It was a few days before Lyra broached the subject with Charlie, and so when she did it was as much a surprise to him as it was to her, as she had anticipated asking him to accompany her over dinner, or face to face. Instead, when she asked they were both at his flat, lying on his sofa together. Lyra's back was pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped around her, her head on his other arm, as they both studied the fire that lit the room.
It's crackling and popping mesmerised Lyra, who then finally spoke.
"Charlie?" She asked. She heard a "hmm?" In response as his fingers played with her hair, and she smiled into the room.
"Do you want to come with me to visit mum and dad tomorrow?" She felt his fingers still, and Lyra's heart sped up nervously as she waited for him to speak. Eventually, he spoke, his voice coming out in a whisper.
"I'd be honoured."
Lyra leant against her fiancé, feeling so utterly grateful that he was willing to spend a day with her in the graveyard of Godric's Hollow. Charlie meanwhile, lying behind Lyra's field of vision, studied the crackling flames with his eyes prickling traitorously. He had gone, once, long ago, to visit Godric's Hollow and see the site where it had happened. To see where Voldemort had been vanquished, to see the famous statue of James and Lily Potter and their heroic little daughter. But that had been years ago, long before Lyra had become a girl, a human, an adored member of their family, that time oh so long ago when she had just been a valiant heroine, a legend woven through dark rooms to send little children to sleep. His parents had taken him when Ron and Ginny were still toddlers, and so Bill and Charlie were both in the younger years of Hogwarts at the time. It seemed so long ago, because now he had been out of Hogwarts for ten years, and this little heroine so admired was now his friend, his best friend, his fiancée.
As the couple dozed in front of the fire, he contemplated the next day. He'd finally get to meet his parents in law. His dead parents in law. To be trusted with such a monumental part of Lyra's life.. His lips quirked upwards. Even though they were going to be married, he still felt so incredibly honoured and surprised that she loved him. That she wanted him to be a part of this.
The next day dawned with a crisp, clear blue sky, and as the sun rose above the ancient village nestled into the hills of the West Country, a couple stood upon the hill above and looked down on the place where it all started.
As they slowly entered the village, trod upon the ancient lanes and wended their way to the cottage where Lyra's life had begun, and her childhood had ended, Charlie looked down at her face, and seeing the stoic look in her eyes, he linked their fingers and gently squeezed her hand.
As they gazed upon the old war monument, and watched it shift, gently, into an image of Lily, James and Lyra, of the family that had been torn so long ago, Charlie couldn't help but be very conscious of the silence emanating from the witch at his side.
"Are you ok?" He murmured, concern for her etched into his face. The grip on his hand tightened, and Lyra nodded. They moved forward, past the statue, and on to the cottage where it happened. They had agreed together, that it was better for her to see that first, then go on to their graves.
The little cottage that had belonged to Lyra's parents was still as rundown as it had been when Lyra had last seen it, with Hermione by her side. Ivy climbed the walls, glass dirtied with years of grime. Sirius hadn't been able to face it when they had come together, and Remus hadn't wanted to either. He had been before, and it had broken his heart. So Lyra had never before been inside the cottage since she had left it the night her parents died.
Today, with Charlie, was the first time.
She placed her hand tentatively upon the little wooden gate, smiling as the graffitied sign sprung up. Nobody had been allowed to enter the old house since that night, but Lyra, as her parents daughter, was able to get past the boundary with no difficulty, leading Charlie in by their still linked hands.
The garden, though overgrown, had obviously once been tended to. Rose bushes lined the path, leading the couple to the door. The grey stone that covered the house was aged, with moss growing within the crevices. The roof was gentle, the gaping hole in one corner a stark contrast to the rest of the cottage. The white door opened easily, as if it had been charmed, as if it recognised Lyra and welcomed her home after her long absence.
Inside, it was as it had been the night that they had died. The small sitting room was open and friendly, wood still piled in the fireplace, the mantelpiece filled with small pictures of friends and family. Many, Lyra hadn't seen before, so with Charlie supporting her they stepped closer as she looked greedily upon these snapshots of her parents life. Proof, proof, that they had lived, that they had loved her. Even though Sirius and Remus told her so every day, there was always a tiny part of her, the part that had grown up with the Dursleys, the part that did not know her mum and dad, that doubted it.
Eventually, once she had feasted upon memories, they moved away and explored the rest of the little cottage. The kitchen was roomier than it had looked from the outside, with wooden cabinets and a small table with a little high chair with; and they both laughed; little snitches covering the cushion upon it.
Upstairs, the floorboards creaked as the duo explored, peeking into a room that had a photo of Lyra by the bed, but otherwise was impersonal. They assumed it was her parents room, and were surprised at how plain it seemed, how simple, compared to the rooms downstairs that were so obviously filled with love.
Upon opening the wardrobe, they realised their mistake. Inside were clothes that were unmistakably Sirius', with a leather jacket, and some pyjamas as well. Lyra had forgotten that Remus had told her that Sirius had stayed so often that Lily had given up and made their small guest room his.
Across the hall was a larger room, with a double bed underneath the beams. There was a wardrobe, filled with summer dresses, muggle clothes and wizards robes, and on shelves were more photos of Lyra. Charlie quickly placed them into a bag he had brought for this purpose. He had seen the tears gathering behind Lyra's eyes and knew that they would not be able to return to this room once they left, not this time anyway.
Together, they stepped into the last bedroom. Lyra's nursery. It's creamy walls reflected the light - more now that half the ceiling had exploded. Lyra ran her finger delicately along the rim of the cot, her mother, her father, they had touched this. She gave way to tears, the first of many, and buried her face into Charlie's chest, shaking with the sobs she had held back for so long. She couldn't remember them past their dying words, but she missed them.
Once her tears had dried, Charlie's arm found it's way around her waist and together they made their way downstairs, pausing only to gather the photos that Lyra wanted to take with her.
Finally, finally, they were done. Charlie knew they would come back, they would never be able to stay away now that she had returned, but it was time now to leave because next was their graves.