40 Days

December 17, 1997

I don't know if it was my own anxiety over stealing the memory or if it was reality, but I still felt the weight of Harry's suspicion on me as I continued talking of going to Godric's Hollow.

I hadn't done it in a few days – maybe weeks— time was blurring a bit for me but I pulled out my copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard and started my ritualistic review of the book. I kept my hand steady as I moved it slowly over the text when Harry came up behind me and his silent presence at my back not speaking felt threatening.

I jumped when he leaned over, tapping his finger on the page. "That's Grindelwald's mark."

I peered closer at the mark, casting a Lumos with my wand. It had looked like a picture of an eye to me, but now with the extra light, it didn't even appear actually inked in the book. As if someone had drawn it there, I had seen it before somewhere... "Grindelwald had a mark? There's no mention of a mark in anything I've read about him. I think I remember seeing Luna's dad wearing it, though."

"Maybe." Harry shrugged. "But that's Grindelwald's mark, Krum told me at Bill's wedding. He had seen it before, carved in a wall at Durmstrang."

I traced the symbol thinking. "Why would someone draw a dark mark in a children's book? Why wouldn't Scrimgeour recognize it?"

"Maybe we should go visit Luna's father."

The emotionless way he said it made me jump up, pushing him back so I could turn around to face him.

"I–I think that Godric's Hollow is our best bet."

He had a faraway look when I faced him, staring past me at the entrance of the tent. "It will be strange to go there. I want to, I think..." His brow creased as if he were digging through his own feelings. "I think I might even be excited. But it's strange still."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a place where there were so many possibilities for me. I could have died. I could have grown up normally, maybe had a brother or sister. It's a place where I had family once, who I don't really remember— except for the screams."

He spoke of emotions, but there were none on his face as he said these things. Even his pale eyes were dull. It was painful to see him like this, and I reached for him, hugging him tight, wishing I could make it better—wishing I could fix things for him. "I'm sorry Harry."

"Me too."