With a tangled mix of emotions, Harry trailed behind the three adults—only to realize that Dobby had vanished from his side. Yet, the little footprints left in the snow told him Dobby was still close by.
Just then, Dobby's voice whispered in his ear, "Godric's Hollow is a place where wizards and Muggles live together. According to the Statute of Secrecy, we house-elves aren't allowed to appear in front of Muggles."
Harry blinked, momentarily thrown. That had never come up on any exam—he honestly hadn't known. He'd always imagined Godric's Hollow as a wizarding enclave; after all, it was Gryffindor's birthplace.
They turned down a narrow alley, and soon the central square came into view. In the heart of the square stood what looked like a war memorial, half-hidden behind a towering Christmas tree.
Shops were scattered around the square—a post office, a pub, and a small church.
Sirius Black let out a long sigh. "This place has changed so much. There used to be a little fountain in the square. James and I once snuck out here and charmed the water to dance along with the music…"
He gestured to the pub. "That old place is still there. James and I used to come by, sample Muggle drinks, listen to their music…"
Remus Lupin smiled faintly at the memory. "It really has changed. I remember you and James dragging me to that pub, daring me to go chat up Muggle girls…"
Harry glanced toward the pub, thinking that if he'd grown up here, he'd have made it a regular haunt too.
Douglas Holmes gave Sirius and Lupin an odd look. "You really don't know what that memorial is?"
Seeing their blank stares, Douglas understood. Neither of them had returned here since the war. They hadn't even read the reports about what happened afterward.
Sirius shook his head, voice thick with emotion. He pointed across the square, down a little lane leading out of the village. "At the end of that road… that's where James and Lily's house was."
The words seemed to drain him, and Douglas noticed Sirius's steps falter, as if he wanted to turn back.
Douglas sighed and strode toward the center of the square. The others hurried to catch up.
As they stood beneath the memorial, the obelisk shimmered and transformed—becoming a statue of three figures: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a beautiful woman with kind eyes and flowing hair, and a baby boy cradled in his mother's arms.
Harry took a few steps forward, staring up at the faces of his parents. He'd never imagined there would be a statue of them—or of himself, a happy baby, with no scar on his forehead…
Beside him, Sirius and Lupin were already in tears. Hidden under a Disillusionment Charm, Dobby was so moved he nearly revealed himself; Douglas silently strengthened the spell on him.
A few people passed by in the square. Spotting this group dressed in somber black on Christmas Day, they found it odd—who would choose to mourn the dead today? Muggles guessed they might be descendants of those lost in the war years ago. Wizards, seeing how plainly they were dressed, assumed they were Muggles themselves—unable to glimpse the statue's true form.
Douglas gazed at the statue, a pang of sadness in his chest. Everything here was as the original story demanded, but he couldn't help wondering: if his cousin—whom he'd never even met—hadn't sacrificed herself, what kind of world would he have entered? Without Lily's sacrifice, life in the wizarding world would have been bleak. Muggle-borns might have ended up as little more than servants to the pure-bloods. In such a dark world, would he ever have lived so brilliantly?
After everyone had paid their respects, Douglas produced a pack of tissues and handed them to Lupin and Sirius. Without a word, he turned and headed toward the church.
The others quickly followed. From inside, the sound of carols drifted out—it was Christmas, after all.
Harry's thoughts wandered. He found himself longing for Hogwarts, wondering if he'd make it back in time for the Christmas feast, or if Ron's new owl had already shredded his ten sets of test papers…
Suddenly, Hogwarts felt more like home than anywhere else. This place was just a place for memories.
With a creak, Douglas pushed open the narrow iron gate to the graveyard. The group skirted the front of the church, making their way to the back. Through the windows, Harry glimpsed the warmth and bustle inside—and even spotted two wizards, disguised among the Muggles, quietly casting spells to keep the music echoing through the church.
Behind the church, rows of snow-capped tombstones stretched out before them.
Harry trailed behind the adults, curiosity drawing his eyes to the names carved into the stones. "Abbott… could that be Hannah's family?"
He was about to take a closer look when Douglas called back, "Keep up, Harry. That's not what we're here for."
Soon, Douglas led them to a white marble headstone, its inscription clear and stark:
James Potter Born 27 March 1960 Died 31 October 1981
Lily Potter Born 30 January 1960 Died 31 October 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Harry read the words aloud, slowly. He didn't understand the last line, but it seared itself into his mind. As he read, tears spilled down his cheeks—hot against the cold, stinging his skin.
But Harry didn't bother to wipe them away. He let the tears fall, lips pressed tight, head bowed before the marble stone.
Beneath it lay his parents' remains. More than a decade had passed—by now, there would be nothing left but bones and earth. No matter how great a wizard, once life was lost, there was no difference from any ordinary Muggle.
He could stand here today only because of their sacrifice. And yet, in all these years, he'd never once thought to visit their grave. If not for his cousin and the others bringing him here…
Douglas solemnly drew his wand, tracing a circle in the air. A wreath of yellow and white chrysanthemums appeared atop the grave.
Sirius had sunk to his knees, murmuring words only he could hear, tears streaming freely.
Lupin, eyes red and shining, crouched down and pulled a bottle of gin from his coat, uncorking it in silence.
Dobby produced a little cake he had baked himself, placing it gently before the grave and whispering words of praise for James and Lily's greatness.
Douglas felt the air growing heavy with grief. He glanced at his companions, hesitating—should he take out the Resurrection Stone and let each of them see their lost loved ones, just once more?
Ever since retrieving the Resurrection Stone—once made into a Horcrux—from the Gaunt shack, he'd spent countless hours in the Scholar Development System, searching for a way to remove Voldemort's soul fragment and the ring's curse without harming the stone itself.
But he'd kept the Resurrection Stone a secret, never mentioning it even to Dumbledore.
He feared those around him would lose themselves in the illusion of reunion.
In this world, the dead could not return—unless they chose to linger between the two worlds, waiting for those who missed them.
He'd tried the stone once. He'd seen his parents from this life, and his parents from his previous one. Apart from the unmistakable sorrow in their eyes, they were indistinguishable from the living…
From that moment on, he knew: this was not resurrection.
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