Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But I do own a stuffed toy Hedwig. Okay, I own two of them…

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up- I went home, and I just can't write without all of my copies of the books.

Thanks so much for the reviews! Delaine, seeing Snape crucio Harry kills me, too. But don't you love him so much as a character?

Chapter 5: Godric's Hollow

They had chosen to apparate to Godric's Hollow rather than find whether the fireplace was attached to the floo network or to fly. For one thing, as Harry had reminded them, they'd been living as muggles while in hiding, so it was doubtful his parents' house was linked. Not to mention the house had been destroyed. Besides, they didn't want anyone following them, which could certainly happen on the floo or with brooms.

No, apparition was the way to go. As Harry had never been one for flooing anyway, he was quite happy to agree to apparition. Besides, Ron and Harry figured that with all of the apparition they had been doing lately, they would pass their tests with flying colors.

To bad, Hermione had mentioned, that they were missing the tiny fact that they didn't know where in Godric's Hollow the house was.

Although Harry had lived in this house once before, he had no idea where it was. He was hoping that this was not a problem. Last school year, while taking apparition lessons, Wilkie Tywcross had pounded into his head, "Destination, Determination, and Deliberation". Harry was hoping a general destination mixed with a large amount of determination would do the trick. And, he added to himself, he had certainly deliberated on the subject thoroughly.

When dementors had attacked Harry over three years ago, he could certainly hear his parents' last words. If he thought hard enough, he imagined he could even see them. At least, he was determined that he could see them, or rather, the house they had been in, his destination. Harry had been spending the previous few weeks convincing himself that he could indeed see his house. He of course, did not tell Ron and Hermione that he had the slightest bit of doubt in whether or not he could apparate there.

They walked a short way outside of London to an abandoned field. Harry was in charge of directing them, so Hermione and Ron grasped either arm of Harry's, and he concentrated. Destination, he thought, my parent's home in Godric's Hollow.

When they opened their eyes, they had landed on a street, rather than inside of a house. It appeared to be a perfectly normal looking muggle street. Hermione shrieked, "We just magicked ourselves here in broad daylight!" She looked around, frantically. Rather fortunately, it was mid-summer, and the trees were rich with leaves. They couldn't see another soul.

Ron and Harry wisely let Hermione look around frantically until she was sure no one had seen them. Harry used the time to make sure both of Ron's eyebrows were intact. After she calmed down, Harry said, "Shall we go then?"

Harry began to walk forward. "Er… mate, how do you know where the house is?" Ron asked. Harry looked at him, surprised. "I don't know. I just do." As he walked, Harry wondered if this was how Dumbledore had done it in the cave. He just knew. Maybe every wizard knows his own family's magic, he mused. Somehow, he thought there was more to it than that.

Presently, he stopped in front of a home. It was a rather normal looking house, slightly larger than the other homes on the street. Yes, Harry thought, it definitely was built by muggles. One look at The Burrow and you could tell it was magic. But this home was, well, normal looking.

To his surprise, Harry felt disappointment. He had been expecting- well; he didn't know what he had been expecting. But this home? It looked as though the Dursleys' would have been comfortable in it.

Looking at the house, it quickly became apparent to them that the house was not completely destroyed, as was commonly assumed. Nor was it hidden from muggles by magic, as were many wizarding buildings.

Harry and Ron expressed surprise at this, but Hermione merely said, "In Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, it said that the Ministry wanted to keep muggles from disturbing the scene, so when they wiped their memories, they restored the outside of the house." Harry once again appreciated Hermione's love of reading. No wonder she had known that she and Ron would be able to enter the home. She was a walking dictionary.

Once again, when they reached the front door, it opened for Harry. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. They walked into a sitting room. The first thing he noticed was dust. Nearly sixteen years worth of dust. Next to him, Hermione began to sneeze.

Harry slowly turned his head, trying to picture what was under the thick dust. It was a disaster. It looked as though a tornado had swept through the house. The floor was littered with pictures that had fallen off the walls; books lay open on the floor in various states of disarray. Even the couch was upturned. In the space behind the couch, the timbers of the wall were showing.

The three exchanged looks. Ron and Hermione were both silent. Harry understood that he would be the one to speak first. He paused. What had he been expecting, coming here? His mind was curiously blank.

As they stepped further into the room, thoughts began to seize Harry. His mind, opened by the dementors many years ago, took over. He stopped, and closed his eyes. He could see his father, shouting franticly, not masking the panic in his voice, "Lily, take Harry and go! It's Him! Go! I'LL HOLD HIM OFF!"

Harry took two steps more before opening his eyes. "He was standing right here," he said, his voice empty. Nearly sixteen years before, Harry's father had died on the very spot Harry now stood. A shiver passed through all of them. Ron and Hermione still didn't speak.

Harry thought for a moment, and then added, "and, my mum…she ran to get me." Harry paused, looking around. His feet seemed to know the trail, even if his eyes did not.

Harry wordless traced her steps, eyes closed, repeating his mother's voice, "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, I'll do anything-" Harry stopped. Why had Voldemort given Lily a choice to live? He had clearly come to the house, to kill both Harry and James. But why would the darkest wizard of all time give Lily a choice?

Harry spoke aloud, in a soft voice, "This is where he killed my mum." Once again, he was certain. He opened his eyes as he heard Hermione gasp.

He had stepped inside a room that was entirely scorched black. But, like the calm of a storm, none of the furniture had been touched. The room was perfectly preserved, with the exception of it being pitch black. Harry said slowly, "the Avada Kedavra doesn't do that."

He walked to a wall, to examine the blackness. Harry realized upon closer inspection that it was not scorched by fire, as he'd originally thought. He touched it. It did not come off the wall. Puzzled, he rubbed it harder, still no residue. That was strange.

Looking at it, it reminded Harry of soot. But soot? Soot should rub off of the walls easily. What was it? Next to him, Hermione said softly, "The aurors had never seen a residue like that, before or since."

For an inexplicable reason, at that point, anger finally began to fill Harry. How was it, he thought bitterly, that Hermione knows so much more about my parents than I do?

Harry took a deep breath to calm down. He looked around the room again. He wasn't sure exactly what he had expected, but certainly nothing had prepared him for this. He began to feel caged in, and could feel a scream rising in his throat. He turned his head frantically, not wanting to let it escape.

This is where he should have died.

He vowed, right then and there, that he would kill Voldemort. And enjoy it. The fire was burning in Harry's chest. And live to enjoy it, he added in his head.

For the first time since entering the house, Ron finally found his voice. "What…. what is it?" he asked in utter amazement of the blackened room.

And suddenly, Harry knew, without a doubt, what it was, and answered.

"It is Voldemort." He said slowly, "he couldn't die. But his body was destroyed. That horcrux… his body was the horcrux, and it was destroyed."

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks of amazement with each other, but simply nodded.

He looked down and realized there was a patch of floor directly beneath him covered in sixteen years worth of dust, with no black carbon residue below the dust. He was standing where his mother had fallen. He wordlessly turned and exited the room. The residue stayed firmly put, and no trace of it left on his shoes.

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Harry had firmly walked out of the house, to the backyard. Wisely, Ron and Hermione did not follow.

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An hour later, when Harry joined them back inside the house, he had found that Hermione had done some clever spells to lift the dust, and she was carefully sorting through the books found on the floor. She glanced up as he entered. Harry turned away. He hated that look of pity they would give him at times. He snapped, "stop giving me those looks. I know what you are thinking. I'm fine." Hermione did her best to rearrange her face, but Harry knew it was still there.

Ron handed Harry a portrait that had once hung on the wall. It had been expertly restored (no doubt by Hermione's wand). It was a photo of Harry's family. Harry forced a smile as they waved at him. "Why don't we put this place back together?" Somehow, he knew that his parents would like that.

Hermione smiled at him, a real smile, and rolled up her sleeves. "Everything?" she asked. "Yeah," Harry smiled again, "Everything."

With a flick of her wrist, Hermione began tackling the holes in the wall. Ron flew the books back up to the shelves. Harry started restoring more pictures. Pictures of Sirius, Remus, and Peter. A baby picture of himself. His grandparents. None of the portraits spoke, however, except to complain about the rough cleaning job they had received.

Within thirty minutes, the room looked back in place, with the exception of the family portrait that Ron had handed Harry. He decided to hang it up at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Ron had walked up to the large marble fireplace. "Hey,look- there is floo powder here! Maybe they were linked after all!" He opened the box of powder. It exploded in his face, singeing his eyebrows. Harry and Hermione laughed. "I guess there is a reason for that expiration date, after all," Ron said, joining in on the laughter as he felt his eyebrows.

He placed the box back on the mantle, and looked at the centerpiece, which was empty except for a long, thin metal stand. "Wonder what was in here," he said. "The mantle is too short for a broom." Hermione snorted. You think the only thing people put on their mantle is a broom?" Ron looked at her, and said honestly, "Yes." Harry and Hermione laughed.

"Hey, Hermione, do they teach what muggles put on mantles in Muggle Studies?" Harry asked, trying to keep a straight face.

By this point, Hermione was cracking up, at Ron's complete lack of muggle knowledge, but managed, "No, not in Introduction to Muggle Studies. It must be in Advanced Muggle Studies!" Ron still didn't get what was funny, but finally, between laughs, Harry and Hermione managed to list everything silly muggles put on their mantles.

"fish. Antlers. Weird, lighted things." Hermione giggled extra-hard at that one, picturing her Grandmother's mantle display at home, " Statues of dolphins. Statues of anything, really. Cricket bats. Hockey sticks. Flowers. Guns. Swords. Knives. Trophies. Candles. Dried vegetables. Stockings."

Ron finally caught on, laughed, and exclaimed, "muggles! What nutters. They put their socks on it?"

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They made quick work of the other rooms in the house before turning to the attic. By this point, the fun was wearing off, and Harry was getting frustrated again. For some reason, he thought he'd find clues here. But he didn't even know what he should be looking for. Harry sighed, and sat down on a crate.

Harry felt helpless. He'd been so sure that he would, somehow, find a clue. Some idea of where to look for the horcruxes. Now he wondered why he'd come up with such a notion. Even Dumbledore didn't know for sure that Voldemort had used horcruxes until this past year. Why would he have had a clue from his parents? But, he reminded himself, R.A.B. knew about at least one horcrux. Why not his parents? They had been members of the Order. They had defied Voldemort three times.

"Cheer up, mate." Ron grinned. "How about you look through those boxes," he said, pointing. They were labeled, "Marauder's Mischief." Hermione rolled her eyes at the label. "Very direct," she said.

A second wind hit Harry and he smiled, "Excellent!" Looking through the old relics they even found a first draft of the Marauder's Map. Harry pocketed it, without really understanding why.

Harry opened a card, and heard a silly poem proclaiming James' love for Lily. He flipped it over and grinned. It was from Sirius, apparently playing a joke on the two. Harry felt the sadness of losing his godfather, but it was controllable now, only a dull ache. He watched the small, animated figure of James sweep up Lily in his arms and kiss her.

But he smiled also because it reminded Harry of the card Ginny had sent him so many years before. Harry missed Ginny. He changed the subject. "Let's go back to the black room."

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Harry had been feeling drawn to this room all day. He stared down where his mother's body had lain. He let his eyes roam. Even the windows were blackened with the residue. They simply stared, knowing any attempt to clean the room would be futile.

After many minutes, he felt Hermione touch his shoulder. "Let's go," she said softly. Harry nodded. As he left, he noticed a bright long white space on the floor. Although covered in dust, it wasn't as thick as the dust where his mother had fallen. He stopped, and walked back into the room. Kneeling down he said, "Someone has been here already."

They examined the spot. Clearly, something had been on the floor when Voldemort's body had been destroyed. And equally clearly, it had been removed several years after. But who had been here before them?

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They left the house, and Harry led them to the street. Once again, his feet carried him. They had reached a small cemetery. There, two simple tombs were placed in the center of a small garden. Harry felt the tears welling up. He'd spent so many years suppressing them. This time, they fell freely down his face.

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That night, back at Number 12, Harry felt more confident. Confident because he now realized he had destroyed two horcruxes- the diary, but also Voldemort's body, as a baby. Never mind that Voldemort had replaced the body. If Harry had done it once, he could do it again.

He rolled over, and slept soundly through the night.