Chapter Twelve: Summer at Godric's Hollow

Sirius had decided that the day had finally come. Ever since he had been released from Azkaban prison, he had been determined to look forwards towards the future and to not let the horrors of the past, of the war that had taken two of his best friends, pull him into that darkness that he had been forced to endure at the hands of the Dementors. He had endevoured to be positive and excited for his future, which he was, for Harry's sake, but he knew that he would one day soon have to face his past head-on. For Harry's sake.

When Harry strode down the stairs that morning, he felt immediately the difference in the usually carefree air. There was no music playing from the radio, no sounds of Sirius shuffling about the cottage busying himself with one project or another. Instead Harry found the man standing by the kitchen window with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand, staring out into the lane outside.

"Morning, Sirius."

Sirius replied by way of a quick nod before raising his mug for a quick sip. Not sure how to address the morning's strange mood, Harry poured himself some cereal and sat down to eat. As he ate, his spoon clinking loudly against the unusual quiet, Harry noticed that Sirius looked particularly well groomed. His long, black hair was recently combed, clean and straight, and there was no sign of the stubble on his chin that he had often let grow out in his new carefree lifestyle, away from his aristocratic heritage.

"I think it's time for us to take that walk," he said, putting his empty mug on the counter. He turned to Harry. "It's time to see the old house."

Harry swallowed. He had wanted to visit the old place since arriving in Godric's Hollow but knew that it was important to Sirius that they go together. Not sure how long Sirius had already been waiting, Harry hurried to get himself ready to leave. He winced when he saw the clock on the wall; he had slept in again.

They left the cottage and walked down the quiet lane towards the town centre. The lookalike white cottages on either side of them were brightly lit by the morning sun, and the church steeple loomed higher as they drew nearer. They saw more and more of the townspeople going about their morning as they crossed the town centre, and it was easy to tell apart the wizarding folks by their unusual Muggle attire from the actual Muggles, who regarded the former as eccentric but harmless. Both of these groups waved at Harry and Sirius cheerily as they walked past, and Harry remembered how quietly star-struck but respectfully distant the wizarding population had remained when he had first arrived at the village, knowing him as soon as they saw the scar on his forehead. Crossing through the town centre, past the post office and the pub next to it, they stepped onto a lane similar to their own and began to walk down it.

Harry recognized the house as soon as he saw it.

At the end of the lane stood a single cottage, much like the one he currently lived in, with a large hole blown out the top floor on the right-hand side. Rubble laid strewn around it in the waist-high grass, and the cottage itself was overgrown with ivy.

"Muggles can't see it," said Sirius, his eyes taking in every detail of the cottage. "This plot right here is invisible to them, as it should have been to…" he trailed off, lost in thought. From the slight break in his voice, Harry knew that he would need a moment, and instead focused his attention on the nearby sign of wood and golden letters next to the gate:

On this spot, on this night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.

Sirius cleared his throat and continued. "It should have been invisible to them, and none of this should have happened."

They stood in silence for a few moments, looking up at the silent, empty cottage, the sun's warmth on their backs. All of the windows were dark except for the ones up on the old, blasted bedroom, brightly lit by the sunlight pouring in from the large hole above. Harry stared at it, trying to picture the events of that night. This is where he had lived—where they had all lived—and this is where they should have been safe. Feelings writhed within him, ones which he did not care to acknowledge or let rise to the surface. His parents were dead for the crime of trusting the wrong friend, one who had already sold them out to the enemy. Harry tried to imagine himself placing that same kind of trust in Ron or Hermione, only for them to betray him for dead. He couldn't quite comprehend the reality of it, but knew that for Sirius, who stood beside him now, it had been his reality for the past twelve years.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Sirius said, quietly, not looking at him. "It should have been me. I was supposed to be the Secret-Keeper. They would never have found the place if I had been. I would have gladly died before betraying them. I used to wish I had." He paused for a moment, his breath beginning to hitch. "The only good thing that dirty rat did was get himself exposed and allow me to be freed, and to take care of you the way your parents intended."

Harry could only nod, unsure of what to say. He knew the story of his parents' deaths and how he had survived where they had not, but it was different to hear it from someone who had actually been there. He could only stare up at the old cottage and try to picture the events of that night unfolding in front of him. He found himself suddenly unable to look up at the blasted upstairs bedroom and turned away to quell the emotions that were threatening to burst out of him.

Wordlessly, the pair turned and left.

Back in the town centre, there was a war memorial, an obelisk, which, when viewed by wizarding folk, transformed into its true form. It was in fact a statue of the Potter family put there by the village to honour the family who were the final victims of Lord Voldemort's reign. It depicted James and Lily Potter, and the baby Harry, an image of happier times that should have been. It was a memorial that Harry had stopped to look at numerous times since his arrival at Godric's Hollow, but it was not the place he and Sirius were visiting next. They walked past it towards the small church.

Behind it was a wooden kissing gate that led to the old graveyard. They walked through the rows of gravestones protruding uniform from the green grass of the well-kept yard. Sirius lead the way, his eyes never straying from a single, obvious headstone amongst the others, made of white marble, gleaming brilliantly under the summer sun. Harry felt suddenly as though something heavy were pressing on his chest as they walked nearer to his parents, and for a moment he almost didn't want to see. He continued on, however, knowing that this possibly meant more to Sirius than it did to him. Sirius had at least known them.

They stopped and both looked down at the inscription.

James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981

Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

It didn't seem real. Harry stared at it, regarding it as though it were a prop from a movie. It was a part of his past that he hadn't expected to confront so soon, and a part of his mind kept insisting that this was just a morning walk around the village. What made it real, finally, was when Sirius produced his wand and conjured a modest bouquet of flowers from its tip. He then kneeled down and placed it tenderly by the headstone. What made it real for Harry, then, was Sirius openly mourning the deceased in the bare daylight, weeping for his childhood friends who—Harry realised when he looked at the dates—were barely in their twenties when they were taken. Watching Sirius was what made it all click for him, and he allowed himself to acknowledge just who it was who lay beneath the dirt at their feet. He felt the tears run down his face, but he did not wipe them away.

Wordlessly, they left the graveyard and walked to the town centre.

Later, during their lunch in the pub, Sirius spoke candidly with Harry as they sat at a booth, a Muffliato Charm surrounding them to prevent any Muggles from overhearing any unusual conversation.

"We knew straight away that something had happened to them," Sirius said, staring into his pint. "Well… Dumbledore did. He alerted us immediately. Me and Hagrid were first on the scene. We found you still there in your cot, crying, and with that scar fresh on your head. I knew straight away that it was Pettigrew; he was the Secret-Keeper who was supposed to keep them protected. I left Hagrid the motorbike—tweaked it so it could take his size—and went straight after him.

"I wasn't thinking straight, Harry. None of it felt real and none of it mattered at the time. I found him in London the next day and as soon as he saw me he drew his wand and blew up half the street, killing twelve Muggles. It turned out, in the chaos, that he had cut off one of his fingers and transformed into his rat form and took off, leaving me standing there laughing like a maniac. At the time, I thought the fool had killed himself in his haste, and it was the greatest feeling in the world. Of course, then the Ministry arrived and, well… you can imagine how it all looked. They were convinced that I'd killed Pettigrew and all those Muggles, and when the story got out, everyone had assumed that I had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper all along, and that I had betrayed them. My family heritage didn't help the matter as all the Blacks had been vocal supporters of the Dark Lord, so for the Ministry it was an open and shut case. They didn't even give me a trial.

"The rest is history, and more importantly, it is now known history. I am a free man and Pettigrew sits in a cell in Azkaban Prison." He finished his drink and put the glass down loudly on the wooden table. "It all evens out, I suppose."

Harry sat opposite him, holding onto his glass of cola. There was nothing to say. He thought he had known the story, but he had never heard the full details around it. Sirius finished his drink, then got up to order another one.

-x-H-x-

Later that week Harry received an excited letter from Ron saying that they had won the lottery at the Ministry, a total of 700 Galleons, enough for their planned trip to Egypt. It did mean that they would miss Harry's approaching birthday by a week, but Molly had thought of that and had arranged with Sirius an early surprise lunch feast. The Friday before the Weasleys were due to leave, they had all arrived through the lounge fireplace via the Floo Network to celebrate Harry's birthday. It had all gone to plan and had been a tremendous surprise for Harry who couldn't stop smiling as he ate an enormous feast in the kitchen with them all.

He had never had a proper birthday before.

After lunch, Molly brought out a large chocolate cake poked with thirteen candles and they all sang Happy Birthday at the top of their lungs, the twins holding their notes the longest as they tried to outdo each other, both of them becoming red in the face and light-headed by the end.

Once the cake was cut and the pieces shared out, Sirius, smiling cheerily, led Harry and the others to the lounge where there were several wrapped presents sitting for him, one of them quite large. Harry could only stare in amazement at the size of the thing. As he opened it, it was the Weasleys' turn to look on in amazement, for the gift was not one that they would ever have conceived of.

Harry opened the biggest one first, which turned out to be a large tube television with a built-in VCH underneath the grey, protruding screen.

"Sirius, what—"

"Just open the rest, Harry."

The next present contained a brand-new Super Nintendo Entertainment System. The light-grey rectangular console came with two controllers with long cords wrapped up neatly in twist ties, and in the next present were two games: Super Mario Kart and Mortal Kombat. Harry couldn't believe it. After years of watching Dudley abuse and disregard his own gaming consoles and gloat as he never gave Harry a turn, he now had his very own to use and to cherish. Ever since he had found out that he was a wizard, Harry never thought that the Muggle world would still have any kind of hold on him.

"Do you like it, Harry?" asked Sirius, almost laughing at the look on Harry's face.

"I… yeah!"

The excitement and wonder waned over the next hour as they tried to set everything up. The twins watched on, baffled at the complicated contraptions that Muggles put themselves through to entertain themselves, while Molly, Ginny, and Percy went back to the kitchen for tea. Harry and Ron looked over the game packaging again and again while Sirius and Arthur climbed all over the heavy television as they tried to make sense of the wiring at the back. "Wait, it needs electricity?!" grunted Sirius, half-hidden behind the television. Arthur remained unflappable, enjoying every moment.

It was arranged that Ron would stay the night for a sleepover like the ones Harry had heard about but never got to experience when he was younger, and Sirius had gone out of his way to do everything the Muggle way. Once the evening drew on and the other Weasleys said their goodbyes, leaving through the fireplace in a flash of green flames, Sirius took the two boys into town to rent some movies for the night: Back to the Future and The Thing.

Later, back at the cottage, Harry and Ron set themselves up in the lounge on the floor on some beanbags that Sirius had conjured, with bowls of crisps and bottles of fizzy drink scattered about them. The television screen glowed brightly once it had taken a moment to warm up after being switched on, and the menu screen for Mario Kart signaled the beginning of a long, memorable night. The boys sat comfortably in their beanbags, controllers in their hands, the long cords stretched out across the floor as they played. Their eyes never left the screen.

"Heard from Hermione?" asked Harry, mashing his controller.

"Yeah. She's off in France somewhere—OH MERLIN'S SOCKS!" shouted Ron as his character fell off Rainbow Road again. He grabbed a handful of crisps and ate them grumpily. "So, um… what do you think of her, anyway?"

"Who?"

"Hermione."

"What do I think of her?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Like… do you think—OH BOLLOCKS!"

Harry laughed. "Do you want to play the other one?"

"Fine," said Ron, pouring himself a fizzy drink as Harry stood to change the game cartridges. He sat back down as Mortal Kombat loaded up and the boys selected their characters.

"So yeah…" resumed Ron, almost embarrassed about what he wanted to ask, but secure in his certainty that the conversation would not leave this cottage. "Do you think Hermione's… cute?"

"Hermione?" asked Harry, not looking away from the characters flailing about on the screen.

"Yeah."

"Do I think she's cute?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Well?!"

"Nah," said Harry, simply.

"Why not? What's wrong with her?" said Ron, almost panicky.

"Not my type. I think I prefer redheads, myself."

"What?"

"Nothing." He sipped his drink. "You like Hermione, then?"

Ron's silence spoke volumes and all that could be heard was the quickly annoying sounds of the on-screen fighters hya-ing every second as they threw a hit.

Sirius stepped into the room with a pizza menu and a pen. "Right, boys. Circle what you want, and I'll go in and get it. No need to be shy with it, either. It's not every day Harry turns thirteen."

"It's not my birthday, yet."

"Oh, yeah."

They went over the menu and circled their pizzas, then handed it back to Sirius. "Won't be long," he said. "Don't burn the place down while I'm gone."

"We'll be sure to wait 'til you're back," said Harry.

"Good lad," said Sirius before turning to leave. They heard the front door click shut and resumed their gaming.

"So, yeah…" said Harry once he was sure that they were alone. "Sirius took me to the old cottage the other day. And to my parents' grave."

"Oh, man," said Ron, not quite sure what to say, and not quite sure of what the visit had meant to Harry. "How did that go?"

"It was interesting. Like, I already knew the story of what happened, but I'd never really thought about it all that much. It was just a thing that happened before I could remember it. But actually seeing it—the blown-out roof, the old ruins, and how nothing had been touched since that night—made it all real for me. It hit Sirius pretty hard, which makes sense. He actually remembers it.

"Then we went to their grave and put some flowers down, and after that we went to the pub for lunch, and he told me all these stories. There were four of them, all best friends, and by their fifth year they were all Animagi."

"Four of them?"

"Yeah. They called themselves the Marauders, or something like that."

"Wait, and they could all transform themselves into animals by fifth year? That's crazy!"

"I know! He said that dad could turn into a stag. Sirius can turn into a big black dog, but I don't think he's registered, so better not go around mentioning it. That Pettigrew guy could turn into a rat, as you know."

"Yeah, that still grosses me out," said Ron, shifting in his beanbag. "To think Scabbers was actually some gross fat guy this whole time. He slept with me in my bed!" He shuddered at the thought. "So who was the fourth guy? What could he turn into?"

"His name was Romulus, I think, and Sirius said he could turn into a wolf or something. I dunno. He was pretty drunk by then and wasn't all that clear."

"So why did they all become Animagi?"

"Just to see if they could, I think. He hasn't really mentioned it since."

"Bloody hell… I wonder if we can become Animagi—WOAH! How did you do that?!" said Ron, pointing at the screen.

"What?"

"How did you make your guy shoot that fireball?"

"Oh. I'm not sure. I was just pushing buttons."

Sirius returned not long after carrying a stack of pizzas. They all got themselves settled into their seats after fumbling with how to insert the Back to the Future cassette into the VCR ("No, the holes face downwards," said Harry as Sirius determinedly tried to force it in). As the video played through a series of movie previews, Sirius got up and returned with a bottle of Firewhisky.

"Birthday drinks," he said, pouring it into their cups. "It's not every day Harry turns thirteen."

"It's still not my birthday, yet."

"Do you want the drink or not?" He then turned to Ron. "And not a word to your mother."

They raised their drinks, and each took a swig at the same time. Both boys coughed and spluttered while Sirius downed his drink with only a slight grimace as the hot liquor burned his throat. He then laughed at the other two and then filled their cups with fizzy drink, mixing them down. "Now you boys sip those, okay? Take your time with them."

They watched the movie happily, and Harry wondered if Sirius would be showing up one day in a DeLorean for him to modify and tinker with. They then put on The Thing and watched it silently, enjoying the tension. The mood soured, however, as the scenes that played out began to mirror too closely Harry's own experiences at Hogwarts the previous year, and he had to get up and leave. The change had happened suddenly. He was watching the main character attack the shape-shifting monster with a flame-thrower, and the next moment he was back in the Chamber of Secrets with Dumbledore, casting flames at the recently-molted Xenomorph Queen. Sirius picked up on the change immediately and hastened to stop the movie while Ron looked at him, bewildered before quickly understanding.

"Right," said Sirius standing, looking at them both carefully. "No more of that, then." Unsure of what to do, he picked up the Firewhisky and poured it into their cups. "Here's a nightcap to help you both sleep."

Wordlessly and with false merriment, they each swigged their shots, downing them with less theatrics than the first time. Keeping the drink down gave the boys something else to focus on as they got ready for bed, though their heads were swirling more and more as their first shots worked them over, and they knew that the second ones were going to catch up to them quickly.

They entered Harry's room and threw themselves onto their beds, Ron's being an exact copy of Harry's which Sirius had conjured earlier and placed in the opposite corner. They laid on their beds, staring at the ceiling, their eyes struggling to follow the perceived tilting movement of the room.

"Are you excited about going to Egypt tomorrow?" asked Harry, almost jealous that he wasn't going with him.

"Oh, yeah! Definitely! I'll take the Floo home tomorrow morning then we'll all go together to Bill's. I'll get you something for your birthday."

"And something for Hermione, too, I bet."

"Shut up," said Ron quickly, though Harry could hear the smile in his words.

They talked for ages about nothing in particular and eventually drifted off to sleep. Later, Harry got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen and heard familiar sounds. As he crept through the kitchen, he saw faint colours flickering from the lounge and saw the dark, still figure of Sirius leaning forwards on the couch, playing the Nintendo. Sirius suddenly flung his arms up in exasperation, cursing to himself quietly, and Harry saw on the screen the image of Mario falling from Rainbow Road.

Harry smiled and wondered how many times that had already happened.