AN: PLEASE REVIEW!
Ch. 3
Welcome to
Godric's Hollow
While Ron and Hermione were having a quiet afternoon looking through books, Harry was experiencing the complete opposite. No sooner had he stepped out of the inn and down the street (avoiding the suspicious glare of the innkeeper) that he found himself being mauled by a slender cane. He pulled out his wand quickly and turned around to face his attacker. But, there was only a crazed muggle woman standing there in the middle of her barren front yard.
"Get off o' my cabbages!" she yelled, brandishing her walking stick, "You're standing on me prized cabbages!"
"What?" Harry looked down at his feet, but all that he saw under them was dirt. "But, I don't see…"
"Blind!" shouted the woman, "You be blind, they my cabbages!" And she hit him viciously in the shins with her walking stick.
Harry toppled backward and tripped over a huge pig that had been standing directly behind him. As he went down his elbow hit the woman's limestone bird bath and that fell over too.
"Ouch, lady, all right all right!" he held up his hands and backed away from the woman.
Her insane cries echoed after him as he turned the corner and ran, "Cabbage wrecker!"
Harry stopped running when he could no longer hear her to rub his aching shins. What a crazy old bat, he thought, I hope the rest of the people here aren't as out of it as that!
It was long past lunch time when Harry pulled out a sandwich Mrs. Weasley had given him the night before. It was delicious, although a little dry. He ate as he walked. He still had not found the graveyard or any sign of his parents' house and he had been searching all morning. He knew that he would have to find someone and ask them for directions or and map, but he had hardly come across anyone.
Looking around, Harry could not help but notice that the place felt a little "off" for a muggle village. There were not many cars on the street, for one thing, and the roads were dirt and not asphalt. As he walked he caught glimpses of restaurants and antique stores, but they were all empty and cheerless. One or two shoppers could be seen total on the whole street. Perhaps the people in Godric's Hollow did not need to shop for much. He also found it odd that there were no computer or cellular phone stores around the place. Muggles were so fond of both, he was certain that at least one or the other should be in the village somewhere. But, no; the village was dead and quiet.
As unnerved as Harry was, he knew that his parents had once chosen to live there, so it could not be all bad. It was the last place that they ever were. His heart moved into his throat and he felt tears threatening his eyes again. They burned there as he thought of his parents and Dumbledore…and Snape.
The tears were gone instantly. Harry's hand moved to his pocket and wrapped around the locket: the false horcrux that Dumbledore had died to get. He would not let Dumbledore down! As for Snape, well, Snape would just have to watch his back!
"One thing at a time." he told himself.
Ahead, Harry saw a tavern that was bustling with business. He could tell that it was so busy because the noise emanating from it contrasted boldly with the silence of the other shops. That would be the best place to find out where the graveyard was.
Straitening his shoulders, Harry walked squarely into the pub and was greeted by a whirl of noise that stopped instantly when crowd saw him in the doorway.
A great hairy man turned around in his seat and eyed Harry over the top of his tankard. The man smiled crookedly, revealing yellowed teeth and Harry returned the smile weakly. Perhaps this had been a stupid idea.
"Well don't just stand there, kid," said a thin woman from behind the bar, "Come in!"
The noise resumed abruptly as the woman glared around at them all. "Think they'd never seen a stranger before, eh kid?" she commented to Harry as he approached a bar stool and sat on it tenderly.
The hairy man beside him clapped him on the shoulder with a callused hand, "There's a good lad. Where ya from, mate? Wot's your name?"
"Uh…" said Harry (you'd think after months of planning this trip he would have come up with a good cover, but no) "Neville," he lied, "My name's Neville. I've just come in from London."
"Ow' old are you, Neville?" said the woman behind the bar, squinting at him suspiciously.
"Gah, Pen," the hairy man waved dismissively, "That's no matter around here, don't be such a stiff."
Pen sniffed and went back behind a door that Harry thought must lead to the kitchen. She did not come back out.
"Hey, how nice!" said the man, "Didn't even ask ya if ya wanted a drink."
"No," said Harry, feeling that he wanted to get out of the bar as soon as possible, "That's all right, really, I'm not here for a drink. Listen, do you know…"
"Not here for a drink? You must be very young, lad?"
"Well," said Harry, "It is my first time in a mug…I mean…a bar, a regular bar."
The hairy man raised his eye brows and smiled again. "Hey chaps!" he called out to the men behind them in the bar and everyone looked up, "We've got a first timer!"
The whole bar dropped what they were doing to crowd around Harry who was feeling distinctly hot in the face. He had not bargained on getting so much attention. What kind of a village was this anyway?
He flattened his bangs nervously and said, "Oh, well, um…I'm just here to ask if anyone knew…"
"Lad, we've got just the thing for you!" said the hairy man as he reached over the counter and grabbed a bottle and shot glass, "Always good for a first drink."
"Oh no," said Harry as politely as he could, "I don't have much money. And besides I don't want…"
But, the man had already poured the deep purple liquid into a glass and pushed it over it Harry, "Go on, Neville, this one's on the house."
"But," pleaded Harry, "I only wanted to know where…"
The men around him leaned in and stared at him, waiting for him to drink whatever it was. He stared down into the glass and felt suspicious of the drink. What was so fascinating about it? Was there something in it that he shouldn't ingest? Mad Eye Moody's face swam in Harry's inner eye and he resolved not to drink the stuff.
"No thank you." He said in a commanding voice, "But, would you please tell me where I could find the cemetery?"
Some of the men looked slightly disappointed, but the hairy man was undaunted. He laughed heartily and drank deeply from his own cup.
When he was done he said, "I'll tell you what lad. You take a swig of that and I'll tell ya all ya need to know about this village. On my honor, cross my heart, and hope to die."
Harry looked back at the shot glass. Was it worth it? The hairy man's fist blocked the label of the bottle so that he could not see it. "What is it that you want me to drink?"
The men around him laughed and the hairy man leaned in towards Harry and whispered, "It's a secret concoction; a bit of a tradition around these parts."
Harry gripped the glass and looked around at the expectant faces. A guide, he thought tentatively, He could really be useful. Harry looked down into the shot glass and sighed. With bravery worthy of a Gryffindor and foolishness worthy of a small child; everything to loose and everything to gain he lifted it and said, "Bottoms up!"
The whole room held it's breath as Harry downed the glass in one swallow!
Two seconds later he wished that he had not. It was as though liquid fire was running through his mouth and down his throat to rest in his chest before moving down to burn a hole in his stomach. He groaned inwardly, his whole body seizing up.
"Oh lad!" said a shocked voice to his right and a hand slapped his back multiple times.
Harry's eyes were watering so that he could barely see a thing, but still he managed to squeak a lie, "It's great."
The pub exploded with laughter and cheers.
"Good on ya mate!" said the hairy man, "Holy shit, when I said take a swig I didn't mean for ya to down the whole bloody shot!"
Harry coughed feebly and felt dizzy.
"Hey now, what's going on out here? Logan, he didn't drink any of that stuff did he?" Pen had emerged with a frown on her face and grabbed the bottle of purple liquid from the hairy man named Logan.
But Logan ignored her and continued to pat Harry on the back, "Ya know, Neville, you're made out of tuff stuff! You're all right, kid."
"Thanks," said Harry, recovering slowly from the effects of the drink, "But, I don't think I'm ever going to do that again."
"Well," said Logan, "It's been a long time since we've had any knew guys in here, isn't that true, Pen."
"Unfortunately," said Pen, pulling out some glasses and drying them with a rag that she kept draped over her shoulder. "Our little hollow just keeps shrinking."
"Shrinking?" asked Harry curiously, leaning on the bar with his elbows as Logan accepted another drink.
"Aye," he said, "Plenty of people move in, but they never stay long and many of the old residence have followed them."
"Or died," grimly added Pen.
Logan nodded to her, "Or died."
"But," continued Harry, "Why would people just leave like that? There must be a reason."
"Well, ever since that one couple's house exploded, nobody wanted to have anything to do with this place, did they?"
Harry's stomach tightened. He knew exactly what happened to that couple's house.
"It was the strangest thing there ever was." said Pen, narrowing her eyes as though she could somehow see through the walls of the bar to the night of the Potters' deaths, "Nobody could figure out what happened."
"Yeah," said Logan, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "The 'specialists' at first thought that it must have been a gas leak or something. But, they couldn't find any traces of gas or fire."
"On top of that," said Pen, leaning in to them, "They couldn't find any bodies."
"That's when those other fellows took over." Logan said.
"Other fellows?" asked Harry.
"Yeah, some organization that studied freak accidents kicked all the scientists, doctors, and detectives out." He laughed, "Those guys were a sight to be seen."
"Their inspection didn't last long though. They cleared up pretty fast. The fellow in charge seemed to be in a huge hurry."
"Ya know," said Logan with a furrowed brow, "I remember now, seeing him talking to some of the neighbors."
"Really," asked Harry, "Who?"
"Oh, they've all left I think," he replied, "I couldn't remember their names."
"You're just chalk full of questions, aren't you kid?" said Pen, looking at Harry.
"Well," said Harry, feeling very self conscious and flattening his bangs again, "I…"
"Ah, Pen, you're makin' him nervous."
Pen sniffed as the bar door swung open and a handsome man in his late twenties stepped in. Well, he would have been handsome if he had washed recently. His face was obscured by dirt and black soot that also covered his leather jacket and ripped jeans. His hair reminded Harry forcibly of Snape's: shoulder length, black, and greasy. The man stared at Harry through half-lidded eyes as he walked up to the counter and pulled out a cigarette.
"Who's the kid?" he asked Pen.
She replied by glaring at him, "Michael, I'm going to insist that you don't smoke in my bar."
Michael glared back and lit it defiantly, "I'm a paying customer."
Harry coughed. He did not like the smell of Michael and he was sure that the smell had not come from the dirt or the cigarette smoke. Now he was certain that he had stayed too long in the bar.
"Logan," he said and the hairy man looked over, "Do you think that you could just tell me where the cemetery is, now? I really need to get going."
"You don't want to be in the cemetery at night, kid." Michael bumped Harry's arm with his elbow.
"Is it night already?" asked Logan, looking at his watch, "Well, so it is!"
"Then I really do need to go." said Harry, getting off the stool and walking towards the door.
"Listen, Neville," said Logan, "It's a bit late, but tomorrow I'll give you the grand tour. On me honor, just as I promised. Meet me back here at about noon tomorrow, alright."
"Great!" said Harry, grateful to get away from Michael and into the fresh night air.
Stars twinkled above him as he walked back to the hotel room, a long trail of thoughts following behind him like stray dogs.
ζ
It had to be around here somewhere. Where could it be? Shiny. Shiny. What was he looking for anyway? He wasn't sure. Shiny.
Hermione was asleep on the couch, a book on her chest heaving up and down with each breath she took. Every five minutes or so she would stir restlessly and wake to look at the clock. "Harry's late." She would mumble before drifting off again.
Ron was bored and left with his niffler thoughts to think. They were not very deep thoughts and it would annoy him occasionally to find that he could not break away from them. Even when he was thinking as Ron the human, Ron the niffler would be there in the back, ever present and sniffing for something.
It had been sniffing for something all day and Ron could not figure out what it was. He had found several shiny things in the carpet and on the bathroom shelves, but none of them seemed to be the right thing.
Whatever it was that he was looking for, he knew it must be shiny.
Shiny? Shiny? Sniff. Sniff. Shiny! No, not right. Shiny. Shiny. Sniff.
The door knob turned suddenly and Ron dived into Hermione's lap. She woke with a start and clambered to her feet, her wand already in her hand and Ron clinging to the front of her shirt. Both of them relaxed when the saw Harry enter the room with an apologetic look on his face.
"Well?" asked Hermione, "How'd it go with you."
Harry plopped down next to her on the couch and sank into the cushions. Ron hobbled over onto his lap and dug at Harry's shirt pocket.
Did you find a horcrux?...is it shiny?
ζ
Back in the bar, Michael had bought a drink and was sitting beside Logan on a bar stool. He wiped his greasy hair out of his face and looked over to make sure that Pen was really in the back room. Yes, he and Logan were quite alone. "So," he asked Logan in a friendly way, "Just how many drinks have you had, Logan."
"Bout'…" the great hairy man began to count on his fingers. When he was done he held up nine and said "eleven."
"Right," said Michael, lowering his voice, "And, uh, just where are you planning on taking this kid tomorrow?"
"Hm," he hiccupped, "Well, s'pose where ever he wants to go, you know? He wants to see the cemetery and I think he'd be interested in that house that s'ploded."
Michael grabbed the front of Logan's shirt and pulled him in roughly. Dropping his friendly tone entirely he hissed at Logan, "You just watch it you drunk bastard. I don't want this kid sticking his nose anywhere that he shouldn't, got it?"
Logan's red face seemed to swell with anger. "Listen, you," he hiccupped again, "I'm not stupid and we'll stay out of your way, but I wont be spoken to like that!"
Michael shoved Logan away from him and laughed, pushing his own drink towards Logan, "You won't even remember this in the morning."
"Whatever." Logan said, taking a swig.
Michael's laughter stopped abruptly and his eyes grew cold as he said, "Just checking to make sure that we're on the same page."
