Chapter 31 – Back to the Grave

"Watch it, mate; you'll be burning holes through the wall if you keep that up!"

Ron slowly raised himself from the floor of the Room of Requirement where he had leapt for cover to avoid a series of brutal curses from Harry's wand. He had bewitched a number of cushions to fly in random patterns around the room, so that Harry could have some practice attacking moving targets. The scorched remains of half a dozen or so cushions lay scattered about them, as if to mirror the foul mood in which Harry had been since he awoke that morning.

The days had now become a full week since Ginny had, for all intents and purposes, vanished, and all either of them knew was that she was still safe at Hogwarts. She had moved from the Gryffindor dormitory, and nobody had claimed to have seen her since. Even the Headmistress knew little more than the fact that she was still alive.

"What's got into you today?" enquired Ron, pleading ignorance, "You're supposed to focus, not just demolish everything in sight. That last one could've been my head!"

Harry shrugged a half-hearted apology and tidied the cushions into a pile as he grumbled quietly. His friend realised that this was an hour of need and suddenly felt very bad for his criticism.

"Harry, I don't think you realise what kind of a survivor Ginny is," said Ron encouragingly, "She could take care of herself no matter what, and this is her own brother talking here."

This fell on deaf ears, as Harry busied himself in repairing the damaged furniture and patches of wall, a wholly unnecessary task, as the room itself would change the moment they left it.

"I know you're listening to me, so don't pretend," Ron continued, "I'd be feeling just as rotten if Hermione was hiding herself away like that; matter of fact, my sister disappearing is just as bad. Come on Harry, stop being all strong and silent about it. You're pissed off, so share it with the world."

Harry finally pocketed his wand, wearily exhaled and looked back at his friend.

"You're right," he said slowly, "You know you're right. You know you're right and you want me to agree with you. And I do, but that doesn't stop me thinking about it and worrying every minute of the day."

Over the past couple of years, Ron had learned how to deal with Harry's various moods, and now was a time to put the knowledge to good use. It was as they picked up their bags and made to leave the room that he hit upon the ideal solution.

"What you need is something to take your mind of all this," he remarked.

Harry twisted his face sceptically.

"What could possibly serve as a distraction, the way my life is right now? You could tell me I'd been selected for the England Quidditch team for the next world cup, and I'd still have forgotten about it within a few days."

"Maybe so," Ron replied, "but speaking of your faulty memory, have you forgotten about your little visit to Godric's Hollow?"

A stunning spell couldn't have stopped Harry in his tracks faster. Ron watched with a good deal of satisfaction as his words took their effect. Harry had forgotten, and now he cursed himself for doing so. He turned slowly to his friend.

"That may just do the trick," he muttered pensively, "but it's going to be a little more difficult than I first thought."

"Hold that thought," said Ron quickly, turning swiftly on his heel and drawing his wand on a second year Hufflepuff pupil, "Accio!"

A bag of Honeydukes strawberry fudge bats came flying out of the startled boy's hand.

"Sorry mate, Filch's orders," he said, trying to sound as regretful as possible, "No eating in the corridors."

The boy then stomped off, swearing under his breath.

"When will they learn?" Ron sighed, shaking his head and cramming a fudge bat into his mouth, "Anyway, why would it be more difficult?"

"Well, strange as it may seem, when I first thought about visiting my parents' resting place, the plan didn't involve escaping from Hogwarts,"

They were both deep in thought on the matter all the way back to the common room, when Ron finally spoke.

"Once you're a little way clear of the far side of the lake, you can apparate, right?" he said as they stepped through the portrait hole.

"I'd want to go a bit further than that, just to be on the safe side," replied Harry warily, "If it doesn't work because I'm still within the boundaries of the school, then I'll bet McGonagall has some way of knowing about it, with the extra security and all. Of course, there's always the problem of even getting that far without being noticed. Can't take a boat across the lake, and it's a bit of a risk that my cloak will cover me completely on my firebolt."

Ron nodded sagely, but there was a question that preyed far more on his mind.

"You'll have to be there and back in less than a day, you do know that, don't you? If anyone asks, we can't exactly cover for you forever."

Harry didn't answer. He was now staring into space, thinking how unfair it was that he should have to resort to such deceptive means just to visit the site of his parents' burial. It should have been his everyday right. The silence prompted Ron to voice an even deeper concern.

"You…do know how to get there…don't you?"

Still no answer. Harry was considering the matter, but for him, it was more a question of when rather than how. The way he was feeling, it would be sooner rather than later.

"If you and Hermione can be ready to make my excuses by midnight on Saturday, then I'll take care of the rest."

The shadow of Hogwarts castle was thrown in a faint and lazy manner, owing to the heavy mist that swirled across the moon, and this was something for which the wizard who stood under its imposing gaze was most grateful. Walking with a slight stoop, attempting to keep both body and broomstick concealed by his cloak, he hurried across the long stretch of grass that led down to the lake, with the constant feeling that his every step was being watched. He notice for the first time that night time around the school grounds was far from quiet when you were out there alone. There was a chorus of grasshoppers, brushing noises in the longer patches of grass, and perhaps most unnerving, the occasional sound of snapping twigs.

As he neared the water's edge, he mounted his broom and took one last look back at the place he called home. He couldn't deny the sickly feeling in his stomach that had plagued him since the moment the cold air hit his face, but this was something he would simply have to overcome. The moment he kicked off from the ground, however, this gave way to the sheer exhilaration for which he had yearned for far too long. Keeping the cloak wrapped around him as best he could, he flew across the lake with the wind sweeping his hair back, at a speed that made his eyes water. This was one of his life's simple comforts, and he enjoyed it to the full before finally touching down a hundred yards or so beyond the far end of the lake.

Leaving nothing to chance, he walked on until he passed a thick clump of bushes before choosing to disapparate. He closed his eyes tightly in concentration and crossed his fingers, hoping desperately that nothing would go wrong, then turned on the spot and left the school grounds altogether. And so it was that on such a cold winter night, Harry opened his eyes, and to his relief, found himself standing just within sight of The Burrow.

Being the nearest familiar point of reference to the village of Godric's Hollow, Harry now unfolded a map he had copied from the Hogwarts library and used a subtle wand light to read by.

"North-west," he murmured, noting once again with distain that he would have to cross the Bristol Channel, hardly the warmest of journeys at the best of times, "About…a hundred and twenty miles. Wonderful."

As if it now knew instinctively what he would ask of it, Harry's wand spun around to give him a northerly bearing. He looked back at The Burrow and felt a longing to call on Mr and Mrs Weasley, but this was out of the question. He couldn't risk alerting anyone that he was away from Hogwarts, and apart from anything else, it would hardly be tactful to call at a wizard dwelling at this time of night, with so much fear of dark wizards hanging in the air.

Hoping that Voldemort's followers weren't in the habit of frequenting this part of the west country, or south Wales for that matter, he took off once again and began his flight to Godric's Hollow. It wasn't easy to keep a steady course while attempting to avoid well-lit areas and travelling through dense patches of cloud whenever he dared. The cold bit into his hands and face as he reached the expanse of water that would lead him to the neighbouring country, and he started to regret his decision not to wear full quidditch robes.

In the hours that followed, Harry took every opportunity to land on empty stretches of road to check the signposts and make sure he hadn't strayed too far from his intended heading, and finally, after his patience had all but worn away, he found a narrow turning from the main road with the sign he had been searching for. He flew low across the ground, taking special care to stay off the road itself, not that he could imagine any cars coming this way at such an hour.

The sun was just in the course of waking, and as he approached the road leading into the village, he could make out the features of the landscape, just as Hagrid had described. Whether it was a matter of confidence or stupidity, Harry touched down and pulled off his invisibility cloak. Even on the busy streets of London, there were muggles who would have taken a second glance at him, and in the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow, he would stick out like a sore thumb. He reasoned, however, that there would be a clear hour or two before he could possibly be troubled by any passers-by.

A long row of pale brick houses came into view, and as promised, the land to the right sloped up into a grassy hill behind them. Where the ground levelled out at the top of the hill, a thick stretch of woodland began, peppered with the winter frost. Harry's heartbeat appeared to stop for a moment. Somewhere on the edge of those woods were his mother and father, lying cold and dead in the earth.

He climbed briskly up the slope and quickened his pace further as he spotted the alcove of fir trees for which he was searching. Making the last approach with a sedate and cautious tread, he found it hard to believe that the bare, unmarked ground could be the place Hagrid had meant. He stopped suddenly, noticing a shimmering silver haze appear above the soil. A small, shiny marble headstone materialised, and as the haze cleared, Harry knelt down to read the inscription:

IN MEMORIUM

JAMES & LILY POTTER

LAID TO REST NOVEMBER 1981

FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS – THE HOPE LIVES ON

One solitary tear fell from his left eye. He considered that this could possibly be because so many more had already fallen, but the sight of the grave couldn't fail to strike him deep inside.

"So, this is where you've been," he said, wiping his face on the back of his arm, "This is where HE put you,"

He got to his feet and looked about him before returning his attention to the burial ground. He was glad at least that his parents had rested in peaceful surroundings.

"There's so much I'd say to you both if you were here," he began, wondering if he should have made some notes beforehand, "I've had…well…an interesting time at Hogwarts. I learnt all about Quidditch, and now I'm captain of the Gryffindor team. A seeker, Dad, just like you. I don't suppose it really matters much now, but I just thought I'd tell you."

A chill rippled through the air, and Harry found himself pulling his jacket tighter around him.

"A lot of bad things have happened, though," he continued, "Sirius is dead and…so is Professor Dumbledore. I'm just glad to have known them both before it happened. I've learned a lot about both of you, and I…I just…"

Harry was furious with himself. He knew what he wanted to say, but just couldn't seem to put it into words. Staring down at his feet, he opted for the first words that came to mind.

"I just wanted to tell you that you didn't die for nothing. I'll put things right, I promise I will!"

He was shuddering, but it had nothing to do with the cold. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and went on.

"There's someone I wish you could've met. I've known her for about five years, but last year we – "

He broke off sharply as he felt the unmistakable sensation that he was being watched. With a lightning reflex, he drew his wand from his jacket and fired a hex into the trees. He narrowed his eyes to see a thin trail of smoke emitting from a piece of burnt tree bark, and heard the sound of someone carefully exhaling. It was only when he attempted to trace the moving shape through the branches that he felt the effect of the paralysing spell that had been fired back at him. He was vaguely aware of a figure dressed in black emerging from the wood, when he heard the all too familiar voice of the Half-Blood Prince.

"Impressive, Potter," said Snape with slow, calm authority, "albeit lacking in discipline."

He circled around Harry and reappeared directly in the boy's eye line, ducking smoothly underneath his still outstretched arm.

"I realise this must be an emotional moment for you, but as I'm sure you will agree, that could hardly be cited as an excuse if it were my intention to cause you genuine harm."

After a pause, he stared with fierce concentration into Harry's eyes.

"Now, despite your gallant attempt to singe my sleeve, I do sense a certain hesitation in you, now that your mystery assailant has shown himself, and from that I can only conclude that you have heard the truth of my involvement in this grim tale from your late, great headmaster."

Another pause, during which Harry, for the first time, could not quite identify the source of his anger towards his former potions master. He suspected that it was now more because he had interrupted the visit to his parents' grave.

"However," Snape continued in a lighter, mildly surprised tone, "the fact that I see nothing more of any use can only mean that your study of Occlumency has not been without merit. I must confess that until now, I believed Dumbledore's faith in you to be somewhat unfounded, and yet I face you now with a small but definite sense of hope."

Even if Harry had had the use of his voice at this point, he would have remained speechless. This was without doubt the most generous thing Snape had ever said to him. It was then that the Professor pulled a bag of crimson velvet from his robes. It obviously contained some kind of round object that he considered to be very delicate.

"That being the case, I believe that the climate is right to present you with a piece of the puzzle."

He laid the bag carefully down at Harry's feet and slowly returned to his authoritative stance.

"I regret that there is no more assistance I can render at present, as my time is both precious and limited. I can only hope that certain members of the Order can fully understand the gravity of the situation."

As he prepared to leave, he turned back and addressed the gravestone that stood before them with a strange mixture of bitterness and urgency.

"Oh, and James? If there is any way of giving some fatherly advice from the great beyond, could you please tell your son to handle that object with the utmost caution and to tell no one how he came by it. I've already risked my neck in ways he couldn't possibly appreciate, and if that information were to fall upon the wrong ears, then you and I will be crossing wands a lot sooner than either of us would wish…"

He disapparated as he passed the nearest tree and in the same instant, Harry regained his movement, stumbling slightly as his legs unfroze. He looked quickly about him to make sure that he was now alone in the clearing, crouched with his wand in a guarded manner, and finally looked down at the velvet bag that lay beside him. Taking hold of it apprehensively at arm's length as if handling a newly-born blast-ended skrewt, he debated how best to approach this 'gift'. Putting aside his confusion about Snape, he felt sure that if he were not meant to examine the contents of the bag, he would have been told so.

Whatever the object was, it didn't appear to be especially hot or cold from touching the velvet that surrounded it. He reached gingerly inside and stopped as his hand met what felt like a smooth ball of glass. Keeping a steady hold of it to test whether or not it was having some effect on his mind or body, he slowly drew it out of the bag. On first examination, his sense of touch had proven true. It was indeed a sphere of glass, interrupted only by a flattened base at one end. There was a greyish blue mist that swirled around inside it, and Harry now recognised it as a seeing stone, not entirely unlike those in Professor Trelawny's classroom, though this seemed to be a little grander in some way.

Turning it round to inspect the base, Harry's pulse suddenly raced skyward as the truth hit him. He heard a roar of triumph inside his head that was soon quelled by a cry of fear from his stomach as he stared at the object in his hand. There on the flattened edge, carved flawlessly into the glass and unspoiled by the passing of centuries, was the crest of Rowena Ravenclaw.