Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]

Masked Heroism by Sam M
Chapter 2 : II. Home
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 18

Background:   Font color:  

2. Home

I will never know myself until I do this on my own.
'cause I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed.
I will never be anything til' I break away from me.
I will break away. I'll find myself today.

- Somewhere I Belong, Linkin Park

It was a chilly afternoon. Dark clouds drifted over the heavens and large drops of rain fell on his shoulders and drummed against the wet ground. He was soaked. He walked in a hurried pace with his robes tightly wrapped around his body to gain warmth. The wet robes billowed out behind him as he made his way through the rain across the street, thoughts weighing him down, as well as his clothes. His black hair was sticking to his forehead.

With a look of determination he entered the little village, the home of his infancy. At the first glance, the village where his parents had lived seemed almost deserted. He couldnít believe that this was the place where his parents had lived for almost seventeen years ago, before everything had changed. He walked aimlessly around among the small houses until he saw it. The remaining of the exterior of the house was covered with dead ivy. It looked like it had been a very nice home once, but not anymore.

He walked a little closer to his late motherís former home. His motherÖ The woman who had sacrificed it all for one single cause. With a huff he approached the old house on the hill where it stood alone, looking down at the other houses.

He could see light coming from inside. Curiously he walked closer. He could hear the rain rattle against the roof of the house. Then, another sound. Someone was inside. He was sneaking now, silently approaching the home of his relatives. On his brow, a deep frown was etched. He reached for his wand, buried in his pocket.

Gripping it tightly he walked up to the door and decided to knock. Suddenly, a man opened.

A conversation erupted, spoken in a strange language of hissing sounds. Tom Riddle grinned widely as he pointed the wand at his uncle, feeling a series of rather pleasant emotions rushing through him.

Exactly 52 years after these unfortunate events, Harry Potter visited the home of his infancy, Godricís Hollow. Harry followed the street he knew led to the house, the Potter Manor. The rain was pouring down, and a thick fog was surrounding him. Still he marched on, ignoring the forces of the weather. He buried his cold hands deep in his pockets, his fingers touching his wand and the sandwich Mrs. Weasley had insisted that he would take with him. He reached the end of the street where he could see a big deserted house lie, or rather what was left of it.

The foundation was still standing, though, but that was about it. Other than that it was in ruins. Red bricks lied scattered everywhere. It was all a mess. Harry sighed, not knowing why he had insisted on coming here in the first place, but a part of him just had to see it. Why, he did not know.

Mrs. Weasley, his best friend Ronís mum, had not been very pleased to know where he was going. Perhaps it wasnít the location that bothered her, Harry thought, but rather the fact that he insisted on going alone. Mrs. Weasley, who was very overprotective, didnít think it was appropriate for him to go alone, considering the current circumstances. The Dark Lord was still out there somewhere, and the Death Eaters were still at large. This bothered Harry as much as Mrs. Weasley, but he didnít think they were going to jump in front of him in the deserted village of Godricís Hollow.

ďOne can never know!Ē Mrs. Weasley had said, but Harry hadnít cared that much, for he knew that she couldnít do anything to stop him. This was something he had to do. Absent-mindedly he allowed his fingers to move over the scar on his forehead.

He walked back the same way as he came, ignoring the rain, which was still pouring down from an open sky. It was starting to get dark. The sun was setting by the horizon, colouring the heavens in a dark shade of red. Suddenly the road Harry was following split and a sign read; Graveyard. Harry stopped, his eyes following the road to his right. He decided to follow the sign. With his shoes oozing with mud he followed the path through the rain.

He knew this was probably a bad decision to make, following an old road, but curiosity had already got the best of him and h tried to hurry. He didnít want the Weasleyís and Remus to worry about him, so he better not make them wait long for him. But they all knew that as long as Harry was still under aged, (under 17) he was still protected by his motherís blood, at least according to the prophecy.

The path led out of the village, to a field. Acres with graves could be seen. A thought hit Harry and he began wandering around between the graves, peering at them. Some were very old. It was something very peaceful resting over the graveyard. Not the slightest breath of wind rocked the trees. Everything was so still, but the silence and peace was disturbed as Harry walked over to two graves standing next to each other. He hunched and with his hand removed some of the moss, which had overgrown the names on it. He removed some and read the names of his parents James and Lily Potter. For a minute of two he just stared at the names. He had never visited their graves before. Suddenly something stung him. He felt a jab of pain in his heart. He sat down, feeling tears build up in his eyes without really knowing why. It was all very strange.

ďIím sorry I havenít visited you sooner,Ē he whispered. He gently touched the stone with his frozen fingers. The rain still showed no mercy of stopping any time soon. Suddenly Harry noticed something very strange under his motherís gravestone. A small bouquet of lilies was standing in a little vase beside the grave. It looked like someone had just put them thereÖ

Harry found this a bit odd, but shrugged the matter off. Perhaps they were from Lupin. Maybe he had visited their graves without telling him about it. But why only give Lily flowers and not James? This seemed a little strange, considering that James was after all Remusí best friend.

For a few seconds Harry stood there, eyeing the newly-picked lilies, his brow expressing a frown. He decided not to make a big deal out of it. It didnít really matter. What mattered now was to remember and honour his parents, and that was exactly what he spent the rest of the afternoon doing, knowing that dark times was coming closerÖ

A/N: I am so sorry for the long update, but I have been really busy these past few weeks! Homework has taken up most of my time. I apologize. I will try to update more often :) I really like reviews *hint,hint* Please tell me what you thought about this chapter. Thank you for reading! ~ Sam M

Previous Chapter

Favorite |Reading List |Currently Reading


Other Similar Stories

The Change
by deadbattery

A spy's work
by lininlix

Harry Potter...
by smallwriter