From the moment he saw him, Neville knew that something had happened to Harry. While the other boy was walking of his own volition, something about his demeanour indicated that not everything was right.
'What the hell happened to you?' he asked his friend.
Harry just gave a non-committal grunt as he ambled past Neville, disappearing into the house.
Minister Bones, who was still there, spoke up, 'There was a bit of an incident in our meeting.' Not giving any further explanation, she turned on her heel and Disapparated.
Wondering what was going on, Neville entered the house, looking for Harry. He found him halfway up the stairs, slowly making his way up to the guest-room.
Concerned, Neville followed him up the stairs and into the guest-room where Harry collapsed on the bed.
'Are you alright, mate?' Neville asked in a concerned voice.
'Headache,' Harry replied succinctly, his voice muffled by the pillow.
'Back's a bit sore too.' He grimaced, as he turned around and sat up, the strained muscles on his back stretching again. He slowly shrugged off his jacket and looked at it critically. There was a huge tea stain at the back and the left elbow was ripped.
'Well, that's a loss,' he said with a minor wince. He had just bought the thing yesterday when Augusta Longbottom had all but dragged him to Harrods. While it was practically the first thing he found there, he liked it nonetheless.
'You want me to call for a healer or something?'
'Nah,' said Harry after considering Neville's suggestion. 'A Muggle healer examined me. He didn't seem to think it was anything serious other than some bruising and a major headache with a lump the size of a Quaffle on the back of my head.' He had enough of seeing those of the medical profession for the day to want any more of that.
'Alright,' said Neville.
The two boys sat there in silence for a moment or two before Neville could no longer contain his curiosity, 'So ... What the hell happened?'
Harry recounted his visit to The Queen and the events that followed afterwards.
'Okay, so let me get this straight,' said Neville when Harry finished. 'You managed to cast a wandless and wordless shield to stop two bullets in their tracks?' At Harry's nod, he continued, 'Fair enough. So why are you all sore and bruised?'
Harry cleared his throat and said something indistinct.
'Sorry? I don't think I quite got that.'
'There was this coffee table behind me and I ... tripped over it. Which is how I hurt my back and head.' said Harry with as much dignity as he could muster.
Neville made an indistinct noise at the back of his throat. 'Who'd have thought? Harry Potter, basilisk slayer, the chosen one, the boy who faced Voldemort three times so far-'
'Actually it's four. I mean, I did face a version of him in second year,' Harry muttered, interrupting Neville.
'Right, the boy who faced Voldemort four times-'
'Although, technically it is five times so far,' Harry interrupted Neville again. Counting his fingers, he said thoughtfully, 'Yeah, the first time when I was one, once in first year, then second year, then fourth and fifth years.'
'Whatever! My point here is that you, who has done so much, and trained so hard, have been taken down by a coffee table!' exclaimed Neville, grinning
'Yeah,' said Harry contemplatively. 'It is weird, isn't it? I tripped over a coffee table! Of course, I would like to think that I would have managed to get back up in time to take the attackers out ... but it does make you think though. No matter how powerful you are, sometimes it is the small things that can get you. After all, look at Voldemort! He was a powerful Dark Lord, that to the most dangerous one in recent times! He was winning then! The man was all but the ruler of Magical Britain at that point! And he was taken down by a mere baby.'
The grin slid off Neville's face at that. 'You sure know how to kill my fun, Potter,' he said with a pout.
'I try,' said Harry grinning wryly. 'Then again, it wasn't that bad an attempt at my first wandless shield. I think I did the best I could under the circumstances. Though, checking my surroundings might have been a good idea.' He winced again, 'I'm really going to feel this the next morning.'
'Wilfred,' called Neville causing the house-elf in question to arrive with a pop. 'Master called?' the elf said looking up at Neville.
'Can you get a phial of headache relieving potion and some bruise salve, please?'
'At once, master.' Saying this, the elf popped out, returning back with the requested items.
'Here, this will help with the headache,' Neville said as he gave Harry the phial. 'And this,' he held the jar, 'will help with your back.'
Harry took the potion and sighed as he felt it working its magic. Opening his eyes, he looked at the jar of salve, considering. It was going to take a lot of arm twisting on his part to get that properly on his back...
'Would you like my help with that?' Neville asked Harry, correctly interpreting the look on his friend's face.
Harry regarded the other boy silently. 'Uh, sure,' he said finally, as he started unbuttoning his shirt. 'I was just thinking how much better it would have been if it were Daphne doing this.' He grinned at his friend as he tossed the shirt aside. Lying face down, he waited for Neville to start.
'Yeah, you have a point there,' Neville chuckled. 'After all, I am kind of wishing that this was Susan I was doing this to, you know.'
'Speaking of which, how are things going on between the two of you?' asked Neville sitting back after applying the salve.
Harry got up and stretched, relishing in the relief as the soreness went away. Settling against the headboard, he replied, 'Things are going along, I guess.' He stared off into space, thinking. 'We aren't madly in love with each other, for one we aren't exactly snogging at the drop of a hat in the nearest cupboard we can find. But yeah, I am beginning to like her a lot. And I think she also feels the same way ... though it is hard to tell. She is a bit, you know...' he trailed off.
'Yeah,' said Neville. 'She is a bit on the quiet side. I remember meeting her back when we were kids, before Hogwarts. She was just as quiet then ... it was almost as if she was off in her own world. To tell you the truth, she has opened up a lot since then.'
Neville's words gave Harry something to think about. Perhaps there was another cause for Daphne's aloofness. After all, nobody is that aloof from the beginning. Daphne sort of reminded him of Luna in a way without that distinct air of dottiness that was around Luna.
Lady Longbottom, who had gone out for the day, returned to the manor in the evening. Over dinner she wasted no time in asking Harry about his meeting. This prompted another retelling of the incident.
'Not bad at all, Harry,' the old woman said, looking at him appraisingly. 'You handled yourself well under the circumstances. It definitely is no mean feat to be able to put up a shield without a wand. However, perhaps the next time you should be a bit more aware of your surroundings.'
Harry respectfully inclined his head silently in deference to her comments.
'And on that note, what were you doing going around without a wand?' Lady Longbottom asked sharply.
'Ah, that reminds me,' Harry said suddenly remembering. 'I sent my wand to Ollivander. There are some modifications that I wanted done to it. He said that it should be ready a little after New Year's. Until then I am without a wand, I'm afraid.' Seeing Lady Longbottom's raised eyebrows, Harry hastened to explain. 'It is a necessity more than anything. I'm getting another core added in.'
'Well, I trust that you have the good sense not to tell all and sundry that you don't have a wand on you right now.' Lady Longbottom said primly. 'It would not be good if the wrong sort heard that you are unarmed and defenceless. Loose lips and all that, you know.'
'Of course not!' Harry said slightly defensively. 'In fact, you are the first person I've told.'
Lady Longbottom gave an approving nod at this. Turning to Neville she said, 'I think tomorrow we can go visit Frank and Alice. It is a bit later than usual, but such things cannot be helped.'
Neville's cheeks flushed at this as he gave a subdued 'OK.'
'Hey, cheer up, Neville,' said Harry before Lady Longbottom could open her mouth, no doubt to reprimand her grandson. 'It could have been worse, I mean, you at least can visit your parents. All I have are photographic representations of other people's memories.' he said slightly bitterly. 'I haven't even been given the opportunity to even see their graves.'
'Why ever not?' said Lady Longbottom, appalled. 'Surely your relatives would have taken you there...'
Harry laughed bitterly. 'My relatives are basically the Muggle version of the Death Eaters in that they hate any and everything to do with magic, including me. My aunt absolutely loathes my mother and anything to do with her. The idea of her taking me to see my mum's grave is laughable! In fact, until my Hogwarts letter came, my "relatives" had me thinking that my parents were drunken layabouts who died in a Muggle car crash since they couldn't control their liquor. Hagrid was the first person who told me the truth, you know.'
The table was silent at this unexpected outburst. Lady Longbottom cleared her throat, 'And what of your Magical guardian? I know for a fact that all Muggle-raised students are assigned one.'
Harry snorted, 'Who, Albus Dumbledore? Please! It was only in the October of my first year that I found out where my parents were buried, and that too, from a library book! Dumbledore did not see it fit to tell me that I had a magical guardian much less that it was him! If I hadn't spoken to my account manager at Gringotts this summer, I would still be ignorant of that fact. If he cannot deign to tell me that, what hope is there of him taking me to see their graves?' Harry's voice by this time was fairly shaking with suppressed rage. Breathing deeply to get his voice under control, he continued. 'At any rate, I don't really care anymore. Now that I am finally out from under his thumb, I am free to do as I please. The minute school lets out for the summer I plan on seeking the place out. Dumbledore can go hang for all I care.'
'Well, there is no need for that,' said Lady Longbottom into the silence. 'No, you do not need to wait for the summer to do that as I shall be taking you there tomorrow myself ... After we visit Frank and Alice of course.'
Taken aback at this offer, Harry said awkwardly, 'I don't want to put you through any trouble, ma'am.'
'No it's fine,' the formidable woman replied with a wave. 'I want to visit my godson's grave anyway. It has been far too long. I think it is appropriate to take you along as he is your father as well.'
'I – thank you,' Harry replied in a slightly choked voice. 'I had no idea that you were my father's godmother.'
'Yes I was,' said Lady Longbottom with a reminiscent look on her face. 'He was quite a happy little boy. He and Frank were quite close. Not as close as James was with Sirius, but that is understandable since Frank was two years older ... I ... wish that I hadn't lost touch with James later on in his life ...' she trailed off, a faraway look in her eyes. Quickly recovering, she cleared her throat, 'Well, looks like we have quite a day ahead of us tomorrow.'
Once they retired for the night, Harry quietly extracted the photograph album Hagrid had given him so long ago. Sitting up on his bed, he perused the old pictures of his parents, smiling and waving up at him from the images, which were all he had left of them now. He was about to go home, about to return to the place where he had had a family. It was in Godric's Hollow that, but for Voldemort, he would have grown up and spent every school holiday. He could have invited friends to his house. … He might even have had broth ers and sisters. … It would have been his mother who had made his seventeenth birthday cake when he came of age. The life he had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him.
After having a quick breakfast, Harry and the Longbottoms had gone to St Mungo's to visit Neville's parents. After spending a few awkward minutes talking to the unresponsive couple, he was left alone in the permanent ward, in the company of the remaining patients, of which he had a relationship with two, seeing as he was in one way or another responsible for them ending up in there; his comatose fifth year Defence teacher, and his addled second year Defence teacher. Now if only his sixth year Defence teacher were to join them...
After the Longbottoms were done, the three of them had lunch in an upscale restaurant which was cleverly hidden away in another building a few blocks away from St Mungo's. Jittery with excitement, Harry barely paid attention to what he was having or to his surroundings.
By late afternoon, they appeared on a lonely road. The wind howled loudly, carrying soft flakes of snow. Even though it was late afternoon, the road was deserted as the people in the village preferred to stay inside, away from the howling winds and the cold swirling snow, a mug or glass of their preferred drink in hand as they sat in front of their fireplaces, wrapped up in their blankets as they glanced out of their fogged windows into the bitter cold and the falling snow as darkness quickly stole over the land.
Because of this, nobody noticed when three figures appeared suddenly with what would have been a resounding pop had the wind not masked the sound.
Pocketing the Portkey that brought them there, Lady Longbottom led her grandson and his friend down the road and into the village of Godric's Hollow.
As he followed the Longbottoms into the village, Harry looked at his surroundings. Cot tages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations still twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden street lamps indicated the centre of the village.
They made their way forward unhampered, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages: Any one of them might have been the one in which James and Lily had once lived. Harry gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches, wondering whether he remembered any of them, knowing deep inside that it was impossible, that he had been little more than a year old when he had left this place forever. Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.
Strung all around with coloured lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.
The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were criss-crossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by street lamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed.
'I think you might want to have a look at this,' said Neville as they neared the war memorial.
'What?' asked Harry curiously, tearing his eyes away from the little church and the graveyard where he was sure his parents would be resting. Seeing Neville and Lady Longbottom near the war memorial, Harry stepped forward, inhaling sharply when he neared the structure.
Before his very eyes, the memorial transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sit ting in his mother's arms. Snow lay upon all their heads, like fluffy white caps.
Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents' faces. He had never imagined that there would be a statue. … How strange it was to see himself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on his forehead. …
'Gran brought me here when I was little,' said Neville softly. 'I vaguely remember the place.' He explained as he looked at the church. 'Did you know that Godric Gryffindor is said to have come from here?'
Harry did know. Salazar had met a young Godric Gryffindor in this village.
After returning from his journey, Salazar had not wasted any time killing every Muggle in the village where his family had been killed. The detailed account of what he had done was disturbing at the least. However, Harry could not help but be impressed by what Salazar had thought up with.
After all, encasing the bodies of your slain victims in stone immediately afterwards and then using those statues as the defences of your castle is pretty devious by itself. Then to do it to those who were directly responsible while they were still alive was even more devious. The bodies would never age, nor decompose, thanks to the stone and the magic. Harry wondered how long it took for the live victims to succumb.
Once he had his castle under construction, Salazar had gone in search of an apprentice. This was how he met Godric in this very village. While he was impressed with the young man's cunning in buying a goblin-made sword in his family's name (thereby ensuring that it would pass down to his heirs) and his intelligence, Salazar was less impressed by the man's brashness and love of combat, his policy of sticking his sword into things and finally his moral compass, calling him a "naive, brash and deluded fool with an unrealistic view of the world."
Frankly, Harry reflected as they approached the church, he didn't much care for that.
Pushing open the kissing gate at the entrance of the graveyard, Harry walked in slowly, followed by the Longbottoms. The snow on either side of the slippery path up to the church doors was deep and untouched. Augusta Longbottom waved her wand, parting the snow in front of her and creating a pathway the three of them could navigate without any difficulty as they walked around the building.
Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow. Harry moved toward the nearest grave.
'Look at this, it's an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah's!'
'Indeed, Harry,' said Lady Longbottom. 'Many old families had started out from this village. As a result, some have kept up the tradition of interring their dead in the graveyard here. The more affluent families do have their own private graveyards.' She paused for a moment as she parted more snow in front of them. 'Your parents would have been buried in the private graveyard near your family's ancestral home, but with you being the last Potter, the wards made the property inaccessible. This was why they are buried here. That and certain people felt that it would be a good idea if the gravesites of the parents of the Boy Who Lived were accessible to the general wizarding public.' Glancing behind her and noticing the scowl on the boy's face she said, 'I see that the notion does not appeal to you. However, be glad that they have been buried here. It could have been much worse. Your parents could have been encased in crystal sarcophagi and placed somewhere inane like in Diagon Alley or in the Ministry building for all to see.' She sniffed derisively. 'Here, they are in the company of quite a few icons and luminaries of our world. For example, Bowman Wright is buried here!'
'I suppose you have a point,' Harry said grudgingly.
After a moment of silence, where she intently studied the young man in front of her, she spoke up, 'If you wish it, you can have your parents' remains moved to the family graveyard later on. Nobody can stop you from doing that.'
Harry considered this suggestion. The notion of moving his parents' remains hadn't occurred to him until now. He could do it. He could also put in a marker for Sirius while he was at it. Perhaps, he could bury Sirius' old clothes and the like in place of the body. That would sort of reunite them. Harry could see it now: a large gravestone with his parents' names as the remains of the three of them lay side by side. 'Thanks,' he finally said as he smiled at the old woman. 'I think I might like that.'
Lady Longbottom smiled back, 'Now I do believe that your parents' graves are located a bit further in. So if you will follow me...' With that she set off again, the boys following in her wake.
They stopped a few feet farther as Lady Longbottom squinted around, her lit wand held aloft. 'I think we may need to split up. It has been quite a while since I last came here. And the light and snow aren't helping.'
With that, she set off walking ahead as Harry and Neville headed off in opposite directions. As Harry walked among the tombstones peering at each and every one for his parents' names, he stumbled upon a headstone with the words Kendra Dumbledore written on it and, a short way below her dates of birth and death, and her Daughter Ariana.
Harry read the quotation written below it with unseeing eyes. He could not help thinking that he and Dumbledore both had deep roots in this graveyard. From the dates written there, it was easy to deduce that Kendra was the headmaster's mother making Ariana his sister. He had a connexion of sorts to Dumbledore. They could have visited the place together; for a moment Harry imagined coming here with Dumbledore, of what a bond that would have been, of how much it would have meant to him. But it seemed that to Dumbledore, the fact that their families lay side by side in the same graveyard had been an unimportant coincidence, even irrelevant. Even if that wasn't the case, was it not Dumbledore's duty to at least take him here? He was Harry's guardian for Merlin's sake!
He was brought out of his musings by Neville calling him. 'Yeah?' he said as he approached the blond boy who had bent back down to examine the stone.
'I think that this is one of your ancestors, Harry.' Neville said as he brushed the snow off the ancient looking headstone. 'I really can't tell with the light.'
'Allow me,' said Lady Longbottom, who had also heard Neville and had come over. She raised her lit wand over the mossy headstone. 'No it's not Potter.' she finally said, squinting at the name. Making an irritated sound she waved her wand making the lichen vanish, revealing the name. 'Ignotus Peverell ... If I am not mistaken, the last Peverell married a Potter in the sixteen hundreds. The family has been long since extinct.'
They spent a moment looking at the marker before setting off again in search of James and Lily Potter's gravesite, Harry slowly made his way to the gravesite of Dumbledore's family, looking at the headstones along the way. Every now and then, he came across a surname that he recognised, having heard of them at Hogwarts.
And then he finally found it. The headstone was only a few rows behind Kendra and Ariana's. It was made of white marble which made it easy to read as the tombstone seemed to shine in the dark highlighting the words engraved in it.
Not caring that he had come with two other people who were at this moment searching the graveyard for the very thing he had now found, Harry read the words on the tombstone slowly, as though he would have only one chance to take in their meaning, and he read the last of them aloud.
'"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death"…' He frowned at this sentence. What did that sentence mean, anyway? The only way to defeat death is to live, and they were not living. They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents' mouldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face; and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.
A small noise behind him alerted Harry of the presence of the Longbottoms, who he noticed were standing a bit away, giving him his privacy. Taking deep breaths of air, Harry slowly regained his composure. Surreptitiously wiping his eyes, he took a step back, wishing that he had at least had the foresight to bring something with him to put on their graves.
Before Harry could turn, Lady Longbottom stepped forward and waving her wand, placed a wreath of roses on the grave.
Nodding at her, Harry turned around and, with the Longbottoms, started making his way back to the kissing gate. For some reason, he couldn't stand another minute there.
As they exited the graveyard, Harry turned to the old woman. 'Lady Longbottom is ... is it alright if we could see the house where ... it happened?'
'Of course we can, young man, there is no need to ask,' the woman answered briskly, patting the teen's shoulder. 'I was planning on taking you there anyway, if you were up to it of course.' Seeing Harry nod, she continued, 'Well then, this way if you please.'
Harry and Neville followed Lady Longbottom past the pub, which was fuller than before and down a dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. Harry could make out the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again. With minute waves of her wand, Lady Longbottom cleared the path in front of them of the impacted snow making the path less slippery. Finally Harry saw it; at the very end of this row of houses, there was a dark mass. Harry sped up, overtaking Lady Longbottom as he approached the place where his family had been torn apart and his world had changed forever.
The Fidelius Charm had died with James and Lily. The hedge had grown wild in the fifteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Harry was sure, was where the curse had backfired. He stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.
From the folder from Gringotts, Harry knew that while he owned the property, it was in name only, as the house had been converted into a monument to his parents by The Historic Building and Monuments Commission for Magical Britain upon the consent of Albus Dumbledore. The Commission had decided to leave the building in its current state as a tribute to the Potters. Normally Harry would not have liked this, but he knew for a fact that the house had been a seventeenth birthday gift from his paternal grandfather to James Potter. His parents had lived there for a total of three years, and he had lived there for one year he barely remembered. So realistically, the house had no connexion to Harry other than it being the place where his parents had died leaving him the sole survivor. It might as well have been a hotel room or a rented cottage for all Harry cared. The Commission had taken care to remove and store all personal items found in the house in the family vault, making the house that much less personal. Of course, even if Harry wanted the house, he really couldn't do much anyway as the site had been given by his magical guardian legally. To get it back would involve time, money and effort that, as his account manager had told him, could probably be used to build another house just like it.
The small percentage that Harry received from the admission charges for the tours (which were open from spring to autumn) as the owner of the property, tax free, did help any lingering feelings of discontent he might have felt. So when he looked at the whole thing logically, the property was more useful as a monument than a privately owned house.
He grasped the snowy and thickly rusted gate, not wishing to open it, but simply to hold some part of the house. At his touch, a sign rose out of the ground in front of him and the Longbottoms who had finally caught up with him, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:
On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1988, 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.
And all around these neatly lettered words scribbles and various other magical graffiti had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages. Reading some of them, Harry could not help but be touched by the support that the common witch and wizard showed him. This was proof that the public at large did not blindly believe The Prophet. Harry could see that some of the messages were about a year old.
'Would you like to step inside?' Lady Longbottom asked from behind Harry.
Harry looked at the house for a moment before replying, 'Sure.' He opened the gate. As he was the owner, albeit in name only, the wards surrounding the place recognised him and his companions as he walked in.
Navigating up the path that was now surrounded by overgrown weeds, Harry led the Longbottoms through the doorway; the door itself was no longer there, having been blasted off.
As Harry walked around the house, he was besieged with strange feelings of familiarity, as if this place held memories that he never knew he had only to be brought to the forefront upon seeing the actual location, but nothing more than that. While he did have some memories of his time as a baby, thanks to organising his mind, they were hazy at best. All he could remember of that time was swatches of colour, snippets of sound and vague feelings that were the basics; mainly hunger, sleepiness, happiness and sadness. There were no clear memories of his one year here.
He did manage to recollect his parent's voices though. So he wasn't too disappointed.
They stood for a moment in the nursery where Harry had survived the Killing Curse, observing the room as the wind and snow fought with the wards to be let inside through the remains of the roof. It looked like a bomb site; every surface of the room was blackened. The only area that was relatively untouched was a small cot which was miraculously intact and still standing. Harry guessed that this was where he was when the curse had hit him. The small brass plaque placed on outside of the crib may have helped him make that guess.
As they exited the house and closed the gate, they spied a solitary figure slowly making her way toward them. Immediately, they tensed as Lady Longbottom and Neville brought their wands to bear. Harry also stayed a bit to the side and behind, sorely wishing he had his wand. So far he had only been able to perform the summoning charm, the banishing charm and the shield charm. Hopefully, if it came down to a fight, the assailant wouldn't be expecting a wandless banishing charm. With the slippery ground, it would prove to be quite an advantage.
Squinting in the darkness, Lady Longbottom's eyes widened as she relaxed. Lowering her wand, she waved to the figure calling out, 'Bathilda?! It's been far too long! How are you?'
The figure, an ancient woman, stopped and then after a moment shuffled towards the group which was now headed towards her led by Lady Longbottom.
'Yes?' the old woman asked in a soft voice as her face, so lined with age that it looked cobwebbed looked up, confusion showing in the eyes.
'It's Augusta,' said Neville's Gran.
The eyes lit up in recognition. 'Augusta?! Oh my, it really has been too long! How are you?' the woman's face broke out into a smile. 'Would you like to come in for tea?' she asked expectantly.
'Of course, here let Neville help you with that,' said Lady Longbottom as she gestured at the bags of groceries the old woman was carrying which Neville immediately took, handing one to Harry.
Bathilda's house, although clean, had the distinct odour of old age, something Harry noticed as the tiny old woman, stooped with age, opened the door to let them in.
'Sit down, sit down,' the old woman said in a quivering voice as she waved a wand just as ancient looking as she was, lighting the candles. She took a seat on one of the sofas near the fireplace with a grunt, as she removed the scarf around her neck. Once she was comfortable, she cast a curious eye at the two boys who had joined her in the drawing room after placing the bags on the kitchen counter.
'This is my grandson, Neville, and this is his friend, Harry Potter,' said Augusta Longbottom, speaking slowly to the aged woman. 'Boys, this is Bathilda Bagshot.'
'Frank's boy, eh?' the old woman said as she peered at Neville. 'You look a lot like him. It is nice to meet you finally.' She then focused on Harry. 'And is that little Harry?' she asked with a smile on her face. 'My dear boy, you have grown so much! Come over here so I can have a look at you.' She patted the space next to her.
Harry tentatively walked over to the old woman and sat next to her. Bathilda Bagshot reached out an old, wrinkled hand and cupped his face, peering at him intently. 'Oh little Harry,' she said again with a soft chuckle and a fond smile, patting his cheek. 'You were so tiny the last time I saw you! I still remember how you used to run around in the front garden wearing only your nappies as your mother chased you around trying to get you dressed! You had quite the talent in removing your clothes you know ... Lily always told me that you never did like wearing them much.' She said serenely, completely ignoring the burning face of the teen next to her. 'Why if it weren't for the childproof charms built into your nappies, I think you would have been running around completely starkers.'
'So you knew my mum then?' Harry said trying to change the subject as he fought off the blush on his face. Catching the smirk on Neville's face, he sent the other boy an evil glare.
'Oh definitely, dear,' said Bathilda. 'Why I remember that one time when she went spare when you got that training broom for your first birthday. You were quite a natural. Smashed a vase and nearly killed your mum's cat! Though your father thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen!'
Harry chuckled at this. That explained the vague memory of feeling the wind in his face and the sound of his mother chasing him around as his father was laughing his head off. As he tried to imagine the day, he felt a slight prickling behind his eyes. It was hard to imagine that there was a time when he was happy and had a happy family.
'Oh where are my manners?' Bathilda said rhetorically, 'I suspect you all would like some tea?' she asked her guests. 'Of course you would, who wouldn't in this weather? Here, let me-' she began as she started to heave herself out of the sofa.
'Now, now, Bathilda, there is no need for that.' said Lady Longbottom firmly. 'We do have two young, able-bodied men here. I think they would be more than happy to fix tea for us, wouldn't you, boys?' she asked the two of them. 'Good,' she said without waiting for a response.
Five minutes later, they were all sitting in living room sipping tea with Harry next to Bathilda and opposite Lady Longbottom and Neville. Harry listened idly as the two older women reminisced about days gone by. He still had trouble believing that he was sitting next to the Bathilda Bagshot, author of A History of Magic.
'Um, Professor Bagshot, if you don't mind me asking, who is that in those pictures?' Harry said when it was just the three of them. Lady Longbottom had gone upstairs to freshen up. He had been looking around and had seen a golden-haired, merry faced young man featured in quite a few of the photographs placed on the nearby chest of drawers, especially in the largest and most ornately framed ones.
'Hmm? Please call me Bathilda, dear. I will have none of that Professor Bagshot nonsense. I am so old now that would be the only thing people will be calling me. One does like to hear one's first name now and again. Otherwise, I am afraid I might forget it!' the woman said with another soft chuckle. Turning around, she peered at the chest of drawers where the pictures were kept. With a sad smile she said, 'That is my great – nephew, Gellert.' She wiped some dust off the large photo of the merry-faced young man which Harry had obligingly summoned wandlessly from the chest of drawers and given her. Curious, Neville came over to the sofa to stand behind the old woman.
'Oh,' said Harry. Judging from the tone, he assumed that this Gellert person was dead. 'I'm sorry for your loss.'
'What? Oh dear, no, he isn't dead,' said Bathilda looking up at Harry. 'He's ... been sent away.'
'Sent away?'
'Yes,' the old woman said slowly. 'He's in prison, you see. And it's all because of him.' She spat with sudden venom as she pointed at the image of a person next to Gellert.
Harry studied Gellert's companion; like Gellert, he was also smiling and waving jauntily up at the two of them. He was tall and thin with longish auburn hair and a long straight nose. Harry was sure he had seen this individual somewhere before.
'Him and his nonsense!' the old woman ranted softly, unmindful of her audience. 'Turned Gellert's head, he did! Why, Gellert was such a sweet boy before he met him! Gellert was in love with him. And He turned Gellert's head with delusions of power and grandeur. Now Gellert is in prison and He got away scot free! If I ever meet him again, it won't be too soon!' Her voice trailed off as she began muttering under her breath. Harry managed to pick up a few words like 'ungrateful swine,' and 'after all I did for him and his sister.'
'Um, who are you talking about, er, Bathilda?' Neville asked, slightly unnerved by the venom in the old woman's voice.
'Albus, Albus Dumbledore,' said Bathilda softly, giving the ginger teenager a sour look.
Harry did a double take at the name. 'Wha-' he said, the word trailing off as he looked at Bathilda incredulously as Neville sucked in a breath. Both boys had trouble processing the information given to them. While Harry knew that Dumbledore was manipulative, he doubted that Dumbledore would be so bad as to cause another person to go to prison!
And yet, here was Bathilda saying that Dumbledore had been the cause of her gay nephew going to prison.
This raised another point, 'Dumbledore is a poof?' Neville half-asked, half-exclaimed out loud, echoing Harry's thoughts. Harry wasn't exactly revolted about this, but he couldn't help but think it a bit weird. Though he supposed he should have seen it coming. It did explain the rather ... flamboyant nature of the headmaster. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Harry looked at Bathilda who he noticed was off in her own world, still glowering at the teenage image of his headmaster who was jauntily waving back at her. Harry noticed a superior look in the teenage Dumbledore that wasn't there in the present Dumbledore.
Clearing his throat Harry spoke up, 'What did Gellert do to land up in Azkaban?'
'Oh, Gellert isn't in Azkaban,' the old lady answered. 'He is in Nurmengard.'
'Where is-'
'Well, I am sorry to cut this short, Bathilda, but we must be off,' Augusta Longbottom's voice came suddenly, cutting Harry off and making both boys jump slightly as she came down the stairs. Stopping at the scene in front of her, she raised an eyebrow, 'Did I interrupt something?'
'Oh that is too bad,' said Bathilda in a cheerful voice, she seemed to have forgotten the conversation she and the boys were having. 'Please feel free to drop in any time. It does get lonely here at times ... especially when Herbert and the children aren't around.'
Having no choice, Harry and Neville also said their goodbyes and left the house, burning with curiosity. At the very least they had the name of the prison to go with. Perhaps they could find out who this Gellert is.
Harry and Neville didn't discuss what the old woman had said to them, as they did not want to involve Neville's Gran into this. That meant that both of them kept quiet about what the celebrated historian had told them. When Neville's Gran had retired for the night, the two of them went to the library where they had decided to meet by unspoken consent.
'Do you know what she was talking about,' Harry asked Neville.
'I'm not too sure,' said Neville. 'I have heard about the place before.' Saying this, he walked over to the history section in the library, running his hands over the spines of the books there.
'I think I read about the name in this book...' he said as he removed a copy of Modern European Magical History which was fittingly enough, written by Bathilda Bagshot herself. Neville muttered to himself as he flipped through the pages.
'Aha, here it is!' said Neville as he stopped at a page. 'Here listen to this "... It was during this turbulent time that Nurmengard was formed in Magical Germany. Initially used to hold dissenters and political enemies, the fortress was also a stronghold of its creator, the dark lord Grindelwald..." '
'Sounds like Gellert was one of Grindelwald's enemies,' Harry commented as Neville turned the page.
'"However, after Grindelwald's defeat in 1945, the fortress was ransacked by the forces of the Light and all its prisoners were liberated."' Neville continued reading aloud. '"Taking possession of the fortress, the Light shortly had it decommissioned, destroying the main building and leaving the rest which included the walls and the heavily fortified prison tower which they then used to imprison the captured officers of the Dark Lord's army along with their ringleader-"' Neville paled as he finished the sentence, '"Gellert Grindelwald himself."'
'What?!' Harry exclaimed incredulously.
'Gellert Grindelwald,' said Neville in a trance. 'Bathilda's great – nephew was Gellert Bloody Grindelwald.' He whistled, 'Sweet Merlin.'
'And let's not forget that Dumbledore was the one to put Grindelwald there.' Harry said. 'He is famed for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald, remember?' he said, quoting the information he remembered from the chocolate frog card.
Both boys sat at the table in silence thinking of the ramifications. Neville was the first to break the silence. 'Do you think Dumbledore is a Dark Lord in secret?' he looked around the room nervously as if he was expecting the wizard to come out and curse them for saying it.
Harry was silent for a moment as his mind came to conclusions and formulated theories so fast that his conscience had problems forming a coherent thought. Rubbing his head he finally said, 'The evidence really does seem to fit that theory, but the concept of him being an actual Dark Lord is too...'
'Scary?' Neville finished the sentence.
'Yeah,'
'We could be just jumping to conclusions,' said Neville. 'After all, it isn't as if he has any plans of world domination or anything.'
'Oh, no?' replied Harry, voicing one of the theories he had come up with. 'Who is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot? Dumbledore. Who is the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards? Dumbledore. Who is the one person who everyone wanted to be Minister of Magic when Bagnold retired? Dumbledore. And who was the one person who Fudge used to listen to when he became Minister?' Harry paused as he affected a look of deep thought, 'Oh I know, Dumbledore! When Fudge stopped listening to him, he lasted for a year, a year! Fuck that, he's the bleeding Headmaster of our school! He educates, or has educated almost everyone in Wizarding Britain! I'd say he has "world domination" covered! At least as far as British magical society is concerned.' He covered his eyes with his hand. 'The only person more powerful than him is the Minister, and even that is up for debate!'
'And he defeated Grindelwald who turned out to be his lover which made him really famous all over Europe,' finished Neville.
They sat in silence for a moment.
'I really don't like this,' said Harry. While he knew that Dumbledore was a conniving, manipulative, backstabbing old man, he didn't think of the old headmaster as an evil Dark Lord. The thought was frankly unsettling.
'Me neither,' Neville replied.
'I vote that we forget about this and never speak of this again.'
'Seconded, Bathilda does sound like she has been listening to a few fwoopers anyway. She probably had no idea what she was talking about.'
Even though Harry fervently nodded and agreed wholeheartedly, he couldn't help the little niggle of doubt that had lodged itself in his brain as he went to sleep.
The next day at breakfast, two letters appeared on a tray next to Harry's plate. Wondering who it was that had written to him, seeing as he had written to his friends and Daphne the day before and wasn't expecting any replies yet (he had not mentioned the visit or the incident), he opened the letter on the top. As he read through it, he gave out an exclamation of surprise.
'Finally, my wand's ready!'
'Excellent,' said Lady Longbottom. 'We shall retrieve it in the afternoon. I was planning on heading to Diagon then initially to get a few supplies, anyway. You can accompany me to get your wand.'
'Thank you, ma'am,' said Harry.
'Neville, I expect you would like to accompany us?' Lady Longbottom asked, giving her grandson an inquiring look.
'Yes, Gran,'
Nodding, the woman returned to her breakfast. Harry then reached for the other letter. Without bothering to look at the envelope, he slit it open and brought out the contents. As he read the letter, his eyebrows steadily rose higher and higher until he had a slightly gobsmacked expression on his face. Putting the letter down with a soft, 'huh,' he looked at his plate as he mulled the contents of the letter over in his head.
'What's the matter?' Neville asked upon noticing the odd expression on his friend's face.
'Hm?' said Harry distracted. Looking up he said, 'Oh, yeah ... uh, you remember what I told you about my meeting with the Queen, right?' seeing his friend nod, Harry continued, 'Well, I just got a letter from her ...' he paused for a moment as he stared at the letter. 'Come St George's day, I will have the right to add the letters KG to my name!' he grinned as he looked at his friend.
Neville looked at Harry for a moment before the Knut dropped. Widening his eyes, he grinned back at his friend and said, 'Wow, congratulations, Harry! Or is it "Sir Harry" now?'
'It won't be till June, actually,' said Harry reading through the letter again. 'That's when the installation happens. And speaking of which,' he turned to Lady Longbottom. 'When will new members of the Wizengamot be installed, ma'am?'
'On the first Monday of August, why do you ask?' The old woman replied.
'Well, because I had given some documents to Her Majesty proving my claim to the title of the Earl of Grantabrycge. Apparently the title is rather out of date as Grantabrycge is modern-day Cambridge. As there cannot be an Earl and a Duke of the same place, she has decided to attach the title of Earl to the family name that held it initially.'
'Yes, that is standard practice now,' said Augusta Longbottom. 'All of the Magical noble houses have had the same change done to them as the place-names were given to the Muggle noble families. I can tell you that most of the Magical families weren't too happy about losing their place-names. After all quite a number of the old families are older than the Muggle noble lines. And some even lost their place-name to newly ennobled Muggles.'
'But why?' asked Harry. 'After all, we had the titles first!'
'It was mainly because of the Statue of Secrecy,' replied Neville. 'We can't really hold titles to Muggle lands. Otherwise the Muggles might get suspicious. It was part of the deal with King William III and Queen Mary II when we finally separated fully from Muggle Britain, in Sixteen Ninety Two, I believe. The King or Queen was to have authority over the Magical world. Our Minister of Magic is appointed by the monarch. And also another interesting thing to note is that the document that the Muggle barons managed to get the King to sign is not valid in the Magical world. It is all covered in the History of Magic N.E.W.T. classes, if you are interested.'
'You are in the class?' Harry asked slightly incredulously.
'Yeah, Binns might be more boring than a Flobberworm, but I find the subject material to be interesting enough. Especially now, in the Sixth and Seventh years, where we study more recent events, you're going to be mentioned next year! Anyway, the point is that the sovereign's power is not limited as it is in the Muggle world. Of course, since there hasn't been a Magical King or Queen of Britain since forever, that isn't much of a problem. But, at the same time, nobody really wants to find out what happens if the Monarch does decide to actively exercise regnal power, so we generally get along with whatever is decreed. Which frankly isn't much since the Magical world has, so far, garnered little to no royal interest.'
'But why didn't our ancestors just decide to hide from the Muggles? Why have such a deal in the first place? I think we would have been more than capable of pulling such a thing off without help from the Muggles...' said Harry.
'The actual reason isn't well-known, Harry,' said Lady Longbottom. 'No records of that time have survived. Which is suspicious, since nothing has happened to cause said records to be destroyed and documents older than that are still in good condition,' she paused to gather her thoughts before speaking again. 'The general consensus is that this deal was made because of the Muggleborns. Mind you, it is the only theory around, so it isn't necessarily the correct theory. The long and short of it is that with the possible exception of the title of the Duke of Hogsmeade, the Duke of Azkaban and the Marquess of Diagon, all other members of nobility do not have place-names. Now' she continued briskly. 'We have digressed enough, coming back to the original point, what is the new title that you now have, Harry?'
'The Earl Slytherin,' replied Harry succinctly.
Neville, who was drinking from a goblet of pumpkin juice, choked as he heard Harry's words while the only indication Augusta Longbottom showed of her surprise was a slight widening of her eyes.
'Indeed?' she said absently waving her wand to relieve her grandson's discomfort.
'Before you ask, I have no idea how I have ended up with a claim to the title,' said Harry. 'All I know is that it is mine. I have some relation to a descendant of Slytherin.'
'Interesting,' said Lady Longbottom as she fixed him with a calculating look.
A few hours later found Harry standing outside Ollivander's shop with his hood drawn up. Lady Longbottom and Neville had gone to Flourish and Blotts and were supposed to join him later.
Entering, he was greeted by an excited-looking Ollivander.
'Ah, Lord Potter, I have been expecting you! I cannot wait to show you your improved wand.'
Used to having Ollivander call him by his title ever since he let slip that he was emancipated, Harry only nodded as he let his anticipation build up. He also couldn't wait to see his newly modified wand.
Ollivander disappeared into his shop, only to return with a beautiful black box which he handed to Harry.
Opening the box, Harry beheld his wand. At first glance, other than an increase in length and a slight increase in girth, the wand did not look any different. Looking at it closely, however, he noticed two thin strips of white spiralling out in a double helix from the handle and fusing at the tip which he noticed was now sharper than before. The band wasn't fully noticeable as it blended well with the natural white colour of the wood.
'I powdered a section of the fang and combined it with the original phoenix feather core using a mixture of the phoenix tears and basilisk venom which you had also supplied me with when you handed in your wand.' Ollivander explained as Harry silently admired the wand in front of him. 'The remainder was carved into the handle and the double helical shape you see now. The tip is the tip of the basilisk fang sanded down a bit to make it safe to use (after all, it's a wand not a dagger) and placed over the tip of the original wand. I must say I am very proud of the wand. I hope you like it.'
'It's beautiful,' whispered Harry as he ran a finger along one of the strands on the body of the wand, feeling the cool ivory which was a shade whiter than the holly wood it was fused with. Upon touching the wand, he felt the stirrings of the familiar warmth surging through his fingers. The feeling was very similar to the time when he first bought the wand five years ago.
Unable to resist any further, he picked up the wand and grasped it in his left hand, breathing in deeply as he felt the warmth surge through him.
The feeling was both familiar and different. With the comfortable warmth came a coolness that was just as comfortable and calming. He also felt more connected with his wand than before.
A discrete cough broke him out of the bliss he was in. Opening eyes he had not realised he had closed Harry looked at a smiling Ollivander. 'I am glad that you like it, milord, as bone and tooth is something I rarely work with. Anyway, I have carved in some Unbreakable Runes into the ivory for the wand as well as some Runes on the handle to improve grip.' He pointed the runes, which were not easily noticeable, out to Harry. 'Tooth and bone is a bit more receptive to Runic Magic than wood. Unfortunately, the wand isn't as supple as it was before the modifications.' He sighed, a trifle disappointed. 'But that cannot be helped, I'm afraid.'
'Thank you very much, Mr Ollivander!' Harry said gratefully with a smile just as ecstatic as Ollivander's. 'You truly are the best wandmaker in Britain, if not the whole world.' As he had done before when he had first bought his wand, Harry swished his new wand through the air. Looking at the multitude of sparks that trailed after, he knew that casting a spell would require less effort than before, not that it required much effort on his part then.
'I think you overstate my abilities,' Ollivander demurred in response. 'But thank you all the same. As for the wand, it was my pleasure, Lord Potter. Crafting wands is my passion, and to have the opportunity to work with such a rare item as basilisk fang and venom is a privilege.'
Placing his wand in its sheath, Harry thanked Ollivander once more as the man bowed him out of his shop.