Entry tags:

!1998: 02, !incomplete, !plot, alecto carrow, harry potter, hermione granger, rabastan lestrange, rodolphus lestrange, ron weasley

Who: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Alecto Carrow
When: Friday evening, the 5th.
Where: Godric's Hollow.
What: Taboo breaking, and snatching.
Rating: TBA, probably some violence.
Open/Closed: Open to Snatchers, D.E.'s, and Trio.


It had taken a few days to get it together. Hermione had wanted to read up on Bagshot more, and Ron and Harry had apparated out to take a quick look at the town under the cloak, and then they'd waited until they judged it would be safest, biding their time with more research and digging through old papers. (And in Harry's case, worrying over what he'd said to Ginny.) It had seemed safe enough though, finally, and finally the three of them had set out for Godric's Hollow.

It wasn't the first time Harry had been there, but it was the first time he'd see the house, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Part of him felt as if it were just a place. No matter how much he'd heard about it, or knew that it was where his parents had lived - he didn't remember it. Hogwarts was more of a home to him, and not being able to be there, even if it was in service of something important, should matter more.

But he still wasn't prepared for how he felt when he saw the remains of his old house. The house was still blackened and ruined, the second story destroyed, snow still on the ground around it, footsteps tracing through the white, proving there'd been people there. Harry had seen his mother's death in his mind a million times. Every time he got near a Dementor when he was young, in his dreams. But this was where they'd died. Where his life had changed. The last time he'd had a real family. It had made his chest hurt to look at it. Even before he'd seen the plaque, a sign with 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.

And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles 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. The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years’ worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things.

Good luck, Harry wherever you are. If you read this, Harry, we’re all behind you! Long live Harry Potter.

Harry had gotten used to the Prophet. To constant doubt and accusations of being crazy. He'd grown accustomed to knowing that while his friends and allies would support him, the rest of the wizarding world usually found it easier to pretend that he was just a nutter attention seeker. Seeing that wasn't the case, not just through a radio show run by Gryffindors, but through people who had no connection to him save a belief that he would do the right things, and a burned out husk of a house. . . Harry had found himself choked up.

Ron and Hermione hadn't commented really, save for Hermione's brief indignation over someone writing on the sign, though Harry had felt them squeeze his shoulder or his arm.

His parents were buried nearby, and part of Harry had wanted to go and see them, but the need to get away from there as soon as possible had overrode his desire to visit his parents. He wasn't sure what he'd say anyway. James and Lily were almost surreal to him at this point - more a cause than people. An ideal in his mind that he hoped to please and do justice to - even if James had fallen a bit short of what he'd envisioned him as.

They left for Bathilda's house. It smelled of dust and rot and old lady, and was cluttered and dim. Harry wandered around, searching for anything that might help them, half his mind still on the house, and the plaque, and very old nightmares and memories. Between the three of them, they turned the house upside down, but found nothing new. No sign of the snake Harry was now sure was a Horcrux. There wasn't anything else that seemed helpful either, and Harry gave up finally, taking a break and wiping a dusty hand across his itchy nose - which just made it worse. "There's got to be something. Voldemort expected us to come here, so there shouldn't be anything obvious - but something He missed. Somewhere." It was the biggest lead they had so far. Harry didn't want to have to give up on it.

He ran a hand through his hair again, leaving a streak of dust there, too. "Where didn't we look?" Harry asked, wondering aloud more than really questioning them.