The Boy who lived and The Boy who survived (Drarry)

Chapter 39: Godric's Hollow

2 years ago. December 1997. Godric's Hollow.

Heart beating in his throat, Harry opened his eyes. Draco and he were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night's first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the centre of the village.

"I still think we should've used the polyjuice potion Granger left for us. " Draco whispered from beside him, his hood on so that people won't recognise him.

Harry did not want to enter the village like a pantomime horse, trying to keep themselves concealed while magically covering their traces.

"No... this is where I was born. I'm not returning as someone else," said Harry, and when Draco looked frightened, "Don't worry. There's no one around."

They made their way forward unhampered, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages. Anyone of them might have been the one in which James and Lily had once lived or where Bathilda lived now. Harry gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches, wondering whether he remembered any of them, knowing deep inside that it was impossible, that he had been little more than a year old when he had left this place forever. He was not even sure whether he would be able to see the cottage at all; he did not know what happened when the subjects of a Fidelius Charm died. Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.

Strung all around with coloured lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square. The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed. Harry and Draco kept their head down and arms linked together to stay hidden.

"Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve!" said Draco. "...listen."

Then they heard the ringing of a bell as the clock struck twelve, a carol could be heard starting up inside the little church. Harry had lost track of the date; they had not seen a newspaper for weeks. He simply smiled timidly at Draco and nodded back.

Slowly, he let out a soft sigh, turning his gaze towards the small graveyard beside the church and letting himself exhale deeply, the cold air turning his intakes and outtakes of breath into a cold steam-like mist.

"Do you think they'll be in there, Draco?" said Harry, his eyes upon the graveyard beside the church. "My mum and dad."

Draco turned to look at him, seeing Harry's tears start to form made his heart ache. He slowly followed his gaze to look over at the graveyard, letting out a small sigh.

"Yeah." Draco leaned closer to Harry and pressed his lips to his cheek for a soft kiss. "Yeah I think they would."

Harry felt a thrill of something that was beyond excitement, more like fear. Now that he was so near, he wondered whether he wanted to see after all. Perhaps Draco knew how he was feeling, because he reached for his hand and took the lead for the first time, pulling him forward. Halfway across the square, however, he stopped dead.

"Harry, look!"

Draco was pointing at the war memorial. As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother's arms. Snow lay upon all their heads, like fluffy white caps.
Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents' faces. He had never imagined that there would be a statue... How strange it was to see himself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on his forehead...