your cold hands

Chapter One

Godric's Hollow was quiet that night.

The graveyard, especially. Not even a gust of wind interrupted the peace of the dead. The older graves were cracked and obscured by moss, and there were no flowers by them. The newer graves were buried by flowers, their headstones new and looking freshly polished. They were clearly visited regularly. There seemed to be a large number of these newer graves.

Harry had come here on his own, and he hadn't told Ron or Hermione. He'd come to replace the flowers on his parents' graves, maybe talk to them about how he was doing. On the way, he passed the tombstones of Kendra and Ariana Dumbledore and conjured a wreath for both of them, and smiled ruefully, thinking that Professor Dumbledore would have appreciated it.

When he arrived at the spot where Hermione had stood with him last year on Christmas Eve, and had fashioned a beautiful bouquet of flowers for his parents' graves, he found that the spot was empty, a mere fresh patch of grass. Harry's stomach lurched. Maybe this was the wrong place, maybe he had left them behind? Once, twice, three times Harry roamed through the graveyard like a ghost.

This was ridiculous; who would Vanish the graves of Lily and James Potter? But even as he thought it, dozens of faces of Death Eaters ran through his mind. Surely not... surely not.

A giggle broke through his thoughts. It was loud, ringing clear through the dead of the night. He looked around to where the sound came from and what he saw made his breath catch and his heart start to beat into overdrive.

Instead of pitiful ruins where the Potters used to live, was a beautiful house. He recognised it from the pictures, the ivy trailing down the sides, the whitewashed walls and even the picket fence gate. This was his home. Though part of him was exulted at the sight, there was another part of him that knew something was wrong. His old home had been obliterated by the deepest, darkest magic. There was no chance it could ever stand again.

But there it was. And his parents' graves were also missing...

Could it be?

He started running, throwing open the graveyard's gate, pushing past the children that had come out of nowhere, in ghostly costumes and lathered in face paint. They didn't seem to mind his rudeness.

Suddenly, a chill ran down Harry's spine, and there was a hissing sound coming from the end of the street.

There stood a tall, dark, and hooded figure. Harry watched as two small children approached the man with mischievous grins, only to run away screaming when confronted with what was under the hood.

The realisation hit Harry like a truck, and he looked inside the window of his childhood home to see his younger self laughing as James Potter conjured rings of smoke.

"No!" Harry cried, standing in front of the gate with his hands out like his mother had stood in front of his cot eighteen years ago. The dark figure didn't care for him. He came closer and closer and closer, and Harry unsheathed his wand for the fight and -

But then the man walked straight through him. Dumbfounded, Harry whirled around to stare at him as the door opened without so much a touch.

"It's him! Lily, take Harry and go! I'll hold him off - "

But you left your wand back inside, Harry thought desperately, watching as there was a flash of green and a thump. And he knew his father was dead.

Upstairs, his mother screamed.

"Not my Harry, please, take me, kill me instead!"

"Stand aside, silly girl, stand aside."