Harry Potter and the Return of the Parents

Chapter 2 - Return to Godric's Hollow

Albus Dumbledore looked up, as one of the many spindly silver instruments about his office lit up and began to whirr. Rising from his desk, he moved to the intrusive object and stared intently at the small puffs of smoke it was emitting.

"Yes, but where?" he prompted, once he had deciphered the instrument's message. The machine puffed again, and the aged wizard nodded before tapping it sternly with his wand. The instrument fell silent, and Dumbledore swept from the office.

***

For the second time that day, Lily awoke with a gasp. She wasn't lying on the same smooth surface as before; this time, she felt rotten wood beneath her, and wet soil soaking through her robes. Upon opening her eyes, she was met by the blackest, darkest dark she had ever seen, and a silence so intense it felt suffocating. The air was stale, and carried a cloying, earthy stench that made her want to gag. Swallowing down her disgust, she stretched out a cautious hand and barely managed to stifle a scream as her fingers were obstructed by something barely a foot above her head. She followed the something with her arm, feeling her breath quicken as she scrabbled around and was met on all sides by nothing but dead wood.

She was in a coffin.

This time she did scream, and her hands smashed against the sides of the box, nails breaking through the weak wood and soil tumbling in, falling on her face, into her mouth. Even as she choked, and gasped for breath, a voice in the back of her mind shrieked that, sooner or later, the air would run out. She would lie dead in her coffin after all. She would never see her son again.

Just as she was giving up hope, there was a loud blast and the lid of the coffin flew off, soil above her parting and brilliant, blissful sunlight streaming in. Lily flinched, and hid her eyes as the harsh glare struck her face, but her skin soaked up the warmth as though it hadn't seen sunlight in centuries. She found herself wondering, with a jolt of panic, just how long they had actually been 'dead'; long enough for them to buried, at least. Before she could reach any sort of conclusion, however, someone had grabbed her arm and pulled her from the ground, and this time when she opened her eyes it was to find James' dirty face inches from her own, and feel of his arms around her.

It was a few minutes before James pulled away, rubbing some of the grime from her face with a fistful of his robes. Robes, Lily noticed, that were not the ones they had found in King's Cross station; instead, they both appeared to be wearing their best black dress-robes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a weak cough, and Lily looked up, feeling her husband stiffen beside her. They were not alone.

***

Dumbledore materialised in the graveyard of Godric's Hollow with a resounding crack, and peered about himself cautiously. Everything seemed still and quiet, the small churchyard peaceful and deserted on yet another undisrupted summer evening. Yet the instrument in his office had told of a huge disturbance of magic, information which, alone, would be enough to peak his curiosity, but which had prompted both exhilaration and dread when he learned the origin of the disturbance. The graves of Lily and James Potter, spoke the instrument, had just experienced an explosion of magic of such magnitude as had not been witnessed since the event that put the young couple there in the first place.

Quite frankly, the headmaster had expected to find the place swarming with Death Eaters. Voldemort had returned to the place of his defeat, he had speculated, in an attempt to uncover what had truly happened that night. Now that he was here, however, Dumbledore was forced to admit that the graveyard was in fact empty, and the graves undisturbed.

After his initial evaluation, the professor had kept his eyes firmly on the ground before him, examining with unnecessary focus the maroon boots that clad his feet. Ashamed though he was by the thought, he had no desire to see the village he had once called home, or the place he had laid those he once called family. His feet, however, seemed to have other ideas, and, as he watched, the boots he had been examining so closely began to move, carrying him forward as if of their own accord.