Chapter One Hundred and Twelve - Godric's Hollow

Clouds hung low and thick across the sky, sending a shower of snow that piled on the rooftops, causing the whole village to look like frosted gingerbread houses. The picturesque effect would be complete come nightfall, when the crisscrossing strands of Christmas lights, still strung from the recent holiday, would illuminate the streets. But for now, the sun shone from behind the clouds, its bolts of light breaking through the gray curtain in irregular intervals.

Harry stood in one of these shafts of sunlight, oblivious to the feeble warmth it gave him, as he stared at a single headstone. It was made of white marble. The words, cut deeply into the stone, were sharp and easy to read:

James Potter - Born 27 March 1960 - Died 31 October 1981

Lily Potter - Born 30 January 1960 - Died 31 October 1981

The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed Is Death

Harry read the words over and over again, as if committing them to memory. He wondered who had chosen the epitaph, and what the message meant to them.

"Why haven't I been here before?" he asked aloud.

Sirius was with him, standing only a short distance away. He seemed to be waiting for this invitation to speak. Stepping forward, he placed a wreath at the grave, then stood back at Harry's side.

"I wanted to," he said, "But it never felt like the right time. And now, after what happened to Arthur… I wanted to make sure I brought you here before… I wanted to be here with you."

Harry noticed the hesitation in his voice, the pauses as he rephrased his statement. He turned to his godfather with concern.

"You'd tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn't you?" he asked pointedly.

Again Sirius hesitated, and Harry's mind instantly plunged into a flood of worst-case scenarios.

"Are you sick? Was it the locket? It was, wasn't it? The healers at St. Mungo's said it could have been cursed, right? Does that mean…"

"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed, halting the torrent of his anxiety with a placating tone, "It's not like that, it's just… In times like these, it's hard to know what may happen next."

Harry wasn't fully satisfied with this response. He still felt that there was something his godfather hadn't told him. But Sirius beckoned him forward, saying, "Come on, there's more that I want you to see."

Harry cast a final look at the headstone. It felt strange being so close, yet so far from his parents. Turning away, he followed Sirius past the small churchyard gate and into the town square. It was lined with small shops, a post office, and a pub. In the center sat what Harry took for a war memorial. Harry wasn't sure what Sirius wanted him to see next. The square looked like any other in English villages across the country. He was busily staring at his feet, watching his steps to avoid slick patches of impacted snow, when Sirius spoke to him again.

"Harry, look."

He looked, and gasped when he saw that the war memorial had shifted. Instead of a dark obelisk covered with names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with a kind, pretty face, and a baby nestling in his mother's arms.

"This was one of the first places I visited after I left Azkaban," Sirius explained as Harry drew closer, "I felt like I had to see it again, but I never imagined there would be a statue. It's a good likeness. I thought you'd want to see."

Harry looked into the statue's faces. The baby boy had no lightning shaped scar, as he did, but the man and the woman looked similar to the photographs he had seen. He thought of the gravestone again, and was suddenly struck with the realization of how young his parents had been when they died.

Then he thought of how his life would be different if they had survived. They would be about the same age as Sirius now. He and Remus would have dropped in at odd hours to visit. Perhaps he would have had siblings by now. Blaise and Millie would have come to visit his house during their holidays, and his mother could have swapped beauty tips with Mrs. Zabini. In fact, he could picture the two of them as close friends, perhaps even more so than Mrs. Zabini and Mrs. Malfoy.

"Is the house still here?" he asked suddenly.

He could tell from Sirius's silence that he had guessed correctly, though he couldn't understand why, after showing him the gravestone and the statue, he would want to stop now.

"Please," Harry begged, "I want to see it."

Without a word, Sirius guided Harry down another street flanked by cottages. His steps were sure and steady, as if he had walked the path many times before. Harry hurried after him, keeping his eyes on his back, as if afraid of seeing the house from a distance.

Then the house was before him. The Fidelius charm his parents had used to hide themselves from Voldemort must have died with them. Most of the cottage was still standing, though it was entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart. Harry stared at it in awe, sure that this was where the killing curse had backfired, though he'd never realized what force that spell could produce.

Harry and Sirius stopped at the gate, where the hedge had grown wild over fourteen years of neglect. Harry's next words were spoken in a whisper, as if here, and not at the cemetery, did he risk disturbing the dead.

"They never rebuilt it?"

Sirius shook his head, "The damage was caused by dark magic. Call it superstition, but even if it could be repaired, no one would dare enter after…"

His words ended abruptly. Harry glanced into his face, and saw that standing outside his parents' former home had a stronger impact on Sirius than even himself. Harry could only mourn for the parents he never knew and a future that was robbed from him. Sirius was mourning for two of his oldest and dearest friends.

Harry felt guilty for forcing him to come. He was about to recommend heading back to the square, when his hand, happening to rest on the gate, caused a sign to rise out of the ground in front of them.

In golden letters upon the wood, it said:

On this spot, on the 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.

All around the neatly lettered words, though careful not to disturb them, were scribbles from other witches and wizards who had stood in that same spot before. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink, while others had left messages. Harry paused as his eyes caught phrases like "Long Live Harry Potter!" and "Blessed Be the Boy Who Lived."

It was strange. He knew he was famous in the magical world, but he'd always considered it a macabre sort of fame. He thought people were only interested in him as a sort of side-show performer, something to be gawked at and pitied. But the people who left these messages must have felt that he stood for something. That his parents' sacrifice mattered. It filled him with a sort of pride. Not in himself, of course, but in his parents. He was no longer sorry that he'd asked to come.

"I thought I'd find the two of you here," called a familiar voice from the end of the lane. Harry turned, not surprised to see a heavily muffled Remus trudging toward them through the snow. He had excused himself before they'd even entered the graveyard, citing some unknown errand he needed to attend to. Harry had assumed that he wanted to give Harry and Sirius some privacy, or that he simply wasn't able to confront James and Lily's graves himself.

To his surprise, Remus said to Sirius, "He's here. He's waiting for us at the pub."

Sirius looked resigned, but far from pleased.

"Fine," he said, "Let's get this over with."

They had not mentioned meeting anyone when they both proposed this trip to Harry. Despite the number of surprises he'd had that day, Harry was still intrigued by one more. He wondered if they were going to see an old friend of the family, though Sirius's attitude suggested just the opposite. Perhaps it was a local, some previous neighbor of his parents who could tell him more about what they were like. Then Harry remembered the Fidelius Charm. Since their location had been kept secret, this option seemed unlikely.

Sirius's stony silence did not encourage questions, and Harry was left to muse over his theories as they made their way back to the square, past the statues in the center, and into the small pub. It didn't take long to see why Sirius was so prickly. Snape sat in one corner, a hooded cloak pulled over his head, but not quite concealing his hooked nose or long, greasy hair.

Godric's Hollow was one of several villages containing a large number of wizarding families mixed in among the Muggles. Snape's cloak was therefore not entirely out-of-place, as even the non-magic patrons seemed used to the quaint habits of their eccentric neighbors. Remus was even able to order them a few butterbeers from the bar without raising a single eyebrow.

Snape did not touch the drink that was politely pushed toward him. He was busy staring out the frosted window next to their table, his jaw clenched as he avoided Sirius's gaze.

It was obvious that nobody wanted to be the first to start a conversation, so Harry took the open seat across from Snape and announced, "I wish I could say this is a pleasant surprise."

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched. He glanced at Harry for a moment, but then his gaze was inadvertently drawn to the man at Harry's side, and he frowned again, returning his gaze to the window.

"And I wish we had picked anywhere else for this meeting," he replied sardonically, "Yet here we are…"

"Sirius and I wanted to bring Harry here before he returned to Hogwarts," Remus explained, taking the open seat next to Snape, "It was as good an excuse as any to meet you without raising suspicion."

"Are we going to talk all day," Sirius interjected testily, "Or are you going to get on with it?"

Snape's hateful stare locked onto him instantly, and Harry could tell he was merely waiting for an opportunity like this to strike at Sirius. Before he could utter a word, however, Harry said, "I thought we all agreed to work together? You wouldn't be here unless you had some message from Dumbledore, right Sn… Professor?"

Though he continued to glare at Sirius, Snape coolly replied to Harry's question, saying, "The headmaster sent me to tell you that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

Predictably, Harry had no idea what he was talking about. It was fortunate that he had Remus, who stepped in to explain, "Occlumency is the practice of defending the mind against external influences. It's a little known and extremely difficult type of magic, but one in which Severus happens to excel."

He raised his mug of butterbeer to Snape in tribute, to which Sirius scoffed loudly.

Harry caught on quickly after this brief overview, and summarized by saying, "Hang on… So Dumbledore wants you to teach me this… Occlu-thingy?"

"Occlumency," Snape corrected with a touch of derision, "Believe me, I did not volunteer for the job."

"But why do I have to take extra lessons?" Harry asked, "It's not because… Because of Mr. Weasley, is it? Does Dumbledore think I'm possessed or something?"

"The headmaster thinks it's a good idea, and I am not in the habit of questioning him," Snape said flatly. "You are to be in my office at six o'clock Monday evening. If anyone asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. You are not to tell anyone the real reason for your lessons. Least of all Dolores Umbridge. Have I made myself clear?"

Harry nodded, though in his mind, he was adding up the hours between homework, Quidditch practice, and Marauder's meetings. With Occlumency thrown into the mix, there would be little time for sleep.

Snape prepared to leave, but as he rose from his chair, Sirius straightened up and said, "Wait a moment."

Harry saw Remus close his eyes, already exasperated, as Snape turned toward Sirius with a sneer, his eyes lit with fire at the opening of this confrontation.

"You'd better not use these lessons as an excuse to give Harry a hard time."

"And what if I do? What are you going to do about it?"

"I think you know. You'll have me to answer to if anything happens to Harry."

"Oh my god…" Remus breathed quietly, putting his face in one of his hands.

Neither Sirius nor Snape appeared to hear him. Snape was still glaring at Sirius, his lip curling as he replied, "Of course… And we all know what you're capable of, don't we? Except perhaps… Oh no, I imagine you haven't told your precious godson. You wouldn't want him to know that you…"

Harry, without knowing what they were talking about, watched in shock as Sirius reached for his wand, heedless of the Muggle patrons in the pub. Whatever Snape was alluding to must have set him off.

Snape, anticipating this, was quick to draw his own wand, as well. But before either of them could do something stupid, Remus had slipped smoothly out of his chair and placed himself between the two men.

"Let it go," he said warningly, his hand gripping the wrist of Sirius's wand hand.

Harry didn't know what to do. His eyes darted around the busy pub, noting every curious face that had turned toward them.

"You should listen to Moony," Snape said tauntingly, "If you'd done more of that when we were young, perhaps Dumbledore wouldn't have let you rot in Azkaban for…"

"Severus!" Remus snarled, raising his voice for the first time.

Sirius was furious now. Harry was sure he'd have forgotten all about his wand and simply driven his fist into Snape's face if given the chance. But as he lunged forward, Remus pushed back against his chest, trying to keep the Potions Master out of reach. Harry, fearing further violence, rose from his seat just as Remus gave Sirius another shove. The collar of Sirius's shirt was pulled roughly aside, and in that instant, Harry saw something terrible. The skin of Sirius's chest, from his neck down, had taken on a blackened appearance. It looked dry and shriveled, as if he'd been seriously burned.

Harry let out an involuntary gasp of horror. Snape seemed to notice the mark as well, for his eyes flickered downard, and his haughty demeanor immediately vanished. Sirius's anger was forgotten as he hastily stepped back, wrapping his loose scarf around his neck one more. But the damage had been done. He couldn't hide what Harry had already seen.

"It's alright," he said unconvincingly, "It's just the mark from when I destroyed that locket. Nothing to worry about."

Harry didn't believe him. He was looking at the tortured expression on Remus's face, the way he averted his gaze, and the way Snape stared at is adversary with something very like pity. He pocketed his wand within the depths of his robes, and withdrew a large flask instead. He placed this on the table and addressed Remus alone as he said, "You'll have run out of the last batch, I believe? Make sure you drink that before the next full moon."

"Thank you," Remus said quietly, his gaze still turned away. Sirius was staring very hard at the floor.

Snape left without saying another word to Harry. Remus, gathering the flask of wolfsbane potion, recommended they take their leave, as well. They had attracted too much attention already.

The trio made their way outdoors, past the statue of Harry's parents in the square, and down a lane that led out of the village. Harry hardly glanced at the stone figures as they walked by. His attention was devoted to Sirius alone, whose hand kept adjusting his scarf, as if afraid of revealing the ominous mark on his chest again.

A scarf wasn't enough to shield him from Harry's concern, however. He soon demanded, "What was that? That mark, Sirius. It looked painful…"

"It doesn't hurt. Really, it's nothing," Sirius insisted.

Harry could tell from the look on Remus's face that Sirius was lying.

"Is it still healing? How long has it been there? Is it a scar?"

"Harry, please…"

"Is it spreading?"

"Harry," said Remus in a quiet voice. They had reached the edge of town. It was the spot they had used to apparate before. Remus was holding out his hand, his wand at the ready. Harry knew this was the cue to depart. Gripping onto Remus, they traveled by Side-Along Apparition, and were transported in a moment to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. Remus ushered Harry inside, but Sirius did not immediately appear behind them. It was as if he was purposely putting off Harry's questions.

Harry was undaunted. He turned his inquiries to Remus instead, who rather guiltily admitted, "The truth is… We still don't know what that locket really was, or what dark magic was used to create it. The mark… it's different from your scar, Harry. And we think… We think it's getting worse."

Harry was horrified.

"Where is Sirius?" he demanded, "We need to take him back to St. Mungo's. He needs to see a doctor or a healer or whatever…"

"He's been to St. Mungo's, Harry. Many times. But the healers are just as lost as we are. And he insists that he feels fine…"

"I am fine."

Harry and Remus both turned. Sirius must have apparated back and slipped through the front door before either of them noticed, for now he stood looking at the pair of them. It was hard to read his expression. Harry wasn't sure if he was sad, disappointed, or angry.

"I'm sorry," Remus said, obviously interpreting his silence for the latter, "I know you didn't want me to say anything to Harry, but…"

Sirius shook his head, dismissing the apology with a tired wave of his hand.

"No, you were right. As usual. It's better if he knows."

Sirius made a slight gesture toward Harry, beckoning him into the empty parlor. The Christmas tree stood there still, its twinkling lights and dancing fairies now dim or asleep. Gone was the festive atmosphere of the previous day. The room, now cold and gray, almost made Harry long for the snow packed streets of Godric's Hollow again.

"I've consulted Dumbledore," Sirius said after taking a moment to gather his thoughts, "It's true that the healers are lost, but they aren't the only ones looking into my condition. I'll find a way to get this under control, Harry. I'm sure of it."

He spoke with confidence, but Harry was still gripped with fear. He was convinced now, more than ever, that he shouldn't return to Hogwarts.

"Can't I say here with you?" he pleaded. "I could help you research. We could talk to Kreacher again, maybe he knows…"

"No, Harry. This is my task."

"But I can help you fight this… Whatever this is that's happening to you!"

Sirius smiled, but he could be stubborn, too. A bit of bitterness crept back into his voice as he said, "You have classes with Snivellus, remember? We each have our jobs, Harry. Yours is to master Occlumency. And much as I dislike Snape, I know Dumbledore is right. You know I'd never admit this if it wasn't true, but he's the best person to teach you."