I should warn anyone reading this that they'd better not get too hooked, or, if they do, that they should be prepared to do some convincing and hearty pleading to be able to read any more, because anything I write has a terrible habit of not getting past the first couple of chapters. In fact, getting just one chapter done is something of an acievement in itself, so really, don't expect too much. It wouldn't be wise, especially as, at this point, I really have no idea where this story is heading myself. I wrote it purely for the joy of writing it, and hope you enjoy it too.
Chapter 1
A young man appeared on a small rise overlooking a small village. He had jet black hair, round glasses, and a scar the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. He looked older than his almost seventeen years; worry seemed to be aging him.
He was dressed like any other seventeen year old, albeit in clothes that were too big and slightly worn out. He carried a backpack on his back and looked for all the world as if he were heading off to school.
But this was in the middle of the summer holidays, and in any case, Harry Potter would not be returning to school. Ever.
He was joined a few moments later by a tall gangly boy with shockingly bright orange hair, and a girl who carried with her an air of studiousness, even here in this muddy lane, with her hair in her eyes and her face flushed from exercise.
The trio stood in silence for a few moments.
"So, this is it then," said the red-haired teenager.
"Honestly, Ron." The girl sounded exasperated.
"What?"
"You couldn't have come up with something better to say? This is obviously a huge moment for Harry, and all you can come up with is: 'So, this is it then.' I mean, that line must have been used to break a million awkward silences in a million different books"
"Oh come off it, Hermione. Someone had to say something, and you know as well as I do that I'm not the most original of people."
Hermione huffed and muttered under her breath. Ron was able to catch the word 'teaspoon', but that was all.
Harry ignored them both. In fact, it was hard to tell if he was even aware of their presence. He sighed, closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them they were filled with fresh resolve. Determinedly, he moved off down the hill, into the village named Godric's Hollow.
It was really a beautiful morning. There were no clouds to be seen in any direction, except for a few huddled together on the horizon. The sun, only just risen, seemed small and a little pale, but it was easy to tell that it was going to get bigger and much, much hotter as the day wore on.
It was too early for there to be many people up, but a postman cycled slowly by, giving Harry and his friends a curious look and a small, cautious wave.
Hermione waved back, but she was the only one who did. Ron had his hands shoved in his pockets, and was staring around, his expression showing that he didn't think much of the place.
Harry was consulting a well-worn piece of paper, though he knew by now every line and crease on it by heart. He was nervous, and the paper, which he folded and unfolded repeatedly, gave him something to do with his hands.
"Co-" he cleared his throat and began again. "Come on," he said roughly, "I see the road. Down this way."
"Don't think I'd like to live here," Ron said conversationally as they moved off. "Doesn't look as if there'd be much to do, does there?"
Hermione glared at him, tutted, and moved 'round to Harry's other side.
"It's very pretty," she said to him, softly.
Harry nodded.
They reached the road they were heading for, and turned down it, silently.
They passed several houses on either side that looked as if they'd been there for the best part of a century, sound, solid cottages with ivy draped over the rooves, and trees, shrubs and flowering bushes crowded around them. It was a very picturesque sort of a place. Then on the left, there was, quite suddenly, a space. An empty lot between two houses, fairly overgrown, though not as much as one would expect after sixteen years. Underneath the vines and flowers could be seen the ruins of a house that had once looked as all these others did. A place where a family had lived, for a short time. It was the place where Harry's parents had died. The place where history had been made, and a boy, not quite one-year-old, had lived.
There was a gate, which Harry opened with some effort, pushing the growth of several robust plants out of the way. Once through, he was able to follow what remained of the garden path, and made it to the front steps of the demolished house.
Ron made to follow, but was stopped by Hermione's hand on his arm.
"Let him do this alone."
They watched Harry meander through the ruins, his head down, as if he searched for something. Every now and then he would bend down, pull weeds out of the way and fumble with something that lay in the dust, but he never picked anything up, never lingered for long in one place. After about half an hour Harry made his way back to them, his face impassive.
He had almost reached the gate when all three of them jumped, and in a flash each had a wand in their hands.
Sprawled on the ground not three metres from where Ron and Hermione stood, was a woman with bubblegum-pink hair, and a spectacularly red face.
Seconds later there was a suggestion of heavy fabric being moved aside, and a shabby looking wizard with a rueful smile stood next to her. He reached down to help Tonks to her feet.
"Are you done then, Harry?" Lupin asked, as though nothing had gone wrong. "It'd be better if we didn't hang around."
Tonks brushed herself off and gave a grin, which faltered as she saw the look on Harry's face. It was obvious he was trying very hard to control his temper, something which he was finding harder and harder these days.
"You, uh, you been following m-, following us the whole time then?" His voice was tight, and shook only a little. He felt he was ready to explode.
Lupin gave him a sympathetic smile. "You had to know we weren't going to let you go off by yourself, Harry. Out here, in the country, with no wizards nearby? As if we'd be so careless…" He trailed off, realising that his speech wasn't helping at all. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry. Trailing you in secret… it was foolish, and probably more than a little arrogant. You've come of age now, but it seems we," and here his eyes flicked quickly to a spot somewhere to the left of Harry, "can't get out of the habit of trying to protect you"
"Nor," said Mad-Eye Moody, flinging aside his own invisibility cloak, "can we get out of the habit of bringing that damn clumsy Tonks wherever we go." He used his wand to cut away the thorny vines that surrounded him and made his way to Harry's side.
Harry, not trusting himself enough to speak to any of them, turned without a warning, and disapparated.