WITH THE WIND IN HER HAIR

ch. 1: Christmas in Godric's Hollow

The Christmas season. Filled with so much excitement and cheer. Harry never really liked the holidays, because since his parents were killed when he was one, he went to live with his horrible aunt's family the Dursleys. There was something else special about this seventeen-year-old. He was a wizard. Every fall semester he took the Hogwarts Express to his boarding school, Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This was the only real home Harry had ever known. All the students were having breakfast one last time before the winter break; they would be boarding the Express to King's Cross Station this afternoon. Harry sat at one of the four long tables in the Great Hall eating with his friends. He was so excited. Since the last thing he wanted to do was go back to the Dursleys for the holidays, he was going to spend the week with his best friend, Ron Weasley, and family.

The Weasleys lived outside of Ottery St. Catchpole in England, in a seven story dilapidated house, held up only by magic. Harry loved this house, called the Burrow, and loved all of the Weasley family. Harry looked at Ron and his younger sister Ginny. They both had fiery red hair and freckles. Also coming to stay with the Weasleys over Christmas was Harry's other best friend, Hermione Granger. Hermione had long thick brown hair and brown eyes. She was top of their year, always having the best grades out of anyone. Though they had never told him, Harry knew that Ron and Hermione both had something for each other. Another boy, who was tall and had a round baby-ish face came up to the group, who were finishing their sausages and eggs. "Happy Christmas Eve, everyone!" He smiled.

"Happy Christmas Eve, Neville." Harry smiled back at his friend. Neville had been the subject of much teasing back in their first year, but became fast friends with Harry when Harry protected him. Then the bell rang for the students to get in the carriages awaiting them. As the friends filed out of the Entrance Hall and climbed into the carriages, Harry made his announcement to Ron and Hermione. "Tomorrow I'm going to visit my parents." Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"But mate, your parents are-"

"Dead. I know. I'm going to Godric's Hollow to visit my house and their graves. Then I'll come back to the Burrow." Hermione and Ron nodded. They soon arrived at the Hogwarts express, and were on their way to King's Cross Station.

* * * * * * *

Harry looked down at the shining face of Mrs. Weasley. "Take care, dear. Don't be too long." She kissed him on the cheek. She was the most maternal figure in Harry's life. "Do you know how you'll be traveling?"

"Apparating." Harry had just earned his apparating license, and couldn't wait to try it out for real. He chanced one more glance at the small kitchen. The knives were chopping up some carrots and celery for stew. The sun was setting on this Christmas day, and everyone else was out in the yard enjoying the surprisingly warm weather. Harry didn't want to make a fuss, so he prepared to leave. He took a deep breath. Destination, Determination, Deliberation. He turned on the spot and fell into blackness. Harry felt like he was being compressed, like he was being squeezed into nothingness. The emptiness was almost unbearable until he burst out with a pop. The cool breeze was like a deep breath in fresh air after swimming in hot water for a while. He opened his eyes. He was in an English suburb, with neat rows of little houses on both sides of him. The house in front of him seemed to be sagging slightly, with a very overgrown garden and a rusty fence. Just off the sidewalk, Harry saw a sign. It seemed like some kind of memorial, saying,

"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."

People had written on the sign: "Good luck Harry, wherever you are," and "If you read this Harry we're all behind you." The words that looked the most fresh said, "Long live Harry Potter." Harry looked at the sign for a moment, and only realized he was crying when he couldn't read the words anymore. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. Looking back at the house, he slowly opened the rusty gate. He strode right up to the house and tested the doorknob. It was unlocked.

The house was dark, and smelled like pine needles. Harry took out his wand and muttered, "lumos." Raising his wand so as to light up the room better, he could see he was in a small sitting room. There was a tattered sofa in the middle, facing an old radio against the wall. There was also a bookshelf, sagging in the middle from the knowledge it held. Harry padded over to the bookshelf, wondering what kinds of books his parents read. Advanced Potions: A Guide to Potion-Making. That was Lily's. He had heard his mother was an excellent potion maker. Great Aurors, Young and Old. That definitely belonged to his dad. Hogwarts, a History, Basic Charms and Spells, and Dark Magic and its Defenses. Harry skimmed the shelves. Then he saw a book laying on the floor by the couch.

My parents must have been looking at that the night they died! Harry cautiously picked up the book. It was thick, with yellowing pages. The cover was hard and did not have a title. Harry blew on it, and a cloud of dust flew into the air, making him cough. He opened the old brown cover. It had pictures of wizards and witches he didn't know, with dates scribbled in untidy hand under them. Must be some sort of photo album. He turned the page, beginning to lose interest, but paused. There was a picture of him! Of course he didn't have his scar or glasses yet, but it was a little boy with black hair crawling up on a man's lap. Harry knew from a picture he had seen that this man was his father. His mother must have been taking the picture. Unlike muggle pictures, magic pictures' subjects moved. Harry's father was ruffling Harry's untidy hair affectionately, and Harry was laughing contentedly. Harry smiled and turned the page.

There was an open envelope in the center of the page, and a folded over picture with a name printed underneath. Jean Evans, 1911. This was nothing special, it must be someone from his mother's side of the family. Harry unfolded the picture and froze. No way. The person pictured in this photograph was shockingly familiar.

Hermione.