Harry Potter: The Forgotten Chronicles- Book 7

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The three stood together in the graveyard, silently absorbing the sight of Harry's parents' grave. The chill in the air seemed to fade away in the warmth of their shared presence, offering a quiet comfort amidst the sorrow. Harry's hand tightened around Evelyn's, and she squeezed back, her other arm linked with Hermione's. The weight of the moment was profound, but they found solace in each other.

As the snow fell gently around them, Hermione's gaze wandered over the gravestones, taking in the solemnity of the scene. Her eyes flickered to the gate, and she stiffened slightly.

"Guys...someone's watching us...by the gate," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Without making it obvious, Harry and Evelyn turned their heads slightly, their eyes locking onto a stooped, shadowy figure standing near the entrance of the churchyard. The figure stood still, as if deliberately allowing themselves to be seen, before turning slowly and beginning to shuffle away.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched the figure disappear into the shadows. "C'mon," he said, his voice low but determined. He gently disentangled himself from Hermione and Evelyn and began to follow the hobbling woman.

"I don't know if this is a good idea..." Evelyn whispered, her breath warm against Harry's ear as she kept close to him.

"We look like ordinary Muggles," Harry reasoned, his pace steady but cautious.

"Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parents' grave," Hermione interjected, her tone laced with concern.

"Relax. This is right. I know it," Harry insisted, pushing on with renewed resolve.

The lane they walked down was lined with modest cottages and tiny, snow-covered gardens. The soft glow of Christmas lights flickered faintly from a few windows, adding a surreal contrast to the tension that gripped them. Hermione and Evelyn exchanged wary glances as they trailed behind the woman, but after a few moments, they realized Harry was no longer walking with them.

They turned to find him several yards back, standing still and staring at a dark, dilapidated cottage. Its garden was overgrown with weeds, the roof caved in, and the entire structure seemed to sag under the weight of years of neglect.

"Oh my God," Evelyn breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as she hurried back to him, Hermione close behind.

"This is where they died," Harry said bitterly, his voice rough with emotion. "This is where he murdered them."

The three of them stood together, staring at the house, each absorbed in their own thoughts. The atmosphere was heavy with the weight of the past, and the sight of the broken house seemed to pull them deeper into it.

"You're Bathilda, aren't you?" Harry's voice cut through the silence, startling Evelyn and Hermione. They turned to see the older woman from before, now standing unnervingly close to them, her shadow blending with the darkness around her.

Bathilda nodded slowly, her eyes distant, and gestured toward an adjacent house. Without a word, they followed her inside, the door creaking shut behind them. The interior was dimly lit and filled with an odd, musty smell, as if the house had been closed off from the world for years.

Hermione led the way with Bathilda into the an adjacent room, but Evelyn grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him back. There was something off about the old woman—something almost familiar, but in a way that made Evelyn's skin crawl.

"Harry, I'm not sure about this," she whispered urgently, her eyes darting around the shadowed room.

"Evelyn, she knew Dumbledore. She might have the sword," Harry replied, though he kept his voice low, his tone firm. "Besides, she's barely knee-high to a house-elf. I think we can overpower her if it turns ugly."