Once Harry had calmed down, he picked himself up off the ground and moved away from his parents' headstone, wordlessly telling Sirius that the older man was now free to pay his own respects to the Potters. He wandered through the graveyard for ten minutes or so, reading the headstones and wondering what had possessed some people to choose the words they had for their loved ones' epitaphs, before Sirius returned to his side, and the two left the churchyard. They headed for the Golden Lion in silence, neither feeling much like talking after the solemn experiences they'd just had, and Sirius pushed open the inn's door without a word. The dining area was full of patrons enjoying a late lunch – Harry could see Siobhan chatting merrily with a young family as she served their meals, and Patrick was busy filling tankards behind the bar. They chose two empty stools near the taps, Harry staring up at the specials board without really seeing what was on it. Based on the stew they'd had earlier, it was probably delicious, but he just wasn't hungry at the moment.

"Two firewhiskies when you get a chance, mate," Sirius said quietly once Patrick was close enough to hear him. Patrick looked up from the mug he was filling and frowned.

"Two?" he asked, glancing at Harry's still zoned-out form.

"We just came from the graveyard," Sirius replied. "Please." Patrick's frown disappeared, and he nodded in understanding.

"Just don't make a habit of it," he said, placing the now full mug on a tray, which he then slid towards the end of the counter just as his wife appeared to pick it up. Sirius nodded, and Patrick retrieved two shot glasses from under the bar and filled each with a dark amber liquid.

"They're on me," he said quietly, then turned to fill another round of drinks. Sirius picked up one of the shot glasses and pushed the other in front of Harry, who raised his eyebrows in question.

"Just drink it," Sirius said impatiently. "After that graveyard, you need it." Harry shrugged and raised his own shot glass to meet his godfather's.
"Cheers." They clinked glasses and tossed their heads back, each downing the firewhisky in one gulp. Harry grimaced and tried not to cough as the burning liquid slid down his throat and brought tears to his eyes.

"Merlin, that's disgusting," he choked.

"Never had that before, have you?" Sirius asked, calmly setting his own glass on the counter.

"When would I have?" Harry replied. "It's not like I can just ask for it in Hogsmeade, I'm still underage." Sirius snorted.

"Harry, honestly. I've been to enough Quidditch parties to know that somebody always manages to sneak in something stronger than butterbeer, so forgive me if I don't exactly believe you – especially not when your teammates included the Weasley twins." Harry chuckled.

"Fair point," he conceded.

"I s'pose it's good that I know you're not attempting to break your dad's record of number of shots consumed in a night before passing out," Sirius said. "Damn, but that was a party – sixth year, and we'd just flattened Ravenclaw and taken the lead for the Quidditch Cup. Even the party when we later actually won the Quidditch Cup didn't compare to that one." He paused as if to savor the memory, then frowned and added, "And I'm glad you won't be tempted to follow in your brother's footsteps, either."

"Draco?" Harry asked, cocking his head questioningly to one side. "What did Draco do?"

"Remember, right after…the beginning of the summer, when you spent some quality time in the basement? Draco's solution of choice was an entire bottle of firewhisky – he's lucky he didn't have to go to St. Mungo's." Harry winced.

"You're almost making me wish I had another drink," he muttered. Sirius sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know this summer's been terrible, especially for you three, and I wish I could do something to fix it, I really could."

"It's not your fault," Harry reassured him. "We all know that." He paused and bit his lip, contemplating his next words.

"When did it happen?"

"When did what happen?" Sirius asked.

"Mum's burial." The response was so quiet Sirius almost missed it.

"Let's go upstairs and talk, yeah?" Harry nodded and hopped down off his stool, Sirius following suit and leading the way upstairs into their room. The pair settled themselves into two comfortable armchairs, and Sirius finally answered his godson's question.

"A few days after the funeral," he said. "We were lucky this time around – things have been fairly quiet, all things considered, and the Order decided it was safe to do it right away. It was loads harder with your dad – we had to wait over a month before we could come here, and even then, the burial still happened in the dead of night with the fewest number of people possible." Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "You haven't been back to Godric's Hollow since your dad was killed, and I don't want you to associate it with only bad things – I have more than my fair share of fond memories of this place, and I want you to have that chance as well."

"Oh, I like it here," Harry said quickly. "I really do – and I'm glad you were able to come with me." He thought for a moment. "You still have the fourth knife, right? The one that matches mine?"

"In the safe at home," Sirius confirmed. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to give it to Ginny," Harry said, his face warming slightly at the mention of his girlfriend. Sirius chuckled.

"But of course," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "Don't think I didn't see that rather intimate little tête-à-tête you two had at the airport the other day." Harry groaned and dropped his face in his hands.

"Padfoot," he grumbled, glaring at Sirius through his fingers. Sirius grinned.

"Ah, ah, ah, you don't get to complain – I haven't had nearly as much time to mess with you as I have with Draco and Hermione. Those two are no fun anyway – they've been in love with each other for years and are completely unfazed by anything anyone says about it." Harry chose to groan again instead of offering a proper reply, and Sirius reached over and ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Yes, you can give the knife to Ginny," he said, dropping the teasing tone. "Remind me to go pick it up for you when we get home."

"Thanks," Harry replied, finally sitting up straight again.

A knock at the door interrupted their thoughts, and Patrick poked his head in.

"Just got back from Bathilda's house," he informed them. "She said she'd be glad to speak with you – you can drop in for tea tomorrow. I don't think it really matters to her, actually, but we thought you two might like to see the performance tomorrow morning."

"What performance?" Sirius questioned.

"There's a little bit of a festival in town tomorrow, in honor of one of the men who once lived here," Patrick explained. "Tomorrow's the anniversary of his death – of course, I can never remember the exact date, but it's been several hundred years – and he was quite a benevolent figure in his time, Ignotus Peverell."

"Ignotus Peverell?" Sirius repeated. "But he was a wizard, wasn't he?"

"He was," Patrick confirmed with a nod. "The townsfolk didn't know that, of course, unless they were magic themselves, but he was kind and generous to everyone, and Godric's Hollow has seen fit to remember him for it ever since he died. There's to be food and drink, and all sorts of entertainment, including a performance of 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' – I'm sure you know it?"

"That's one of Beedle's," Sirius said. "How can they get away with that? And what does that have to do with Ignotus Peverell?"

"Come now, my boy," Patrick said with a chuckle. "Surely if you know the tale, you know that it's not something that will make the Muggles suspect – they just think it's an entertaining story, even if the rest of us know better. And surely you've heard tell that Ignotus and his brothers were supposedly the brothers of the tale?"

"That's debatable," Sirius replied, "but I have heard that."

"Regardless of what you believe, you'll be wanting to see the show tomorrow," Patrick said. "The troupe that puts it on is quite good, you know."

"We'll consider it," Sirius promised. Patrick nodded.

"Good lad. Siobhan or I will bring up some dinner around seven, if that's fine with you."

"Thank you."

"Not a problem, my boy." Patrick flashed them one last grin before closing the door, his heavy footsteps discernible as he headed back downstairs.

"So…care to explain what all that was about?" Harry asked, looking thoroughly bewildered.

"Well, I think the parts about Bathilda and the festival are self-explanatory, no?" Sirius teased.

"You know I meant the rest of it, Padfoot," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Do you recall a story called 'The Tale of the Three Brothers', from Beedle the Bard?" Sirius asked.

"Not really, no," Harry admitted. "I remember Mum reading 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' quite a bit, but I don't remember anything about three brothers."

"Well, then my story isn't going to make much sense," Sirius said. "In that case, we'll go see the performance tomorrow – I'm sure the actors will do a much better job telling it than I could – and then I'll tell you about the Peverells afterwards."

The next day was a busy one. As Patrick had promised, the residents of Godric's Hollow began setting up for the festival well before dawn, so by the time the sun rose, dozens of little stalls had sprung up in the cobbled streets. A stage had been erected in the middle of the square, the deep purple curtains drawn for now but promising to reveal their wonders at the start of the noon performance, and the air was filled with excitement and anticipation. After a hearty breakfast, Harry and Sirius began to explore the stalls, which offered everything from sizzling sausages to handmade pieces of jewelry. The square grew more crowded as the noon hour drew near, and by a quarter to twelve, almost everyone had gathered around the stage. The church bells rang out the hour, and the curtain parted, revealing a beautifully painted backdrop of a forest scene. A single set piece – a bridge – sat in the middle of the stage.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to this afternoon's performance!" The speaker was a handsome young man wearing robes and a long cloak – Harry supposed it was his costume, but the man would not have looked out of place in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.

"In honor of our noble ancestor, Ignotus Peverell, we humbly present 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' – we hope you enjoy the show." The young man bowed to the crowd and stepped back as another actor, this one a young woman in a flowing green dress, stepped up to center stage and began to speak.

"There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across…"

Harry watched and listened, rapt with attention, as the troupe acted out the tale to the young woman's narrations. The three brothers, of course, were wizards, and as such used magic to construct a bridge across the treacherous river. Death, angered at being cheated, offered each of them a gift in exchange for their cleverness – the first requested an unbeatable wand; the second, the power to bring back the dead; and the third, something that would enable him to leave the scene without being followed by Death. Death fulfilled their wishes, gifting the first brother with a wand he crafted from a nearby elder tree, the second with a stone he said would do as the man requested, and the third – quite unwillingly – with his own invisibility cloak. The brothers separated then, each going his own way.

The tale then took a darker turn as it followed the brothers' adventures – Death, of course, is not supposed to be fooled, and the elder two brothers soon met their ends, ironically enough, at the hands of the very gifts they'd received. The third brother, however, had been wise in his request, and Death was unable to find him no matter how hard he searched. It wasn't until the third brother finally removed the invisibility cloak and passed it down to his son that he greeted Death and passed willingly from this world.

Harry clapped loudly when the performance finished – the troupe really had done a splendid job. He still didn't know what the tale had to do with Ignotus Peverell, though, and he questioned Sirius again as they browsed the stalls in search of lunch. After purchasing some sandwiches, Sirius found them a grassy spot perfect for a picnic, and they settled down to eat.

"'The Tale of the Three Brothers' is probably one of Beedle's most debated stories – not for the issues it does or does not present, but because many people believe it to be based in fact," Sirius began. "Many people believe that Ignotus Peverell and his two brothers – Cadmus and Antioch, I believe they were called – experienced something similar to what happens in the tale. Not necessarily that they met Death, of course, but people argue that the gifts given by Death in the tale are real."

"How do they figure that?" Harry asked around a mouthful of ham and cheese.

"Well, there are accounts of formidable wands scattered throughout Wizarding history," Sirius said. "That's where they usually start their claims – with the wand. They then move to the invisibility cloak – while rare and expensive, such items are definitely attainable. However, they tend not to last very long – the spells over them start to fade, or the Demiguise hair used to make them starts to lose its power. The stone, of course, is where the real problem lies – no magic can properly awaken the dead. The dead can choose to come back as ghosts, of course, and there are spells – most of them Dark magic – that can reanimate a corpse or create a realistic impression of someone who's passed, but nothing can truly bring someone back once they've died."

"Just like the second brother found out when he tried to bring back his fiancée," Harry said. The attempt had only brought about a sad, silent shadow of the girl, and the second brother had eventually been driven to suicide to truly join his love.

"Yes, exactly. And so the stone causes the most problems – but in spite of it all, some people still believe. The legend says that anyone who can unite the 'Deathly Hallows' will be the successful 'Master of Death', and many are on a quest to do just that. Right waste of time, if you ask me."

Harry chewed the rest of his sandwich as he contemplated Sirius' words. It was a strange tale to be sure – but then, he'd encountered plenty of strange things in the Wizarding world. Nothing was truly impossible, he'd learned, unless he'd seen concrete proof. Deciding to put that thought away for later perusal, Harry suggested that they explore the festival until teatime.

Bathilda Bagshot lived alone in a little cottage on the road leading out of Godric's Hollow. The house was cluttered with all sorts of knick-knacks and lace doilies, though it was reasonably clean – Harry suspected that this was Patrick and Siobhan's doing, as it was fairly obvious from the moment Bathilda opened the door that she wasn't in a state to do much cleaning. The old woman's lack of height was even more pronounced by the bend in her back, and she shuffled very slowly down the hallway of her home as she led her visitors to the sitting room.

"How can I help you?" she asked, pronouncing each word carefully in a thick, hoarse voice. "Dear Patrick said you were in need of some assistance and wished to speak with me."

"We do, Miss Bagshot," Harry replied as he stirred his tea. "We were hoping you might be able to help us with something related to Godric Gryffindor."

"Godric Gryffindor…" Bathilda tapped her spoon against her teacup and set it down on the tray. "Such a fine young man, yes, very fine indeed." She smiled up at them, revealing many toothless gaps, and Harry wondered at the wording of her statement. Godric Gryffindor had lived over a thousand years ago, and yet Bathilda spoke of him as if she'd known him. Even Nicolas Flamel hadn't been born for another three hundred years after Gryffindor's death, and Flamel had the aid of the philosopher's stone…was Bathilda entirely sane?

"Yes, Gryffindor was a fine man," Bathilda said once more. "What did you wish to know, Mr. Potter?"

"Have you ever heard of Gryffindor owning a ring?" Harry asked. "It would have been scarlet and gold, probably inlaid with rubies." Bathilda paused and furrowed her brow in thought.

"I have done and read much in the field of magical history," she said. "I have mapped out important events in the Wizarding world from before Hogwarts was even a thought in the minds of the founders, and I have traveled extensively to compile research on the goblin rebellions."

"Oh, yes, the goblin rebellions," Harry thought with a snort. "Binns is a bit too much of a fan of those, and not in a way that's even remotely interesting." He kept his thoughts to himself, however, deciding it wouldn't be a good idea to insult their hostess.

"I have also done extensive work related to Godric Gryffindor's life. He was a fine man."

"Yes, you did say that," Sirius said.

"A fine man. He was born here, in Godric's Hollow – no one quite knows for sure if that was the village's original name, or if it was changed in his honor. He traveled far and wide, and spent many a year bringing the concept of Wizarding education to life, but he always returned here, always returned to his roots." Bathilda sipped her tea, setting the cup down very slowly and deliberately before speaking again.

"Gryffindor carried a sword, an expertly crafted blade inlaid with rubies as big as a fist. His hat was later bequeathed to Hogwarts and enchanted to perform the Sorting Ceremony. I cannot say that I have heard of this ring of which you speak."

Harry tried to hide his disappointment. A dead end! And he was so sure that Bathilda would have been able to help them…

"Excuse me, Miss Bagshot," Sirius said. "Perhaps we phrased our question poorly. You see, Gryffindor definitely created this ring, but he might not have worn it himself. It was part of a set, and each founder contributed one."

"Many claims regarding Gryffindor's possessions have surfaced over the centuries, and all have been proven false. There is the rumor that something has been hidden in the local inn, but nothing has ever been found."

"You don't mean the Golden Lion?" Sirius questioned.

"The Golden Lion, yes. Named in honor of Gryffindor – a fine man. As both of his only known possessions are currently at Hogwarts, we historians cannot lay any truth to this claim." Harry and Sirius exchanged looks, somehow knowing they weren't going to get anything else useful out of her.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Bagshot," Harry said as soon as was polite. Bathilda beamed and saw them to the door, and the two wizards returned to the village square as quickly as they could. The inn was blissfully empty save for Patrick, who was doing some cleaning behind the bar.

"Hello, lads!" he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"What can you tell us about this place?" Harry asked without preamble.

"You mean this inn?" Patrick clarified. At Harry's nod, he said, "Well, I don't know all that much, to be truthful, but I know it was built roughly three hundred years ago, give or take a few decades – nobody's really quite sure on the exact date. The original owner was a chap who'd been in Gryffindor House at Hogwarts and wanted to add something to the town to honor his founder – see, until then, there wasn't anything of the sort around here. They say that something of Gryffindor's was hidden here shortly after that, but that's mostly just a rumor."

"What did they say was hidden? And where?" Sirius asked. Patrick raised his eyebrows.

"Why the sudden interest?" he asked.

"Bathilda wasn't able to help us much, but she did mention that rumor," Sirius said. "If something is hidden here, we need to find it, because we think it might be what we're looking for – tying back to that Order business, you know."

"Well, all I can tell you is that it's supposedly hidden somewhere marked by Gryffindor's seal, but this place has been scoured top to bottom time and time again," Patrick said. "You're welcome to look, of course, but I'm not making any promises that you'll find what you're after." Harry and Sirius nodded in understanding, and the two wizards began their search. Several hours later, however, they were disappointedly empty-handed.

"Nothing," Harry said, dropping into the closest empty chair with a sigh. "What are we going to do now, Padfoot?"

"I'm not sure," Sirius admitted. "I'd hate to give up now, but we're running out of time." They sat deep in thought for several long moments.

"Is it strange that nobody can say when this inn was built?" Harry asked suddenly.

"A bit, but it's not unheard of in the Wizarding world, especially with older buildings," Sirius replied. "Why do you ask?"

"The only other place I've heard of with an uncertain founding date is Hogwarts. St. Mungo's, the Ministry, Hogsmeade, even Godric's Hollow – they all have specific founding years at the very least. What makes this place different?"

"That does seem odd, now that you mention it," Sirius said. "Oy, Patrick! D'you happen to know where this building's cornerstone is?"

"I do, because it's in such an odd place," Patrick replied. "Most cornerstones are on the front of the building, so everyone can see the engraving, you know? But this place's cornerstone is on the back, furthest from the road – and it's blank." He gestured for them to follow, and they walked around the back of the inn to the far left corner.

"That one," Patrick said, pointing to a stone that had a reddish hue instead of the gray stone of the rest of the structure. Harry and Sirius knelt to examine it.

"Harry's question about the lack of a founding date is very odd," Sirius murmured, running his hand over the cornerstone. Bits of dirt tumbled to the ground, and Sirius raised his eyebrows at the gap that appeared at the top of the stone. Intrigued, he maneuvered his fingers into the crack.

"Something's off here," he said. He continued to fuss around with the crack, and all three wizards gasped when the front of the cornerstone broke off completely.

"A false front," Harry said, his eyes wide. There was no doubt that Sirius had unveiled the real cornerstone – they couldn't read all of the antiquated language, but they recognized the name 'Gryffindor', as well as the year 1676.

"Now you know when this place was built," Sirius quipped. He raised his wand and began scanning the cornerstone. "Hmm…there don't seem to be any wards on it."

"They probably weren't expecting anyone to find it," Patrick said. "After all, if nobody's been able to determine a date of construction in over three hundred years, I think it's safe to say that this is a decent hiding place."

"Can you open it?" Harry asked eagerly.

"That would require me to know how it was locked in the first place," Sirius said with a frown.

"Well, how would a true Gryffindor lock it?" Patrick questioned. Harry's eyes lit up mischievously as the thought came to him.

"Like this," he said, pointing his wand at the stone. "Alohomora." As the simple spell hit the stone, it shifted smoothly away from the wall like a small drawer. Sirius barked out a laugh.

"Only a true Gryffindor would be so bold," he said with a grin. "Alohomora indeed…" He reached into the cornerstone, removing a small wooden box with a beautiful carving of a lion on the lid. Sensing that his godson was about to burst, Sirius carefully opened the box.

A/N: Hehehe...this chapter gave me so much grief, I'm glad it's done. & I changed my mind - I'm going to post chapter 8 right after this, since it's done anyway, so you get 2 chapters tonight. Yay! That catches us up with everything I wrote over break.

Thank you for the follows/faves/reviews, & for reading!

JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&R, & enjoy! :)