Chapter 9 - Godric's Hollow

Godric's Hollow. Birth place of one of the most famous Wizards of all time, Godric Gryffindor. To expect a monument, or some sort of statue in the area would not have been an unreasonable assumption, considering the small, sleepy town was one of the most famous places in the Magical World.

In fact, there was a monument in Godric's Hollow. A statue, depicting a handsome young man with messy hair and round glasses, a beautiful, long haired woman standing beside him and, in their arms, a baby that couldn't have been more than one year old.

Immortalised in stone, the young family gazed unflinchingly out towards their former house, looking regal and proud. They stood as they had during their lives, unyielding in the face of the Evil against which they were pitted, and yet, upon closer investigation, was it simply the imagination of the visitor, or were the three locked eternally in an expression of longing, and wistfulness?

They had given many times more than was their due, and, in death, they delivered their people from a hopeless future. They provided their people with what was denied to them. They set the track for a life free from oppression and fear, and, even now, like sentinels, they seemed to be standing guard, in the same place where they had lost their lives.

31 October, 1981. Halloween. A holiday originally intended to keep away the Darkness for another year. On that day, a true Darkness was vanquished. Everyone celebrated.

They celebrated the fact that they no longer had to fear for their lives. They celebrated the fact that they no longer had to wonder if they were going to survive to see the sun rise again. They celebrated the fact that the terrible end to their perfectly ordered society had been averted.

They celebrated the fact that they themselves no longer had to fight, the fact that someone else had fought for them.

Did they forget, or simply ignore, the unmentioned consequences? That on 31 August, 1981, a new family was torn apart. Their story was cut short, ended before it had truly begun. The next chapter of their lives was one that would never be written. Amidst all the joy, the Wizarding World had forgotten, or chosen to ignore, the price they had paid to achieve their victory, and the fact that there lay two young people would never celebrate ever again.

Of course, the manner in which they died, and the means by which their only son lived, was so unique, so spectacular, that there existed no better place to hide an even larger secret, one that was equally, if not more, important and one that was most assuredly still alive.

There were so many things Harry had never learnt to do because of his conviction, and apparating was one of them. That was why, the day after he had stolen into Hogwarts, he asked Fred Weasley to take him through side along apparition to Godric's Hollow.

They appeared with a loud crack just behind the town church. Having extensively studied maps of the area, he and the twins had decided then night before that it would be the best place to arrive at, out of the way of muggle eyes. Fortunately, they were proven to be correct, as there was not a single soul to be seen around the building, or in the small graveyard beyond it.

Harry never felt Fred let go of his arm. A small breeze drifted through the branches of the surrounding trees, and they sounded to him like the whispers of the souls whose mortal forms lay in the ground beneath his feet. They beckoned him with a crooked finger, they led him on with their quiet guidance, and he followed willingly, one foot after another, step by step, until he stood alone in the field of tombstones.

Of course, he thought, his gaze falling on the carefully chiselled surfaces, some of which had been adorned with fresh looking wreathes. Turning back, he saw that Fred had moved to stand by the gate. The twin gave him a firm nod. My parents are probably buried here. He wasn't sure why the thought hadn't occurred to him before. Why, in the five years since he had known of the Wizarding World, he had never thought to ask where his parents had been laid to rest. But it was better late than never.

And so, shuffling softly from one grave to the next, he began to search. It seemed that the newest were located at the back of the cemetery, because some of the tombstones down the front were so weathered they couldn't be read at all. On one, he read

They died so that others might live.

He wondered how much bloodshed the small town had seen, if his parents hadn't been the first to suffer unnatural deaths.

He had nearly reached the end of third last row when he happened upon it, a slab that was noticeably larger and more ornate than the rest. It was ringed by a series of delicate, swirling patterns, and the face of it seemed almost unnaturally smooth. It bore none of the signs of weathering that the other tombstones had clearly experienced, and the material was smoother than anything Harry had ever seen before. One the centre, someone had carved in perfect, beautiful calligraphy the name, and the epitaph as well probably by the same craftsman.

Kendra Dumbledore

And her Daughter

Ariana Dumbledore

There are many Fates worse than Death.

There was no date. Harry wondered why Albus Dumbledore had never thought to mention that he had once lived in Godric's Hollow too. It wasn't that big a town – they might have even been neighbours. He hadn't even known Dumbledore had a sister. No one had ever mentioned it, and he had thought the only sibling the professor had was his brother, Aberforth.

"There are many Fates worse than Death," he muttered under his breath. It was certainly true. There were many things he considered much worse than death and sitting in Azkaban knowing he was innocent was one of them. Looking around, he tried to find a tombstone for Dumbledore's father, but it seemed only two Dumbledores had ever been buried here in Godric's Hollow.

Taking a step back, he conjured a bunch of roses which he placed gently on top of the grave. Then he moved on.

Abbot. That might have been some long lost relative of Hannah Abbot. . .

Peverell. Why does that name sound so familiar?

And then, finally, on the last grave, carved it seemed with the uttermost care, was Potter. At first, he thought the date was wrong, but then he looked up at the name. It can't be, he thought to himself, his eyes fixed on the words engraved into the stone.

Harry Potter

B. 31 July 1980 D. 5 February 1999

Let him be remembered as the Hero he once was.

Someone had quite clearly paid a lot for his tombstone, for it was crafted out of marble, the letters painted gold, the gleaming white surface easily standing out from the others around it. The colouring was such a distinguishing factor that Harry wondered how it could have possibly escaped his attention until now.

I'm dead. It wasn't a particularly surprising thought. He had long since suspected that the majority of the Wizarding World thought he was dead. In fact, Gringotts had told him so. Nonetheless, it was confronting to see the solid proof right before his eyes, marked by white marble. His only supporters, who knew he was alive, was the red haired man waiting patiently behind him, and the man's twin brother. That was it.

"Let him be remembered," Harry repeated, staring, "as the Hero he once was." Obviously, someone who thought he was guilty had chosen the words.

"Blimely, I completely forgot about that!" muttered a quiet voice suddenly from right behind him, making him jump. Fred Weasley stood with his hands in the pockets of his muggle jeans, gazing pensively at the gravestone. "Me and George never went to the funeral, you know. Didn't believe you were guilty, and didn't believe you died."

"You knew this was here then?"

"Dumbledore chose the location and the words, and we knew about it, yeah," explained Fred, looking to Harry as if the gauge his reaction, "I think it was Mum who mentioned it to the family. I'm not sure if Ginny knows, she never answered Mum's letter."

"There was no funeral?"

"George and I came to visit afterwards, but none of the others did. Not sure who went to the funeral, sorry."

"I'm touched." Harry commented dryly. In truth, he wasn't sure how he felt about those he once considered family not even bothering to go to his funeral. Even if they had abandoned him, he would have thought they would have at least the decency to show up. "Thanks for coming."

Fred chose not to reply, and no reply was needed.

"The house now?" he asked, glancing towards the street.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "Let's go."

The main street of Godric's Hollow (he didn't see its name) was completely deserted. Given the time of the day, late morning, Harry would have expected many more people to be out and about. In Privet Drive, the neighbours would all be loitering in their gardens or driveways, pretending to water the flowers or wash the car, when in reality they were simply hoping to catch a sign of what their neighbours were doing.

Godric's Hollow, however, seemed like a private place where residents kept to themselves and minded their own business. Curtains were drawn over windows, doors were left shut and gardens left alone – in his opinion, that made them look far more natural and beautiful than the painfully neat rows in his Aunt's flowerbed. It truly was the perfect place for his parent's to hide in, because chances were few people would even know they were there.

Potter Cottage wasn't in Godric's Hollow, really. Although its address was, it was so far enough on the outskirts that it couldn't really be called a part of town at all.

The crumbling, vine ridden stone wall was the first indication that there was another property there. It was not ramrod straight, but slightly crooked and quite obviously handmade. Someone had looked around and found stones that were approximately the right size and shape, chiselled them out a bit, stacked them, and bound them together with old fashioned, hand mixed mortar that told quite a lot about the age and history behind the house.

Absent-mindedly, Harry reached out with his left hand and ran it along the rough, somewhat mossy surface. He should have known this wall well. The yard beyond it, that was where he should have played when he was younger, and the house – had things been different, this would have been his home.

"James?" It took him a moment to remember that the name referred to him. They couldn't be sure that they were alone anymore, and it was important to keep his identity hidden. Looking up, he saw Fred a few metres ahead, gesturing towards a break in the wall, where a small, weather-beaten wooden gate stood between two faded sky-blue posts. On one side hung a rusted metal 2 and beneath it, a 0. Number 20. The nails in both looked as though they were about to fall out at any moment.

Perhaps he had been putting it off because he wasn't sure what he was going to find. Perhaps he just simply couldn't bear to look at all, to see solid proof that it had happened just in front of him. That his parents died here, along with the most powerful Dark Wizard the world had ever known. Whatever the reason, it wasn't until he was standing squarely in front of that gate that he brought his gaze up over the boundaries of the property and took in the crumbling house before him.

He thought he could hear Fred mumbling about how the Fidelius Charm must have failed as the house was visible, but he wasn't paying attention. He didn't acknowledge Fred opening the gate for him as he approached or the question of whether he wanted to check out the house alone. He simply concentrated on the next step he had to take along the gravel path that brought him closer to his former home.

He had barely set foot inside the grounds when, with the slightest of rustling, a sign rose out of the ground in front of him, up through the tangles of nettle and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower. In golden letters upon the wood it said

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 monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.

And all round these neatly lettered words scribbles hd been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood; still others had left messages.

'Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.' 'If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!' 'Long live Harry Potter.'

"Want me to clean the sign?" questioned Fred, raising his wand, but Harry shook his head.

"No," he said, a grateful smile creeping onto his face, "I'm glad they left their support here." It had been a long time since that many people had rooted for him and, despite how much he had hated people fawning over him, he would have taken that any day over everyone glaring at him with distrust and hatred.

The house itself was surprisingly intact. It was an old stone brick house, and so the outside walls had never been painted; the glass of the windows were unbroken, if a bit dusty; and the guttering might have been rusted, but looked to be in perfect working order. There was little to suggest that the house was anything but liveable. Little, that is, except for the gaping hole on the building's front left corner on the second floor.

It looked almost as if a bomb had gone of there and, upon consideration, Harry decided it really wasn't that far from the truth. A magical bomb, at least. The edges of the hole were jagged and uneven, and much of it had been charred completely black. From what he could see from where he stood in the yard, little remained from inside the room, and he couldn't locate the missing pieces of the wall anywhere. He didn't need anything to tell him what had happened there, of course. It was there that the life he knew, life at the Dursleys, without a true family and with no understanding of what had happened, had come to pass.

"I don't think you should go in," cautioned Fred, eyeing the property warily, "It might not be very stable." Harry waved him off. This was his home. He wasn't going to turn back now.

The door was unlocked. It only took the gentlest of pushes to make it swing open with an echoing creak. "Blimely1" muttered Fred, and that just about summed it up.

As untarnished as the outside of Potter Cottage may have seemed, the inside had been left in chaos. There must have been some sort of shelf in the hallway, because the remains of one lay haphazardly where it had fallen. The back of it was riddled with holes that had been caused by blocked spells, judging from the spell burn marks that covered the walls. There were holes in the wall, too, from misaimed curses that had drilled right through, and, like grey snow, a thick layer of dust covered everything. Probably none of the visitors to the site had ever moved past the front yard, possibly as a sign of respect.

This, Harry realised, was probably where his Dad had tried to hold off Voldemort for as long as possible to give his Mum time to escape. Not that there really was anywhere to go, since Voldemort was blocking the front door. It was an impossible situation, but doubt such things weren't running through the mind of James Potter when he had decided to sacrifice himself for his family.

The damage to the house and furniture decreased as Harry moved further into the house. There were less spell marks on the walls, and less furniture scattered across the rooms as though they had been used as shields. It wasn't that the fight had calmed down, of that he had no doubt. Unfortunately, it was more probably because more spells were hitting their marks. James Potter was losing, and Voldemort could now take his time – he knew there was nowhere for Lily to go.

He passed the kitchen, and what looked like the living room on his way to the stairs. And then, just before he reached the foot of the stairs, he stopped outside what seemed like a study guest bedroom. It was completely untouched, and without a scratch. This had to be where James Potter fell.

Behind him, he felt rather than saw Fred draw his wand. "Careful. . ." the twin muttered, and Harry could understand the feeling. Suddenly seeing an area so unblemished after all that chaos definitely made one feel like there was something even worse simply waiting to jump out.

Step by step, he crept up the stairs towards the second floor, causing them to grown piteously in the ominous silence. The damage to my room must have weakened the house, Harry thought as he a second round of squeaking wood signify that Fred had begun his ascent as well.

He wasn't even sure why he was being so cautious. After all, there was no reason for Voldemort or his Death Eaters to come here again, to the ruins of an old house where no one lived. Perhaps Fred's nervous attitude was affecting him, or maybe he was causing Fred to be nervous. Whatever the reason, he snuck down the second floor hallway as stealthily as he could manage in a building which shouted out his presences every time his foot touched the floor.

Actually, Harry realised, almost chuckling out loud at the irony, out of everyone in the world who knows about this place, I probably have the most right to be here.

First, he passed what looked very much like his parent's bedroom. The door almost entirely shut and, despite his yearning curiosity, he made no move to open it further. Instead, he pressed on, acquiescing to his even greater desire to find his own room.

The next door he came to was a guest bedroom. The door was wide open this time, and the sight of the interior of the room forced him to a standstill, barely registering the fact that Fred had provided no comment, but come to a similar stop unquestioning behind him.

It wasn't the colour of the walls, or the size of the bed, or indeed the room itself that threw him, but rather the little things; it was the way clothes had been thrown all over the floor; it was the way the bed was unmade and quite dishevelled; it was the way that writing materials including an eagle feather quill and an ink bottle were still set up on the desk. It was like someone had frozen time only inside that room, and if it wasn't for the layer of dust that blanketed everything, so thick that it quite capably changed the colour of everything to a dullish grey, he would have thought the occupant of the room had simply just stepped out for the briefest of moments.

Who had been in this room? Harry wondered, running through a list of names in his head. It could be Sirius, who he could definitely imagine staying over more often than not. Remus Lupin was an equally likely possibility.

"You know, I can't believe I haven't asked before, or heard anyone else ask," Fred spoke up suddenly from right beside him, snapping him abruptly from his musings, "but who was your Mum friends with?"

"Hmm?" Harry questioned noncommittally, his eyes still fixed on the bed.

"Well it's just that everyone knows about your Dad, Sirius, Professor Lupin and Pettigrew, but what about your Mum? Who was she friends?"

"Why do you ask?" Harry thought it was an extremely irrelevant and odd question to just suddenly pop up, but Fred simply gestured towards the far side of the room, where a magnificent oak wardrobe stood wide open. After letting the image sink in, Harry found it quite obvious that Sirius and Professor Lupin couldn't have been the occupants of the room after all. The wardrobe was full of dresses.

"Do you know any names?" Fred queried, having gently pushed past Harry to examine to room from the inside. He reached the desk and began sifted through the dusty parchments, even the ones that had blown onto the floor.

Before Harry could respond, there was an almighty CREAK! louder than the floorboards, causing him to whirl around with his wand out to face the third room. Standing there, framed by the rotting wooden doorway and looking not the least perturbed by the fact that there were two wands pointing at her (Fred having rushed out into the hallway again at the sound), was the old crone, looking exactly as she had in the chamber, including the purple shawl.

"That is the question, isn't it, Harry Potter?" she asked, giving the men a grin that revealed a mouth full of broken and yellowed teeth. "After all, if you knew that, so many of your other questions might be answered as well. . ."

It wasn't Harry, but Fred who spoke, the tension making him sound distinctly cold and obnoxious, "Who're you, then?"

Before he could do anything else, however, Harry lowered his wand and pushed Fred's down, breathing a sigh of relief that it wasn't someone much worse. It wasn't that he trusted the woman, for he knew way too little to do so. It was simply that he truly felt that, had she wanted to harm him, he wouldn't be standing in the house where his parents had died at all, but rather next to them, probably in an unmarked grave.

"What are you doing here? How did you know where I was and what do you want?" He asked rapidly instead. Glancing ever so slightly sideways at Fred, he imperceptibly shook his head.

The crone raised both hands into the air to show that she wasn't carrying any wands as a guesture of peace.

"What am I doing here? I'm just saying a hello, checking to see how you're investigation is going. As for how I knew you two were here, well, wasn't I the one who told you to come? You needn't worry 'bout me, I'm only here to help."

"Why?" Fred responded.

"Because," the woman said, snorting with impatience, "your friend is angry. He's angry at how his closest allies abandoned him, how the law let him down and how his esteemed headmaster left him to rot! And yet, even worse than that, you, Potter aren't nearly as angry with Albus Dumbledore as you should be."

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Without any need for further prompting, his memory dragged forward a conversation he'd had with Dumbledore almost six years ago, like it had been on a tape recorder that was only waiting for the best moment to play.

"You will," Dumbledore was saying calmly as he watched his office being demolished, "because you are not nearly as angry with me as you out to be."

On that day, Harry had learnt the terrible secret that Dumbledore had kept from him, the secret that should never have been hidden in the first place. During his trial, he had often wondered why the venerable headmaster hadn't made a greater effort to discover the truth, hadn't made a greater attempt to save the nearly sixteen year old boy sitting in front of him who was, after all the Chosen One. And though his anger had slowly turned to determination, an unstoppable determination for revenge, he didn't think he could calmly take the knowledge that the old man had still more secrets.

"Wha – What else did he keep from me?" Harry growled, his eyes fixed on the woman's icy blue orbs.

For a long moment, the woman made no response, save to adjust the edges of her shawl. It was as though she had completely forgotten they were there, but then

"I don't know." She admitted.

"Wait, how can you possibly know Dumbledore had more secrets, and I don't even know what the other secrets you two are talking about are, if you don't even know what the secret is?" Fred butted in, having holstered his wand when it became apparent that the woman wasn't, for the moment, a threat. She slowly switched her unnatural gaze to him, and the twin visibly gulped.

"I don't know many things," she acknowledged, "but an inbred infant could recognise that the facts don't add up. All four bedrooms on this floor were being used when the Dark Lord Voldemort made his fateful visit here. Yours," she said, nodding at Harry, "Your parents', the guest bedroom, and the room which I came from."

"What's in the room you came from?" Harry interrupted, ignoring his better judgement and striding towards her to see for himself. She made no move to stop him, and actually moved aside to let him pass, and he entered a warm looking room with soft, peach pink coloured walls. There was little furniture in it, which made it look for all the world like a room that was still being put together. In fact, the only noticeable piece of furniture in the room was the crib, standing smack bang in the centre of it all.

"There's nothing in this room," Harry observed out loud, giving the interior another careful once over before turning back to the woman. Fred stood uncertainly behind her, looking as though he was caught between moving to join Harry and not wanted to go anywhere closer to the strange woman.

"There isn't." The woman echoed, nodding. "And that, is exactly why-" she suddenly stopped, as though she was choking. She opened and closed her mouth several times like a dying fish, but was unable to make a sound. Frowning, she shut her mouth with a snap.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked hurriedly, raising his wand. He wasn't sure what he could do, but he wasn't about to simply let her choke to death. When she next tried to talk however, it became apparent that she was fine.

"Lower your wand boy, there's nothing you can do." She commanded, giving a weary sigh. "I've heard things, things that you would be very interested to know, but I can't say them. I can't say them so work it out yourself. I've pointed you in the right direction already, haven't I?"

"The crib?"

"Let me put this very simply for you. It's not yours."

"That's insane." Fred suddenly spoke up, making Harry, who had completely forgotten he was there, jump. "If it's not Harry's, the who? He was the only baby here."

"And James and Lily Potter were the only two adults? They had visitors still, you know, since the Fidelius Charm was supposed to be foolproof. . .they thought it was safe for Black, Lupin and Pettigrew to come see them. That should tell you, at least, that there is quite a high chance that-" she stopped again, but it no longer mattered, because Harry managed to finish the sentence for her.

"-that they weren't the only ones here." The woman remained silent, but Harry was unperturbed. He knew that there were things that she simply couldn't say.

"Why didn't anyone else know about what you're suggesting?" Fred asked sharply, having put aside his reservations and walked around the crone to examine the room himself. The woman ignored him completely, and instead, raised a eyebrow at Harry.

"Have you been to visit your parents graves yet?"

"I couldn't fi-"

"You won't." It wasn't a question, and suddenly, Harry thought he understood what she was getting that.

"They were killed by the killing curse. It leaves no marks, and doesn't damage the body," Fred said out loud, evidently having caught the strand of thought as well. "Hagrid was responsible for bringing Harry to his Aunt's place. It was in one of the articles they wrote about you after your death. They basically wrote your biography," he added in response to Harry's amazed look.

"And yet the bodies were never found?"

"Someone removed them," Harry responded, drawing the expected and obvious conclusion. "Someone who might have been in the house."

"Why?" The crone prompted, slowly tilting her head to once side.

"Because. . ." Harry began, but then he stopped, stumped. Who had anything to gain by removing the dead bodies?

"It must be 'cos. . ." and Fred paused, having met a similar brick wall.

"Find out then." Without warning, the crone turned and, with amazing agility for someone who looked to be her age, ambled down the steps. Both Harry and Fred made to follow her. They were by no means done, and she, it seemed, had the answers.

"Oi WAIT!" Fred bellowed as he drew close to the doorway, with Harry right behind them. Faster than either of them could react, the door to the room slammed shut. Or it would have slammed, but despite the speed at which it moved, it closed soundlessly. There was no lock, magical or otherwise, so it was a simple matter for Fred to twist the knob and wrench it open. He rushed down the stairs with Harry on his heels, almost tripping twice, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

They rushed out into the yard, ignoring the wooden sign and glanced up and down the street. Nothing. It was as though the woman had simply vanished.

Fred had an even deeper frown than the one he previously wore as he turned to face Harry, and Harry almost laughed out loud. He, for some reason, found it incredibly amusing that one of the Weasley twins was looking so serious. Fred opened his mouth, presumably to either ask what was so funny or request an explanation about the crone.

Before he could do either, however, a soft, startled voice caused them to whirl around.

"Fred? What are you doing here?!"

Standing across the street, with a worried, questioning look on her face and an armload of groceries, was a red-haired girl, unmistakeable despite the fact that, naturally, she was much older than when Harry had last seen her.

A/N: um...my apologies? I am SO SORRY that it's taken me like FIVE weeks or something to post this chapter online. To be honest, I hadn't planned on posting, or writing, at all, because I am in Year 12 and literally like a week from my HSCs now, but...I COULDN'T resist :)

Besides, I decided, very late, and I'm really sorry, that I couldn't leave all my readers hanging wondering what had happened to me. It was really inconsiderate, and so, hoping it wasn't too late, I put a message on my Author's Profile a few days ago (I don't know if anyone read it). Have I lost all my readers? A lot of people are following this story so I hope you guys will come back at least :P. I DID say I wasn't going to abandon it, and I'm not, but I was going to save publishing more till after my tests. I've changed my mind because I cant stop lol.

SO

This is how its going to be for now - I HAVE kept writing, just no editing or posting. I am now several chapters ahead, so the posts should come slightly earlier than weekly from now for a few chapters. NO MORE DELAYS! After a bit it'll slow down to around once a week again tho, as I might or might not catch up to myself...but I HAVE completely planned AND smoothed out the plot. So hopefully, I can just sit down each night and simply write. Thank you ALL for having SO much patience!

A/N 2: BACK TO THE STORY - all you Ginny-lovers out there, get ready for the next chapter, cos she is COMING BACK :P! (I REALLY hope you realised that last girl was her, because it wasn't meant to be a cliff hanger, at least not in that area, so if you're confused I probably just suck haha). The old crone is back again. . . you probably [;)] will see her in the future...again...wonder who she is. Actually, there's been a few guess already, and they have been very creative and quite enjoyable to read, it gives me some insight into you, my readers!

Tron, a very interesting suggestion, and if this was your story, I would be very interested to read how you would fit that in, its an excellent idea! It IS wrong tho, so guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out the truth! :P

Nesciamema, you wanted a reunion with Ginny, well here she is :]! I would have been quite impatient for Ginny to appear to, wow, it's like, chapter ten already O.o. I actually planned to introduce her much earlier originally, but I guess this is the way it's worked out...don't worry, there'll be quite a lot of her, as well as some of our other favourite characters, next chapter! Perhaps an old lady, too. . .

Longest A/N I've ever done, but I needed to apologise to all my lovely readers :P. If I haven't lost everyone, then hope you all enjoyed this extra long (4.8k) chapter, and expect to hear from me in less than a week! :D

PowerOfOne