𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 || HJP

CHAPTER NINE : GODRIC'S HALLOW

A/N: This is an unedited chapter, but I hope you enjoy it. Please do comment and vote. Thank you so much! Anyway, before I forget, I never celebrated the one-year anniversary of this story. Oh my goodness, haha, happy one-year anniversary, everyone!

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THIRD PERSON

Harry would have eagerly set out for Godric's Hollow the very next day, but Hermione had other plans. Convinced that Voldemort would anticipate Harry's return to the place of his parents' deaths, she insisted they delay until they had the best possible disguises. Consequently, it was a full week later—after they had surreptitiously obtained hairs from unsuspecting Muggles doing their Christmas shopping, and practiced Apparating and Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak—that Hermione finally agreed to the journey.

They were to Apparate to the village under the cover of darkness, so it was late afternoon when they swallowed the Polyjuice Potion. Harry transformed into a balding, middle-aged Muggle man, (Y/n) into his small, rather mousy wife, and Hermione into a fourteen-year-old boy who looked like a mix between them. Harry and (Y/n) couldn't help but laugh at each other's appearances, joking that if they looked like this in the future, divorce would be a certainty. Hermione scolded them for insulting the innocent Muggles they were copying. The beaded bag containing all their possessions (except for the Horcrux, which Harry wore around his neck) was tucked into an inside pocket of Hermione's buttoned-up coat. Harry lowered the Invisibility Cloak over them, and they plunged into suffocating darkness once again.

With his heart pounding in his throat, Harry opened his eyes. They were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, the night's first stars already twinkling faintly. Cottages lined the narrow road, Christmas decorations glimmering in their windows. A short distance ahead, the golden glow of streetlights marked the village center.

"All this snow!" Hermione whispered beneath the cloak. "Why didn't we think of snow? After all our precautions, we'll leave footprints! We'll just have to get rid of them—you go in front, I'll do it—"

Harry didn't want to enter the village like a pantomime horse, trying to keep themselves concealed while magically covering their tracks.

"Let's take off the Cloak," Harry suggested. When Hermione looked alarmed, he added, "Oh, come on, we don't look like ourselves, and there's no one around."

He tucked the Cloak under his jacket, and they moved forward unhampered. The icy air stung their faces as they passed more cottages. Any one of them could have been where James and Lily had once lived or where Bathilda resided now. "Stay close," Harry whispered, tightening his grip on (Y/n)'s hand. As they walked, Harry gazed at the front doors, snow-laden roofs, and porches, wondering if any of them sparked a memory. Deep down, he knew it was impossible—he had been little more than a year old when he left this place. He wasn't even sure if the cottage would be visible; he didn't know what happened when the subjects of a Fidelius Charm died.

As they walked, the lane curved left, revealing the heart of the village—a small square strung with colored lights. In the center, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree, stood what looked like a war memorial. Surrounding it were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church, its stained-glass windows glowing like jewels across the square.