Author's Note: I am so sorry for the wait. I was on vacation and wasn't able to write, but when I returned I had terrible writer's block. It's cured now, so here you are.

RISING FROM THE ASHES

Chapter Ten – The First Attack

"Thank you," Hermione said kindly to the innkeeper, handing over some of the Muggle money she had left. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had come to Godric's Hollow dressed in Muggle clothing, as the village wasn't entirely Wizarding. They left the front desk and headed up to their room, exhausted. The trio had managed to get a few hours' sleep in the woods, but it had been a restless, disturbed sleep, especially for Harry.

Was it really wise, he had wondered, turning over and trying to make himself comfortable on the forest floor, for them to be asleep out in the open? What if they were being followed? They could be attacked in their sleep and it would be his fault…his fault…

Harry had dreamed that he was in a room, and there was no way to escape. Ginny was with him, and he had wanted to badly to comfort her, for she was crying, but he found he couldn't move his feet. A figure had stepped out of the shadows. A figure with snake-like nostrils, and cruel red eyes. It was Voldemort.

"Harry! Help me!" Ginny had pleaded, but Harry could do nothing. He had tried to call out that he loved her, but he had no voice.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort had shouted.

"No!" Harry had awoken with a start, rolled over, and whispered, "No…" and fallen back asleep. He didn't remember his dream in the morning.

…

"So," said Hermione, plopping down on one of the three beds in the room, "where are we going first, Harry? Your old house or your parent's graves?"

"I thought we might go see my house first," said Harry, who was still a bit nervous about the prospect of seeing where his parents had died– and where he hadn't.

"Sounds good," said Ron, "but how do you know which one is yours?"

"I hadn't thought of that," said Harry uncertainly, "I always thought I would just…know, y'know?"

"Well, we can ask around," Hermione said, "Ask where the Potters lived, and if someone could take us there,"

"Do you reckon it would be better to figure out which ones are Muggles and which are wizards so that we can get a wizard to take us?" Ron asked her.

"It would actually be better if it were a Muggle," said Hermione. "We can't afford to be recognized."

"True," said Harry. "So we basically look for people who don't stare at my scar?"

"Well, even a Muggle would, mate," said Ron, "It's not like that many people walk around with one of those slashed across their forehead – ow! That hurt, Hermione!" he complained, rubbing the spot where she had given him an admonishing slap.

"Harry, you'll be fine, don't worry," she said, trying her best to glare at Ron but smiling slightly all the same. It seemed she couldn't stay mad at him anymore.

They left the inn, wands hidden in the front pockets of their jeans, and set out to find someone Muggle to take them to the former home of Lily and James Potter.

This proved difficult. Everywhere they went there were people staring at Harry. An old woman came out of her house to hang up her laundry, gave a yelp of shock, and ran back in, slamming the door.

Whispers followed them as they continued to walk, searching for someone who didn't gape at the sight of them.

"It couldn't be – not James Potter?"

"He died so many years ago. It's some sort of a sign."

"But where's sweet Lily Potter?"

"But something looks different about him – his eyes aren't hazel anymore and he has that peculiar scar…"

Harry stopped in his tracks. He nudged Ron and Hermione to get their attention.

"They think I'm my dad," he hissed, "this isn't good."

"And if we go around telling them you're Harry Potter, for all we know there are Death Eaters about," Hermione said anxiously, running a hand through her hair.

"Yeah, well," said Ron, putting a comforting arm around her, "the damage has already been done. If Voldemort hears that James Potter came back to Godric's Hollow, he's sure to know it's Harry anyway. We might as well tell people and not have to explain how a dead man has suddenly come back to life."

Hermione smiled weakly. "I guess you're right," she said.

"Er, excuse me," said Harry, addressing a woman who looked to be in her late thirties, and had been staring at them for the past five minutes, "uh, I'm the son of James and Lily Potter, and I just – I wanted to come back and visit my old house. The, er, trouble is I don't know where it is. Do you think you could help us?"

"Harry Potter," she whispered, "I knew your parents well. We were friends in school. " She turned to Ron and Hermione. "He does look remarkably like his father, except for his eyes, he has his –"

"Mother's eyes," Harry, Ron, and Hermione chorused.

"Exactly," she smiled. "You're in luck. Their home isn't too far from here. I –I haven't visited since… that night, but I've heard that the Muggles have tried renovating and building a new house but we wizards put a Muggle-repelling charm on the property so that Halloween night will never been forgotten. And if you want to visit their graves, there's a graveyard not too far from their house that only wizards can see, it's not far out of your way at all. Please excuse me for just giving you directions." I'm just not ready to go with you yet."

"That's quite alright," said Hermione politely, "which way should we go?"

"Straight up the street, take a left after two blocks, and head straight. It'll be the third house on the right."

"Thank you," said Harry, and they set off.

"Now remember, Harry," said Hermione, "There might not be, well, much there."

"I know," said Harry stubbornly, "I just want to see the place where it all began."

They followed the woman's directions, passing cottages as the area grew slightly more rural, and when they reached their destination, they knew at once they were in the right place.

Huge chunks of rubble were sprawled out across the property, and a thick layer of dust had settled upon them. Broken pieces of furniture, and tattered shreds of clothing were scattered between the large stones that had once been Harry's home.

Harry's throat closed up, and too his horror he could feel his eyes begin to well with tears. He brushed them away angrily.

"I never even knew them," he muttered darkly, swaying on the spot. He plopped down in front of where he had once lived, unable to stand upright. "The only memory I have of them is their death."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione gently, kneeling beside him. Ron joined her, looking worried.

"No, I'm fine," he said, taking a deep breath and standing up. "I – I just need some time alone. I'm sure you two can find something to do," he smiled slightly as the two of them blushed.

"See you in a bit then," said Ron awkwardly, and he and Hermione headed back in the direction from which they had come.

Harry stared at the place that had once been his, and then reached down to pick up a rock from the pile. It had a piece of peeling wallpaper on one side of it, and Harry tucked it in his pocket for safekeeping. He wanted to remember this. Always.

He lifted his head and thought he could vaguely make out a sign in the distance that said "Graveyard", and began to walk towards it, a knot in his stomach.

…

Harry passed over what seemed like hundreds of graves before finally arriving at his parents'.

He traced a finger over his mother's name.

LILY POTTER

1959 – 1981

Loving mother, wife, and friend, and a talented Unspeakable

Harry looked up, alarmed. His mother had been an Unspeakable? That meant she had worked in the Department of Mysteries…

Not quite sure what to make of this, he moved onto his father's tombstone. It read:

JAMES POTTER

1959 – 1981

Brave, loyal and loving to the end, and a magnificent auror.

Harry felt his heart twist painfully. So his father had been an auror. Just what he, Harry, aspired to be.

After a few moments, Harry stood up, whispered "Thank you.", and walked back to the inn.

…

He caught sight of Ron and Hermione in the lobby, huddled over a newspaper.

"Harry, come here, quickly. Read this," Hermione said, beckoning him over.

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously, taking the copy of The Daily Prophet out of her hands. He read the headline, and his mouth fell open.

DEATH EATERS ATTACK MUGGLE FAMILY – HELD OFF BY SUPPOSEDLY MUGGLE SON

Quickly reading the rest of the article, Harry managed to gather what had happened. The Death Eaters had come looking for him, and had tried to kill the Dursleys. Somehow Dudley, although not a powerful wizard by any means had managed to hold them off with the type of accidental magic Harry had used before his education at Hogwarts just long enough to keep the Dursleys safe until the aurors arrived ten minutes later after being alerted by elderly Mrs. Figg.

Harry's insides froze. Much as he loathed the Dursleys, he certainly didn't want them dead because of him.

He looked up from the paper and announced, still not sure what he was getting himself into, "We've got to go back to Privet Drive."