Harry Potter and the Fate of Ravenclaw
By OnyxDawn

Chapter Three: Godric's Secret Letter

They didn't say goodbye.

Harry retrieved his invisibility cloak and he, Ron, and Hermione went outside, walking over to the shed where the broomsticks were kept. They didn't have anything left to do at the Burrow, but they wanted to create some semblance of calm. If they left immediately, they would feel rushed. So while Mrs and Mr. Weasley both thought the three had already left to Godric's Hollow, they didn't plan to truly leave until sun down.

Sitting against the shed, Harry stared off into space while Ron and Hermione bickered. He couldn't help but feel as if he were doing something wrong by leading his two best friends into such a perilous danger. If one of them ended up getting killed, how would he live with himself? Maybe he could get away with saying the adventure ended after Godric's Hollow. He could force them to stay behind while he went off to face the real danger.

"No you're not!"

Harry blinked and looked up, startled. For a moment he actually believed that Hermione had read his thoughts.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, you just don't understand, do you?" Ron snapped, and immediately Harry felt a rush of relief. They were just arguing, being normal. Stretching out against the shed door, Harry realized that the sun was beginning to set.

"Guys, we need to go," Harry said, before Hermione could retort. He didn't want to know what they had been arguing about. It was probably something silly, anyway. Standing up, Harry became aware that both his friends looked particularly flustered, and Hermione wore an expression of extreme annoyance. Ron, though, looked rather relieved.

"All right," said Ron quickly. "Let's go then." He put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and Hermione did the same, shooting a glare at Ron.

"On three, we all have to apparate," said Harry, ignoring them. "I know where we're going, but that doesn't mean I can do the apparating for all three of us." They both nodded. "One… Two… Three!" With a loud pop, the three had disappeared. Just as they left, rain began to drizzle on the ground and, standing alone on the front porch, Ginny started to cry.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a hard time not toppling over each other when they landed. After gaining his composure, Harry straightened and got his first real look around the place that might have been his home if only events had gone differently sixteen years ago.

It would have been a glorious understatement to call the place hauntingly beautiful. A row of houses, each with their own distinct impression of dilapidated abandonment, stood tall and deliberate, powerful in their lasting state of oblivion. Number Seven, unlike any of the other houses, was in shambles, its brick walls covered in tangles of thriving ivy. The clash of opposing elements, life and death, bestowed upon the air a magical; the stillness of the night was tranquil and calm.

Harry blinked several times, trying to get used to this new darkness. Unlike the Burrow, there was no faint glow cast from the stars, no air of home or prospering love. It was abandoned; a ghost town in every sense of the word, and not even a cricket dared chirp. At the end of the street there was a sign so covered in rust and dreary void that all that could be seen was "Hollow." Fitting, Harry thought. Hermione took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Finally, Ron broke the silence.

"Whoa," he whispered. Harry had to agree with that sentiment, for it summed up the wash of emotions that had flooded through him at that moment rather perfectly. The feeling of raw, immense nostalgia that gripped his chest at that moment was so strong he fell to his knees on the cracked and beaten pavement. Hermione knelt down next to him and drew him into a close hug, and Ron was quick to follow. For a long time, the trio just sat there, staring at the fallen house, lost in the torrent of understanding. This was the place where it had all began. For them, anyway.

Harry came to his senses when he felt Hermione tugging at his shoulder. "Come on," she whispered. There was no logical reason for her to be whispering, but the feel of the place simply called for silence. It did not want to be disturbed. Harry and Ron both stood up, and slowly, hesitantly, they began to walk towards Number Seven. Coming closer, Harry saw that the front wall had been entirely demolished. Next to him, light flared to life as Ron lit up his wand and raised it above his head. Hermione screamed and quickly buried her head into Ron's neck at the sight this revealed.

Harry felt like throwing up.

There, on the wasted carpet only feet away from where the front door had once stood, was a skeleton. "Bloody fucking hell," Ron whispered. Harry stumbled backwards, shaking his head. He knew who that was. The surface of his father's bones were somehow pearly white, and the gaping holes in the skull seemed like void, bottomless pits, eager to accept anyone who dared stare too long into their eternal emptiness. The gleaming smile seemed to mock them where they stood.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Hermione whispered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the sockets. He felt numb, as if every particle of his being were being melted by the feelings that couldn't be expressed. He could find no words to speak, no definite emotions, and all that he could think about was how he'd been so positive there would be a grave. Surely there had been enough people still to care about his parents to bury them properly. But no, here was the skeleton of James Potter, grinning up at him from the floor of the house that Harry had, as a baby, known so well.

He wasn't aware of his own violently trembling body until Ron put a hand on his shoulder. Harry blinked, slowly, and then he sensed something so entirely foreign that at first he couldn't identify it. A wash of smell flared in his senses, and he was, after a moment, able to identify it as the smell of the lavender air freshener his mother had often used in the living room. Closing his eyes, Harry could see her grinning, pinning his father to the floor and tickling him mercilessly. From somewhere in the kitchen came to sound of a baby giggling madly, and two men roaring with laughter. Somehow, he knew that these men were Pettigrew and Sirius.

Opening his eyes, Harry viciously shrugged off his friend's comforting hand and looked away. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks. Hermione and Ron understood that they had to remain silent, and turned to each other for comfort. The sound of Hermione's stifled sobs filled the air, and Ron gently ran his hand through her bushy hair and kissed the top of her head. None of them said anything, respecting the natural, eerie quiet and Harry's own torrid emotions.

After the shock had worn off and the vision had faded, Harry became aware of a fervid anger boiling within his veins. His blood raced, his heart pounded, his teeth clenched, and for an instant Harry could think of nothing but getting his hands on the people responsible. Snape, Pettigrew, Voldemort - they all would pay. They would pay for this, and not only that, but they would regret it. For the first time in his life, Harry didn't just want revenge. This hatred that burned within him was something far more savage, one that would not be quelled until his quest was complete.

Knowing that it was useless to act on this new anger - this hatred that burned so horridly - Harry managed to relax with a few deep, shuddering breaths, and turned to face his friends. When Ron met his eyes, a flash of fear crossed the red-head's face, as if he saw something in the emerald orbs of Harry's that truly, truly frightened him. He cursed, once again, and Hermione squeaked slightly. She looked up at Harry and her own teary eyes widened.

"We have to search," said Harry firmly, unaware that his hands were clenched at his side. He didn't know what imposing figure he cut across the fallen scenery, he only knew that the sooner he got the answer he needed from Godric's Hollow, the sooner he could be on his way to fulfilling his destiny.

"For what?" Hermione asked. Her voice was hardly audible, in fact, the only reason Harry knew that she had spoken those words was because, at that instant, the answer came to him.

"I don't know," he said, "but I'll know when I see it." He turned back to the gaping hole in Number Seven and blanched when he saw his father's bones. Not quite sure what he was doing, Harry unbuttoned his cloak and threw it over the figure. Then, gesturing to Ron and Hermione, he stepped over the threshold and went into where he had imagined the voices of Sirius and Peter. It was the kitchen, and looked no better than the rest of the house. Ron was immediately interested by the stove, which told them all that this had been a muggle household. It was covered in the same ivy that spread over the outside.

Hermione gasped as she came upon something, and Harry whirled around from his position where he had been examining scorch marks on the counter. A light tingling sound filled the air, and Harry moved over to where Hermione was standing, in what had once been the living room. She was hunched over a mouldy, four-legged table. The music sent chills up Harry's spine and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"What is it?" Ron asked, coming up on her other side. Harry looked down and saw a very ornate wood box, opened to reveal a velvet-coated inside. Once-pink earrings were the only visible thing, aside from a little golden rod that was spinning in circles.

"Phantom of the Opera," Hermione whispered, sounding awed. Harry could almost see his mother, wearing a gentle white dress and those pink earrings, dancing with his father in a large ballroom that resembled the Hogwarts Great Hall. She was dancing to this tune, moving gracefully, and smiling at his father with a look of pure bliss in her eyes. Harry blinked and once again saw the music box. For a few moments, the three stood, enchanted by the melody, before Hermione finally, with extreme care, shut the lid. It had a carving of a man with half of his face covered by a silver-painted mask.

"You're mum had great tastes," said Hermione quietly. "Phantom of the Opera is one of the most amazing muggle operas."

"Come on," said Harry, pulling away from her. The mood had changed subtly, somehow, from tense and angry to calm and relaxed. "I think we might find something in their bedroom."

Hermione began casting spells on the stairs to make sure they would hold the weight of three people, and Ron pulled Harry aside, an incredulous look on his face. "What exactly are we looking for?" he asked.

"I told you," said Harry quietly, "I'll know when I see it."

"Harry, this isn't like all the other adventures we've been on before. It isn't the Philosopher's Stone or my younger sister we're looking for…it's pieces of You Know Who's soul."

"Yeah," said Harry, "I know that. Just trust me, all right?"

Ron looked Harry very carefully in the eye, and then sighed, looking down for a moment. Then, thankfully, he changed the topic. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything more pleasant. "You know, back there…with your...where your father was. You got a look in your eye like nothing I'd ever seen before." It was a question, but Ron was afraid to ask it outright. Harry felt rather disinclined to answer it, however, and simply shook his head.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said.

"Hey guys," Hermione said, standing at the base of the now sturdy-looking staircase. She looked rather curious, but didn't say anything more. Harry nodded. Together, Ron and Harry followed Hermione up the stairs and, with extreme care, made their way through the dank hallway to a door way, though the door itself had been blown to pieces.

The robbed figure moved gracefully up the stairs, Lily could hear him. She held onto her son tightly, whispering words that would forever go unheard. Harry, still and silent as if he understood the gravity of the situation, shrunk against his mother's breast and whimpered silently. With a burst of light, the door flew off its hinges and Lord Voldemort stepped into the baby's room.

"Step aside, silly girl," he said.

"No! Please, take me! Don't kill Harry, take me instead!"

"I said, stand aside!"

Harry shook his head of the memory, feeling cold, as if a dementor had just stepped into the house with them. The room they had entered was not his parents'. But rather, it was his. Prepared though he was to see his mother's skeleton lying discarded only a few feet away from the ivy-covered crib, Harry still felt a jab of pain in his chest. Hermione whimpered quietly, but bravely stepped forward and began searching through the dusty blankets as if desperately searching for something she just knew was there.

Ron caught Harry's eyes, and they both nodded. Harry went to a drawer which had once been baby-blue and opened up the first compartment. Inside, there were several cards with fading gold letters. He could just make out the words on one of the cards, which had the imprint of a teddy bear holding a bunch of balloons. The colour, though, had disappeared ages ago.

James and Lily Potter
Would like to announce
The newest arrival into their family:
Harry James Potter!
Congratulations!

Next to the words there was a crinkled muggle photograph of what had to be a day-old Harry Potter. Harry stared at this picture of a long moment before gently laying it back on the pile of cards and closing the drawer.

"Hey," Ron said, "what's this? It says, Dearest Rowena…I think…" Harry looked up at Ron who was standing next to him and holding a withered piece of parchment. It somehow looked even older than anything else they had come across so far, with yellowed edges and a burnt left hand bottom corner. Hermione came up behind them and looked over their shoulders, and Harry took the letter, carefully blowing some dust. The words were written in a strong, blunt style, and seemed to be in old English. He couldn't make head or tails of it, so handed it to Hermione.

She took it and examined it closely. "It's-it's a love letter," she said quietly, "it's a love letter to Rowena Ravenclaw from-" she looked nearer to the bottom of the parchment and her eyes widened. "It's from Godric Gryffindor!" she exclaimed.

Ron huffed, deflating as if somebody had just taken a wondrous present away from him only moments after he'd opened it. "What are we going to do with that?" he asked.

"It's what we're looking for." Harry didn't even realize it until the words were out of his mouth, but the moment they were, he knew. They wouldn't find anything else in this house, aside from the forgotten skeletons of his parents' bodies. "What does it say?"

"Dearest Rowena, my beautiful love, what hath turned your wrath against me? My beloved, forgive me my trespasses and hold me dear to your heart…" Hermione frowned. "I guess it's more of an apology letter," she said quietly. "I can't make out much more than that, but he did something to hurt Ravenclaw. And I don't think he really expected her to forgive him." She looked up at Harry. "Do you really think this is what we're looking for? I mean, it's interesting, but is it important?"

"Maybe the object we're looking for belonged to both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor," said Ron, obviously without having even thought through the sentence before he spoke it. However, when he did, Hermione stared at him, mouth dropped, eyes wide, looking absolutely gob smacked. "Er…that was a stupid idea," Ron muttered quickly.

"No!" Hermione yelped. Then the room immediately fell silent, feeling as if it would collapse around them now that somebody had actually breeched the whispering boundaries. Like the tense before an avalanche, the three were quiet for several moments, until they were sure nothing big was going to happen. "I mean," Hermione explained, looking sheepish and speaking in a much, much smaller voice, "that's a brilliant idea, Ron."

Ron blushed. "Really?" he asked.

Hermione nodded fervently. The floor creaked beneath them and they all jumped. Harry felt his heart racing, trying to jump out of his mouth; somebody was downstairs. The sound of the stairway being climbed was the sound of impending doom. Had Death Eaters followed them to Godric's Hollow? Or was it just the Ministry of Magic, swooping in to see what trespassers walked amuck?

Somehow, Harry thought, it didn't sound like human footsteps. The soft, hard, rattling clank it made against the stairway was too sure and frank to be the muffled padding of shoes or feet. It was like two wooden canes, perhaps, ascending the stares slowly but surely. Hermione, who trembled violently, found shelter once more in Ron's arms. Symbolically, almost, the two stood behind Harry and he faced the door, wand at hand, ablaze with fear and determination.

The person - or whatever it was - had gotten up the stairs, and now the steps were coming steadily closer and closer to the room. Behind them, something moved.

Ron cursed; Hermione fainted. In the doorway stood a walking skeleton, the same body they had come across below. Harry didn't need to look behind him to know that his mother, too, was somehow animated. And then, with the force of a dozen horses running into his chest at high speed, Harry realized just what exactly these walking skeletons were.

"Inferi," he whispered. Ron gasped and cursed again.

"Shit! Hermione, Hermione, wake up! Wake up, NOW!" he slapped her face hard, and she blearily opened her eyes. When she saw the skeleton, standing stationary at the threshold, she shrieked and clung to Ron tightly. "Hermione," Ron said, "calm down, Hermione, please! We don't know how to deal with them…"

"What are they?" Hermione asked. Frankly, Harry was surprised she couldn't figure it out.

"I think…I think they're inferi," he said quietly. "They haven't moved to attack us, but I'm sure if we move…"

"No," Hermione said, gaining some of her usual brisk manner back, though still huddling against Ron and staring at the skeleton in the threshold with wide eyes. "No, that's impossible. I mean, and it's stupid too, isn't it? What's a pair of skeletons against three experienced wizards? Harry, these aren't inferi. They really are your…your parents."

Somehow, the smile on James's skull widened. He walked into the room, bones rattling, and all three of them jumped back in horror as he stumbled to the drawer behind them. The mirror was dusty, and so when he held up his fingers and drew them along the glass, the effect was easily viewable.

James wrote:

The spell of silence lifted, we can now rest in peace.

Then, making his way towards Lily, the two skeletons began to slowly turn to dust, and that dust was blown away by a nonexistent breeze. Trembling, Hermione broke the silence only fifteen minutes later.

"Oh my God."

The trio went downstairs to sleep that night (or rather, morning), finding blankets in the living room that they charmed to keep them warm. They all slept together, curled against one another with Hermione in the middle and both the boys' backs pressed against her. When the first rays of sunlight began to sift through the ghostly hours of morning and rain upon the three friends, Harry awoke after a dream with grinning skeletons and faded love-letters to find Ron and Hermione clutching each other. Hermione's head was on Ron's chest and their legs were entangled. When they woke up, there was a good twenty minutes of awkwardness and red-ears before they managed to put it behind them.

They stayed there the whole day, as well, not really searching for anything important but still going through the drawers in hopes of seeing something more from the past. Three times more, Harry had visions of his parents, Sirius, Pettigrew, himself, and Lupin. By the third vision, Harry simply didn't fight it, for everything was happy in his mind. His mother was laughing, cooking eggs and ham, and his father was attempting to tickle her while Sirius attempted to feed baby Harry green beans.

When Ron came into the dining room and snapped Harry out of it, the two joined Hermione back in the living room, which they had dubbed as their official living space, and talked about what they needed to do now.

"First," said Ron, "we go back to the Burrow for the wedding."

"You sure are awfully eager to see Fleur married," Hermione huffed, indignant.

Ron's ears turned bright red. "No! It's not that, Hermione, it's just that it'll be the last day we have. I mean-" Ron cast a glance at Harry- "I'm sure we're planning on leaving right after the festivities are done."

Harry nodded sadly.

"Then where will we go?" Hermione asked, after rolling her eyes at Ron.

"I was thinking back to the orphanage where Voldemort-er, Tom lived as a kid." Ron flinched at the name, and he and Hermione went off into a little spat about the fact that 'fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.' Harry waited patiently for about five minutes before coughing surreptitiously.

"Oh," Hermione said, jumping. In the heat of the afternoon sun, there was definitely more allowances for speaking, laughing, and even shouting (which Hermione and Ron had both proved that morning when Ron tried to convince Hermione that they didn't absolutely need to eat breakfast). "But we're not likely to find anything there, are we? I mean, unless we go to the cave but…but maybe we should go to Hogwarts first? If it's closed, it'll be easy to search through."

"And I heard that the Ravenclaw ghost is so old that she actually knew some of the founders' students," Ron said. Hermione beamed at him and he blushed. "It's a rumour, OK?" he snapped. "S'not like I read Hogwarts - A History or anything." She rolled her eyes again.

"Yeah," said Harry, "maybe…." He shrugged. "We might as well start this wild goose chase somewhere familiar."

"But we can't apparate," Hermione said. At Ron and Harry's curious looks, she promptly threw her hands up in the air and said, exasperated, "Honestly, do you two ever pay attention? You can't apparate anywhere on the Hogwarts premises!"

"We knew that," Ron said, indignant now that Hermione thought he was hopeless again. "But we can apparate to the Three Broomsticks, or anywhere else in Hogsmead for that matter. It might be a long walk, but so what? We're not on a class schedule here, we have all year."

"The sooner we get done, though," Harry said, "the sooner Voldemort's gone." Ron flinched. Hermione scowled.

"Ron, when will you-"

"Hermione, you grew up with muggles, it's easier for you. Even if you started out calling him You Know Who six years ago, I started calling him that sixteen years ago. It's just harder for me."

Hermione blinked, logic struggling over her pride and want to have all of them be able to say Voldemort's name without flinching. In the end, of course, logic won out and she apologized.

By the end of the day they had agreed to leave that night so that they would show up at the Burrow before the Delecours. The fewer people who knew that something strange was going on the better. So they gathered at the front door, silent as they prepared to leave the scene they had gotten used to over the past day and a half. The waxing moon shown down, giving a fluorescent light to the entire area and making it feel more magical than ever. Looking at the place where he'd first spotted his father's body, Harry closed his eyes against the violent rush of melancholic sorrow and gripped onto Ron and Hermione tightly.

A few minutes later, they had apparated back at the Burrow.

A/N: I know this chapter's shorter than the first two, and a bit rushed towards the middle and end, but so far it's my favourite. Please tell me what you think! Oh and, er, the skeletons aren't as important as you might think. -sheepish-

Chapter four preview: Back at the Burrow, it's time for Fleur and Bill's wedding. Ginny's got a few more tricks up her sleeve. Will Harry hold out?

WorldlyFeelings: Thank you!

Estalio: -snigger- You noticed! I did that on purpose, actually. I almost called the examiner Robert Kensington, but then I realized that I've already used Kensington, so I thought...yeah, that'd be funny! Thank you!

Thanks, once again, to my beta readers for making this story readable. Also, huge thanks for those of you who have put me on your favourites or alert list! You make me feel so loved!

A/N2: For anybody interested in Ruruoni Kenshin, I highly suggest Estalio's story, The Assassin's Curse while you're looking for something else to read. -pushes all readers towards that story- Even if you aren't interested in Kenshin, or don't even know what that is, I suggest you read the fic. It's…splendidly grand and er…remarkably, tremendously, awe-inspiringly astounding (w00t to the thesaurus!)!