up. It was a hunk of wood infested with several many-legged insects that squirmed and scattered at their encounter with sunlight. Harry threw the wood down and ash filled the area around his ankles. He thought he had seen something shiny in the middle of the lot and went to go find out what it was. Harry bent over to uncover his new find when he heard a voice from behind him.
"You won't find anything here, Harry," came the voice.
Had this been a trap? Harry whipped around, wand already out, to face the person (whom Harry had convinced himself was Voldemort or Snape) to which the voice belonged.
Near a tree stood a man with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He was slim, almost too slim, and looked as if he could be a professor. The man placed his yellow, squared-rimmed glasses further up his thin, long, straight nose. He was smiling slightly and Harry could see he had very white, straight teeth. The beard he was trying to grow was short, small and precise; barely covering his chin. Harry's wand didn't stray.
"Who are you?" he asked the man. "What do you want?"
"To help you Harry," the man replied, taking a few steps toward him. Harry flicked his wand threateningly. "You needn't worry; I'm not going to hurt you," was the man's reply to this. He smoothed down his very tailored, blue robe, made sure it was clasped all the way down, and his hood was covering his face.
"Who are you?" Harry repeated. The man stopped, sighed slightly, and stuck his hands in his pockets. Harry's knuckles turned white. "Answer the question!"
"My name is Howe. I'm a friend of Lupin's. You remember Lupin?" The man was speaking to Harry as if he had gone around the twist. Howe took another step forward.
"Stay there!" Harry ordered. A beat. "I don't believe you."
"I am. I knew your father and your mother. They were friends of mine. I went to school with them." He was standing infront of Harry now, hand extended for a shake. "You can call me Duncan."
Harry looked into the man's face, skeptically. Did he think Harry was completely mad? Harry's trust had decreased significantly over the years. Yet, maybe Harry was a bit mad. He had after all come back to the place where all the heartache had started; by himself which was probably the craziest part about it all. He had told Ron and Hermione that he wanted to go alone. Now he was regretting this decision. Something gleemed on the man's left cheek.
"I didn't expect you to believe me the first time 'round," he said with a bit of a smile. "That's why I brought this." He slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket to reveal a small, slightly torn picture. It wa a moving picture Harry recognized immediately. His parents were smiling back at him while Sirius Black wandered into the picture carrying a glass of wine. Sirius clapped a hand on James's shoulder.
"Where did you get this?" Harry asked, snatching the picture. The man stuck his hand back into his pocket.
"I took it. The picture I mean. I was the one behind the camera."
"What?" Harry asked more to the picture in his hand than the man infront of him. "If you were such good friends with my parents...where have you been?"
"All questions can be answered tomorrow," the man replied, reaching into his pocket once more.
"Tomorrow?" Harry echoed. He had been staring at his parents' faces. They smiled at him lovingly.
"Yes, tomorrow. If you would like to meet me tomorrow morning, I will have further proof. I'm sure you have lots of questions 'bout your parents,don't you?" The picture left Harry's hands. "I want to help you, Harry. Please. Think 'bout it alright?" The picture was replaced with a note. There was an address neatly written on the parchment. Harry's thoughts came back to him. He had found someone with answers. Harry looked up. The cloak was starting down the street.
"Wait!" Harry looked down at the parchment again and up at the hooded figure walking away. "Wait. Mr. Howe!"
The man didn't turn around, but raised a hand to wave goodbye. "Tomorrow, Harry. Tomorrow." Once the figure reached the corner of the street, he disapparated. The ash around Harry settled to the ground once more.
