Chapter Text
Snow drifted gently over Godric’s Hollow, covering the crooked rooftops and narrow lanes in a soft, white blanket. Harry and Hermione appeared beneath the branches of an ancient yew on the outskirts of the village, the Invisibility Cloak draped over their heads. The faint bells of the church tolled eight times.
For a moment, neither spoke. Harry shivered, not from the cold, but from the weight of standing on the edge of the town where his life began and his parents’ ended.
Hermione glanced at him, eyes bright. “Are you ready?” she whispered.
He nodded. He wasn’t entirely ready, truth be told, but they had come this far.
The pair of teenagers moved down a cobbled road, footsteps muffled by the thick layer of snow. Christmas lights blinked in the windows of cottages.
The kissing gate at the entrance to the churchyard creaked softly as Harry pushed it open, and Hermione slipped through behind him, the Cloak swishing around their ankles. The church stood to their left, its stained glass windows aglow with candlelight. The lyrics to O Come, All Ye Faithful drifted from the choir out into the winter air.
The gravestones were old and weathered. They passed names and dates—Dumbledores and Peverells—before coming to a halt at a white marble stone.
Harry knelt before the grave and read the words slowly, as though he would have only one chance to take in their meaning, and he read the last of them aloud.
THE LAST ENEMY THAT SHALL BE DESTROYED IS DEATH
“‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death’…” A horrible thought came to Harry, and with it a kind of panic. “Isn’t that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?”
“It doesn’t mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice gentle. “It means…you know…living beyond death. Living after death. It’s from the Bible, First Corinthians.”
Harry glanced up. “How do you know?”
She shrugged. “My parents aren’t religious, really, and neither am I. But…well, I’ve read the Bible. Once, out of curiosity. I wanted to understand the cultural references, you know?”
Harry managed a wan smile. “Of course you have.”
Hermione flushed, but continued. “It’s a letter. Paul writes about the resurrection—about death being defeated in the end.” Harry carefully rose as Hermione looped her arm underneath his. “It’s…well, it’s about hope. About not being afraid, because…because there’s something after.”
Harry was silent. He tried to picture it—a world where death was not the cold barrier that had taken his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore. He wished he could believe it. Wished he could feel the hope in those words.
The choir in St. Jerome’s Catholic Church swelled and filled the surrounding air.
“Do you think they’re…somewhere?” Harry asked quietly.
Hermione pulled his arm closer. “I hope so, Harry. I really do.”
Harry remembered a Christmas years ago: Dudley tearing into presents; Aunt Petunia bustling in the kitchen; Uncle Vernon watching the Queen’s speech; while he himself sat in the corner, ignored, watching the lights flicker on the tree. He realized that—despite the war and despite his grief— this was the only holiday he had ever truly felt close to family.
The church bells tolled, signaling the end of the Vigil Mass. Men, women, and children bundled in scarves streamed out of the oak doors at the front of St. Jerome’s, laughing and singing along with Joy to the World .
Harry and Hermione sat in silence as the last of the congregation dispersed among the village. As the doors closed, Harry imagined, just for a heartbeat, what it would be like to sit in the warmth of the church, surrounded by family and friends, the war outside held at bay.
He glanced at Hermione, wondering if she was thinking that same thing.
She caught his look and smiled, a little sadly. “We should probably go,” she whispered. “It’s not safe to stay too long.”
Harry nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Hermione conjured a wreath of lilies and laid it at the base of the gravestone.
Still linked arm in arm, they turned to head further into the snow-covered village.