Chapter Eleven: Godric's Hollow

Godric's Hollow was a mansion of blackened ruins. Harry could tell small parts of it had been restored, but by whom he was not sure. Yet the mansion was still hunched and rather collapsed, its crumbling roof depressing against the darkening sky. No, Godric's Hollow did not look at all safe enough to enter. Harry had the sick feeling that once he slipped beneath its roof he would be buried alive.

Ron swore, "Doesn't look at all like they say it used to."

"Harry, you never said what we were coming here for," Hermione squeaked, "Are you sure it's safe to go --"

"This is what he wants me to do," Harry said impatiently. "I'm supposed to go in there alone."

"And do what?" Ron demanded. "Look, mate, we said we were with you all the way --"

"And I appreciate that," Harry said, smiling at Ron. "But you had to know that at some point I'd have to leave you and go on alone."

Ron smiled reluctantly, "Yeah, you always do."

Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder, then the two of them gave in to a one-armed hug. Hermione threw herself into Harry's arms with tears in her eyes. After a moment of sufficating, Harry pulled away and turned to Ginny.

"I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow," he joked.

Ginny laughed, "That's corny!" But she threw her arms around Harry and the two of the stood locked together for a while.

Harry pulled away and smiled at them. "See you on the other side," he said, lifting his hand. Then he turned and entered Godric's Hollow alone.

"I can't let him," Ginny said after three minutes of waiting, and she ran toward the mansion, Ron and Hermione calling after her.

Harry stepped carefully through the ruins of what had been his home so long ago, his wand raised as he listened. His steps seemed to echo on forever -- crunch, crunch, crunch -- and his eyes searched the gloom for he knew not what. There was moment when he thought he wasn't alone, but he was relieved to find it was only the wind or that yet another piece of debri had fallen from the house.

Then something -- intuition, instinct -- made him stop in his tracks and look down. A baby crib, smashed and splintered, poked from the ruins. Not far away was a rocker, snapped in pieces. And even closer to the crib was a teddy. Had his parents' bodies lain here? Harry swallowed gruffly and blinked back the tears.

This spot -- this blackened, burned-down spot -- had once been his room in the magnificent mansion. This was the place where he needed to go back in time. This was where it had happened.

Harry lifted the timeturner that swung from his neck, wondering as he did so how many times he needed to turn it. Hermione's timeturner had turned in hours, not years, but this one was different. Instead of the symbolic clock that had been engraved on the bottom of Hermione's timeturner, there was atiny callendar engraved on Harry's. 1982.

Harry swallowed and began to turned the timeturner on its chain. He turned four, eight, sixteen times, his eyes closed and his heart thudding. He was not aware as Godric's Hollow began to rebuild itself around him, pieces and burnt bits flying up from the ground and back into place. He didn't notice Hagrid with a baby in his arms, arguing with Sirius. He didn't notice Voldemort's essence fleeing backwards into the house past him.

When Harry opened his eyes, he was standing in his very own room at Godric's Hollow. There was a woman seated in a rocker, very pretty, with startlingly green eyes and lustrous red hair. She was singing softly to a baby, who was asleep in her arms. She looked up in alarm when she saw Harry, her hair tumbling into her face, and the two of them gaped at each other.

"Mum?" Harry whispered, tears clouding his eyes. He sniffed and held them back as the woman rose from her chair, laid the baby in the crib, and walked carefully toward him.

She stared into his eyes a long moment, then smiled warmly and embraced him.

"Harry!" she cried. "Oh, Harry! Do you know what this means? It worked!" She pulled away, smiled at Harry again, and kissed his face. She was crying too.

"What worked?" asked Harry breathlessly, his heart thudding in his chest. He was grinning through his tears. "What worked, Mum?"

"How I've dreamt of hearing you call me that," Lily said, her voice choked as she began to cry again.

She cupped Harry's face in her hands and storked his cheeks with her thumbs, "The charm worked, Harry. It was part of my plan to protect you. Now that I know it worked, I know I can do it, because I did it before -- Does that make any sense?" she added apologetically to Harry.

Harry shook his head, laughing as he remembered saying the same thing to Hermione when he had been thirteen.

"You look so much like James," Lily said, laughing too.

"And I have my mother's eyes," Harry added as if it was a remembered line, and Lily laughed again.

"There's no time," she said, nodding firmly. "Voldemort is supposed to come any night now, but now that you're here, I know he's due tonight."

Harry nodded too, his face becoming grim with the reminder. He dreaded having to see his mother die.

She smiled at him, "It will be alright, Harry. You'll see. Just use the power within you. The power you have to love."

Harry nodded, but could not stop staring at his mother. She seemed so brave and strong to him, so couragous. Being in her presence was like being bathed in a sort of warm light.

Lily returned to the rocker and cradled her son once more. "I love you, Harry," she said to the infant, but glanced up and smiled at the teenager standing before her too.

Harry didn't know what to do with himself. Lily was acting as if he knew what he should do, but all he could do was stand in the middle of the room and gape at its blue wallpaper, its bin of toys, its warm scent. All this had been his, all of this love.

Suddenly, there were footsteps thunking up the stairs.

"The closet, Harry, hurry!" cried Lily.

Harry did as he was told, and a moment later heard his father enter the room.

"I don't think he's coming tonight, Lil. We may have been spared another night," he heard James say, and a thrill went through his heart, hearing his father's voice clearly.

But even as James was speaking, the door burst open downstairs.

"Lily, take Harry and run!" he heard his father cry as he staggered from the room.

He could hear Voldemort's high voice, heard the scuffling as his father fought and was eventually failed.

Harry peered through the slants in the closet door and saw his mother rise with his infant self in her arms. She kissed the baby's head, whispered that she loved it, and squeezed her eyes shut as someone took painfully slow steps up the stairs.

"How touching," sneered a derisive voice.

Harry stifled a gasp as he beheld Lord Voldemort of sixteen years previous. This Voldemort was rather like a dementor, cloaked and faceless, with long hands cloaked in their black gloves. Harry felt his blood run cold as Voldemort pulled his wand.

"Stand aside, girl," he ordered.

"No," Lily answered, straightening up, tears standing in her eyes.

She laid the wailing in fant in its crib and stood before it, her wand held ready. Voldemort threw her against the closet with his wand and moved toward the crib.

"Make your move once he's killed me, Harry," Lily hissed, and then launched herself at Voldemort.

Harry swallowed dryly. He would have to watch her die after all. He couldn't bare it. He closed his eyes as she swung from Voldemort's arm, refusing to stand aside as Voldemort kept insisting.

"Take me instead! Don't take Harry! Take me!"

"Wretched girl!" Voldemort yelled.

A flash of green light hit the black interiors of Harry's eyelids. There was a thunk on the carpet. Lily was dead.

Harry burst from the closet, averted his eyes as he leapt over his mother's staring body, and grabbed the back of Voldemort's cloak as the evil wizard was lifting baby Harry, screaming, from his crib. Harry's hand made contact with Voldemort's cold skin, and he felt the familiar bubbling of it beneath his fingers.

Voldemort screamed and dropped the baby back into the crib, sinking to his knees. Harry took a breath and now clamped his hand over Voldemort's repulsive face, and throat. The evil wizard was melting, his body falling to pieces, and Harry realized the more he touched Voldemort, the weaker he became. Killing Voldemort with his touch was having its effect on him.

When Voldemort finally collapsed on the carpet, dead, Harry sank to his knees and a white light blinded him.