It took Hermione five days to master how to make portkeys. Truth be told, she had mastered it in two, but being the perfectionist she was, she refused to teach Harry until she had complete control over the charm. Harry watched from his position under a tree, reading Hogwarts: A History just to give him something to do. Much to his surprise, he was starting to find it interesting when it began to document its status during the Goblin Wars. He found it incredible to think of the castle as a fortress during a war.

He looked up from his reading, rubbing at his face, his breath huffing out of him in plumes. It was a particularly cold day. It was frosty and bitter. One of Hermione's blue fires sat next to him, but he still donned three jumpers and a coat.

"Portus."

He heard Hermione say the incantation once again. By now, she must have cast the charm thousands of times. At least they now knew for certain that the Ministry didn't pick up the use of the charm. It appeared that they monitored the portkeys that they authorised, but not the ones that were made without their permission. Apparently creating something that could teleport someone literally anywhere in the world, regardless of international borders, was something that needed to be regulated.

The branch that Hermione had selected for this particular portkey glowed blue. It lifted a little off the ground. She kept her wand fixed on it, focusing, then it sunk down.

"Where does that one go?" Harry asked her.

"Diagon Alley."

"Hmm useful."

She turned, nudged her foot against the portkey. Within ten seconds, it had vanished. Harry smirked. There were about to be a lot of puzzled people in Diagon Alley when an oak branch would suddenly appear in the middle of the street, seemingly from nowhere.

"I… think I'm ready to make our emergency portkeys. We can find something here that's small enough to conceal on us. Portkeys aren't limited to the size. An acorn will suffice," she said, stooping down to pick one up from the ground. She walked over to Harry, throwing it his way. His unerring reflexes had him snatching it from the air. He looked down at the golden-brown acorn in his hand.

"Aren't you going to teach me first?"

"Yes, but I don't think it'll take that long, not now I've worked it out."

Harry shrugged at that. The sooner the better.

"Alright then."

"I like your idea of making concealed pockets in the clothes we wear to Godric's Hollow so we can stow the portkeys. Once they're charmed, they'll activate on skin contact, so we'll have to charm them in the pockets themselves."

"Makes sense," he said. "We need to think of a good spot for our portkeys as well."

"I've already thought of somewhere," she said, "the forest of Dean. I camped there once with my parents."

"Good, well, really then we should plan on getting to Godric's Hollow and where we're going when we get there," Harry said, rising from his position against the tree, closing the hefty book he had been reading.

"Right, well I think you're right about trying the church and the graveyard first. We have enough of a fix on that location to not be a problem and we can get a good idea for the area in general."

Harry gave a nod. "Alright. We should go at night. There will be less people around."

"I don't know, Harry. It might be worse at night because of the curfew. There will be likely more of a presence to catch out those who shouldn't be out."

Harry pulled his lip, thinking. Going out at broad daylight wasn't idea either.

"Also… Professor Bagshot's an elderly woman, Harry. Don't you think you'll cause her a fright at the dead of night?"

"I'll cause her a fright whenever I turn up, Hermione. I'm not exactly inconspicuous."

"She knew your family. They trusted her with the fidelius," she said quietly, "I truly think she will help us. That letter said she doted on you when you were a baby."

"A lot has changed since then," he said darkly, but then sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. Going out in broad daylight feels too risky. It's not like when we've been to muggle locations in disguise. This is a magical commune. How about we go before curfew? Before nine? Seven o'clock, maybe?"

Hermione bit at her lip, looking nervously at him, but she couldn't fault the compromise. She gave a nod, agreeing.

"Good… so it's just showing me how to make a portkey and then we can get started on our gear."

The training that followed reminded Harry strongly of fourth year when Hermione taught him the summoning charm ahead of the first task. It made him smile as he thought back to that year and her support. When the present Hermione smacked him on the arm for not paying attention, he concentrated on what she was saying.

They spent a full day practicing making portkeys. Harry sent a myriad of forest junk items into random locations until Hermione was certain he had the charm focused enough. The only way to test it was to hold the portkey themselves.

It was late at night, both of them standing outside the tent, the stars above them. Harry had his wand trained on the twig, focusing intently, his eyes unblinking.

"Portus."

The twig glowed, lifting for a second, before dropping to the ground. He turned to Hermione, who gave him a nod.

"Stable," she confirmed, "now for the test."

"Are… you sure?" Harry asked her, looking back at where she was standing, holding her mug of hot chocolate. "If it's not stable, I might end up in the middle of the Atlantic."

"It's stable," she told him firmly, "it had the right aura."

He sighed and edged to his twig, touching the pocket at his side that held a portkey Hermione made earlier that would bring him back to camp immediately if he ended up somewhere else.

"If you don't come back and make me wait, I'll put marshmallows in your hot chocolate."

Harry twisted around. "You wouldn't…"

"Go on," she said, waving her hand, smiling. Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed the twig. In seconds, he felt the pull at his naval and he was spinning off. He tumbled very ungracefully in a field near the Burrow. He raised his head, then sighed, getting up, ready to apparate back.

"I hate marshmallows." He said before disapparating.

A day later, with a soft 'pop', the invisible pair arrived in the cobbled village square of Godric's Hollow. After a week of apparating side-by-side as a pair under the cloak, Harry and Hermione no longer stumbled clumsily when arriving to get their bearings. They both lightly stepped, holding on to each other for support, balancing and counter-balancing. Gripping the cloak to themselves and checking each other over for any signs of splinching, they looked around, eyes wide, at the square.

Harry's breath puffed out of him in a cloud as he took in the pale grey limestone buildings, each quaint house and shop made from the same ancient-looking stone. He tilted his head up skywards. It was a clear night and the stars were twinkling up ahead. His gaze, as always, gravitated to the brightest star in the sky. Sirius shone back.

"Harry…" Hermione's soft, hushed voice brought his attention back down to Earth. He looked over at Hermione's shadowed face. She wasn't looking at him. Instead, she let go of his arm to point out. He followed her, seeing what must be a newsagent's, judging from the sign outside as well as a storefront. He knew immediately what she was pointing out to him and he went completely rigid.

"No… no, it can't be," he said quietly before searching the village square again. He could see other flicking candles, gleaming through carved pumpkins that had been left out on the doorsteps of the various shops and homes. He could see orange and black bunting outside the local pub, the sounds of the patrons muffled through the windows.

"I think it's Halloween," Hermione said, "we can go… Harry, you don't have to be here tonight."

"I think I have to be," he said faintly, "it feels… meant to be." He saw a flicker on her face, the twisting expression of scepticism that she wore whenever something as woolly as fate or destiny was brought up. As Harry was a casualty of prophecy, he was inclined to be a little more open-minded about appreciating that coincidences shouldn't be ignored.

"Come on, we should check the graveyard… we don't want to stand out in the open any longer than we have to. Especially now we know it's… a rather important date."

Hermione took Harry's arm again and they took a path down the middle of the square. There were a few cars parked in the bays where the ended and the pedestrianised square began. The cobbled ground was a little uneven. The place had a general feel of antiquity about it, quaintness not unlike how Hogsmeade felt.

They came up to the war memorial in the centre and both jerked to a stop as the obelisk shimmered and shifted before their eyes. Harry felt his heart turn heavy as the statue materialised where it had been concealed from sight. He found himself staring at stone renditions of his parents. Their cold, lifeless smiles captured in limestone. Then he saw himself, as giggling baby, held in his mother's arms. His forehead clear of the scar, his life clear of the tragedy that tore his world apart.

Hermione guided them closer and they saw then the candles that had been laid around the statue. Illuminated in the candlelight was an engraving. He crouched down to read it.

"In honour of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived."

"That… that's where that moniker became official," Hermione told him shakily, "when this was made."

Harry straightened, his eyes burning. It should be his parents' names on the plaque, not his. He nodded to Hermione to show that he was done and they continued towards the church. There were more jack o' lanterns around the church entrance. Harry peered curiously down the street, seeing more limestone houses and pumpkins.

"Good. It looks empty," Hermione said, looking over to the low-rise stone wall that bordered the graveyard. Harry turned, seeing the dark shapes of the graves. His heart gave a lurch. His parents were in there… so close now.

They approached and Harry caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye. He stopped, moving Hermione around, seeing two figures in cloaks at the far end of the square where they had arrived.

"Wizards," Harry whispered to her. "I don't think they're friendlies."

He met Hermione's look. "We knew there would be a presence. If anyone is going to turn up here as a sign of protest, it would be tonight." He shared her worried expression. "We need to be really careful. I doubt they expect us to be here, but we don't want to be spotted. Stick close to me." Hermione nodded, moving in close so they were pressed side-by-side. He brought his arm around her while she held the cloak, keeping it from slipping. They moved slowly and carefully, coming up to the kissing gate. A softly murmured silencing charm dealt with the gate's obvious squeak as they entered.

"We're going to have to search… let's go up each row one-by-one." Hermione said. Harry nodded, his heart thundering in his chest as he looked over the gravestones. Some were ancient, the names long since worn away. They moved down, checking every stone.

"Harry… look," Hermione guided him over to a flat tomb. "Look at the symbol… it's…" Harry bent over, seeing what she was pointing out. He breathed out a sigh of disbelief. Sure enough, it was the strange triangular symbol that they had found in The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"Can you make out the name?" Hermione asked him while he was leaning over the tomb. He carefully studied the markings. They were heavily faded.

"Ignotus Peverell," he read quietly, "does… that name mean anything to you?" Hermione shook her head. He huffed out an angry breath. "Another clue that we don't understand then."

They continued down the next row. They spotted some surnames they recognised. A chill fell over them as they paced and they shared a look. They knew the graveyard was haunted and didn't fancy facing an irate ghost.

Coming up to a grand gravestone, Harry gave out a gasp.

"Is it them?" She asked him.

"No, look… Kendra Dumbledore and… Ariana Dumbledore," he read the names, feeling a twist of sadness at the second name. "It's Dumbledore's mother and sister."

Hermione gave a soft gasp. "She was so young… how tragic."

Harry thought about what he learned during the wedding about the suspicious circumstances of Dumbledore's family. His squib sister's mysterious death, his mother's fatal accident. He certainly had a troubled past that rivalled Harry's own. A past that he never divulged, even when the site of their tragedies had occurred within the same village, likely on the same street.

"Come on. We must be close." Harry guided her away, pulling his arm in around her, glancing up ahead. Each step now felt heavier, as if his body was drawing towards where his parents lay. Hermione then brought her arm around him. He leaned into her embrace, steadying his nerves.

Harry could see a pure white marble headstone and he knew, just knew, that it was the one. But they checked the row between it and the Dumbledores, looking over the many names. Turning down the row, he sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes fixed on it.

"There…" Harry whispered, "I… can feel it. They are there."

Coming up to it, Harry saw the names marked in the dazzling white stone, vivid and clear to read at a distance. He winced and turned his face, clenching his hands into fists. Hermione's hand went to his back and she guided him over.

"Muffliato," Hermione softly cast the charm, then she cast other charms around them: protective spells, the same ones they used to hide their tent.

Harry slowly turned his face back to the headstone.

James Potter

Born 27 March 1960

Died 31 October 1981

Lily Potter

Born 30 January 1960

Died 31 October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.

He read over the inscription, his stomach turning. What was it supposed to mean? It felt cold… harsh. Unfeeling.

"What does that mean? Destroying death… that's like something a Death Eater would say."

"I don't think it means that," Hermione whispered back, "it means living beyond death. Living after death. They will always be remembered."

But they weren't living beyond death. They were gone. They were right there, their bodies under the earth, the parents he had no memory of, other than their deaths. It felt like something cracking inside him, splitting through him like he was made of glass. Before he could hold it back, he had dropped to his knees. He doubled over, gasping in, as his pain and grief tore through him, cascading through the crack in his armour. He struggled to breathe.

Hermione was at his side, her hand rubbing his back.

"Let it out, Harry. No one can hear us."

He screwed his eyes up tightly. He reached out his hands, pressing them into the grass. His mum and dad were only feet away from him. The woman who had given birth to him, nurtured him, cuddled him when he cried, wiped his face clean when he ate. But now she was cold, lifeless… gone. His father, his brave father who went to face off Voldemort without a wand and buy his wife and son time to flee, his dad who had run around Hogwarts with his gang of marauders, galivanting the grounds as a magnificent stag. He, too, was before him in the unfeeling earth.

A sound unlike anything Harry had made tore out of him. Raw and primal. He brought his arms up around himself and shook as the grief he kept locked inside all his life burst through the dam. Hot tears leaked out of his tightly shut eyes, burning his face as they trailed down his cheeks and jaw, moving to pool at the base of his neck. His sobs were loud as they tore out of him, visceral and violent. The sounds of his grief keened from him, full of pain and anguish. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, murmuring his name, burrowing her face into his shoulder. He could feel her own tears on her face as she wept at the sight of his grief and loss.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. It's not fair… it's not fair…" She said as she drew back and looked at his face. Gently, she took his glasses off and wiped his face with her sleeve. He opened his eyes at her touch, registering her, seeing her form in his blurry vision. "They loved you so much."

"I know," he said hoarsely and cleared his throat. He untangled his arms from Hermione and took over clearing his face, wiping at his nose where tears had started to messily seep out his nostrils as well as his eyes. He felt in shock at the rawness of his emotions. The pain of it… the only thing that came close had been when he started destroying Dumbledore's office after Sirius died.

"I sometimes think I can remember them," he found himself saying, "but it's like a feeling. Feeling warm and safe. And I know I never felt that when I was with…" He sighed, swallowing painfully, his throat tight where there was a lump still. "All I ever wanted was that feeling and… it's only when I got older when I felt it again that I realised what that feeling was. Love."

He took his glasses back from Hermione. He took in a few breaths, pulling himself back into control. A few more tears escaped him as he read their names again.

"Can… is it safe for me to take the cloak off?" He asked Hermione. She nodded and pulled the folds of their shroud away from him. He stood, looking down at the grass, his heart pounding, the sound of the life that the two people under him had died protecting.

He reached into his mokeskin pouch, searching. His fingers found the hewn wooden figure that he had spent the last few days whittling away with clumsy hands. He drew it out. He possessed no real talent for crafting, but it at least was obvious for what it was. He had used magic to carve it from a piece of wood he repurposed while camping.

He stepped up to the headstone and placed it on the top. A stag.

Hermione gave a soft sigh behind him. She hadn't known that he had been making something for his parents.

"It's perfect, Harry," she said softly.

He stepped back at looked down, breathing heavily. Hermione then pulled the cloak off herself and stepped up to him. She threaded her arm through his, leaning into him. She went up onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then she turned to look at the headstone.

She raised her wand and summoned up some lilies which she placed on the ground before them.

"Do you need any longer?" She asked him. He swallowed and gave a stiff nod. She hugged him and stood silently. Harry's tears sparkled in his green-eyes as he stood before his parents, reunited for the first time in sixteen years.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to visit," he said eventually, staring down at the ground, picturing in his mind the two people he saw in the Mirror of Erised, standing at his side. "I'm… told that I look like you, dad. Thanks for the hair, by the way, it's impossible," he said, pushing his glasses up to his puffy eyes. "And… I'm told that I have your eyes, mum."

He wiped at his face, sighing. "I… I don't know if you've been watching over me. If you have then… you'll know that I've had many ups and downs. I'm sorry... for blaming you for leaving me. I didn't know... didn't know what really happened." He broke off and Hermione rubbed his back. "I wish we had more time. You were so young… your lives were just beginning and… it was all taken away. From us."

He sniffed, closing his eyes. "I think about you all the time. You'll always be with me. I promise… I promise I'll make it worth it. I will end this, one way or another. I swear it."

He stood silently. Hermione was quiet too. He then stiffly turned his face to her and opened his eyes.

"I… I think I'm done."

Hermione threw the cloak over them both and then carefully guided Harry away from the graves of his parents. He sniffed and wiped at his face.

"I'm sorry for losing it there," he mumbled to her. Hermione sighed sharply.

"Never apologise for feeling, Harry. It's what makes you who you are," she held him tightly as they navigated through the graves to get to the gate.

Making it to the kissing gate, they checked the square. The two wizards they glimpsed earlier had gone.

"Alright, I think we should apparate now," Hermione whispered to him, "do you think you've got a clear enough pinpoint or shall I do it?"

"I can do it," Harry assured him, moving to focus on apparating them as close to his family home as he could. He filled his mind with the notes they had read, adding to it the flickers of memory he had from the night sixteen years ago. His face stiff with the tears of his grief, he turned on the spot, taking them to the place where his life changed forever.

He and Hermione instinctively clung to the cloak as they emerged in a brightly lit street. They also weren't alone. The air was full of low conversations, the atmosphere tense and serious. Harry twisted around, taking in their surroundings. The houses were all made from the same limestone as the buildings in the square. All with quaint slate roofs and brightly coloured front doors.

Thankfully, the sound of their apparation wasn't noticed by the small group of people in front of them. Harry and Hermione both retreated from the throng, moving to lurk on the cobbled pavement, both searching for threats, wands ready.

"Harry, look…" Hermione's voice was barely audible, "there are candles around…" Her voice trailed off as they both saw it change at the same time. The moment their attention went to the building, it was revealed to them. If it could even be called a building anymore.

The rafters were exposed, blackened, the walls that did still stand were black and broken, twisted by the force of a dark magic explosion that had torn the place apart. Harry staggered backwards, his back hitting the wall behind him, as he saw it for the first time. His home. The Potters' home. The ruin.

It was difficult to make out any more of the house. The crowd were gathering around it and, sure enough, through the gaps in the crowd, there were candles laid outside. Harry drew in a sharp breath, understanding what this was.

They were there for him and his family.

"It's… possible that Bathilda is here," Hermione said to him, "maybe we should move closer. We might overhear them talking about her. She is… rather famous."

Harry nodded and they crept towards the crowd. There were around twenty people gathered, all clearly there to pay respects to his parents and to himself. He felt drained from his emotional breakdown earlier, but he was still alert. He didn't want to imagine the state his face was in, likely puffy and pink. As they approached, he recognised some faces. One man there he was certain worked at Florish and Blotts. He was chatting in a low voice to Tom, the barkeep at the Leaky Cauldron. Carefully, they moved closer, their eyes sharp as they lingered at the back.

He caught Hermione's eye and she nodded over to where the candles were. He followed her lead. He halted a little when he saw a couple that he recognised, his heart giving a jump. Mr and Mrs Diggory.

"Amos?" A female voice came from behind Harry and Hermione. He pulled her towards him, moving her away as a woman strode towards the Diggorys. They looked up at the woman. Harry recognised her wavy, brown hair and leaned towards Hermione.

"That's Andromeda Tonks," he whispered to her, "Tonks's mum and… Bellatrix's sister." Hermione's eyes were wide.

"Andromeda? It has been quite a few years." Amos said, stepping up to her and taking her hand in both of his. "You are alone?"

"Yes, Ted has gone into hiding after he refused to turn up to the Ministry," she said, causing Amos to sigh in sympathy. He nodded and gestured over to his wife.

"You remember Camilla?"

"Yes, hello."

Harry brought them around from the conversation, looking through the crowd, searching for someone who might be Bathilda. She was likely to be extremely old. He saw some elderly faces, but had no idea how he was meant to approach them.

There were some loud bangs and then bright flares shot up over the crowd. Harry had his wand ready, watching as the people around them spun around, gasping in shock, pulling their loved ones closer.

"This is an illegal assembly," a stern voice called out, magically amplified. "Gatherings of more than ten witches and wizards must be authorised by the Ministry of Magic in accordance of the International Statute of Secrecy."

"Poppy cock! We have been holding vigils here at Halloween for years."

"Rules change," a nasty voice spat out. Harry pulled on Hermione's arm and nodded over to the end of the street. It was the two men that they saw earlier in the dark robes. "Now unless you wish for us to call in for reinforcements, I suggest you leave here immediately."

"You suggest, do you?" A strong voiced man from the front of the crowd challenged. "Well, I suggest you take your threats somewhere else. This is a place of mourning. Have some respect!"

One of the Ministry wizards pushed through the crowd, his wand raised, causing cries of shock and alarm. He made his way to the candles, followed by his partner.

"'A place of mourning' is it?" The man with the sneering voice asked, turning to look at the crowd. He had piercing blue eyes that were wide with malice. He looked deranged. "Funny thing. This also happens to be the place where Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse. In fact, Harry Potter is currently wanted for questioning and recently was involved in an attack on the Ministry of Magic."

Harry then moved, approaching the man, his eyes latched on his back. Hermione tried to stop him, but his eyes had hardened, taking on the look he wore when his mind was set on doing something very reckless.

The man then kicked at the candles, knocking some of them over. There were shouts of outrage.

"Open support of Undesirable Number One is sedition." The other man's voice boomed. "This vigil is over."

Spitting out curses, growling threats, the unhappy crowd dispersed, disapparating one-by-one. The two Ministry officials threateningly advanced on the stragglers.

"Last warning, leave or we will arrest you."

Harry flashed up a look to Hermione, who returned him a resigned look. She nodded. Permission granted, Harry slipped out from under the cloak, advancing on the man whose back was turned. He pressed his wand into the back of his neck.

"I will curse you into oblivion before you can even blink."

Harry was a little surprised at how effective the threat was. The man had gone completely still. The other Ministry wizard spun, seeing him, his wand moving. Hermione was faster.

"Expelliarmus."

He staggered back, wand clattering onto the cobbles. The flash of her disarming charm thawed out the few supporters who remained and stunners ripped out, striking the man. Harry kept his focus on the man in front of him, grabbing his shoulder and turned him around to face him. The man took in his appearance before his pale eyes travelled up to his forehead.

"I see you know who I am."

"Potter…" The man was shocked.

"That's right. Stupefy." The man thudded onto the ground, unconscious at Harry's feet. Harry glared down at the man, then raised his head, meeting the faces of some very shocked witches and wizards.

"Harry?" A woman at his left said, her eyes wide as she stared at him. "Harry Potter?"

"Er..."

He was pulled sharply around, hands pressed on his shoulders, as he stared up at the face of Bellatrix Lestrange's older sister. Her face split into a broad smile.

"Now I know Sirius is your godfather. That would have been just the sort of reckless, hare-brained thing he would do."

Andromeda then touched his face, her expression softening when she likely saw the evidence of his tears.

"It was risky for you to come here tonight."

"It… wasn't really planned," he said sheepishly. "We didn't know what the date was."

"Well, I can handle wiping the memories of these Aurors while you leave." She told him.

"We can't," Hermione then joined him. She looked around at the other stragglers, who were hovering, staring at Harry. "We didn't come here without a reason."

Harry glanced back at the ruined house, his jaw clenching as he took in the candles, the whole image. Then he saw those that had remained, risking arrest just so they could stand in support for him. He took them all in, seeing that Tom from the Leaky Cauldron had remained. The Diggorys had not.

"It means a lot to me… that you would risk so much to be here," he said, raising his voice a little so they could hear him, "thank you."

The few remaining moved in closer then. The man that had first shouted in defiance at the Ministry officials approached him, his hair curly and grey, a set of small glasses perched on his nose.

"We have been holding vigil for your family ever since they lost their lives. It is our tradition here at Godric's Hollow."

He reached out his hand, blinking up at Harry's face.

"You will not remember me, but… I presided over your Naming, Harry," he said, "I did the same for your father as well." Harry understood that the 'Naming' ceremony was the same as muggle christenings. It would have been when Sirius had been named his godfather. Dazed, he took the man's hand.

"I don't remember," he said, "sorry."

"I am not surprised. You were a month old," he said smiling, "I'm Barnsley Bulstrode." Harry flicked his gaze over to Hermione, recognising the surname. He saw Hermione recoil a little as well.

"It's a pleasure," Harry said politely. Another came up to him, taking his hand. He was reeling as they all wanted to speak to him. Hermione had slipped away. When he had spoken to all his supporters, who all happened to be residents of the village aside from Tom and Andromeda, he looked for Hermione, seeing her with Andromeda, standing over the two Ministry officials. He saw the lilac glow of memory charms coming from their wands. He drew in a breath, remembering his purpose, and looked over to Barnsley Bulstrode.

"Sir, I was hoping to speak with Bathilda Bagshot. I understand that she was close to my family?" He noticed the Godric's Hollow residents sharing uncomfortable glances.

"Bathilda isn't well, son," Barnsley said heavily, "she is very advanced in years and, as so happens in those who are elderly, her mind is starting to go."

Harry recalled Muriel saying that she was 'gaga'. He rubbed at his arm, sighing.

"That's a shame."

"She'll be in her home. She rarely leaves these days. If you want to speak to her, that is," one of the residents told him.

"Could you… point me in the right direction?"

"Three doors down from you."

Harry blinked at that, but then it hit him. He turned slowly, looking at the house. It was his home. Ruined as it was. It had been where he had a family.

Hermione and Andromeda approached then.

"We've modified their memories so they'll return to the Ministry and report that the area is cleared." Andromeda told them. "But… there will be more. The night is young for Halloween." She looked over at Harry. "You should get back undercover." Harry shared a look with Hermione, then drew his gaze back to the house.

"I will but… I think I want to see my home while I have the chance." He then looked over his shoulder at those that stayed. "I… would be honoured if you would join me as I pay my respects."

He moved from them, walking on his own up to the ruined house. He heard their soft murmurs, agreeing to his request. He felt Hermione's gaze on him, but he kept his focus fixed ahead. There was just this last thing he had to face, then they would speak to Bathilda and return to the mission. He reached the candles, pausing for a moment, touched at the gesture of leaving candles for his parents. He carefully made his way through, looking up at the house, at the destruction.

His hands found the gate to the garden, resting on the wood, and he lowered his head. As he did, a sign sprung up from the overground garden. He straightened, surprised, and read from it.

"On this spot, on this 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."

Around the text were scribbles of graffiti. He felt a lick of amusement that even the wizarding world had its vandals. Some were initials of people who had visited, but his attention went to the sharper, crisper messages.

"If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!"

"Long live Harry Potter!"

"Good luck, Harry, wherever you are."

Warmed to the core by the support of the strangers, he traced his finger over their words. He needed it, especially when he lifted his head and looked up at the house, taking in the level of destruction. His survival was all the more miraculous, seeing the devastation left behind. He pushed open the gate and entered, feeling a shiver as he did. He looked up at the ivy-covered walls, fresh tears tears curving down his cheeks. In the sixteen years since, nature had started to reclaim the ruin. The garden was terribly overgrown, the grass thick, nearly covering the path that led up to the house. He stopped as he came up to the wall. Tentatively, he reached out, his hand touching it. It was solid, real. He was finally there, at the house where he had been born, where he lived as just Harry, the little baby boy, before he became Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

His grief shifted inside of him, morphing, as he tilted his head up to look at the damage. There must have been a fire when the curse rebounded as the wooden rafters were charred and the walls blackened. He felt his heart ache as he stared at the spot where Voldemort had tried to kill him after murdering his parents in cold blood. Hatred seared through him and he shook with the strength of it. His fingernails scratched against the limestone. His lip pulled back from his teeth as he seethed with the rage at the injustice that had been done to him. He took a step back, bringing a finger up to his forehead. He ran the tip of his finger down his scar, tracing the shape, as he filled himself with as much as he could with the moment so he could never forget.

He brought his wand up to his left hand.

"Diffindo."

A line slashed across his palm, splitting his skin like it was paper. He took care to not overpower the spell and cut off his own hand. He grimaced at the pain and folded his hand into a fist, forcing drops of blood to fall on the ground. He had read about blood feuds in some of the books Hermione brought with them. It was more bravado than anything, but it felt necessary.

"I, Harry James Potter, swear to avenge the murders of my mother and father. I enact a blood feud against Tom Marvolo Riddle. I will take his life or he shall take mine." He heard the gasps of shock at his back. He spread his palm out and felt his magic respond to his vow. It was symbolic more than anything, but somewhere in the Ministry of Magic, there would be a record of an active blood feud.

"Ferula," Harry said, causing white bandages to wrap around his hand. He winced at the discomfort. He would heal it properly later, after they had finished their business at the village. With that in mind, he turned. His supporters were waiting, standing at the wall, watching the historical moment of Harry Potter declaring war on Lord Voldemort. His eyes found Hermione's. He moved towards her and she came to him at the gate.

"I know where Bathilda lives." He told her before she could speak. She opened her mouth, her face full of concern, but closed it and nodded. She stepped back as he walked back out the gate, turning to shut it behind him. He moved through the candles, coming up to the village residents.

"Thank you… for everything." He said, looking at them all, "but I'm afraid I have leave before anyone else comes from the Ministry. I need to speak to Bathilda first."

Then he turned to Hermione, who came up to him, handing him his Invisibility Cloak. Andromeda put a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her.

"Be safe, Harry," she said, making it sound like a command. He gave her a smile.

"I'll try," he said, then threw the cloak over his and Hermione's shoulders, causing them to vanish.