The three of you Apparated just outside Godric's Hollow a number of days later. Snow was falling heavily around you in the dark street, and you tightened Fred's scarf around your neck and fastened the top buttons of your coat as a chilly breeze whipped through your hair.
You looked around at the empty streets and Hermione looked nervous as your boots crunched through the fresh snow, "I still think we should've used Polyjuice Potion," she whispered.
"No," Harry replied instantly, "this is where I was born. I'm not returning as someone else."
You and Hermione shared a worried look but said nothing, and Harry held up his arms for you both to take. You linked your arm through his and Hermione did the same, then he put his hands in his pockets and the three of you walked quietly through the street.
A bell chimed from the small church down the street, and voices from the townspeople exiting a pub made you jump.
"I think it's Christmas Eve. Listen," Hermione said quietly and you listened as a choir's singing echoed from the church. It was a beautiful sound but it also made you sad, because unlike every other Christmas you'd had before, you weren't with either your parents nor the Weasleys.
You stopped outside the graveyard outside the church and Harry studied it, "do you think they'd be in there? My mum and dad." You squeezed his arm comfortingly, "yeah, I think they would."
In silent agreement, you walked into the graveyard. The three of you dispersed and scanned the numerous headstones for the familiar names, and you heard Hermione calling out from a distance away while she hovered over an ancient flat tombstone on the snowy ground. You looked over your shoulder and saw Harry had stopped in front of a newer-looking headstone and you walked over, a lump growing in your throat as you read the white marble.
In loving memory of James Potter and Lily Potter
Your heart broke for Harry and you took his hand in yours and squeezed it. You were taken aback by the dates on the headstone, realising that Harry's parents were only twenty-one when they'd died, less than a year and a half older than you were now. The thought of being brave enough at that age to face the most evil wizard in existence was terrifying, and yet James and Lily Potter had done it, and had somehow managed to sacrifice themselves to save the life of their only child. And now their son was expected to face that same wizard at only seventeen years old. The thought made you feel sick.
Hermione approached and looked sadly at Harry, and then she crouched down on the snow and took out her wand, conjuring a beautiful wreath of white roses at the foot of the headstone. Then she stood back up and held onto Harry's arm at his other side and he nodded in thanks and wiped his tears on his sleeve.
"Merry Christmas," he whispered and you squeezed his hand while Hermione squeezed his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, "Merry Christmas, Harry," you both replied as you looked at the headstone in front of you. You don't know how long you stood there for but Hermione lifted her head and then straightened up.
"There's someone watching us. By the church," she whispered and you both glanced over as she spoke, and sure enough a small, cloaked figure stood watching you.
"I think I know who that is," Harry said as the old woman moved away, hobbling out of the graveyard and into the street. Harry followed her and you and Hermione shared a wary look and both hesitated, but then followed him out of the graveyard.
"I don't like this Harry," Hermione said and you agreed, "neither do I."
"Y/N, Hermione, she knew Dumbledore," Harry reasoned as you followed the woman from a distance, "she might have the sword."
"It's a bit convenient isn't it? We come to Godric's Hollow to look for the sword and someone who might have it just happens to turn up in front of us?" you commented, something unsettling you about the woman as she limped ahead. Hermione hummed in agreement but you stopped when you noticed Harry was no longer following you. Instead he was standing outside the charred remains of a house.
"This is where they died," Harry said, looking up at the skeletal remains of what was once probably a lovely home, "this is where he murdered them."
You jumped in fright as the old woman silently appeared on the footpath next to you, her cloudy eyes staring in the general direction of Harry, her face expressionless. She was familiar to you, but you couldn't figure out from where.
You batted away a fly that randomly flew into your face as Harry turned to look at the woman, "you're Bathilda aren't you? Bathilda Bagshot." That's when it clicked in your mind how you recognised her, she was the author of A History of Magic and a number of other books you'd studied in school.
The woman said nothing but turned around and slowly walked towards a house across the street from the ruins of the Potter house. She pushed open the door and you reluctantly followed her inside, and you were immediately overcome with a foul smell, unlike anything you'd ever smelled before. You covered your face with your scarf and saw Hermione doing the same with her sleeve, but Harry was seemingly oblivious as he followed the old witch into her living room.
He helped her to light a candle, as her wizened hands were shaking too much, and you didn't like how much she was staring at Harry, it put you on edge. And as he turned away and used the lit match to look at old photographs on a nearby table, the woman turned to look at you and Hermione.
A shiver ran through your body as she looked at you with a chillingly vacant expression, looking far different from her author's portraits in the back of her books. But then, you figured, she was a lot younger in those pictures than she probably was now. Despite the rational part of your mind trying to put your anxious thoughts at ease, you were still completely unsettled, and you could tell by Hermione's body language as the woman stared at you, that she felt the same.
"Ms Bagshot, who is this man?" Harry asked, holding up a portrait of a young man with blond hair, and the elderly lady finally turned away from you to shuffle towards him. You exhaled deeply in relief but regretted it immediately as the horrible stench filled your nose, and you had to suppress a gag. Bagshot didn't reply to Harry's question, but she hobbled towards the stairs and Harry followed her without hesitation, even when Hermione stepped forward to plead with him, "Harry!" But he had already gone upstairs with Bagshot and didn't answer.
You looked around the dusty living room and glanced at Hermione, "I really don't like this, it doesn't feel right."
"I feel the same, something's off about that woman. But if Harry can quickly get information out of her, then we can Apparate out of here as soon as possible," Hermione replied and then she wandered over to a pile of books on a desk in the corner. You knew it was probably considered rude to snoop around someone's house, but you figured what she didn't know while she was upstairs with Harry wouldn't hurt her.
You walked into the dark and foul-smelling hallway, wondering what sort of potion-making mishap could've occurred to make such an awful stench fill the house.
"Lumos," you whispered, allowing your wand's light to fill the hallway as you continued to explore, and a half-open door with a broken handle straight ahead of you caught your attention. A strange buzzing sound came from behind the door and alarm bells went off in your head as you pushed into the dark cloakroom, and you were almost overcome by the smell as you swung it open, however the sight of the small space was enough to shock you into momentary silence.
The wooden floor and brick walls were covered in blood, too much blood to come from a still-living person, and shreds of black material and white hair covered the floor, along with other rotting materials you couldn't bear to continue looking at.
You immediately ran down the hall, trying not to make noise in case it alerted whatever creature was upstairs with Harry. You bumped right into Hermione who was quickly walking down the corridor towards you and you both fell into a heap on the floor, dragging piles of books down with you.
"Hermione, the room back there..." you tried to explain between panicked breaths, "there was so much blood."
"What? What are you saying?" she demanded as she pulled you to your feet. "That's not Bagshot, we have to-" a loud bang upstairs cut you off and without another word, you and Hermione ran up the stairs.
You got there just as a huge snake wrapped around Harry who struggled so much that he hit his head hard against the broken brick wall behind him. Hermione blasted the snake and as soon as it released him, you dragged a dazed Harry behind a dresser. Hermione sent another spell towards the snake and it went tumbling down the stairs, and she crouched behind the bed near where you hid, and you glanced over as she scrambled forward to grab Harry's wand that lay discarded on the wooden floor.
She backed up slowly to where you were now standing and holding Harry up with both arms as he slowly came out of his dazed state. You stood in tense silence, waiting for any sound or sighting of the snake, and then it lunged again.
"Confringo!" you yelled quickly, blasting the snake away as Hermione leapt across the bed and Disapparated you all out of Godric's Hollow.
-----
You sunk the pail into the icy river to gather fresh water while Hermione and Harry sat outside the tent in the trees nearby. Harry's head wasn't badly injured, thankfully, but Hermione insisted on applying some of the Essence of Dittany while you collected the water. You were in the Forest of Dean, Hermione had explained as you set up the tent, a vast forest where she'd gone with her parents years ago. If the circumstances were different, you would've loved to have gone on a long walk to properly take in the beauty of the area as it was covered in thick snow, but your mind was not in the place to appreciate the scenery after your ordeal at Godric's Hollow.
You felt nauseous at the thought of that snake hiding in the poor old woman's corpse, for however long she'd been dead for. It was a trap, and you should've listened to your gut since you'd just barely escaped with your lives.
It was the following afternoon when you joined Hermione as she sat outside next to a small campfire she'd lit. She was leaning back against a tree under a blanket and reading a book she'd taken from the house in Godric's Hollow, Rita Skeeter's latest release about Dumbledore, which was undoubtedly highly inaccurate. You held a mug of hot tea in your hands to warm your fingers as you settled against the tree opposite her, and pulled a thick blanket from one of the bunks over your knees.
"You alright, 'Mione?" you asked her before you took a sip, allowing the hot liquid to warm you up and she bit her lip anxiously.
"I need to show you something," she murmured, and she pulled aside her blanket to reveal something that made your heart drop. You recognised Harry's wand by the distinctive handle, only it was snapped in half, splintered beyond repair.
"Oh bloody hell," you gasped, "what happened?" She was clearly distraught over it but before she could say anything, Harry emerged from the tent and walked over to you.
"How are you feeling, Harry?" you asked him loudly, consciously drawing Hermione's attention to him as she dropped her blanket back over the broken wand. Harry's hand travelled to the side of his head which was hopefully feeling well after the previous night, "I'm alright, thanks."
He paused to look around at the forest in the morning light, "you've outdone yourself this time, Hermione." He told her as he sat down at another tree next to yours and she smiled sadly, "the Forest of Dean. I came here once with Mum and Dad, years ago."
She looked around wistfully, "it's just how I remember it. The trees, the river, everything. Like nothing's changed," she sighed, "not true, of course, everything's changed. If I brought my parents back here now they probably wouldn't recognise any of it. Not the trees, not the river...not even me."
You watched her sadly, thinking of the memory altering charm she'd had to bewitch her parents with, and it made you think of your own parents who you hadn't seen in over a year for their own safety. You didn't even know where they were, let alone how they were or if they were alright. You just hoped that since you'd gotten them out of the country early, before things got even more dangerous, that they were okay. At least yours knew who you were, unlike Hermione's who had been bewitched with false memories that made them forget her. You really hoped they'd be reunited when all of this was over, whenever that may be.
Hermione sighed, "maybe we should just stay here. Grow old."
You imagined what that would be like, staying there while the world crumbled around you. Even if you didn't have Fred, or George, or Harry, Ron and Hermione, you knew you wouldn't be able to just sit and hide, you'd fight till your last breath if you had to. And on the other hand, you did want to grow old, but only if Fred was there with you. The three of you knew, even if every fibre of your being screamed out for self-preservation, that you'd never hide from the war, not when innocent people were dying around you.
Hermione was quiet for a moment and then she changed the subject, "you wanted to know who the boy in the photograph was," she said to Harry, "I know. Gellert Grindelwald." She handed him Rita Skeeter's book and he flipped it open to the page she'd marked, "he's the thief I saw in Gregorovitch's Wand Shop," he muttered in realisation, reminding you of the vision he'd mentioned a while back about the other wand seller who was being interrogated about a specific wand.
"Speaking of which," Harry continued, "where is my wand?" Hermione glanced at you worriedly and you gave her a single tiny nod, both of you knowing that there was no point delaying this inevitable delivery of bad news. He looked between you both and repeated his question, "where's my wand?" Hermione bit her lip and then moved aside her blanket, revealing to Harry his ruined wand.
"As we were leaving Godric's Hollow, I cast a curse and it rebounded," Hermione told him timidly and you watched Harry's face fall.
Hermione saw his expression too, "I'm sorry. I tried to mend it but wands are different-"
"It's done," Harry said, but you could tell he wasn't angry at her, he was just defeated, "leave me yours, go inside and get warm. Both of you. I'll take the locket as well."
It was obvious he wanted to be alone so you and Hermione silently agreed and stood up, Hermione handed him her wand and the locket, and you squeezed his shoulder as you walked past him, and then you and Hermione went back into the tent.
Hermione dropped her book and blanket onto a chair and then covered her face with her hands, clearly trying to hold it together, so you pulled her into a hug, and while she didn't cry you could tell she was upset.
"You know that we would've died in Godric's Hollow if it wasn't for you, right?" you told her quietly and then you pulled back to look at her. She rubbed her hands down her face and sighed shakily, "I just feel so awful."
"I know you do, but it was an accident. And I think losing his wand is a lot less damaging than losing his life, don't you?" you said, trying to lighten her mood and she gave you a small smile and nodded.
"Thanks, Y/N. You should rest, I'll put on some tea," she told you as she pulled off her gloves and scarf and you agreed, feeling your eyelids drooping since you'd taken the last watch during the early hours of the morning before Hermione had come out to take over from you late in the morning.
You'd told Harry that you'd take the shift after him to keep watch, and knowing that you'd be woken before dawn you decided to go to sleep, missing how much more sleep you got when the shifts were split between six of you. You pulled Fred's jumper over your head and curled up on the bunk, putting away his letter having already read it at least a hundred times since finding it, and falling into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.