Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. I have also used direct excerpts from 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.'

Chapter 30 :

It was a rainy afternoon towards the end of the Christmas holidays when Harry recognised the Weasley family owl approaching him. He read over the letter and invitation carefully. Ron Weasley. He hadn't quite realised, but they had grown apart over the past months. He still played chess with him sometimes, but had stopped keeping him company when he was slack with his homework, and Ron had never been interested in sharing his efforts in Dean's gymnasium or running around the school in order to get fit.

And yet, Ron was his very first friend. He was the one who had made it so much easier on that first frightening trip to an unfamiliar world. He'd called his scar 'wicked,' told him about chocolate frog cards, and hadn't laughed at him when he'd been so surprised that the pictures moved. The invitation, two days and a night at Ron's place. 'You can share my bedroom and the wethers ok now, so we can have the broomsticks out and you can meet my brothers who left school and thats Bill and Charlie. Bills a Curse-breaker and Charlie works with dragons and can tell you all about them. And Mums a great cook, so youll like that too.'

After Uncle Brandon's extreme caution when Harry had visited Sirius, he didn't know how he'd be with this invitation. He wanted to go. He was sure he'd have fun - there were so many Weasley brothers, and Fred and George were amazing, even if Percy was a prig. Mostly, he wanted to reconnect with Ron. He should not let old friends go merely because he'd begun to make new friends. There was not much time left before school resumed.

Brandon read over the invitation carefully, and asked, "You want to go, Harry?"

"Yes, please, if you think it's okay."

"Leave it with me."

"Yes, sir."

An hour later, Brandon handed the invitation back. "I've had a word with Arthur. You can go."

Harry beamed and asked, "Overnight, too?"

Brandon nodded, smiling. "Two days and a night, you go at ten in the morning, back the day after around four in the afternoon. It's all arranged."

"Floo again?"

"That's right. I noticed you managed to keep your footing last time."

Harry laughed, light-hearted. "Just barely!"

He was not the only one off on a visit the next day. Annalise was to visit her friend Marie Bowen for a few days, and was saying that others she knew would be there - Orla Quirke and Eleanor Branstone. "We've been on trips together sometimes," she said. "I do hope we end up in the same House."

Harry said, "There's no Sorting Hat any more. Maybe you could all just ask."

"Eleanor says she wants Hufflepuff."

"They seem to be a nicer group in Hufflepuff than the other Houses; it's a good choice."

"And Orla says that she's heard that Slytherins have the best accommodation and the best furniture and decorations and also, the older ones get their own room."

"I didn't know that."

"Mother was in Slytherin and Father was in Ravenclaw. They say that any House is good, really."

"I guess."

"I'm going to pack straightaway. I can take my new robes."

Harry's trip was to be only overnight, but packing required a bit of thought. He was to be in Ron's room, and while no-one had tried to unlock his trunk since the first week he'd returned to school, he still didn't know who it had been. So just in case, his most precious possession, his Invisibility Cloak, was left behind. The Greaves still didn't know he had that, and they still didn't know he was in contact with the Flamels. He trusted them, of course, and yet he liked having those secrets, the same as he liked having extra weapons tucked away.

There was the other thing as well. Ron was apt to be jealous, so he shouldn't wear the best quality robes that the Greaves had bought him. Too often, he'd heard him deride the way that Draco dressed.

He pulled out some of the cheap Muggle clothing he'd bought before he'd met the Greaves, but as he'd already suspected, most were too small. It was good to know that he was growing, but it was also an inconvenience. He finally found some jeans, right at the bottom of his trunk, still with the price tag on. He'd bought them two sizes too big in the optimistic hope that there would be a growth potion he could use. It was the first time he'd worn them. Then a couple of T-shirts, also never worn, black, with colourful designs. They'd been cheap. A warm jacket, a jumper, and just in case the Weasleys dressed for dinner, his least fancy robe. Underwear, toiletries, and he was finally ready.

As always, in addition to the wand in his wrist holster, he wore his knife in one ankle holster and an extra wand in another, his own holly wand, though at school, it was the 'home' wand he wore on his ankle. He knew from Ron that his parents were strict about underage magic, so was not expecting to use any magic. He packed his clothing in a small knapsack called an 'Overnight Dodge,' which contained two extra compartments, the same as Hermione's book bag.

Brandon went ahead of him in the floo, and then Harry, saying clearly "The Burrow," as he'd been taught, and managing to step out as neatly as if he'd been doing it all his life. The Weasleys didn't have a floo room that led onto a reception room, as bigger houses did, but Harry looked around in pleasure at the busy disorder of the living room that looked far too small for such a big family. And once the greetings had been said and Brandon had left again, Ron took him straight to his room, that was vividly decorated with bright orange for the Chudley Cannons, his favoured Quidditch team. Ron looked around and said deprecatingly, "It's not much," but Harry smiled at him and said, conviction in his tone. "It's brilliant." Certainly it was not as nice as the Greaves, but when one had lived in the sterile household of Aunt Petunia, the disorder looked very good, very happy.

Harry very much enjoyed himself that day, and decided he'd been wrong to think that the Weasleys might be a bit wanting in the brains department. He was very impressed with the eldest, Bill Weasley, who wore a fang ear-ring. He was a curse-breaker. Next year, 3rd year, they would have to choose which of the electives to study, and he listened closely to Bill, who said for curse-breaking or any other prestigious job, he should do Arithmancy, definitely Runes, and definitely not Divination, which Mrs. Weasley suggested when she overheard the discussion. Charlie strongly recommended Care of Magical Creatures, and Percy looked at Ron and said that Magical Creatures was an easy option and so was Divination.

Lunch was a casual picnic affair, and then there was play with the broomsticks. They had six available, all old and slow, and yet they had a good time. Harry had heard stories of Charlie's prowess from the older members of the Quidditch team, but Bill seemed just as skilled. Ron missed out to begin with, but Percy said he only wanted a quick fly to clear his head before doing a homework essay, and then Ron could have his broom. Ginny turned up and begged for a turn, but Fred and George sent her off in tears even before Harry could offer her the broom he was using. He didn't think that eleven was too young to ride a broomstick, and said so. But he was a guest, and he didn't say it very loudly and only to Ron.

They came in warmed by the exercise, laughing and sweaty, and were sent off by Mrs. Weasley to change for dinner.

Harry hesitated as he looked in his knapsack, and asked Ron, "Robes or ordinary clothing?"

"No-one'll be in robes," Ron said. "Just ordinary clothing, but clean."

The evening meal was laid out around the enormous kitchen table that was surrounded by an array of mismatched chairs, including three conjured on the spot by Charlie. Harry commented that he couldn't wait to learn conjuring, it was so handy. But Charlie grinned and said, "Just make sure you're not sitting on one in a few hours. Conjures are apt to vanish without warning."

There seemed to be so many there, and Harry hadn't even noticed that Ginny wasn't present until she appeared wearing a summery dress quite unsuited to the cold day. And then she scooted into the chair next to him, beating Ron to it, and turned and gave him a wide smile. To Harry's surprise, her lips were a vivid red, and her eyes outlined with black. Harry remembered thinking earlier that she was lacking in brains and he thought this display rather proved it. He was only twelve! He didn't want a girlfriend!

He saw Mrs. Weasley looking disapprovingly at her daughter, but she said nothing, even when the girl started trying to flirt in a thoroughly embarrassing way.

But afterwards, he saw Mrs. Weasley murmur to her, and then he didn't see her again all evening.

xxx

The next morning, Harry appeared wearing the knitted jumper that Mrs. Weasley had sent him for the previous Christmas. He'd thought it would please her, and so it did. She gave him a hug and then turned away with tears in her eyes. Harry wanted to tell her he was not a pathetic orphan any more, that he had a great home now, but didn't quite know how.

He was alert for Ginny's presence, but when he saw her, she was looking subdued and she didn't come near. Harry was profoundly relieved.

The Weasley home was not nearly as full that day. Straight after breakfast, Percy retired to his room to work on his homework again, while the twins went to visit their particular friend, Lee Jordan. Charlie had gone the evening before, but Bill was still there, and Harry and Ron were quizzing him about his work. Harry was fascinated by the idea of curse-breaking, while Ron was more interested in the treasure aspect.

Mr. Weasley appeared and said, "Harry, something special just for you. It is time you saw the place where your parents lost their lives and the place that you vanquished You-Know-Who."

Harry looked at him in surprise, "Godric's Hollow? You're going to take me there?"

"It's all arranged. Your foster parents have given permission."

"He didn't say anything to me about that. He was going to take me next holidays."

"He thought you would like it," Arthur Weasley said with some firmness in his voice. "It is all arranged."

Harry was looking at him doubtfully. Brandon would have told him, surely. He was so careful to keep him safe. He said, "Maybe I will just ask him. He likes me to check with him if he thinks I could be in danger."

But Arthur Weasley drew himself up to his full height, and said, "You would surely not insult the pure-blood Head of his House. If I said that it is arranged, then that is exactly what it is."

Harry went bright red. He'd committed a rudeness, and he tried so hard to adhere to the customs and courtesies of pure-blood wizardry. Lyall Greaves was like that, perfectly pleasant and approachable one moment, and then he could assume that veneer of power that always had him feeling very small and unimportant.

Bill was looking at his father in surprise. He so seldom saw his father look like that. Occasionally for a ceremony, but that was all.

Ron asked, "Can I come, Dad?"

"I can only apparate one at a time, so only Harry. You've seen it before."

Bill said, "I will bring Ron if you like, Dad. And I'll be an extra protection just in case."

Arthur Weasley looked confused for a moment, and then nodded.

Harry had been on the point of refusing, but if Ron was coming, and Bill, surely it would be alright. And it was Godric's Hollow! There was a memorial there, and his parents were buried there. And it would be insulting to Mr. Weasley if he refused. It wasn't even very cold, and hadn't been for the past week. It would have been better to go with Brandon, maybe even the whole family, but if Mr. Weasley said... And it was Ron's dad. Ron would be furious if he seemed not to trust him.

He said, a formal tone to his voice, "I would be very grateful, Mr. Weasley."

"Now, then. Outside, please."

Harry hesitated, but Ron said, "Yay!" and bounded outside, followed by Harry, still a little doubtful, and yet excited as well. He'd wanted to see Godric's Hollow for so long.

Arthur Weasley said to Bill, "The cottage, to begin with. Then the memorial, and the cemetery last."

"I know where the cottage is."

Arthur put an arm around Harry, Bill put an arm around Ron, and suddenly the cloudy day was behind them, and they were standing in weak sunshine, while a bitter wind blew. Harry's first thought was for his jacket, left behind. It had the temperature-regulating charms on it, while the Weasley jumper had no such charms. But then he studied the cottage in front of him, one of a number of similar cottages. It was covered in ivy, it looked neglected and forgotten, the hedge too high and straggly, the lawn looking as if it had never seen a lawn mower.

He took a step closer, studying it. The right side of the top floor was in ruins, leaving the interior exposed to the elements. Surely someone should have organised repair, at least not allowed further deterioration. It belonged to him. It had been among the list of assets that Vlasna had shown him. So why had Vlasna allowed it to become a ruin? Was the furniture still inside? Their possessions, their clothing? Maybe even his baby toys.

He started to open the gate, and stopped dead as a sign rose in front of him.

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.

"Left in its ruined state," Harry said. "The least they could have done is to make it weather-proof."

Arthur said, "The Ministry regards it as a sacred trust. No-one can pass beyond the gate."

"Not even me?" Harry said, starting to approach, but finding himself thrust back.

"No-one."

"I wonder if Mr. Greaves can put it aside. It was a stupid thing to do."

Bill gave a crack of laughter. "You're supposed to be overcome with reverence at this point, not criticise."

"I want to know what's inside. I think I can see furniture inside. Is that a picture on the wall? The Ministry let their possessions be ruined for a blessed monument!"

"I wonder what you'll think of the other monument then. It's in the city square, and looks like a Muggle war memorial to Muggles, but wizards can see what's really there."

Ron said, "We've all seen it. It's a statue."

"This way," Mr. Weasley said, and Harry turned to follow him, but with a backward look. What a waste, things left to rot as a memorial of all things. They had no right to treat his legacy with such contempt.

A short time later, they were approaching what appeared to be the sort of war memorial that every town had. But the image shimmered and changed and it was a statue of a man and woman holding a baby - Lily and James Potter holding a baby that was supposed to be himself. How very odd it was to see a statue of himself as a baby. Was this Dumbledore again, presenting the baby Harry Potter as a hero of the wizarding world? No wonder those people had all lined up to shake his hand that time at the Leaky Cauldron. Could that be a part of the reason that he'd sent Hagrid to take him for his supplies - to make sure that Harry was noticed? Hagrid could never be inconspicuous. He was beginning to feel very cynical as he regarded the statue.

Bill said, amused, "I think seeing this was the start of Ginny idolising you," and Ron said, in a disgusted voice, "Plus all of those books, of course. It was hard to believe you were real, and when I saw the scar, just like the books said... Only I knew that you'd never done all those things they said, of course. And you looked scared, like a Muggleborn is so scared to start with."

"I was scared. I thought that the Sorting Hat would decide I was not a wizard at all and I'd have to go home."

Bill said, "Magical children who are raised in a Muggle household are often ill-treated."

"The cemetery now? I'd like to see their graves."

Without a word, Mr. Weasley started walking again, striding. Again, Bill looked at him in surprise, but Ron said, "Bloody hell, it's cold. I don't know why you wanted to come today!"

"At least it's not snowing," Harry answered, too busy stretching his legs to keep up with Mr. Weasley to take much notice.

There was a little church, beyond that, the cemetery. Mr. Weasley strode ahead as he led them down avenues between graves, some of which appear ancient. The day had dimmed, and it was misty and dark so it was hard to make out the inscriptions on headstones. But Mr. Weasley seemed to know exactly where he was going, and Harry stretched legs further to keep up. Bill and Ron had dropped back, though Bill was as tall as his father, and Ron nearly a head taller than Harry.

Abruptly, Mr. Weasley stopped in front of a headstone, white marble with dark engraving so it was easy to read.

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

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

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

Harry stood in front of it, wondering what he felt. His life would have been very different if they had lived. He would have grown up in the same sort of security that the Greaves children knew.

He said to Mr. Weasley, standing beside him, "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." Does that mean anything do you think?"

There was no answer, but Harry concluded aloud, "I think it is only one of those stupid sentiments that sound good but mean nothing."

There was a soft thud behind him followed immediately by another. He turned and stared in surprise. Both Bill and Ron were crumpled on the soft ground, while Mr. Weasley had his head turned to a tall figure in a pinkish-purple robe. Long white beard, long white hair, and a wand aimed directly at him. Dumbledore.

His own wand was in his hand as quick as thought. He'd practised that 'quick draw' so often. But Dumbledore twitched his own wand, and the wand went spinning out of his hand. And then a feeling of pleasurable contentment stole over him, and he could hear the command. Come to me.

He took one step toward Dumbledore. The icy wind made him shiver. No protective charms on his clothing, of course. There was the willingness to obey the command, but that deeper strand of thought continued. No temperature control charms, no charms to protect against Mind Magic, no charms against Portkeys. Portkeys. The man had tried to kidnap him! Dumbledore, the author of all the worst things that had ever happened to him.

And with a great effort, he wrenched himself out of the control of the old man, ducked and ran behind the headstone of his parents. He stole a glance behind. Dumbledore was walking towards him, all confidence, and Arthur Weasley just standing, a dazed look on his face. It was all a mistake. Brandon had not agreed to this excursion. Weasley had lied. Harry ran, but was hit with a stinger on his leg and brought down. He rolled on the wet ground, and his hand went to the knife in the ankle holster. Dumbledore was aiming his wand again, but Harry threw the knife, hard. And maybe it was aided by magic, because the desperate throw hit hard into Dumbledore's wrist, and the wand was not merely dropped, but flew towards Harry, who caught it as neatly as he had ever grabbed a snitch.

Dumbledore stared at his own wand pointed at him in clear threat. His left hand held his right wrist, streaming blood. The side of his face that had not turned black, was darkened, maybe with that same sick taint, maybe simply with fury. His eyes held those of Harry, threatening. But the wand that Harry held did not waver. Abruptly, Dumbledore turned slightly, and he disapparated, almost soundless. A bare second later, there was the crack of another disapparation, somewhere close, behind a tall gravestone. Mr. Weasley still stood, apparently not thinking. In a hurry, Harry first grabbed the wand he'd dropped, then aimed at Bill, said "Enervate," and when Bill shook his head and started to stand up, he said briefly, "Dumbledore was here, your father is under Imperius, I think. And I'm going home."

He wasn't waiting in case the old man had more allies close. It was dangerous for him. No-one wanted to kidnap Ron; it was just himself in danger. He turned and ran behind a tall angel statue and then disapparated, still holding Dumbledore's wand, the other back in his sleeve holster. The wand felt good to him, and after all, he'd won it fair and square, he felt.

He arrived at the Greaves home at the same place where he'd always practised apparation with Mick Larkin. And then he just sat there, shivering with cold and with reaction. At last, he pulled himself to his feet, thinking that he was no warrior, not when a confrontation left him feeling so thoroughly shaky. He started walking towards the house, limping. He'd been hit, of course, and he paused to pull up his jeans leg and inspect. A reddened mark and a little blood. It was nothing. But Brandon would punish him, very likely, and he wondered how severe he might be. He'd never seen him seriously punish. He should have refused to go with Mr. Weasley. It had been a trap.

xxx