Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter. Therefore, all of this incredible universe where this fanfiction will take place belongs to J. K. Rowling. No profit, except my entertainment, is being made.

Request: As I'm from Brazil, English is not my first language, so the story contains some grammar mistakes. Therefore, I'm searching for a beta. If anyone is willing to try and give me some help, please send me a PM.

Godric's Hollow

Godric's Hollow was a cute-looking village, quite different from what Hardin had previously imagined. Cottages stood on either side of a narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows, and a short way ahead, a golden glow of streetlights indicated the centre of the village. A few couples were walking in the street while many kids were playing with a football ball.

'Not a wizard's only village,' He thought as he watched the kids playing.

Taking a last look around the place where the Knight Bus had just left him, he followed the narrowed road aiming to find the Potter's Cottage. He didn't know what he was expecting to find here, but, nevertheless, it was still a possibility for him to find some tip about his past.

As he reached the village's centre, there were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square. In the centre of the square, strung all around with colored lights, he saw an obelisk, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. However, once he approached it, it slowly turned into a statue of a boy.

"Edward Potter." He murmured, observing the heroic pose of the statue. "They have even made a statue for him."

Slowly, Hardin walked through the streets, searching for the Potter's Cottage. He couldn't help but feel a bit of familiarity as he walked on the roads and for the village's architecture. After a bit of walking, he found a cottage highly damaged but still standing, mainly covered in snow. At the top floor, a part of it had been blown apart, which Hardin concluded to be where the curse had backfired.

He placed his hand over the gate, to open it, but got distracted as a sign risen out of the ground in front of him and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Euphemia and Fleamont Potter lost their lives.

Their grandson, Edward, 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.

All around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. It was rather interesting, but he had more important things to do rather than pay attention to random signatures.

Once again, he placed his hand over the gate, opening it. He glanced around to both sides, checked if there was no one coming, and moved inside the house. He had no idea if he could do this or not, but who cares? He didn't intend to vandalize anything, so there shouldn't be much trouble.

As he entered the cottage, he found a regular living room, which would be perfectly organized if not for the few toys on the floor. There were a few pictures around the walls, but nothing that could mean something to him. After all, most contained Mr and Mrs Potter carrying a single child, others also featured Sirius Black and Remus Lupin - two men that Hardin knew were close to the Potter family as they were always by their sides in pictures on the Daily Prophet. Literally, nothing useful at all.

He moved to the second floor, saw more pictures and drawings hang on the walls, and, as he proceeded down the hall, there were three doors. The first one led him to Edward's room, where the attack had happened. If not for the blown-up part, this would be a totally regular nursery, with the cute stuffed animals and this sort of thing.

'It's a wonder how Edward didn't die with the explosion,' He thought, running his fingers to the broken crib.

Once he moved to the next door, by the side of Edward's nursery, Hardin felt another wave of familiarity, which quickly vanished once he opened the door. The room was completely plain and regular. The only thing that really caught his attention in the room was a fancy golden portrait of Mr and Mrs Potter carrying a baby. He grabbed it, and, by feeling its weight, he knew it was gold.

'I am sorry, Mr and Mrs Potter, but this portrait here will have to be confiscated.' He thought, smirking, as he placed it inside his messenger bag. 'This must be worth quite a lot, and I'm rather short on money, you see...'

Finally, the last door took him to the couple's bedroom. A few clothes were hanging in the closet, some random paper on the working desk, and a few books on a shelf. Nothing truly fancy. This wasn't how Hardin was expecting the Potter's house to be. He thought they would be a bit vainer and boasting.

'This was decorated before the war,' He remembered, 'Maybe they weren't rich before.'

Not seeing another reason to be inside the house, he got out by the back door and headed back to the square. Well, this trip had been quite disappointing, he had hoped to find something surprising in the house, but there was nothing. He was starting to question if leaving Hogwarts for the holidays had been worth it.

He sat on one of the benches, wondering what he should do next. Today was only his first day out of Hogwarts, and he had already concluded his main objective for the holidays. The only other compromise he had was meeting up with Ren in the Knockturn Alley. After that, he had no idea what he would be doing for the rest of the holiday break.

Hardin was especially looking forward to meeting with Ren because he needed to go to Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary to sell his three stolen leaves of Venomous Tentacula. Currently, he was quite broken, and, considering he had to survive for two weeks, this wasn't a very good thing to be. Hopefully, he would manage to get at least three galleons for each leaf.

As he watched the village's movement, his attention was dragged to an old lady wearing robes while carrying multiple packages in her arms. A few of them kept falling, and she wasn't obtaining much success in gathering them back.

'She's probably a witch.' He thought, while in an internal debate if he should or shouldn't help the old lady. 'Perhaps she'll give you some food in exchange for the help. It might save you a few sickles.'

Determined, he adjusted his winter cloak and, with the best smile he could, he approached her, saying, "Excuse me, ma'am, do you need some help?"

She kindly smiled back at him, "If it's not too much trouble, I would appreciate it, dear."

Still with the smile on his face, trying to look as nice as he could, he picked up some of the packages on the floor and some that she was carrying for and started to walk slowly by her side.

"Christmas shopping is always troubling for me. Too many relatives to send presents to, though I haven't seen them in a while." She commented, "I'll be needing at least a dozen owls if I want to get everything delivered on time."

"I'm sure you'll manage, ma'am." He said, glad to hear her talking about owls. This was a small hint that she was truly a witch.

"I hope so, dear." She said, "I do not remember seeing you here before, though it could be due to my poor memory...My great-great-niece is always complaining that my head is not the same anymore. Always in the clouds, she says."

"Your head is working just fine, ma'am. I'm not from here." Hardin said, pondering how much he should say about his trip. "I've come here to visit the village. I've heard Godric Gryffindor, Headmaster Dumbledore, and, even Edward Potter are from here, I got curious. Too many important people from this area."

"Oh, so you are one of our kind. I was already worried I had spoken too much when I mentioned the owls." She chuckled, to which he simply smiled back. "But yes, Godric's Hollow has been the home of many well-known members of our society. A unique village if you ask me." She made a pause. "Would I be correct to assume you like History?"

Considering the number of history books he had recently read, there was no other answer, "Yes, I've been quite fascinated about it lately. I especially enjoy reading about this century's history. But I'm not very inclined to the goblin's revolutions sort of thing, you know."

"You are not the first nor will be the last to dislike the goblin's revolutions. Even myself didn't like it much." She laughed, "As a matter of fact, I am Bathilda Bagshot. You might have read some of my books if you enjoy History."

Hardin's eyes widened. He had read many of her books while in his search for information about the Wizarding World. She was said to be the greatest historian of their century.

"Wow," He said, "It's a pleasure, Mrs Bagshot! I've read a History of Magic, so many times and I love Hogwarts, a History. It's perhaps one of my favourite books."

She looked at him pleased and, just by looking at her, Hardin knew he had gotten himself on her good side. Now, as he had nothing better to do, he decided to try to learn as much as possible from her. After all, it wasn't every day that he found himself in the presence of such a famous historian.

"I am afraid you haven't presented yourself, dear." She said, taking him away from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, my name is Hardin Sayre."

"Sayre?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"A most curious surname." She said her eyes were shining with the excitement of a conversation. If Hardin had to guess, he would say she hadn't talked with someone for quite some time. "I don't know if you have read it, but in my book about Ilvermorny…"

"Ilvermorny, a Magical America." Hardin completed immediately. He had stumbled across this book after that conversation about other Magic Schools with Ren and Alyssa. "Ilvermorny was founded by Isolt Sayre and her husband in 1627."

She looked at him, impressed, "Exactly. Are you related to her?"

"I truly don't know, ma'am. I've only heard of her in your books." He said, seeing no point in lying. "But, if you happen to know more about her, I'd love to hear it."

She seemed thoughtful, "I do think I still have my journal regarding her history in my house. If you don't mind waiting for a while, I could try to find it for you."

"That would be incredible, ma'am."

"Now, tell me, Hardin," She started, "Is Binns still teaching?"

"Unfortunately." He murmured.

"Poor children," She said, much to his surprise, "They must be trying to kill you all with boredom…"

He laughed, "Exactly, ma'am. Do you know him?"

"I've known Binns for a long time…Before he died, of course." She said, "When I resigned my position in Hogwarts, I told them not to hire him, that children wouldn't appreciate his endless notes, but the Board accepted him either way."

"They should've listened to you, ma'am." He said, "No one my age bears his classes."

"It's a shame. History is a fascinating subject." She continued, "What about Minerva McGonagall? I heard years ago, perhaps decades, that she had taken the Transfiguration position."

"She teaches Transfiguration, is the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor."

"That's good, that's truly good." She seemed genuinely happy, "Her mother was one of my students. Very bright, Minerva was, but a bit of a troublemaker in a way. There was this one time when I caught her and her friends..."

As they walked, Hardin made sure to demonstrate as much interest as he could in everything the woman said - even if he didn't care much for the Hogwarts years of his teachers. He could see that she liked talking about her work and, every time he mentioned or questioned something, she would get even happier.

Once they arrived in her house, Hardin felt a strange familiarity with the place, probably because it was very similar to the Potter's Cottage. As they got inside it, they placed the packages in the corner of the room and, after making some tea, she went upstairs to search for her journals. Meanwhile, as he waited in the living room, Hardin observed the place. The house was messily organized - if this made any sense. There were a lot of parchments all around the house and many open books, filled with notes, displayed, but you could see it followed a pattern.

On a bow fronted chest of drawers, close to the fireplace, there were many photographs. Mrs Bagshot hadn't lied when she said she had a large family - there were dozens of people with a similar appearance in each portrait. However, a few pictures of a blond-haired boy, in particular, had caught his attention. He was certain he had seen that face before.

"Hardin?"

"Over here, Mrs Bagshot." He replied politely. "I hope you don't mind, but I've taken a look over your photographs."

"Not at all, dear."

"Could you tell me who this man is?" He pointed to the blond boy. "I think I've seen him before, but I can't recall where."

"You truly are interested in the history of our century, aren't you? Most people I bring here never recognize him." She said and Hardin could sense a bit of sadness in her tone of voice, "This is my great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald."

Hardin stared at the picture with surprise: this was Gellert Grindelwald in his youth. Now, this was something interesting. In Hardin's opinion, Grindelwald was the most incredible historical figure of the twentieth century and a much more likeable leader than You-Know-Who. At least, his views made some sense.

She opened one of the drawers, removed another portrait, and then showed it to him, saying, "Can you recognise the other boy in the picture?"

He took the portrait in hand, where Gellert was arm in arm with another boy - who also seemed strangely familiar. Maybe he was starting to imagine things, but he was positive he knew those blue eyes and strange nose.

"I reckon I'm mad," Hardin said, "But I think this is Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Precisely."

"How?" He questioned, confused. "They look like friends here, but they were enemies. Dumbledore dueled him."

She smiled sadly, "Albus Dumbledore has one of the most fascinating histories that I've ever heard, Hardin. Would you like to hear about it?"

"Yes, please." He replied quickly, maybe too quickly. It simply didn't make sense. All of the books he had read said the same thing: Grindelwald and Dumbledore were enemies. Yet, here he was with the most famous British historian of the century, telling and showing him that Dumbledore was friends with Grindelwald.

"Firstly, I have found my journal regarding Isolt Sayre. You can keep it if you want, as I've got no intentions in publishing other books." She said, handing him a worn-out leather notebook, "Now, why don't you take a seat? Gellert and Albus...It's quite a long story..."

He sat in one of the couches that weren't filled with parchment or books, placing inside his bag the journal Mrs Bagshot had just given to him. Considering the Potter's golden portrait he would later sell, the journal about Isolt Sayre and meeting Bathilda Bagshot, his day was starting to get better.

After taking a sip from her tea, Mrs Bagshot started, "Albus Dumbledore and his family moved here to Godric's Hollow in 1890, if I am not mistaken. At that time, the Dumbledore surname was not very prestigious, Hardin...very different from nowadays, indeed... Albus' father, Percival, had attacked a group of young muggle boys who had attacked his daughter, Ariana... It was a complete mess and Percival ended up being sent to Azkaban for it…I reckon he died there as well."

'Definitely, not what I would have imagined Dumbledore's background was…' He thought. 'Who would have guessed that the great Albus Dumbledore had his father in Azkaban?'

"As our community, at the time, had no sympathy for the Dumbledores, Kendra, Albus' mother, hoped to escape the gossip by moving here, to Godric's Hollow." She explained. "When Albus went to Hogwarts, I remember he was desperate to show the world he was different. That he wasn't his father and he didn't hate muggles." She chuckled, "It is quite unimaginable to think that Albus Dumbledore was once seen as a blood purist. What an irony."

'Indeed.' He thought, remembering the multiple complaints his housemates would make about Dumbledore and his ideals.

"Therefore, when he arrived at Hogwarts, he was determined to be the best. He wanted to change the way the Wizarding World saw his family's name... Quite egocentric he was." She continued, "From what my friends that worked in Hogwarts at that time told me, none of them classified him as anything other than purely brilliant... No wonder he became what he's today." She then smiled, sadly, once again. "Then, after he concluded his Hogwarts studies, he, who had a phenomenal future ahead of him, had to come back to Godric's Hollow to take care of his siblings after his mother passed away."

"I guess he wasn't very happy about it."

"He wasn't. He hated every day that he spent here, Hardin." She agreed, "But, then, when my great-nephew, Gellert, came to live with me for a couple of months-"

"Why did Grindelwald come to live here? I never saw a book mentioning he lived in Britain."

"Gellert was a very knowledgeable young man but had...extreme ways to obtain such knowledge. While Albus was very theoric and academically inclined, Gellert was more practical." She said, "And, well, his practical experiments were a bit too much, which caused his expulsion from Durmstrang. His parents didn't accept him back after it, so he came to live with me...We've always been close."

Hardin's eyes widened. From what he had heard, Dursmtrang was very tolerant - they even taught the Dark Arts and allowed the students to try it out with each other. Therefore, what could Grindelwald have done that made Durmstrang expel him? He had to ask, "What did he do?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer this question of yours, Hardin. I do not think it would be proper, considering your age." Mrs Bagshot said, much to his disappointment, "I've loved Gellert as the son I've never had, Hardin. However, not even I can defend him...He has done many terrible things."

"If he was so...bad, then why did Dumbledore befriend him?"

"Albus was very frustrated about coming back to Godric's Hollow and my nephew was frustrated for being kicked out of Durmstrang and refused by his parents." She explained, "Thus when they first met, both of them thought they were misunderstood geniuses. That the world needed to bow before their talent, ability and smartness… They found within each other the understanding they desired."

Another sad smile appeared on her face, "Not even a single day goes by that I don't think about what both of them could have conquered if they hadn't split their partnership. Albus had the kindness that could've made Gellert follow a better path. "

"What made them go in separate ways?"

"They fought." She said softly. "They weren't a perfect match in every aspect. Gellert had more extreme views, as I've mentioned before, whereas Dumbledore simply wanted to show his brilliance for the world... These differences were once pointed out by Albus' brother, Abeforth, who also claimed that Albus was leaving his responsibilities as an older brother and especially neglecting their sister, Ariana. This brought Albus' attention back to the needs of his family and made him give up his dreams with Gellert."

"I bet Gellert didn't appreciate it."

"Not at all." She said and now she seemed really sad. "I need something stronger than tea...Some firewhisky shall do...Do you drink butterbeer, Hardin?"

He had no idea what butterbeer was but agreed regardless.

After some minutes, she came back with two bottles, two glasses and some homemade Cauldron Cakes. Hardin internally celebrated that he wouldn't have to spend money buying him food. Strangely, as he ate the Cauldron Cake, he had a deja-vù of being in that same place, eating this same food, but this couldn't have happened before. He had never met Mrs Bagshot before, had he?

She took a small shot of this firewhisky thing, which seemed to have given her the strength to continue her story.

"As I was saying, Gellert did not accept Albus leaving him. He had never been good with losing. After all, how can someone who has always won learn how to deal with loss?" She questioned, "Gellert, with that short temper of his, lost control when Albus told him he had responsibilities within his family and had to give up their plan to conquer the world...Foolish as always and taken by his feelings, Gellert ended up casting the Cruciatus Curse against Aberforth and that was enough for Albus to decide to duel him."

"But this isn't their final duel, is it?"

"No." She replied, "In this duel, that's never mentioned in any book, Ariana Dumbledore died. And the problem, Hardin, is that no one knows whose spells killed her. Was it Albus? Gellert? Or Aberforth?"

"Who do you think did it?"

She took another sip of her drink, "I've always imagined that Albus was the one - unintentionally, of course. This duel happened in 1899. When did their final duel happen, Hardin?"

"1945."

"Now, I ask you, why would Dumbledore wait 46 years to have his revenge against the one who supposedly killed his sister? Why, after almost a century, hasn't he reconnected with his brother?"

"Guilty." He concluded.

"That's what I've always thought." She made a pause. "Of course, these are all suppositions...And, it doesn't matter if Albus was the one who cast the spell and made a mistake. It does not erase all the good he has done for the Wizarding World."

Hardin frowned, "So you admire the man that got your nephew in jail?"

"Yes, yes I do. Don't misunderstand me, Hardin. I love Gellert, but he was no saint and he deserves to be in Nurmengard." She said, "I've always thought that this...generation is too dichotomous...You are either good or evil. But that's not how humanity is. This isn't the reality history teaches us about. You can be a good person and still make mistakes. One thing shouldn't automatically exclude the other."

She served herself a bit more of firewhisky, "You can never expect perfection from the others. Instead, know that people have flaws and make bad decisions regularly, but you should choose to love them regardlessly." She made a pause, "That's the advice I offer you, Hardin. Don't be too harsh in your heart, have space for forgiveness and your life will be easier."

"I'll keep this in mind, Mrs Bagshot." He said, rather empty. Life hadn't made him a very forgiving person. "What do you think about You-Know-Who?"

"What are you questioning me about, Hardin? His beliefs, his trajectory, or his downfall? There are many faces of Voldemort-"

"You've said his name," He pointed out, surprised, as ever since he had arrived in the Wizarding World, this was the first time he saw someone saying Voldemort.

"It's how he chose to be known, of course, but it's hardly his real name. Can you imagine a mother naming her son Voldermort?" Mrs Bagshot laughed, "I do agree that when he was alive, due to the taboo, it was an act of stupidity to say it out loud. However, considering he's dead, why not say it? Why keep fearing something that, now, it's only an idea in our heads?"

"Sounds like something Dumbledore would say."

"He has shared a similar sentence a few days after Voldemort's downfall." She commented, "If I remember it correctly, it was: the fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself...I must admit he has become a man of great wisdom along with his talent."

"It's a very good sentence."

"Unfortunately, people ignored it." She murmured, "Regarding your question, though, if we are talking about his beliefs, they were horrible. His trajectory was incredible, but, in the end, he was a foolish man."

Hardin snorted, "You think You-Voldemort was foolish?"

"I do. He was foolish." She said, seriously. "You were too young to remember the times when he was still around, Hardin, but I remember very well...He had already won the war. Every day he would receive more and more followers, the Ministry was almost collapsing, and his enemies were, one by one, being destroyed. We had faith that the good and rational would win, but there was nothing to give us hope." She served herself some of the butterbeer. "Now, I ask you, Hardin, how can someone that was so powerful disappear as he did? I'll tell you why: he was foolish."

With a frown, he asked, "How so? The way I see it, he only was defeated because something impossible happened - Edward happened."

"When a person inspires other people, for good or bad, it doesn't matter if the said person is unable, his ideals will continue. People are willing to die for what they believe, but not for what they fear." Mrs Bagshot explained, "For instance, my great-nephew's ideals continue to live and many people still wear his symbol proudly, in a sign of protest. Of course, the symbol is also used with other interests, but you can understand what I mean... However, if we look for Voldemort's followers, few of them have continued his fight and haven't denied their alliance with him. If you read my book, you might recall the mention of the post-downfall trials-"

"Many Death Eaters claimed they were under the effects of the Imperius Curse."

"Yes. After Edward happened, no one desired to be associated with Voldemort's image...Actually, the Lestrange couple was one of the few to admit and be proud, but they have always been rather insane." She continued, "What Voldemort did was to waste his opportunity by making a bath of blood. He killed so many beings, and for what reason? His movement and ambition were pointless. He was simply a mass murder...I dare to say that at least half of his followers thought about abandoning him at some point, before the downfall, but couldn't do it, due to the fear of being tortured and killed."

"So, if he had been saner, you think he would still be around?"

"For the good of our community, I'd hope he still was defeated by Edward. However, I do think if he had been sane and a better leader, we would still see many people wearing the Dark Mark, declaring their support to him" She said, "Have you ever been in the Knockturn Alley?"

"No."

"Good and you should keep things this way. Never go there by yourself, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, if you ever go to the Knockturn Alley, you might notice that the Deathly Hollows are painted in many of the buildings there. They show that, although my great-nephew is locked away, he still has vocal supporters, unlike Voldemort." Mrs Bagshot said, "Perhaps I'm biased, but I've always thought Gellert was smarter than Voldemort. He was still wrong but was a better leader."

"I think I understand."

As Mrs Bagshot went upstairs, saying she would pick something for him to see, he took another Cauldron Cake from the plate and thought about everything he had learned. Firstly, everything he had heard from Dumbledore was way different from what he had expected. Joining Grindelwald was something Hardin never thought the Headmaster would have done, but, here he was.

Also, it had been interesting to see that other people agreed with him that Grindelwald was more interesting than Voldemort. Inside Slytherin, many of the other students would loudly talk about how they wished Voldemort would return to free them from the blood traitors and muggle-borns. Mainly, these were the same students whose parents were in Azkaban. Therefore, they were completely biased.

And, finally, what Mrs Bagshot had said about inspiring instead of fearing was rather interesting. Perhaps, if Voldemort had used speeches instead of violence all of the time, he would have gained more allies, perhaps he would still be around...Thankfully he wasn't and he was better off dead.

After a few more minutes of waiting, Mrs Bagshot returned, with an old-looking suitcase in her right hand and a kind smile on her face - this was what Hardin thought grandmother looked like. She approached him and placed the suitcase by his side and then returned to her seat.

"What's in the suitcase, Mrs Bagshot?"

"Hopefully, some gifts you'll accept." She said gently and, before he could protest, added, "This suitcase and the belongings inside of it have been in this house for decades, just accumulating dust. I believe you might find a better use for them."

"I can't accept it, Mrs Bagshot-"

"You can and you will, Hardin." She said in a tone that didn't leave space for arguing, "You've given me great joy today by helping me and listening to my stories. I must insist that you accept my gift as a payback."

He didn't like receiving things from others - it didn't seem natural. For him, nothing could be done without a second intention in mind. However, he believed that Mrs Bagshot was honest. And, he felt as if he refused it, he would be breaking the old lady's heart.

Therefore, he forced himself to say, "Thank you, Mrs Bagshot."

"Not a problem, dear. Your company has been a pleasure." She said happily, "Would you like to discuss something else? Or is it already time for you to return to your family? If you need, you can use my fireplace."

"If it's not much of a problem, I'd like to talk a bit more." He said, having the Potters in mind, and he could see she was pleased with his answer.

"Why don't you stay for supper, then?"

It was then that he made the connection: Mrs Bagshot was just as lonely as he was, craving for some company to talk with. Figuring it couldn't do him any harm to spend a bit more time with her, he replied, "It'd be a pleasure, Mrs Bagshot."

Her face lightened up, "Oh, splendid! Tell me, Hardin, do you like steak-and-kidney pie? Or would you prefer something else?"

"The pie sounds great, Mrs Bagshot."

"Alright, I'll be back in a few minutes," She said, clearly excited with the idea of having someone to share a dinner with. "Feel yourself at home."

"Thank you." He said, as she moved towards the kitchen, talking with herself.

Once she was far enough, he sat on the floor and observed the suitcase. There was a big drawing of a triangle, a circle, and a line on the front side of the suitcase. He had seen this symbol before, in an unofficial bibliography about Gellert Grindelwald. It wasn't hard to conclude that this had once belonged to him.

'You'll need to learn how to remove the mark. Not a good idea walking around with Grindelwald's symbol,' He thought, 'At least now you have something else to carry your things rather than the old trunk and the bag.'

Opening the suitcase, he saw some journals, a few single pieces of parchment and...two winter cloaks.

'She probably noticed yours is almost destroyed.' He thought, taking in his hands the first cloak. It was made of prime quality material, he would even dare to say that this was the same type of clothing Edwin and Bedivere would use.

After he tried each of his new clothes, glad that he wouldn't be freezing outside anymore, he flicked through the journals, one by one.

The first was a scratch of Grindelwald's story that she had written for his chapter in the book A History of Magic, and, just by looking at it, he saw that she had removed many parts from the final cut of the book. For instance, there were at least five pages dedicated to explaining the reason behind his symbolism in this journal - he would definitely read about it later.

Another had information about the Death Eaters, including dozens of names, trials, and their most significant actions. And, the last one was an incomplete study about Voldemort, which contained more empty pages than filled ones. He saw that it contained a chronological line of his actions and a collection of Daily Prophets pieces mentioning his name and some of his acts. However, Voldemort's part, such as his past and former life, was rather empty, only containing hypotheses.

This would undoubtedly help fill his mind during the holidays that he would be spending on his own.

"Hardin," Mrs Bagshot called, "Dinner is served."

"Coming, Mrs Bagshot." He replied, placing everything, including his bag, inside the suitcase once again.

The dinner, steak-and-kidney pie with chips and greens, was simple but very tasteful, especially when eaten with butterbeer. Mrs Bagshot was clearly happy with the company and couldn't stop talking about how good it was to talk with someone for so long. From what he could gather, the relatives she was close with had mostly died, leaving her with distant related cousins, nephews and nieces who she merely talked to during the festivities. He felt a bit of sorrow for her, but then he remembered his life was as lonely as hers.

"Have you taken a look at the suitcase?" She asked while eating. He noticed that her hand didn't possess much strength, as she couldn't keep the fork from shaking.

"Yes, ma'am. And thank you, once more, for it." Hardin said, "I've noticed that you haven't finished the one regarding Voldemort."

She nodded slowly, "I've tried to continue my research, but my age doesn't allow me to do much. I'd have to interview too many people and travel too much in order to conclude it, but there are a few ideas and leads in there." She then smiled fondly, "Perhaps you could finish it for me one day."

"I could try."

"I'm certain you'd do a magnificent job."

"Speaking about Voldemort," He started, "You lived here when the Potters came into hiding, right?"

"Yes, yes...I've been living in Godric's Hollow since 1872."

"Did you know, meet them when they lived here?"

"Knew when they lived here? I have known James Potter since he was still in his mother's womb. What a mischievous child he was... But his heart was in the right place - he got that from his grandfather, Henry." Mrs Bagshot commented, "Of course, his name was Henry, but everyone knew him as Harry…"

"I see..." Hardin said, thinking that if Harry Potter had existed, now he had a reason for the name.

"There was this one time when young James…"

Hardin attentively heard every word that Mrs Bagshot told him about the Potters. How much of a kind child James Potter had been, how much joy he had given to his parents, or even how amazing his wedding with Lily was.

"The most beautiful wedding dress she had. Obviously, with her looks, anything she wore would look good, but Euphemia had done a splendid job with the dress." She told him, grinning, probably reimagining the scene. If Hardin had to guess, he would say that Mrs Bagshot had a special spot for them. "Of course, James was also very handsome as well, but in a wedding, what steals the show is the bride."

"Mrs Potter is a muggle-born, isn't it?"

"Yes," Mrs Bagshot agreed, "It was quite the talk of the pureblood community when they got married. James would fight anyone who talked badly about her...As I said, he has always had a good heart."

"You seem quite close to them..."

"Well, I studied with James' grandfather, Henry, then I became Fleamont's godmother and was his teacher while still in school. Later, I endured young James making a mess in my house for years." She commented, "A very unique and kind family...It's such a shame that James, Lily, and their kids are the only reminiscing members."

"I assume that they used to come here a lot when they were hiding, then."

"James would come here three or four times a day so that he could leave the cottage." She laughed, "He used to say that what drives Azkaban's prisoners mad isn't the dementors, but being confined in the same place forever."

"What about Mrs Potter?"

"Oh, she's a very kind young woman. Lily used to come here with her children at least three or four times a week." Mrs Bagshot's eyes were shining with the memory, "Her boy loved coming here. He had a sweet tooth, you see, and she was very strict with their alimentation...kept talking about something called diabetes. Every time he stopped by, I would give him a Cauldron Cake - out of the reach of Lily's eyes, of course."

Hardin thought this story was rather odd. After all, at that time, Edward should have been one year old and the idea of Mrs Bagshot sneaking sweets for him sounded a bit difficult - especially without Mrs Potter noticing it.

"You sort of remind me of him, a little bit-"

"People say a lot that I look like the Potters because of the hair and the glasses."

"No, no, it's not because of these. It's the eyes." She pointed out, "Your eyes are the same as his, which were the same as his mother: bright and shining green eyes."

Suddenly, Hardin's hand became sweaty and his heart started to beat faster. None of the Potter children had green eyes. Edward, Primrose and Henry all possessed hazel eyes, as their father. There were only two possibilities: Mrs Bagshot was either too confused and under the effects of the alcohol, or the Potters had another son, meaning Harry Potter was real.

"Mrs Bagshot,"

"Yes?"

"You've said he had green eyes, but Edward has hazel eyes. I think you might have confused it."

"I've never said I was talking about Edward, have I?"

Hardin's heart skipped a beat, "Is-Is there another Potter child?"

"You won't tell no one about what I tell you, will you, Hardin?"

"No, ma'am, never." He said quickly.

"Well, people say that Edward is the firstborn, but it's a lie." She said and her face lost a bit of its good humour. "Their firstborn was called Harry, named after his great-grandfather, as I've told you... He was the sweetest boy I've ever met."

Hardin's throat suddenly felt dryer and his heart felt as if it was inches away from getting out of his chest. Almost in a whisper, he asked, "Harry Potter is James and Lily Potter's first child?"

Mrs Bagshot looked at him in confusion, "Yes. Haven't I just said that?"

"Edward is not the firstborn?" Hardin asked once more.

"No, Edward was born three years later."

He felt as if he had a lump on his throat, and he knew that any minute from now, he wouldn't be able to sustain his tears from falling, "This-This doesn't make sense. I've never heard about him before."

"I do not know what happened to him, but I'm not telling you any lies, Hardin. James and Lily's first child was Harry James Potter." She said firmly. "I remember as if it was only yesterday when he was born. Fleamont was delighted to know that the Potter line wasn't going to end... He sent me three identical letters on that day telling me his grandson had arrived."

Hardin clenched his hands, hoping that the pain of his nails against his skin would prevent him from crying, "When...When was the last time you saw him?"

Her facial expression softened and she spoke barely in a whisper, "The last time I saw him was on that All Hallows Eve...He came alone that night, entered through the kitchen's window as always, and I found him happily eating the Chocolate Frog's I had bought for the other kids…" Her eyes became watery, "After we talked for a bit, I told him to get back to his house because his mother must have been worried about him." A single tear came down from her eyes, "If only I had known that I was sending him away to be attacked...I could have said for him to spend the night."

"Did he die during the attack?" Hardin asked, trying to find a possible justification for his abandonment. Perhaps his entire situation was a huge misunderstanding.

"Died? No, not likely. If a Potter had died, everyone would know about it." Mrs Bagshot said, sadly, "I do have my theories, but each of them is more unlikely than the other..."

"Mrs Baghsot…" His voice failed, "W-What do you think has happened to him?

"The most likely one is so unlikely that I don't even know how I could elaborate it." She covered her face with her hands, "I have always liked to imagine that he was a squib... That would explain why he was kept out of the spotlight. It would do no good for their reputation to have a squib in the family. Can you imagine it? The brother of the Boy Who Lived as a squib? It would be shameful..." She took another sip from her butterbeer, "But, then, you remember this kid was a Potter, son of James and Lily...I refuse to believe that they could've done such a thing to a child. But, as unfortunate as it is, it's still a possibility."

"D-Do you think they could have dropped him in the Muggle World? If he was a squib, I mean..."

"They wouldn't be the first family to do so, Hardin. This has happened for centuries in pureblood families." She said, "Having a squib as a child damages a family's reputation like nothing else...Considering Lily is a muggle-born, it wouldn't surprise me if they abandoned him to protect her in the worst scenario. Imagine the extra prejudice she would have to endure if her firstborn was a squib." She sighed, "It would also explain why he was erased from their history."

For a moment, they stayed in silence. Mrs Bagshot was melancholically drinking her butterbeer, and Hardin trying to calm himself down - but failing miserably in doing so. For some reason, he couldn't keep his hands from shaking nor control his breathing. Then, Mrs Bagshot went to the chest he had seen earlier, opened a drawer, removed a photograph and handed it to him.

"This was from Harry's fourth and Edward's first birthday. They were born on the same day, you see...I gave Harry an entire box of Chocolate Frogs, but I reckon Lily threw it all in the garbage." She smiled, "I think I need another shot of firewhisky, yes...Too many old memories..."

Hardin observed the photograph with tears coming down from his eyes. Thankfully Mrs Bagshot was too busy searching for more firewhisky to notice it.

There he was, four years old, carried by his father, with a big smile on his face as he blew out the candles on top of the cake. By his side, his mother had Edward in her arms, with a look in her eyes as if nothing could please her more than that little moment they were sharing with each other.

'This is your family, Hardin...Harry...' He thought, taking one more look at the picture, 'This is the family who left you.'

He needed air. He needed to get out of this place and put his mind together. Of course, he had considered the possibility of being a Potter, but nothing could have prepared him for the pain of this rejection. They were his family, but they had given up on him. Why?

It didn't make sense, and the number of questions popping in his head made him feel like his head was about to explode.

He needed to get out of here.

"I-I think I should get going now, Mrs Bagshot," Hardin said, getting up and putting on his winter cloak. "It's already late...My- parents must be worried…Thank you for the conversation."

He didn't even wait for a reply, simply took the suitcase and rushed out of her house, walking in the streets of Godric's Hollow without a destination in mind. His mind was too busy trying to think of a single good reason for the question: why had they left him?

Because he was a squib? Really? The couple that fought against You-Know-Who for the peace between the Muggle and Wizarding World had given up on their son because they thought he wasn't magical? How ironic could this be?

"Fucking hypocrites." He murmured as he passed by the Potter's cottage.

After a few minutes of walking, he concluded that he was a fool for crying for them as they hadn't cried for him. They had willingly given up on him. As Mrs Bagshot had said, he was erased from their lives.

'They left you.' He repeated in his mind, 'If they didn't care about you, why should you care about them?'

He remembered all of those times, back in the orphanage, that he would fall asleep begging for a family to adopt him or send some distant relative to pick him up. How many times hadn't he asked God to give him someone? He had wished for a family for so long to take him out of his life's misery, but it turns out his family had been the one to place him in such a situation.

'While you grew up in the orphanage, Edward lived as a prince.' He remembered, 'The most famous celebrity in the Wizarding World, whereas you were nothing. You weren't good enough for them.'

Until the arrival of the Knight Bus, he thought about all the messed up situations he had been exposed to during his time in the orphanage that could have been avoided if he had grown up as a Potter. Eliot and his gang, Mr Wool's punishments, the bullying, the pain of being refused each time...They, the Potters, had made his childhood awful. They were responsible for his pain.

A wizarding child should never have to live among muggles.

He was taken away from his thoughts by a loud BANG and, a second later, a triple-decker, purple bus arrived right in front of him: The Knight Bus. Blessed be Ren for telling him about its existence.

The conductor stepped out of the bus, saying, "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard, just stick out your wand hand, step onboard...Wait. Haven't I seen you before?"

"You got me here earlier," Hardin said rather shortly due to his bad mood. "I'll be spending the night on the bus. Here's your sickles."

"Where are your parents, kid?"

Giving the conductor a cold look, Hardin replied, "Dead."

The old man gave him an awkward look but still picked the coins, "Your final stop would be at the Leaky Cauldron, around seven o'clock."

Moving inside the bus, he went to the third floor and picked the furthest bed available, closing the curtains around him. He placed the picture inside the suitcase and locked it. He couldn't think about this now - he had to clean his mind.

He tried to occupy his mind with other things, such as his friends and about magic, but his thoughts would always return to the Potters. After all, it was due to the Potters that he had only made friends and known about magic so late in his life. He could've grown up in the Wizarding World, but they prefered him far away.

Now, he could comprehend what Mrs Potter had meant when she said, 'We've all...made sacrifices thinking about what was more important. Yes, she had thrown him away to favour what was more important, Edward.

'They didn't even wait. The day after Halloween, you were already in the orphanage.' He remembered, 'They didn't give you away because you were a squib, but because you would bother Edward's spotlight.'

His anger only increased as he remembered that they had basically given his name to their other son, Henry Potter. How cynical could these people be?

They acted as the perfect family. Beneficent events, charity work, gave voice for muggle-borns and talked against discrimination. But, in the end, they were just like the people they judged so harshly. At least the families that sustained pureblood supremacy dared to say what they thought and didn't pretend to be what they were not.

Perhaps Voldemort wasn't so wrong and extreme after all. Maybe muggle-borns, such as Mrs Potter, and muggle-lovers, such as Mr Potter, were indeed the reason for the decadence of the Wizarding World. Maybe the Wizarding World would be better without them.

At night time, when he fell asleep, the last thoughts on his mind were of revenge. He would make the Potters pay for what they had done to him.

Author's Notes

Firstly, I'm sorry for any grammar mistake.

Chapter: So, hopefully, you all don't think I've made a wrong choice by making Mrs Bagshot appear in this chapter. I honestly just wanted something different from most fanfictions, and I thought this would be an interesting possibility. Better than him having eidetic memory or something of the kind, in my opinion.

Now, I just want to remind you all that this is Mrs Bagshot thinking of the situation, and this is only the first version Harry has seen of that night. This is not the definitive explanation. So, please do not come with PM or comments saying something like, "Oh, but you promised it wouldn't be this sort of explanation.".

Therefore, think of this chapter as Harry finding out Harry Potter exists, not Harry figuring out what happened to him.

I hope you've enjoyed the chapter.