After the memorial, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin seemed lighter, the weight on their shoulders eased a little. As they set off toward the old Potter house, Sirius reached for Harry's hand, leading him down the slick cobblestone lane that wound out of the village.
At the end of the narrow street, fields stretched wide and empty. But what caught Harry's eye was the crumbling shell of a house. When he felt Sirius's hand trembling in his grip, Harry knew without a doubt—this had once been his home.
Without a word, Harry pulled free and broke into a run, stumbling a little as he hurried toward the house.
Behind him, Douglas Holmes and the others slowed their pace, watching Harry's awkward, desperate figure with a pang of emotion.
Douglas noticed Dobby starting to follow and gently said, "Let's hang back. Give him a moment alone."
Sirius spoke quietly, almost to himself, "The Fidelius Charm is gone."
Douglas and Lupin understood at once. They said nothing, simply following slowly after Harry.
Harry stopped at the threshold of what had once been home. More than a decade had passed; the hedges had grown wild and tangled, waist-high weeds swallowing the rubble. Most of the house still stood, but thick black ivy and snow clung to the walls. Harry found himself imagining what might have been—if none of this had ever happened, he'd be here on Christmas break, trimming the ivy under his mother's watchful eye, helping his father clear snow from the roof.
He gazed up at the ruined upper floor, especially the shattered right side. He guessed that was where the curse had rebounded all those years ago. He remembered nothing of that night, but he knew: it was his own magic that had sent the Killing Curse back, defeated Voldemort, and destroyed half the house.
He stood at the doorway, taking in the ruin, trying to reconstruct its former beauty in his mind.
Douglas and the others caught up. Harry, his voice low and a little lost, asked, "Why hasn't anyone rebuilt it? They even built a memorial, but…"
Sirius shook his head as he stared at the destroyed room. "Maybe it can't be rebuilt. Damage from Dark Magic—sometimes it's impossible to fix."
Douglas shook his head. "It's not that it can't be fixed. I suppose no one wants to. Partly because it was Voldemort's doing—some people are still afraid, deep down. And maybe, just maybe, they think it should be you, Harry, who restores it. Do you think you could?"
Harry's heart leapt. "I—I think I could!"
But then a thought struck him. Was this another Christmas assignment? Even with magic, fixing this house wouldn't be easy.
Douglas nodded, satisfied. "That's what I like to hear. So what are you waiting for—planning to stand outside your own door all day?"
With a mock glare, Douglas gave Harry a playful kick. Harry staggered forward, landing against the iron gate, now crusted with snow and rust.
As soon as his hand touched the gate, before he could pull away, a wooden sign rose up from the earth before them, pushing through the nettles and wild grass like some enchanted blossom.
Golden letters gleamed on its surface:
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 have survived 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.
Harry's voice rang out, thick with excitement, "Cousin—Sirius—come look at this!"
The moment Harry touched the gate, Douglas and the others had already seen the change. Douglas, of course, had known this would happen—he'd only hurried Harry along because he was dawdling.
But as Harry stepped closer to the sign, Douglas noticed a faint, nearly invisible pulse of magic shoot up into the sky. He frowned, quietly drawing his wand and moving to Harry's side. Sirius, Lupin, and Dobby all noticed Douglas's change in demeanor. Without hesitation, they drew their wands as well, taking up a protective formation around Harry. Dobby, still under the Disillusionment Charm, melted into the iron gate, silent as a shadow.
Oblivious, Harry read every word on the sign, not noticing the tension behind him.
Beyond the neat gold lettering, the sign was covered with messages and signatures left by visiting witches and wizards—tributes to the Boy Who Lived and the place where he'd defied death. Some had written their names in indelible ink, others had carved their initials, and many had left messages and dates—the latest from this Halloween.
Harry searched carefully, wondering if Douglas had ever left a mark here—a name, maybe, or a single line.
He was still looking when two sharp cracks of Apparition split the air just outside the gate.
Douglas and the others instantly swung their wands toward the sound, but held their spells in check.
Harry, startled, finally realized something was happening and fumbled for his own wand, pointing it forward just as two figures materialized at the gate, wands raised and faces wary.
Douglas recognized them at once and relaxed, lowering his wand.
"Mr. Shacklebolt—fancy meeting you again so soon. Hi, Tonks, on another mission?"
It was the Auror team from the Hogwarts rat-catcher operation a few days ago—Kingsley Shacklebolt in the lead, with Douglas's old friend and junior, Nymphadora Tonks, at his side.
Kingsley's dark face broke into a rare smile as he recognized the Hogwarts professors. "So it's Professor Holmes, Professor Lupin, and the famous Sirius Black. Didn't expect to find you bringing Mr. Potter here."
Before anyone else could reply, Tonks's hair flashed through a rainbow of colors. She strode forward, gave Sirius a long, curious look, then nudged Douglas with her elbow. "Doug, what on earth are you lot doing together?"
Tonks hadn't been present for the Hogwarts operation, so she had no idea about Sirius's connection to Douglas.
Sirius's eyes lit up at hearing someone else call Douglas "Doug." He stood aside, watching with interest, while Lupin wore the fond, teasing smile of a favorite aunt.
Harry quickly tucked away his wand and joined Sirius, ready to watch the show. He was certain his cousin would blow his top—every time Sirius called him "Doug," Douglas got annoyed.
But to their astonishment, Douglas just shot Tonks a look and replied coolly, "That's Harry's godfather. You've got a detection charm set up here—are you looking for Peter?"
At the sound of that name, Sirius's expression hardened. He pulled Harry closer, positioning him between himself and Lupin, his eyes scanning the overgrown grass for any sign of movement.
Tonks snapped her fingers in surprise. "Trust you to figure us out so fast, Doug. We set up the alarm right after the incident. Anyone steps foot in this yard, we get here as quick as we can. Didn't expect it'd be you lot… How did you—oh, sorry."
She broke off mid-sentence, suddenly noticing Harry and remembering just where she was. She stuck out her tongue, embarrassed, and apologized to him.
Harry shook his head quickly. "It's all right. Honestly, I only learned about this place today. So—what's your relationship with my cousin?"
He couldn't help himself—his curiosity was burning.
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