The last thing Harry saw of his friends before he shut the door was their worried, pale and anxious faces as they did as he requested and hid under the cloak. Then, he was alone. After he shut the door, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning and facing the place where his parents had died. After a few moments of steeling himself, he opened one eye cautiously, as if afraid of what he would see. After assuring himself that there was nothing really amiss, he opened his other eye, and took in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that everything looked relatively untouched. It was dusty - very dusty - and there were cobwebs, leaves, twigs and other things strewn about due to the fact that some of the house was open to the outdoors. There were a few bricks laying around as well, which Harry figured were probably from the explosion. But most of the furniture - while old and decaying - seemed, well, in place. Harry wasn't sure how he knew this, but everything just felt... right. He took a few more cautious steps forward, and then jumped as the house made a very audible creaking sound. Well, Hermione was right about one thing, Harry thought. The house is definitely not stable. He gingerly tapped his foot on the floor in front of him to make sure he wouldn't step through the boards. When nothing happened, he applied more pressure. Still nothing happened, so he assumed that, for the moment, all was well.

As Harry continued forward, remembering to test the floor as he did so, he peered into the room on his right, which looked to be an office of some sort. There was a desk, or what may have been a desk, with various instruments on and around it. Some of them reminded Harry of the ones that Dumbledore had had in his office. Dad's study, he thought, suddenly, and had the briefest flashes of his father sitting behind that desk, which suddenly looked brand new. He was looking over a parchment in his hand with an annoyed expression on his face, and was ruffling his hair absent-mindedly. Harry blinked, and the image was gone. The wind outside began to blow harder, and Harry shivered, but whether it was from the wind, or what he had just experienced, he didn't know. Probably imagining things, he told himself. Still, he couldn't help but stare into his father's study longingly. How many times had James sat at that desk? How many times had Harry sat in there with him while his father worked on what Harry could only assume had been Order business?

"Harry, be careful!"

Harry jumped, and it was all he could do not to yell out in surprised. He turned, wand raised, and looked around for the source of the voice. "Hermione?" he asked, his throat dry. No one answered. He was now facing what had to have been the parlor. There was a giant fire place in the middle that had probably been used to Floo by. The house creaked again, making Harry jump for a third time. He cursed silently, and moved toward the parlor, his wand still raised. "Hello?"

He peered around the corner and into the room, which was very large. There was a couch, three armchairs, and the fireplace. The floor was carpeted, or used to be carpeted. Most of it had been eaten away. Where did that voice come from?

As if in answer, Harry turned back around to the fireplace, which started to change. There were logs in it, and it was burning fiercely. The chair next to it had righted itself, and the carpet looked white and fluffy. There was a baby sitting by the fire with a blanket in it's hand, that was laying precariously next to the flames. Suddenly, a red haired woman appeared next to the baby and picked him up, admonishing: "Harry James Potter! You know better!"

To say Harry - the real Harry - was scared out of his wits would be an understatement. He felt light headed, and it was all he could do not to fall over.

What's happening to me?

Everything was hazy. His mother and the baby Harry had disappeared, and the room had gone back to the way it was. Harry spun around, eyes darting all over the room. He was starting to hyperventilate, and he was sweating.

"What's going on?" he asked out loud. His voice was strained. "What's happening?" He stumbled out of the parlor and back into the hall that lead into the kitchen. He took a few more steps forward before stumbling and landing on his knees. His breathing was shallow and there was a pain in his chest. "Ron... Hermione..." He was hearing more voices, happy voices, some he recognized and others he didn't. Images were flashing in his mind randomly, almost like being around Dementors, and Harry covered his ears and closed his eyes against them. Too many voices and too many pictures; they were flashing inside his head as if his mind was a miniature projector and his eyelids the screen. Only these images, Harry suddenly realized, weren't bad images. They weren't his worst memories that he had been forced to relive whenever the Azkaban guards were present. These were happy images... happy memories.

He was remembering.

As soon as that thought formed in Harry's mind, his breathing slowed. The sweating and the dizziness stopped. He found he could see clearly again. He stood up, bracing himself against the wall for support. Hermione was right, he thought. There is magic in this place. I am remembering my life here. The kitchen was in front of him. To his left was his playroom. To the right, what would have been the dining room, which Harry knew had held a very large and ornate table with high-backed chairs. There had been a sliding glass door, which lead out into a patio. Lily had locked James and Sirius out there one night after they had drank too much and were being too loud, because Harry had been trying to sleep. His parents had toasted Peter in this room. He felt a pang as he remembered his father's words.

"To Peter! We owe him our lives. He's saved us. He's saved my son."

Harry had to grip the door frame to keep from staggering again. If they had only known...

Unable to look at it any longer, Harry turned back around and entered his playroom, which had held dozens of toys. His highchair had been in there. He'd had every stuffed animal that he could have ever wanted. Lily used to sing Pat-a-Cake to him when he was being fussy.

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man,

bake me a cake as fast as you can.

Pat it and prick it and mark it with a "P"

and put it in the oven for the Potter family!

Harry started to laugh. That song was ridiculous, and his mother definitely hadn't been a poet. He continued down the hall to the kitchen and passed the stairs to the second floor. He stopped just before entering it. The cabinets, which had been a dark cherry wood, were rotted and falling apart. The stove was rusted. Seeing the stove suddenly made him very sad. Lily had loved to cook. He suddenly remembered sitting on someone's lap at the kitchen table. That someone had been bouncing him.

"Go on, Padfoot, do it again. He likes it."

Baby Harry looked up into his father's hazel eyes and then back to the man who was sitting on the kitchen floor in front of him. He laughed merrily and clapped his little hands. "'gain! 'gain, See-wus, 'gain!"

Sirius laughed his bark-like laugh and shook his head. "Fine, fine! But only because Harry asked, and he's much cuter than you."

James pretended to look hurt, and Lily rolled her eyes from her position over by the stove as Sirius transformed into his Animagus form and then back again as baby Harry squealed in delight.

Harry shook his head. There was no kitchen table anymore. There was hardly a kitchen. It was gone, grass and weeds poking through what was left of the floor. It's amazing that this thing is still standing, Harry thought, and figured it probably had something to do with the magic. Perhaps it's somehow kept it intact?

Being in the kitchen made him depressed. Sirius had come over a number of times in the short week that the Potters had been there. Dinner with "See-wus". Pulling himself away, he turned and headed back down the hall. He passed the stairs a second time, and an unwanted image flew into his mind.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"

"No! I'm not going without you!" His mother was holding him tightly as James pushed the two of them toward the stairs.

"Lily, this is our son! Take him and hide. I'll be okay, I promise, it's okay..."

Baby Harry was crying, and there was a cackle in the background. Something behind them exploded. James ducked and shot a curse back toward where the laughter was coming from.

"Lily, please!"

Tears were streaming down his wife's face. "I love you," Lily said, before turning and running up towards the second floor. She got to the top, and turned once more to look at her husband. "I love you, James Potter, do you hear me?"

Harry suddenly felt dizzy again. This was it, he knew it. This was the spot, right here by the stairs.

This was where his father had been murdered. He was standing in the spot where James Potter had died, trying to protect his wife and son.

He suddenly felt the sudden urge to retch. Well, Potter, this is what you came here for, right? You wanted to know what happened, he berated himself. He should have known this would happen. Part of him wondered whether he had hoped it would happen. As soon has he had steadied himself, he got shakily to his feet and faced the staircase. He didn't want to go up there; he knew what was up there. He knew more memories awaited him... one he would rather not like to relive. Do it, he told himself, forcefully. You're a Gryffindor, dammit. Get up there and face it. Just get it over with. Then you'll know, and you can leave.

Gritting his teeth, Harry started up the stairs to the second floor. It was on the seventh step that his foot went right through. Unlike the trick stair at Hogwarts which felt like you had put your foot through air, the wood splintered and the broken pieces pierced and stabbed at his flesh. Harry gasped in pain and gripped what was left of the railing to keep from falling and successfully breaking leg, as well as his neck. His pants were caught and he could feel the wood cutting his skin as he tried to pull it out. Part of him wished he had listened to Hermione at this moment, but the time for that had come and gone. Besides, he had come too far to let a crumbling staircase stand in his way. So, biting his lip to keep him from yelling out, he mustered up all of his strength and so called Gryffindor courage and pulled back on his leg as hard as he could. With a few more resounding snaps of wood his leg was free, albeit swollen, bleeding, and throbbing in pain. He leaned against the rail, panting slightly, vaguely aware that it was the same ankle that he had broken a week previously. Careful to avoid that step and not put too much weight on his injured leg, he trekked onward. He limped his way to the second floor and paused at the top to give his leg a rest. He looked back down the stairs to see a trail of blood drops. It annoyed him. Mum hated messes, he thought. The realization startled him. Like Aunt Petunia. Eww...

He took a moment then to look around what was left of the upstairs. From where he was standing, the wall that would have separated the outside from the rest of his house was gone and he could see clearly down Lion's Den Drive. Down the hall to his right was his room. If he followed that and made another right, it would take him to his parents' room. He started down the hall, which took him precariously close to the edge of the ruined house, and to his room. The door was partially hanging off it's hinges, and the wind was making it swing back and forth eerily. Harry found that he was suddenly shaking and had that urge to be sick again. He shook his head and took a few steps backward. "I can't... I can't go in there," he whispered as if he was a frightened child. The door swung forward and made a thunking sound as it hit the wall on the other side. Harry swallowed. "Fine," he whispered, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. He gripped the locket, and said again, more strongly, "Fine."

Ron and Hermione, still concealed under the invisibility cloak, were sitting on the curb in front of the Potters' decaying house, Hermione nervously chewing on her lip. She kept stealing glances back at the house every couple of minutes as Ron just stared resolutely at the pavement below. The graying clouds above them had turned into a definite oncoming storm, and the wind was blowing much harder, making the normally warm August air chilly and unpleasant.

Hermione was taking her fiftieth or so glance at the house again when Ron shouted, "Would you stop it? You're making me nervous."

Hermione glared. "Keep your voice down. We're supposed to be invisible, remember?"

"Who's going to hear us, Hermione?" Ron snapped back. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry, okay. I'm just worried."

"And I'm not? He's been in there too long."

The both of them jumped as they heard Harry yell from inside.

Ron jumped to his feet, pulling the cloak off Hermione in the process. "Ugh, Ron!" she yelled, clambering up to a standing position and throwing the cloak over herself again.

"Do you reckon we should go in there?" Ron asked her.

Hermione bit her lip nervously, but he knew her answer. "Whatever magic we feel here is affecting Harry," she said, finally. "He's remembering things, I know it." She gasped suddenly, and Ron turned to her, concern etched across his face.

"What? What is it?" he asked.

"Oh, Ron! Don't you get it? What did Harry hear in his head every time the Dementors came around?"

Ron thought for a moment, and then realization dawned on him. "Oh, no..."

"If he could remember that, then..." She stared at the house, a stricken look on her face.

"We should go in there. He should never have gone in alone," Ron said, firmly.

A popping sound made them both spin and look up and down the street, suspicious and scared.

"Did you hear that?" Hermione whispered, stepping closer to Ron.

He nodded. "I think we should get Harry now."

His old room hit Harry like an invisible blow. Everything was so familiar, so vivid... it was frightening, yet comforting at the same time. Just like with the hall way, the walls were gone so Harry could see the outside, which he noticed had darkened quite a bit. His crib was turned over, and there were leaves and sticks and dirt blown everywhere. Harry thought there had been a rocking chair in there as well, but it was nowhere to be found. Pictures laid in various places on the floor, their frames cracked. Broken glass that Harry figured came from the windows being blown up crunched beneath his trainers as he made his way around. Lying next to his crib was one of those hanging spinning things that parents placed over their babies cribs to help them get to sleep. There were little Quidditch players with brooms on it. Harry smiled and shook his head. Definitely Dad's idea, he thought, chuckling softly. He started over to it, intent on picking it up to examine it more closely, when another wave of memories hit him. While expected, they still made him gasp slightly as he relived the night of his parents' death.

Lily held on to her son tightly as she stood by the door to his room, listening with barely controlled fear as her husband dueled with Voldemort below. "How did this happen? How..?" Her grip on Harry tightened as she realized the only possible explanation. Her green eyes hardened, and fury replaced her fear. "Peter," she growled, quietly. "That little rat!"

There was a crash from below and some cursing that had nothing to do with magic. Lily took a few steps backward into Harry's room. "I should be down there... I shouldn't have run. He needs me." Harry squirmed in her arms and let out a wail as if to say, "I need you, too!"

Lily gasped and jumped, backing into the door frame behind her as James let out a pained yell. "No," she whispered, horrified. "James, no!"

There was silence, then the sound a voice barely whispering a spell, a rushing sound, and a thud. Lily didn't try to delude herself. She knew that James was dead.

"NO!" she screamed in anguish, making Harry cry harder. She heard a high pitched laugh from the first floor and the creak of feet on the stairs. She knew she had alerted Voldemort to their presence in the house. She rushed inside Harry's room and shut the door as the form of the Dark Lord reached the top of the staircase. Holding Harry in one arm, she took her wand out of her pocket and locked it, throwing up as many wards as she could think of, but she knew it was useless. He would come. He would come for Harry, just as he had tried to do for the last year. She cried silently as she rocked her son, stroking his head. "Why you, Harry? Why did he have to chose you?"

The whole room seemed to shake as Voldemort threw spells at the door, trying to force entry. Lily continued to back herself into the room, almost running into Harry's crib. She turned away from the door, tears leaking from her eyes and falling into Harry's hair. She would fight. She would fight to protect her son. She would fight for James.

As she made this silent vow, the door was blasted open, and Lily felt a presence behind her.

"Give me the boy," a cold voice said. "And you may live."

Lily shut her eyes tightly and hugged the now quiet baby in her arms. Calling upon all her strength, she set Harry down in his crib and placed a blanket over him tenderly. Then, she turned to face her husband's murderer.

She was not surprised at his snake-like appearance, having encountered him three times previously. He glared at her with his horrid red eyes.

"I said, stand aside," he said, more menacingly this time.

Lily raised her wand. "No."

Voldemort laughed cruelly. "Don't be ridiculous, child. I dispatched your blood-traitor husband most effectively. Don't delude yourself into thinking that you stand a chance. I am giving you an opportunity to save yourself. Step away from the boy, and you will be spared."

Lily's eyes flashed, and she narrowed them in suspicion, never lowering her wand. "Why? You've killed hundred's of Muggle-borns. Why spare me?"

Voldemort regarded her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to divulge this information. "Because someone wishes it. And he has earned this reward," he answered.

Lily blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Enough of this!" Voldemort hissed. "Give me the child!"

"No! You can't! He's just a baby, he can't hurt you!"

"He can't hurt me yet!" Voldemort snarled. He flicked his wand and Lily was thrown roughly to the floor. Voldemort began to step over to her, toward Harry's crib-

"No!" Lily screamed, and waved her wand, nonverbally sending her own spell back at the Dark Lord, successfully knocking him backward and away from her son. She scrambled back to her feet, immediately placing herself between Voldemort and her son once more.

The Dark Lord rose to his feet as well, barely concealed fury in his eyes. "You're very powerful, Mudblood. It would be a shame to kill you, even if you are filth. Do you not understand that I am giving you an escape from death? Take it. Leave the child. You can always have more."

"I'm not afraid to die!" Lily hissed, leveling her wand at him once again, but her hand was shaking slightly. "I will not abandon my son. And you will not harm him!"

Voldemort growled in frustration and shot a nonverbal Expeliarmus at her. She tried to block it, but was unsuccessful. Her wand flew out of her hand and over to the other side of the room. Harry began to cry again. Lily looked into Voldemort's eyes, as if looking for some fleeting sign of compassion in them, and then openly burst into tears.

Voldemort looked disgusted at this sudden outpouring of emotion.

"Please... please... not Harry, not my baby... he's just a baby, please...!" she pleaded, desperately.

"Move," Voldemort ordered.

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything -"

"Stand aside! Stand aside, girl!"

"Not Harry!" she repeated, almost maniacally, shaking her head back and forth making her hair whip around her like fire. "Not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl!" Voldemort yelled angrily. "Stand aside now!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

"I am giving you a chance to flee! Take it!" Voldemort hissed. "I will not offer it again!"

"Not Harry!" Lily pleaded again. "Please... have mercy... have mercy..."

Voldemort laughed suddenly, cold and cruel. "Mercy? What do I know of mercy? It's not out of mercy that I offered you a chance to save yourself. It seems as though my servant will have to make due without you, I'm afraid." He smiled ferally. "I've given you your chance. Stand aside now, or die."

But Lily wasn't listening anymore. She just kept crying and repeating, "Please, he's just a baby, please... not Harry..."

Voldemort laughed at her one last time before pointing his wand straight at her chest and saying, in obvious enjoyment, "Avada Kedavra!"

Lily didn't have any time to scream. Her pleas died on her lips as the rush of the Killing Curse hit her, and her body crumpled to the ground. Voldemort nudged it out of the way with his foot as he slowly walked to Harry's crib. Ripping the blanket of him, he picked Harry up roughly and all but dropped him next to the body of his mother. He'd stopped crying, and now blinked up with green eyes at Voldemort with a curious expression.

"Ba!" Harry said, pointing at him.

Voldemort snorted. "So, this is the one who would defeat me?" He pointed his wand at the baby in front of him. "So much for the would-be hero."

Harry giggled at the wand now being directed at him. His daddy had one of those. He made grabbing motions as Voldemort narrowed his red eyes and said, "Good-bye, Harry Potter.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a rushing sound, and then an immense pressure followed by pain in Harry's head.

Then nothing.

Harry awoke to darkness. Or, what seemed like darkness. Everything was fuzzy, and his

ears were ringing. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head. He could hear a voice. It was muffled, as if someone had placed something over his ears. Must have been from the explosion, he thought, vaguely, too out of sorts to realize that there had not really been an explosion. The voice was deep, he realized, and he felt like he had heard it somewhere before. There was a shape moving toward him. His eyes were still fuzzy, and he blinked rapidly to try and make the shape out.

It was a person, and it was shouting something now. Harry strained his ears, trying to figure out what it was saying.

"Hello?" Harry rasped. He coughed and cleared his throat. "Who's there?"

The shape was coming closer. His ears had stopped ringing, and he could hear the voice clearly now.

"Lily! Answer me!"

Harry shook his head in confusion, closing his eyes tightly.

"Harry?"

He looked up to see Hermione standing over him, concern etched across her face. Ron was behind her, leaning against the broken door.

"Her-Hermione? Ron? What are you doing here?" he asked. He coughed and looked around. "Why am I on the floor?"

It took him a moment to realize that he was laying in almost the same place where his mother had fallen. He stiffened, and Hermione kneeled down beside him.

"We heard a yell. Are you alright?" she asked.

"She died here," Harry whispered, placing a hand on the floor next to him. "My mum." His eyes filled with tears, and this throat constricted. "You were right, Hermione. This place did do something to me. I remember." A few tears leaked out of his eyes. "I remember everything. My mum used to sing Pat-a-Cake to me in that playroom downstairs. Sirius used to come over for dinner all the time and mum cooked. He would turn into a dog over and over because it made me laugh. That-that dining room..."

He began to cry openly now, and Hermione wasn't quite sure whether or not to cry herself. She looked at Ron, who was staring open mouthed at his friend as if horrified by what he was saying.

"That dining room... my father toasted Pettigrew there. He thanked him for saving us. And my dad died at the foot of the stairs. He told mum to run. She came up here, she heard them fighting, she heard him-" Harry stopped, clearing his throat.

"'Mione, she heard Voldemort kill him. She hid in here with me... she begged him to kill her instead of me. He told her to move... I remember..."

Hermione nodded. "That's why the spell bounced off you. Because Lily wasn't supposed to die. I wish we knew-"

Harry grabbed Hermione's hand suddenly. "He said-Voldemort said one of his servants... something about her being spared because someone asked him to, and that person earned his reward."

"What?" Ron asked, incredulously, while Hermione just stared in shock. "One of the Death Eaters wanted Voldemort to spare your mum? Why?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. And my mum seemed pretty surprised as well."

Ron snorted disgustedly. "Probably for some twisted reason. Those sick bastards."

"Harry this is incredible. We've finally learned something of what happened here!" Hermione said.

"Sort of. We still don't know who asked Voldemort, why they wanted my mum to live, and why Voldemort would even grant such a wish to begin with," Harry muttered. He rubbed his forehead. "I felt the spell again. I heard the explosion. I think I passed out. When I came to, I couldn't see or hear anything. Hang on," he said, suddenly, remembered the voice. "I heard... something... right after I woke up."

"You probably heard us," Ron told him. "We were calling your name trying to find you."

"You probably heard Ron put his foot through that stair," Hermione amended, and Ron blushed.

"Eh, it's not too bad. And it looks like I wasn't the only one," he said, indicating Harry's ankle, which had turned the carpet where his foot lay a deep red.

"No, no, no," Harry said, exasperated. "It wasn't your voice I heard. And it wasn't saying my name. It... it was calling for my mum."

Hermione blinked. "Your mum? Are you sure?"

Harry gave her a look. "I haven't gone daft or anything, Hermione," he said, picking himself up off the floor.

"Well, maybe it was a different memory, from when you first moved in or something," Ron suggested. "It was probably your dad."

"No," Harry said, firmly. "It wasn't dad. I could tell. I recognized it, though. I just... don't know who it was. And it was after my parents were killed and Voldemort tried to kill me. I remember sort of now... my head was still fuzzy from the explosion, there was smoke and stuff... and I saw someone coming down the hall yelling for my mum." He shook his head. "But that's it. Then I blinked and saw you guys instead."

Hermione regarded him carefully. "Well, we'll figure it out. Right now, we need to get you out of here."

Ron came forward to help Harry to his feet. "You're not having too good a luck with that ankle, mate."

The house suddenly shook violently, making all three friends jump, and Harry very nearly fell over again.

"What the hell was that?" Ron asked.

"The house," Harry realized. "It's coming down." The house shook again, and a hunk of the ceiling came crashing to the floor, barely missing Hermione.

"Run!" Harry shouted, bolting for the door. His bleeding ankle was screaming in pain, but he didn't care. He had to get his friends to safety.

The three of them tore down the hall - Hermione very nearly falling off the ledge when the house gave another lurch - and down the stairs. They had to duck away from pieces of the ceiling as the house literally started to come apart around them. "Come on, hurry!" Harry shouted again, wrenching the door open. Ron, pulling Hermione, leapt out and down the stairs first with Harry soon after. They made it to the street and had barely turned around when the foundation collapsed. The second storey came crashing down upon the first, and erupted in a huge cloud of smoke. Hermione did a quick shielding charm to protect them from the dust. When it had cleared, all that remained of Harry's old house was rubble. Only the chimney was intact, and it stuck out of the mess in an almost comic fashion.

"Whoa," breathed Ron. "What happened?"

"Me," Harry said, quietly.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "You didn't do that!"

"But I did. I came here. It was waiting for me. I came, and it showed me what it was supposed to. Now, it's over."

The three friends stood in silence and stared at the remnants of the Potters' house, holding each other tightly.

"We should go," Hermione said, softly. "Ron and I heard a noise before we came to get you. It sounded like someone Apparating."

Harry turned to her sharply.

"We're probably going to have to move along quickly to get to the cemetery," she continued, fishing the map out of her jacket pocket. "It's not far from here. About five miles, but if it was someone Apparating, we should probably Apparate ourselves. I know it's risky, but we need to get back to headquarters as soon as possible." She handed Ron the map. "Destination, determination, deliberation."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he sighed, snatching the map and quickly memorizing the address. "See you there."

Hermione nodded. "Harry... you ready?"

Harry was surprised to here himself say, "Yes." But, it was true. He was finally ready to put Godric's Hollow behind him. He had learned about his parents' death. He'd learned all he could from the house. There were still questions, but they were ones that would have to be answered elsewhere.

He felt Hermione grip his arm and heard the popping sound as Ron disappeared. With one more glance at his ruined house, he and Hermione followed.