Daughter of Black

7.17

"I've been thinking, I want to go to Godric's Hollow. It's where I was born, it's where my parents died..." Harry told us abruptly.

"And it's exactly where You-Know-Who will expect you to go. Because it means something to you." I tell him, not sure if it would be a good idea to go there, especially right now.

"But it means something to him too, Hermione. You-Know-Who nearly died there. Wouldn't that be just the kind of place he'd hide a Horcrux?" Hermione eyes him. Despite herself, she knows he's right. I sigh, we both know he might be right.

"It's dangerous, Harry. But I have to admit, recently even I've been thinking we might have to go. I think it's possible something else is hidden there." Harry and I give her a confused look. "The sword. If Dumbledore didn't want it falling into the Ministry's hands, but wanted you to find it, what better place to hide it than the birthplace of the founder of Gryffindor himself?" I sigh.

"Do you really think the sword is there?" I ask Hermione.

"Godric's Hollow is the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor -- I mean, 'course it is. Obvious, isn't it?" Harry answers with a shrug. Both Hermione and I eye him knowingly.

"Harry, did you ever even open A History of Magic?" Hermione asks him, a small smile breaking through.

"Tossed it at Neville once when he was snoring, might've popped open." We smile, then rise, Hermione collecting her books and blanket.
"Hermione..." Words fail Harry. Hermione reaches out, lightly strokes his hair as she heads toward the tent.
"Don't ever let me give you a haircut again." She frowns again, walking away. I look back towards Harry.

"I guess we better start packing then."

♡☽

Golden streetlights glimmer along a narrow road leading to the center of town. Christmas decorations twinkle in the windows of small cottages, roofs blanketed in snow. We apparate, wearing heavy coats and hats, scarves wrapped around our necks. "I still think we should've used Polyjuice Potion." I shook my head at Hermione, my body still remembering the last time I had to do that. Disgusting.

"No. This is where I was born. I'm not returning as someone else." He holds out his arm and Hermione takes it. We move off, walking past a pub door filled with laughter and music. Some of this felt eerily familiar to me as we walked down the cobblestone street. Harry eyes the graveyard as we walk past a church where we hear the organ playing. I felt my heart ache, wondering if my own mum had been buried here. With my father, there was no body to bury. He was just simply gone. But my mother had been there with the Potters. "Do you think they'd be in there?" Harry asked me, seeing my willful stare.
"Yeah. I think they would." Hermione responded for me, since I couldn't seem to find my own voice. The singing from the choir was full and rich as we made our way through the snow towards the graveyard. I looked up at the stained glass windows which glistened. Harry was the first to push through the gate, letting go of me and Hermione. Row upon row of snowy tombstones stretched before us. There was no sign of where our families might be. Hermione stayed back as I walked slowly through the graveyard. I could feel my heart breaking as I passed by the empty tombstones. I felt something tug at my heartstrings as I turned towards a large tree. Beneath it sat a single tombstone belonging to: ARABELLA FRANCINE BLACK. I felt the tears fall as I dropped into the fluffy snow.

"Mummy." I cast a spell to put beautiful flowers over the grave, not wanting anyone to think that she isn't loved and cared for. I wiped the snow off the top of the grave, glancing over at Hermione and Harry who were at his own parents' grave. "I love you, mummy. I miss you every single day. Dad said I remind him of you. I hope I make you proud, wherever you are." Standing up, I kiss my hand and then the top of the grave, the closest I will get to kissing my mother. I walk back to Harry and Hermione, grabbing hold of Harry's hand and squeezing it tightly.