A/N: The first part of this chapter is inspired by chapters 16 and 17 of The Deathly Hallows.

Chapter 8: A Grave Halloween

Harry buttoned his cloak with fumbling fingers, wondering if this was really a good idea. Sirius hadn't seemed incredibly enthusiastic about Harry going with him, but he had insisted. Now, he wasn't entirely sure if he should have done. He couldn't decide if he was excited or nervous; both emotions were warring inside him, and he was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. He had never been to Godric's Hollow, not since Voldemort had attacked him, and he had never really felt the need to. His parents were… distant. He had no memory of them other than photos – or, more recently, whenever he got too close to a Dementor. He was sorry they were dead, but he couldn't honestly say that he missed them dreadfully, more that he wished he had known them.

However, Sirius missed them a great deal, especially James. He had gone to their grave every year since their death, alone, before heading home to drink himself into a stupor in a combination of sorrow and guilt. And this year, Harry felt an inexplicable urge to go with him. Perhaps it was because of the Dementors. He had never truly known that they had sacrificed themselves for him, that his mother had begged Voldemort to spare his life. Having heard that… Perhaps it was time that he paid his respects in person.

He had dressed smartly for the occasion, but now felt restricted in his movement. Jeans would have been more comfortable, but he felt they would be somehow inappropriate. He stood in front of the mirror, shuffling his feet. Ron looked over at him.

"Would you stop worrying? You look fine. And it's not as if they're going to notice is it?"

Harry glared at his friend, but knew that, behind the rather tactless remark, Ron did have a point.

"Maybe I should change then, what do you think?"

Ron's gaze softened. "Mate, it isn't going to get easier, however long you put it off. Sirius is waiting for you… You should go. Worry about how you look the next time, ok?"

Harry sighed and nodded, and walked out of the dorm with a wave to his friend. He wandered down the grand staircase, still pondering his emotional conflict. He couldn't quite believe that he was about to see the place he had been born, the place where he might have grown up, but for Voldemort. He wondered, feeling strange about it, if he would have been as close to Dudley, or his aunt and uncle if his parents had survived. Sirius was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He looked uncomfortable, almost annoyed, and Harry suddenly felt guilty, as if he was intruding on his godfather's private grief. This lasted only a moment though, before being replaced by annoyance of his own. Why the hell should he feel guilty? They were his parents, he was entitled to go to their grave on the anniversary of their death if anyone was.

"You ready to go pup?"

Harry nodded, not speaking, and Sirius sighed. He walked away, waving at Harry to follow him. They walked in silence out of the castle, the merriment in the great hall audible as they went past. When they were past the gates, Sirius gripped Harry's shoulder and turned on the spot. Harry had never apparated before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. He felt as if he was being squashed, sucked through a pipe that wasn't wide enough for him. And then they popped out of the darkness, appearing in a small square, with a war memorial in the middle. Harry shivered; it was much colder than it had been at Hogwarts, a bitter wind blowing through the square and chilling his bones. He huddled deeper into his cloak.

"Come on, it's this way." Sirius set off, pausing at the war memorial. Harry stared in shock as it changed shape. Now, instead of a pillar with the names of the dead carved into it, there was a statue of three people. A man, a woman, and their baby. Harry and his parents. It was strangely unsettling for Harry to see himself without a scar. It had been a part of him for so long that he sometimes forgot about it. The stone baby looked alien without it. He stood staring at it for several minutes, before he felt Sirius place his hand on his back. Words were unnecessary; he stepped back, taking one last lingering look at his parents, and followed his godfather towards the church. Some people stumbled out of the pub, and they pointed at Harry and Sirius, laughing at their unusual clothes. Harry ignored them, but Sirius stood still, glowering at them until they left. Harry looked at him curiously, and Sirius hung his head.

"Sorry… It just feels – disrespectful I guess."

"Sirius, they probably don't even know magic's real. This is a Muggle village isn't it?"

"Half and half, like Ottery St Catchpole. Officially, the Muggles who live here don't know about magic, but they've probably got a decent idea. Enough weird stuff goes on around here after all."

They had arrived at the graveyard. Harry pushed open the kissing gate, and hurried down the path. His anxiety was almost completely gone now, he just wanted to find his parents grave. However, he had no idea where to go, and had to wait as Sirius caught up. His godfather led the way towards a gravestone near the middle of the graveyard, made of white marble. It seemed to gleam in the darkness, and Harry could make out the inscription easily.

James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981

Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death

Harry knelt in front of the grave, drinking it in. He felt a curious sense of anticlimax, as if there should have been something grander. And what did the epitaph mean?

"It's a bible passage… Something about living beyond death. Your aunt chose it."

Harry nodded at Sirius's explanation, but couldn't help but find it a little inaccurate. His parents weren't living beyond death, they were decaying under the earth, unaware of anything, uncaring. It was one of the most depressing things he had ever seen, this lie in their memory, and he was unable repress the tears that fell from his eyes. Sirius squeezed his shoulder tightly. Harry suddenly wished he had brought some flowers or something, but before he could say anything Sirius was muttering a spell. Flowers began to sprout from a patch of earth to the side of the marble, beautiful roses. Harry smiled tearfully up at his godfather, and stood up, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"You ok?" The question was expected, but the tone wasn't. Sirius sounded cold, uncaring. For a moment Harry wanted him to let go, to show his feelings, to show that he felt the same as his godson. The moment passed; Harry was fairly sure he wouldn't have a clue what to do if Sirius did unburden himself to him. Sirius stood gazing at the gravestone a moment longer, and then turned on his heel. Harry scurried after him back towards the kissing gate. As they reached it, Sirius paused, cocking his head like a bird.

"Sirius?"

His godfather made no reply, but drew his wand, lighting up the tip and the graveyard. He aimed the wand-light at the bushes by the path, and held it there. Harry stared after it curiously, but could see nothing.

"Sirius? What's wrong?"

"Hush. I thought I heard something."

Harry looked back at the bushes nervously, but could see nothing. But now that Sirius had pointed it out, Harry also felt as if he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling, and he began to back away. The bushes rustled, but nothing happened. Then a rabbit bounded out of the bush. Sirius lowered his wand with a sigh.

"Sorry. I was sure I'd heard something bigger than that. Do you want to go back now, or would you like to go to the house?"

"It's still here?" Harry said, amazed.

"Of course," Sirius nodded. "It was left there as a memorial, like the one in the square."

Harry followed him, gobsmacked. No-one had told him that his parents house still existed, and he was a little hurt that it had been concealed from him. Surely he had the right to know of its existence? He said nothing of this to Sirius, walking along in resentful silence. Sirius didn't seem to notice; he was too busy looking behind them in anxiety every few paces. And then they rounded a corner, and Harry spotted his old house. It was hard to miss; it hadn't been repaired since the attack, so was the only house on the street that had most of the second floor missing.

What remained of the house was covered in ivy, and the garden more closely resembled a miniature jungle, and rubble from the explosion was scattered around. He put his hands on the rusting gate, seeking a connection, preparing to open it – he wasn't entirely sure which. There was a rush of magic, and before his eyes a wooden sign rose from the ground. It too was covered in weeds, but also in shining golden letters.

On this spot, on the night of 31 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 its ruined state as a reminder of the violence

that tore apart their family.

Harry grinned in pleasure as he realised that there were many other messages, aside from the official inscription. Whether they were scrawled in magical ink or carved directly into the wood, they were all respectful and supportive, and far more important to him than the dry, self-important message from the Ministry. He squeezed the gate, ignoring the pain as rust flaked into his hand. The gate glowed for a moment, and then swung open, evidently powered by magic. Harry stared, puzzled, then took a step through.

"Harry."

He looked back. Sirius was looking disapproving, almost angry.

"You shouldn't go in there, it's-"

"What Sirius? Disrespectful? It's my house!"

"I was going to say not safe." Sirius finished, speaking quietly. "It's the ruin of a house that was half blown up over a decade ago. Do you really think you'll be able to walk around in it?"

Godson and godfather stared at each other implacably, neither willing to give any ground. Harry was determined to go inside, to see the place he had lived, to see where his parents had died for him. Why couldn't Sirius just let him? Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but what he had been about to say, Harry never knew. He was interrupted by a flash of light, and Sirius fell to the ground, blood pouring from a slash across his cheek. Another flash, and Sirius stiffened, placed in a body-bind. Harry spun round, and felt his gut clench in fear and anger.

Evan Rosier was standing there.

The Death Eater was looking gaunt; it had clearly been a while since he had eaten a decent meal. There was still a gleaming intelligence in his eyes though, which was perhaps the scariest thing about him in a way. He was spinning his stolen wand between his fingers in a playful fashion, and when he spoke, it was in silky tones, eerily reminiscent of Snape.

"Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. I've read so much about you Harry…" He pulled a book from his robes, and a scrap of paper fell from it, blowing over to Harry. He glanced at it, recognising Rita Skeeter's last article about him, and took a step towards Rosier as he realised that it must be the scrapbook belonging to the girl Rosier had killed. He flicked his eyes back up, and they blazed with righteous anger.

"Ooh, have I made you angry Master Potter? I hope so, I do love it when people fight back." Rosier grinned nastily. "The Godwin's barely put up a struggle Harry – do you mind if I call you Harry? – it was quite pathetic. No fighting spirit at all. Maybe you can provide me with a bit of sport." He began to pace from side to side, now tapping his wand against his thigh. Harry drew his own wand, but stood still, focussing on his opponent's wand arm.

"I met your father once you know Harry, about a year before his death. He was quite an impressive duellist." Rosier continued conversationally. "He gave me a nasty burn on my back; I left him with a trio of scars on his right shoulder. It was one of the most… intense experiences of my life." He licked his lips, but Harry was still watching the wand. Rosier smirked, flexing the fingers of his other hand.

"Do you think that you can provide me with an equal challenge Harry? Do you think you can prove yourself on this most ironic of battlegrounds, scene of your greatest triumph and of my greatest loss? Do you think your parents are looking down on us now, cheering you on?"

Harry looked up and flung his arm back to cast in an impressively swift movement. But Rosier didn't need to; he flicked his wandless arm out, and lightning crackled from his fingertips, soaking into Harry's body. He was thrown back, screaming in agony, and fell to the ground, gasping for breath, smoke rising from seared skin and scorched clothes. Rosier walked forward, dispelling the lightning and chuckling to himself.

"You should have been watching my eyes, not my wand Harry." He knelt over the boy, grabbing his hair and yanking his head up. He stared into Harry's eyes, and Harry realised that intelligence didn't necessarily mean sane. "Now, let's have some fun shall we Harry? I think it would be fun, for a start at least, for you to cut the flesh from your arm and eat it, what do you say?"

Harry began to stammer incoherently, babbling protests, pleas and spells in no particular order. Rosier only smiled mockingly.

"What's the matter hero? Can't you cope with a single Death Eater? Don't worry, do as I say and I won't force you to watch the agonising death I'll be meting out-"

Rosier snarled as he was thrown away, yanking some of Harry's hair with him. Sirius was back on his feet. The two adults (and Harry had never been so happy to see Sirius) stood still for a moment, appraising each other as if in silent communication. Then they were moving, their wands slashing through the air like swords, a dizzying barrage of spells flying between them. Harry watched, staggered, as Sirius conjured a block of ice before banishing it at Rosier, blowing it up in mid-air so the Death Eater was showered with sharp shards of ice. Rosier grimaced, clutching his shoulder, but it barely slowed him down, and he quickly cast a spell at Sirius, sending a hail of fiery arrows at him. As Sirius blocked these, Rosier flicked his wand again, and Sirius screamed in pain, sinking to the floor. Rosier raised his wand again, and spat out another spell.

"Discrimino!"

Sirius's eyes widened, and he disapparated with a crack, reappearing about a foot behind Rosier just as the new spell split the ground where he had been kneeling in two. He seemed to have shaken off the effects of the spell Rosier had hit him with, because almost instantly he was jabbing his wand towards Rosier with a cry of "Depello!" Rosier was thrown forward and hit the ground with an awful thud; for a moment, Harry thought he had been knocked unconscious. However, as Sirius ran towards him, he flicked his arm out, conjuring a cloud of smoke around them. There were more flashes of light within it, but when it cleared neither had gained any advantage. Both were standing still, catching their breath, and Rosier opened his mouth. Sirius flicked his wand, and Rosier looked befuddled when no sound came from his mouth.

Sirius pressed his advantage, swishing his wand upwards, then twirling it in steady circles. The first action seemed to have no effect, other than to cause Rosier to clutch his mouth, but the second resulted in a powerful gust of wind, which blew Rosier backwards at a steady rate. Suddenly the wind shifted, blowing up from beneath Rosier, throwing him into the air. Rosier, who seemed to have dispelled the charms on his voice, only sneered, moving his wand in a complicated movement. A cloud of swords appeared around him, starlight glinting on the metal. Another movement, and they flew towards Sirius, point first. They seemed to have a mind of their own, weaving around his attempts to destroy them, and Sirius apparently didn't notice Rosier sinking gracefully to the floor and casting another spell.

"Omentum depello!" Harry recognised this one, and the incantation chilled his blood. The Entrail Expelling Curse had become infamous during the war against Voldemort, and he had never expected to see it used against someone, least of all his godfather. Without thinking, he cast a spell of his own. Sirius was knocked sideways, and Rosier's curse flew past him, impacting against a tree. It burst into flames.

Rosier turned to Harry, madness blazing in his eyes, and Harry heard, as if from a distance, an incantation that he had never heard before. He screamed, feeling as if dragon-fire was igniting beneath his skin. And then the spell was lifted, and there were other voices, and Rosier was roaring in defiance. Harry looked up, racked with pain, fighting to avoid blacking out. Rosier was standing behind a conjured shield of silver, but there were five Aurors firing spells at him now; he would be caught or killed for sure. However, the Death Eater had one more trick up his sleeve. With another jab of his wand, he cried out another spell.

"Cremo!"

A wall of fire licked out over the Aurors, who stopped casting spells at Rosier in their desperation to avoid it. Harry could feel the heat from where he was lying, a good six or seven feet away. Rosier turned around, and their eyes met. Rosier grinned, once, viciously, and then disapparated with a loud crack. With a gasp of relief, Harry finally succumbed to the pain.

A/N: Discrimino: to divide/sunder

Depello: Expel, more powerful version of banishing charm

omentum depello: entrail expelling curse

Cremo: Extremely powerful burning curse

Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.