Work Text:
The Shawl
“I’m sorry it’s come to this.”
“Me too,” Lily Potter said, her smile dipping into a frown. “I will miss our tea time, and I know Harry will miss you greatly.”
“Just as long as you stay safe.” Bathilda gazed at little Harry, who was playing with a toy dragon. He had barely started walking, let alone talking, but somehow still such a threat to a madman who was trying to hunt him down.
Lily ruffled her son’s messy hair. “We will.”
The thought of losing her pleasant neighbors' company was upsetting, especially under these circumstances. “How long will it be for?”
“We’re not sure.”
“Well, when you return, there’ll be a cuppa waiting at my house,” Bathilda offered, hoping to give Lily something to look forward to.
It worked; Lily’s smile returned. “Thank you, Bathilda.”
Knowing she should leave soon, Bathilda leaned down and patted Harry’s head. “And you, Harry. I expect you to start talking by the time I see you next.”
Bathilda dreaded that this ordeal tearing them apart would go on forever.
Would he be a grown boy the next time she saw him?
She certainly hoped not.
Lily scooped Harry up into her arms. “He’s starting to make sounds. It won’t be long.”
“I’d best be off then. I know you have a lot to do,” Bathilda said, pushing herself up from the chair.
Lily stood, holding Harry to her hip, while he babbled as if he were part of the conversation. “Thank you for everything, and please stay safe.”
“You just keep your family safe,” Bathilda countered. “Don’t worry about old Bathilda. There’s still some more tricks up this little old lady’s sleeve.”
It was Halloween.
Five days after the Potter house disappeared, leaving a blank lawn in its wake. Bathilda would never admit it, but she already missed their company.
As the night grew darker, the wind picked up and an unusual chill settled in the air. The kettle whistled on the hob, and she tended to it, pouring her nightly cup of tea. She took it to her study where the newest novel from Whizz Hard Books was resting on her desk. She’d finished her review, but it still needed revisions before she sent it to the publisher and the Prophet.
As she started writing, an explosion rocked her house, and her tea spilled over her parchment.
Her first thought was of the Potters.
Clutching her wand in her hand and pulling her shawl tight, Bathilda rushed for the front door. The Potter’s house had returned, but it was missing its roof amongst other obvious structural damage.
Bathilda shuffled toward the wreckage as fast as she could move.
“LILY! JAMES!” she yelled as she stepped over rubble.
Part of the roof blocked the front door. She didn’t dare attempt to Apparate; Muggles were already coming up behind her.
“If you can hear me, say something,” Bathilda called, her hand cupped around her mouth to amplify her voice as loud as she dared.
The sound of a baby wailing came to her ears, bringing relief.
Harry was alive.
Bathilda searched for a way into the house so that she could get to Harry.
“Hold on, Harry. Bathilda is coming,” she panted, starting to push at the splintered wood and the displaced block that jammed the door.
“Professor, what ‘re ye doin’ ‘ere?” a booming voice asked, nearly scaring the daylights out of her.
She had never been happier to see the half-giant as she was in that moment. The burly man appeared heartbroken by what was before him.
“Oh, thank Merlin! Hagrid, I don’t know what happened, but the baby is up there screaming.”
This seemed to snap Rubeus out of his own thoughts. “Dumbledore sent me. I’ll get ‘im.”
Bathilda stepped back, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders as Hagrid pushed aside the blockage and went into the house. Sobs resonated from within, and when Hagrid returned carrying the wailing child, he was crying too.
She reached her arms up, but Hagrid refused to relinquish Harry to her. “Dumbledore’s orders. Got ta take him ter Albus, cause they’re—” The man started blubbering incoherently.
Her heart broke, knowing what had happened.
Lily and James were gone.
Pulling off her shawl, she handed it to the half-giant. “Wrap him in this; he’ll catch a cold if he’s out in this chill without something.”
“Yes, Professor.”
What followed was a blur of coming and going.
Sirius Black showed up and insisted Hagrid take his motorbike to get Harry to safety.
Bathilda tried to protest that he could drop the child, but Hagrid promised to keep Harry in a sling so he’d be secure.
Sirius Black then escorted her back to her house, holding her up. “What happened, Bathilda?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered honestly. No spell she knew of could do this. A Bombarda would not have caused this much damage, nor would it have left Harry unharmed. “There was an explosion, and then the house was back and they were gone. I think it was You-Know-Who , here, in Godric’s Hollow !”
Sirius’ eyes grew dark and he twisted his lips, staring off in the distance. “Go inside your house, Professor Bagshot. I’ll sort this out.”
She’d known he was the boy's godfather; she and Lily had talked about it at length. Bathilda caught his arm, hoping to keep him from doing something brash. “Be careful. You’re all Harry has left now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sirius nodded, seeming to gain some of his usual swagger as he turned tail and Disapparated.
Bathilda trudged into her house and plopped down in her chair.
It had been five days since she’d seen them, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be the last time. Her hands shook and a chill came over her. She reached for her shawl, only to realize she’d given it to Harry.
Grief overtook her, and for once, the great historian Bathilda Bagshot wished she hadn’t been there to witness history in the making this time.