The Light in the Dark | Neville Longbottom

Chapter 89: So This Is Christmas

CRACK

The three of us arrived in Godric's Hollow after sunset. Harry and Hermione apparated underneath the invisibility cloak while I transfigured a few of my features to look like my mother — they conveniently reminded me that that was how I originally broke into the Ministry of Magic all those months ago. And despite their ignorance of the reality of that situation, I agreed to their terms. They argued that it would've kept people away from us since any sane person was afraid of Bellatrix Lestrange, and I couldn't help but agree with their logic.

Because anyone who knew anything was terrified of Dawn Riddle too. And for good reason, I was Voldemort's daughter and subordinate.

One of the first things I noticed about Godric's Hollow was how small it was. There were only a few shops, although most of them had been closed due to the prevailing war. The snow-covered cottages were quaint and lined the narrow roads. The town was located in one of the more wizard-friendly areas, but it housed mostly half-bloods and muggleborns, according to the Malfoys.

"We should look by my old home..." Harry suggested, "Maybe Dumbledore hid it there..."

Hermione was hidden by the invisibility cloak, but I didn't have to look at her to know that we were thinking the same thing: the sword of Gryffindor was not in the ruins of the Potter's hideout. But we went along with it anyway... for Harry.

The house stuck out from the rest of Godric's Hollow. Despite the lonely streets, dark buildings, and low-lit lights, every other building in the community looked lively in its odd, yet highly comforting, way. Harry's old home was the only dead and unsettling building on the avenue. Maybe it was because people had actually died in there, so it was like looking at a ghost, but nothing about the destroyed building gave me comfort.

The roof had been blasted off on one side of the house. And from the outline of a moldy crib in the distance underneath all of the snow, I immediately knew that that room used to be Harry's nursery. Harry must've realized it too, sighing deeply from underneath the cloak.

"Oh... They wrote all over it!" Hermione exclaimed, breaking our focus, "Seriously... People have no respect!"

Hermione stood next to a sign near the entrance of the home. I read the sign to myself.

"On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to survive the killing curse. This house, invisible to muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family."

Small messages like "Long live Harry Potter", "If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!", and "Good luck, Harry... Wherever you are." covered the sign, which explained Hermione's distaste. On the other hand, Harry admired the messages, finding comfort in the support he's been receiving for the past sixteen years, despite all of the hate from the Ministry and The Daily Prophet.

"Erm... Do we still think it's in there?" I asked cautiously, slowly changing the topic, "The sword?"

"No..." Harry trembled, "Let's keep looking..."

I couldn't see his face, but I knew that he was crying. I followed the footsteps in the snow, walking away from the destroyed home. I've heard tales of Godric's Hollow. It was always a quiet community, even before the death of Lily and James Potter. And evidently, the stories were correct because the only sounds I could make out were Harry's sniffles and the ringing of bells in the distance.

And as we continued walking, the bells grew louder, muffling Harry's cries. Eventually, the sound of a joyous choir joined the bells. It wasn't until the three of us passed a church — and I saw what was going on inside through a nearby window — that we realized that today was Christmas Eve.