Crossing her arms over her chest with a creased brow only her mother could compete with, Rose stands up once more to protest, to reject whatever idea was running wild in her cousin's mind. "Albus, are you sure about all this? It was just an idea, really, and Mum's gonna be beside herself when she realizes we're—"
"Come on, Rosie! I just want to know where they go off to. Haven't you ever wondered why they even go in the first place?"
Rose sighs in defeat. Her curiosity had sparked ever since she saw her mother and Uncle Harry leave all those Christmases ago in secret with only the crack of Apparition to mark their departure, only to return with somber smiles and tired eyes. And it would continue, every year, on the same joyful night of hushed carols and sparkling lights that glittered from the tree.
She wishes her mother would stop staring into the gleam of the flickering lights.
"I—I suppose," she admits carefully, ignoring Albus' eager look. Tapping the tip of her wand, peaking from her pocket in thought, she slowly nods. "Fine. We'll go, but we have to be quick. They can't know about this!" she stresses, her lips pressing together in a firm line.
Albus rushes up from his seat, gathering Rose in his arms in excitement. "You're the best, Rose!" he cheers, bright red curls brushing his cheek. "I didn't think you would actually agree, but I certainly didn't want to go alone," he says, shrugging into his coat. "And now we're actually going—to Godric's Hollow—and this is turning out to be a fine Christmas, don't you think?" he rambles, quickly snatching his scarf from the floor and wrapping it around his neck securely.
Rose reaches for the fabric and covers his mouth with the maroon cloth, cupping her hand for great measure. "Hush up! Do you want them to hear you?" she hisses, flicking her eyes back to their parents, hovering in the kitchen with crystal glasses pressed in their hands of some wine Aunt Ginny brought over.
Albus smiles sheepishly and swipes a quick hand through his hair. "Right. Sorry. Just got excited," he says briskly, and he only hopes Rose isn't reconsidering. She only rolls her eyes and steps back to adjust his knitted scarf before piling on her own layers: sweater, coat, mittens, scarf, and finally a woolen hat she traps most of her hair in, covering just the brim of her ears.
"It's alright. We just have to be careful about this. Merlin knows what they would do when they find out we're going alone, and at night, might I add," she mutters, plopping herself down on the ground to slip on her boots.
"Where are you going?" Lily chimes, peeking over the armrest of one of the couches, inky black hair hanging from the edge. "It's awfully late to be going somewhere, don't you think?"
Albus freezes, halfway between tugging his shoes on beside Rose. "…Why would you think we're going anywhere?" he tries feebly, but he knows it's futile when Rose groans under her breath and Lily stares at him with an almost bored expression.
"Nice try, Albutt," she snickers, cocking her head to the side. "So tell me, where are we going?"
"We? We're not going anywhere, no, but Rose and I have plans of our own. Why don't you go see what Hugo's up to, yeah?" he offers, nodding over in the boy's direction. "Oi, Hugo! Lily here just thought to let me know that she's a better chaser than you are—can you believe that?" he asks, his expression scandalized. "Go on, put the girl in her place," he challenges with a raised eyebrow. "Honestly, we've enough arrogant Potters to last us a century," he murmurs to Rose and she awards him with a snort. Hugo, shy as ever, comes stumbling up with a furrowed brow if only to appease Albus.
"Not a word, Lils," Albus warns before picking himself up from his seat on the floor. He walks past the kitchen as casually as he can, but the adults are too busy hovering over the turkey, Aunt Hermione grumbling that she knew something was burning and Uncle Ron insisting the turkey is still edible and Dad looking more than content between the squabbling two.
"Come on," Albus whispers, reaching for Rose's hand as he latches the door open and breathes in the crisp air with wide eyes. Turning back, he fishes for his wand and locks the door, nodding at the sound of clicking metal.
"Ready?" he asks, eyes darting to Rose, and she only squeezes his hand in response. After a moment of quiet with only the faint murmur of nightly bugs to fill the air, their bodies twist and whirl in impossible patterns before the sharp snap of Apparition.
Heart beating in his throat, Albus opens his eyes as he stumbles but Rose is quick to grip onto his arm and steady him. He smiles in gratitude and finally takes in their surroundings, a white lane blanketed with patches of snow under a heavy sky, where the night's stars glisten delicately. Rose is the first to take a step, crunching the snow beneath her boots. "Godric's Hollow," she whispers, as if the name is sacred.
After meandering through the village, they pass a dilapidated house, crumpled to the ground, a shocking contrast to the neat and tidy buildings along the cobbled street. Albus is faintly reminded of a haunted house, but the sight doesn't scare him, only leaves a harsh imprint on his heart with the echo of a woman's scream filling his ears.
He roughly shakes his head and looks at anywhere but the house, not a home, not a home anymore. "I don't get it. It's just an old, run down house. What's the point?" Albus grouses, crossing his arms over his chest in frustration. "So he just comes here to torture himself, looking at this mess of a—-"
"Albus, look," Rose murmurs, pointing across the lane to what he can easily recognize as a graveyard. "You don't think…" he trails off, a sad look in his eyes.
"Let's go," she says, tugging on his arm and they're digging through the snow with heavy feet once more.
"This is it," Albus breathes and his chest feels impossibly empty because he doesn't feel anything at the two names engraved before him. He is almost guilty and Rose stands stiffly, back rigid as her eyes flicker over the text. His shoes scratch at the flakes of snow and he wonders if his father will stand in his place hours later when he thinks he is asleep.
"Maybe we should go back, Rose…" he whispers finally, clenching his jaw at the sound of his voice grating against his throat. But Rose wraps an arm around his shoulder and finds his worn fingers with determination.
"Merry Christmas, Al."
Clasped hands blooming pink from the snipping wind, Albus has never felt warmer.