HP Approaches the Magical World

Chapter 887 Godric's Hollow

Everything was running according to Jon's arrangement. Ron left Hermione and Harry under the influence of the Horcrux due to injury and anxiety, which made the atmosphere in the team suddenly tense.

When Harry woke up the next day, it took a few seconds to remember what had happened. He hoped naively that it was a dream, that Ron was still here and hadn't left.

But when he turned his head, what he saw was Ron's empty bed, which attracted his attention like a corpse lying on the road.

Harry jumped out of his own bed, not looking at Ron's bunk.

Hermione was already busy in the kitchen, and instead of saying good morning to Harry as he walked by, she turned her head hastily.

he's gone.

Harry said to himself.

he's gone.

He couldn't stop thinking about it as he washed and dressed, as if repeating it would soften the blow a bit.

He is gone and not coming back. It was the simple fact, Harry knew, because their protective spells meant that once they left the place, Ron couldn't find them.

He and Hermione finished breakfast in silence, Hermione's eyes were red and swollen, and it seemed that she hadn't slept all night.

Hermione dawdled while the two packed their bags, and Harry knew why she wished to stall by the river.

Because he caught her looking up eagerly a few times, he believed she was deluding herself into thinking she heard footsteps in the heavy rain.

However, no red-haired figure appeared in the woods.

And every time Harry looked around like she did (he couldn't help feeling a little hopeful himself) and saw only rain-washed trees, a small pang of anger flared inside him.

He could hear Ron say, "We thought you knew what you were doing!"

So he continued to pack his luggage, feeling as if there was a hard lump in his heart.

The turbid water was rising rapidly, and would soon overflow their banks.

The two stayed an hour longer than they were normally supposed to leave the camp.

Finally, after opening and repacking the beaded pouch three times, Hermione seemingly having no reason to procrastinate, she and Harry apparated hand in hand and emerged on a heathy, windswept hillside.

Once there, Hermione let go of Harry's hand and walked away from him, finally sitting down on a large rock with her face buried in her lap, shaking.

Harry knew she was crying.

He looked at her, feeling the need to comfort her, but something held him in place.

He was cold and tense from the inside out: saw the look of contempt on Ron's face again.

Harry strode through the heather, circling a distraught Hermione in wide circles, casting the spells she usually cast to keep them safe.

They didn't talk about Ron for the next few days.

Harry was determined not to mention his name again, and Hermione seemed to know it was useless to insist.

But sometimes at night, when she thought he was asleep, Harry could hear her secretly crying.

Harry, on the other hand, began to take out the Marauder's Map and peer at it with his wand.

He was waiting for the black dot marking Ron to appear in the Hogwarts corridors, proof that he was back in the comfort of the castle, protected by his pure-blood identity.

However, Ron does not appear on the map.

After a while, Harry found himself taking out the map just to stare at Ginny's name in the girls' dormitory, wondering if his eager eyes could enter her dreams, making her feel that he was missing her, and wishing her all the best. good.

During the day, they brooded over where Gryffindor's sword might be and discussed where Dumbledore would choose to hide it.

But the more they discussed, the more desperate and far-fetched their guesses became.

No matter how much Harry knocked his head, he couldn't remember where Dumbledore had mentioned hiding things.

Sometimes he doesn't know if it's Ron or Dumbledore that annoys him more, we thought you knew what you were doing...

We thought Dumbledore told you what to do...

We thought you had a real plan!

He could not hide from himself,

Ron was right, Dumbledore left him almost nothing.

They found one Horcrux, but had no means of destroying it, and several others were as lost as before.

Despair seemed to engulf him. Harry was surprised to think about it now, that he could be so self-righteous, and let two friends accompany him on this aimless trip.

He knew nothing, had no idea, and was painfully on guard for any hint that Hermione would come and tell him she had had enough and was leaving.

They spent many nights in mostly silence, Hermione taking out a portrait of Phineas Nigellus and propping it on a chair, as if he could fill the huge void left by Ron's departure. like.

Phineas Nigellus seemed unable to resist the chance to find out about Harry, despite his last threat to never return, and agreed to show up every few days blindfolded.

Harry was even glad to see him, a companion, albeit a cynical one, after all.

They liked to hear any news that happened at Hogwarts, but Phineas Nigellus was not a good reporter.

He admired Snape - the first Slytherin headmaster since he himself had run the school.

Harry and the others had to be careful not to criticize Snape or ask disrespectful questions about him, or Phineas Nigellus would immediately leave the picture.

Still, he revealed some snippets.

Snape had to deal with the constant low-key revolt of a group of die-hard students.

Ginny was banned from Hogsmeade.

Snape reinstated Umbridge's old rules prohibiting gatherings of more than three students and any informal student associations.

From all of this, Harry surmised that Ginny, and possibly Neville and Luna with her, were doing their best to keep Dumbledore's Army going.

Scattered news made Harry so eager to see Ginny that he almost had a stomachache, and it also made him think of Ron, Dumbledore, and Hogwarts, and he missed the school almost as much as he missed the school. As strong as my girlfriend's.

Indeed, Harry had a moment of madness when Phineas Nigellus recounted Snape's repression,

He imagined simply going back to school and taking part in making things difficult for Snape: having enough to eat, a soft bed to sleep in, someone else to take care of, seemed like the best life in the world.

But then he remembered that he was the number one villain, wanted by a reward of 10,000 Galleons, and now it was as dangerous to enter Hogwarts as to enter the Ministry of Magic.

Phineas Nigellus inadvertently emphasized this fact by asking leading questions to find out where Harry and Hermione were.

At times like this, Hermione stuffed him back into the beaded pouch.

Phineas Nigellus would not show himself for days after such rough send-offs.

The weather is getting cold.

Because they dare not stay in one area for too long, they did not stay in the south of England, but continued to migrate around the country.

Halfway up the mountain, the freezing rain beat on the tent;

The swamp, cold water poured into the tent;

On a small island in the middle of a lake in Scotland, half of the tent was buried in snow at night.

They had already seen the Christmas tree shining from several living room windows, and one night Harry finally resolved to bring up what seemed to him the only way left.

Having just had a rare meal full of spaghetti and canned pears, Harry thought she might be a little more talkative than usual.

And he had carefully pre-advised to rest for a few hours without wearing the Horcrux, which was now hanging beside him by the head of the bed.

"Hermione?"

"Um?"

She was curled up in a sunken armchair, reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

Harry couldn't imagine what else she could read out of that book, it wasn't very thick after all.

But she was clearly still deciphering something, for the Magic Alphabet was spread out on the arm of her chair.

Harry cleared his throat, feeling as though he had asked Professor McGonagall if he could go to Hogsmeade years ago, without the Dursleys signing off.

"Hermione, I've been thinking—"

"Harry, can you do me a favor?"

Apparently she wasn't listening to him.

She leaned forward, holding up the book "The Tales of Beedle the Poet", trying not to look too deliberate, the time was almost up, and it was time to guide Harry to think in one direction.

"Look at that symbol."

She pointed to the top of a page, above what was supposed to be the title of the story, there was a figure that looked like a triangular eye with a vertical line in the middle of the pupil.

"I haven't had Ancient Runes, Hermione."

"I know, but it's not a rune, and it's not in the alphabet.

I always thought it was an eye pattern, but now I don't think so!

It's a mark made of ink, look, someone drew it, not the content of the book, think about it, have you ever seen it? "

"No... no, wait."

Harry looked carefully again: "Isn't this the same as the one Luna's father wore around his neck?"

"Well, I thought so too!"

"That's the sign of Grindelwald."

She stared at him, her mouth gaping open.

"What?"

"Krum told me..."

He recounted the story Viktor Krum had told him at the wedding, and Hermione looked taken aback.

"Grindelwald's sign?"

She looked back and forth between Harry and the strange symbol.

"I've never heard of Grindelwald having a logo, and nothing I've read mentions it."

"As I said, Krum thinks the symbol is engraved on Durmstrang's wall, and it was engraved by Grindelwald."

She leaned back in the old armchair, frowning, wondering how to explain all this.

"That's very odd.

If it's a symbol of black magic, why is it in a children's storybook? "

"Yeah, it's weird."

Fortunately, Harry always followed her lead: "And Scrimgeour would have recognized it.

As a minister, he should be an expert in identifying black magic. "

"I know... maybe he thought it was an eye, like I just did.

The titles of other stories have small designs above them. "

She stopped talking and continued studying the strange sign, and Harry tried again.

"Hermione?"

"Well?"

"I've been thinking, I—I want to go to Godric's Hollow."

She looked up at him, her eyes didn't gather, but she was actually relieved in her heart. She had been thinking about how to guide Harry to talk about this topic, but now it seemed that, as Jon said, Harry Want to go there more than she does.

It's just that Hermione's appearance was in a state of apathy, so Harry concluded that she was still thinking about the mysterious symbol on the book.

"Yeah," she followed, as if afraid of Harry changing his mind: "Yeah, I'm thinking about it too, and I really think we should go."

"Did you hear me clearly?"

"Of course you want to go to Godric's Hollow.

I agree.

I think we should go.

I mean, I can't think of anywhere else to find it.

It would be dangerous to go there, but the more I think about it, the more I think it might be there. "

"Er—what might be there?"

This time, she looked as confused as he had been.

"That sword, Harry!

Dumbledore must have known you'd want to go back there, and besides, Godric's Hollow is the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor—"

"Really? Gryffindor was born in Godric's Hollow?"

"Harry, have you ever opened "History of Magic"?"

"Well," Harry smiled, as if for the first time in months, his facial muscles were stiff, and he felt weird: "I might have opened it, when I first bought it... just that one time..."

"But the village is named after him, and I thought you might be able to make the connection."

Hermione said that she didn't show a guilty conscience, so there was no problem when she spoke, but it was a little strange, but it sounded very close to her previous style, which made Harry almost wait for her to announce that she was going to the book "The village is mentioned a bit in History of Magic, wait..."

She opened the beaded packet, fumbled for a while, and finally pulled out a good old textbook: Bathilda Bagshot's A History of Magic, and found the page she was looking for.

After the "International Statute of Secrecy" was signed into effect in 1689, wizards completely went into hiding. Perhaps naturally, they formed their own little communities within the community.

Many small villages attract several wizarding families, who band together to help and protect each other.

Dingworth in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery and St. Catchpole on England's south coast were populated by wizarding families in tolerant and sometimes bewildered Life among Muggles.

Perhaps the most famous of such half-wizard settlements is Godric's Hollow.

This southwestern village is the birthplace of the great wizard Godric Gryffindor and where wizarding goldsmith Bowman Wright crafted the first Snitch.

The cemetery is filled with the names of ancient wizarding families, no doubt responsible for the ghost stories that have haunted the chapel for many centuries.

"No mention of you or your parents," said Hermione, closing the book, "because Professor Bagshot only wrote until the end of the nineteenth century.

But did you see it?

Godric's Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor's sword, don't you think Dumbledore would have you associate that? "

"Oh yes……"

Harry didn't want to admit that he wasn't thinking of the sword when he suggested going to Godric's Hollow, for him the attraction of that village was his parents' graves, his house of survivors, and Bathilda Bagshot this person.

"Remember what Muriel said?"

Harry asked suddenly, but Hermione froze for a moment.

"who?"

"You know," he hesitated, not wanting to say Ron's name: "Ginny's great-aunt, at the wedding, the one who said your ankles were too prominent."

"oh."

It was a very awkward moment: Harry knew she had sensed Ron's name almost coming up.

He went on hastily: "She said Bathilda Bagshot still lives in Godric's Hollow."

"Bathilda Bagshot," Hermione murmured, gently stroking the author's name embossed on the cover of "A History of Magic" with her index finger, wondering if this person was Jon asking her to meet the snake Possessed person, after all, taking down an old lady is much more reliable than taking down other people: "Well, I think—"

Thinking of this, she gasped suddenly, which made Harry's heart churn.

He drew his wand and looked back towards the tent opening, expecting to see a hand poking in through the curtain, but there was nothing.

"what?"

He said, annoyed and relieved: "Why did you do that? I thought you saw Death Eaters pulling on the tent door, at least—"

"Harry, what if Bathilda had the sword? What if Dumbledore entrusted it to her?"

Harry considered the possibility. Bathilda must be a very old lady by now, and, according to Muriel, she's "bewildered."

Did Dumbledore hide Gryffindor's sword with her?

If that was the case, Harry thought it would be too risky.

Dumbledore never revealed that he had dropped the sword, or even mentioned his friendship with Bathilda.

But now was not the time to doubt Hermione's reasoning, which was unexpectedly agreeing with Harry's most fervent wishes.

"Yes, it is possible! Then, shall we go to Godric's Hollow?"

"Go, but be careful, Harry."

She was sitting upright now, Harry could see, and being able to have a plan again lifted her mood as much as his.

"First of all, we'll have to Apparate together under the cloak of invisibility, and the Disillusionment Charm might work, or are you advocating Polyjuice Potion all the way?

That would have to get someone else's hair.

Well, I think we'd better go for something, Harry, the more pretense the better..."

Harry let her go on, nodding in agreement whenever she paused, but his mind had left the conversation because he was excited for the first time since discovering that the Gringotts sword was a fake.

He was going home, to the place where he had had a home.

If it weren't for Voldemort, he'd be growing up in Godric's Hollow, spending every holiday.

He'll invite friends over to play...maybe even have younger siblings...

It will be his mother who will make him a seventeenth birthday cake.

The life he had lost had never been more real than at the thought of visiting the place where it had all been taken away.

After Hermione went to bed that night, Harry quietly removed his backpack from the beaded pouch and dug out the photo album Hagrid had given him long ago.

For the first time in months, he looked at old photos of his parents, smiling and waving at him, and that was all he had left.

Harry was tempted to go to Godric's Hollow the next day, but Hermione had other ideas.

She believed that Voldemort expected that Harry would go to the place where his parents died, so she insisted on ensuring the best possible disguise before setting out.

So it was a full week - they had stolen hair from Muggles shopping before Christmas and practiced apparating and disapparating together under the Invisibility Cloak - before Hermione agreed to go.

They were going to Apparate to the village under the cover of darkness, so at dusk the two drank Polyjuice Potion, and Harry turned into a bald, middle-aged Muggle and Hermione into his tiny little mouse-like wife.

She wore a tightly buttoned coat with the beaded pouch containing all of their belongings (except for the Horcrux Harry wore around his neck) tucked into the inner pocket of the coat.

Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over them both, and they spun together into the suffocating darkness.

With his heart pounding in his throat, Harry opened his eyes.

They stood hand in hand in a snowy alley, and above their heads was a dark blue sky where the first stars were already twinkling.

Houses lined narrow alleys with Christmas decorations shining in the windows.

Not far ahead, the golden street lights showed that there was the center of the village.

"So much snow!"

Hermione whispered under the cloak, "Why didn't we think of snow?

No matter what, it will still leave footprints!

Gotta get rid of them--you go first, I'll--"

Harry didn't want to go into the village like a pair of fake horses in a pantomime, covered up and magically covering their tracks as they went.

"Take off the Invisibility Cloak," Harry said, seeing Hermione look scared. "Oh, it's okay, we're transformed and there's no one around."

He stuffed the invisibility cloak into his coat, and the two of them walked forward unhindered.

The icy air stuck like a needle in the cheek, passing more houses along the way: any of which might have been where James and Lily once lived, or where Bathilda lived now.

Looking at the snow-covered front doors, roofs, and porches, Harry wondered if he could remember a thing or two, even though deep down he knew that was impossible and he was only a little over a year old.

He didn't even know if he'd be able to see the house again, or what happened to people who had been cast with the Fidelity Charm after they died.

Turning the alley to the left, the center of the village—a small square appeared in front of them.

In the middle of the square is a war memorial-like building, half-hidden behind a windswept Christmas tree and surrounded by colorful lights. There are a few shops, a post office, a bar, and a chapel, with jeweled radiance across the square of stained glass.

The snow is compacted here: hard and slippery where people have walked for a day.

Villagers criss-crossed in front of them, briefly illuminated by street lamps.

Fragments of laughter and pop music sounded as the doors of the pub opened and closed, and carols were heard from the chapel.

"Harry, it's Christmas Eve!"

"Yeah?"

He had forgotten the date, and neither had read a newspaper in weeks.

"I can be sure."

said Hermione, looking at the church: "They...they'll be there, won't they?

Your parents?

I can see the cemetery behind that. "

Harry felt a shiver that was more like fear than excitement.

Now that the distance is so close, he doesn't know whether he wants to see it or not.

Perhaps Hermione understood how he felt, she took his hand, leading the way for the first time, pulling him forward.

But when she reached the middle of the square, she stopped suddenly.

"Harry, look!"

She pointed to the monument. As they walked by, it changed, and instead of being an obelisk full of names, it became statues of three people: a man with shaggy hair and glasses, and a long-haired, beautiful and kind-hearted man. woman, and a baby boy in his mother's arms.

Snowflakes fell on the top of the three of them like fluffy white velvet hats.

Harry stepped closer, gazing into his parents' faces.

He never thought there would be a sculpture... how strange to see himself carved in stone, a happy baby with no scar on his head...

"Let's go."

After looking up enough, Harry said. The two continued toward the church, and as they crossed the street he looked back, the statue turned into a war memorial again.

As they approached the church, the singing grew louder and Harry's throat tightened. He thought so strongly of Hogwarts, of Peeves roaring Christmas carols from his armor, of the twelve trees in the Great Hall. The Christmas tree, thinking of Dumbledore wearing the millinery hat he won from a firecracker, thinking of Ron wearing a hand-knitted sweater...

There is a narrow door at the entrance to the cemetery.

Hermione pushed it away as lightly as possible, and the two of them slipped inside.

The path leading to the church door was slippery, with deep snow on both sides and untrodden.

They walked across the snow, carefully following the shadows of the bright windows to the back of the house, leaving deep grooves behind them.

Behind the church, rows of snow-covered tombstones stand on a light blue silver carpet, dotted with dazzling red, gold and green spots, which are the projections of stained glass on the snow.

Clutching his wand in his pocket, Harry walked towards the nearest gravestone.

"Look at this, the surname is Aibo, maybe it's Hannah's lost relative!"

"Keep down."

The two walked towards the depths of the cemetery on the snow, leaving deep black traces on the snow.

They bent down to read the inscriptions on the ancient tombstones, and sometimes looked into the surrounding darkness to make sure that there was no one else.

"Harry, here!"

Hermione was two rows away, and he had to struggle back, heart pounding against his chest.

"Yes or no--"

"No, but look!"

She pointed to the dark stele, and Harry bent down to see that engraved on the frozen, moss-spattered granite were Candra Dumbledore, with birth and death dates, and daughter Ariana underneath. There is another adage:

Where the treasure is, there is the heart

Well, Rita Skeeter and Muriel were kind of right.

The Dumbledores did live here, and people died here.

Seeing this tomb was even more sad than hearing about it, and Harry couldn't help but feel an ups and downs. Both he and Dumbledore had deep roots buried in this cemetery.

Dumbledore should have told him this, but he never wanted to break the connection.

They could have visited this place together, and for a moment Harry imagined coming here with Dumbledore, what kind of friendship it would be, how much it would mean to him.

To Dumbledore, however, it seemed an unimportant coincidence that their relatives lay in the same grave, perhaps irrelevant to what he wanted Harry to do.

Hermione was watching him, and Harry was thankful his face was in the shadows.

He read the words on the tombstone again.

Where the treasure is, so is the heart.

But he didn't understand what it meant.

This must have been the inscription chosen by Dumbledore, who became head of the family after his mother died.

"Are you sure he never mentioned—?"

"No," said Harry curtly, "keep looking."

He turned and walked away, wishing he hadn't seen the stele, he didn't want his thrill of excitement to be tainted with resentment.

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