Douglas Holmes glanced at his watch and said quietly, "It's getting late. Let's head out."
He led the group to the center of the chamber, stepping onto the altar.
The moment his feet touched the stone, Harry felt a wave of strangeness. The entire altar was made from some unfamiliar stone, its surface etched with strange runes. That much, Harry could accept—wizards did love their mysterious symbols.
But in the very center of the altar, atop a pedestal, sat a screen that looked like it was made of glass. Numbers flickered across its surface.
Harry gaped. He'd seen something like this in sci-fi movies on the Dursleys' television. Was magic powered by science fiction now?
He glanced around, trying to gauge the others' reactions. Lupin was frowning in confusion. "This can't be Muggle technology, can it? But I don't remember their displays ever being this advanced."
Sirius Black puffed up with pride. "Shows what you know! That's a transparent touch display. Muggles haven't caught up yet, but it's based on their screen tech—only, we combined it with magic. You can actually operate it by touching the glass."
Harry's curiosity got the better of him. "So… what is this? I thought we were going out—why did we come here?"
Sirius jumped in before anyone else. "This is a one-way directional teleportation array. It can send you anywhere in Britain—above ground, underground, wherever you like. All you need to do is punch in the Muggle-designed three-dimensional coordinates—latitude, longitude, and altitude—right on this screen, and off you go. Want me to explain what three-dimensional coordinates are?"
Harry shook his head quickly. "No need, I know that. My Muggle primary school teacher covered it."
Lupin looked skeptical. "So it's basically a Portkey, then? Why bother building a teleportation array? Even if Portkeys are monitored by the Ministry of Magic, I'm sure you could make one that wouldn't get noticed."
Douglas explained, "Portkeys have a usage limit, but that's not the worst of it. The real problem is comfort—the process is just awful. This is much smoother. All right, let's get started. Dobby, you're up. We just need to place our hands on the platform around the display."
Lupin eyed Douglas, a teasing smile on his lips. "Douglas, don't tell me you get Portkey-sick?"
Harry didn't really understand, but it all sounded amazing. He hurried to place his hand on the altar's edge, just as Douglas had shown. The others followed suit.
Dobby fished a tiny notebook out of his pocket, squinting at the cramped writing as he tapped his long finger against the glass screen, entering numbers one by one.
Each time he typed, he muttered, "Near Godric's Hollow… 53.5 degrees north latitude… 3.0 degrees west longitude… altitude, 75 meters…"
Harry craned his neck and saw that Dobby's notebook was crammed with addresses and coordinates.
He was still puzzling over it when a wave of magic swept through him. A flash of blue light filled his vision; he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was standing at the edge of a little village, blanketed in white snow.
It was Christmas, and at the center of the village stood a spectacular Christmas tree, easily over ten meters tall. Perhaps because it was daytime, the scene felt peaceful and almost ordinary.
Lupin let out a soft sigh. "No wonder you built this teleportation array. There's no sensation at all."
He gazed at the village, eyes shining with unshed tears.
Sirius's eyes were red too, and Douglas could have sworn he heard him sniffle.
Harry noticed that none of the villagers seemed to have noticed their sudden arrival. He figured they must be under some kind of Muggle-Repelling Charm.
He turned to Sirius, curiosity burning. "Where are we?"
But for once, Sirius—who usually answered every question—remained silent, as if he hadn't heard.
Even Dobby was quiet.
Douglas looked at the scene before them and sighed. "This is Godric's Hollow…"
Harry repeated the name, puzzled. "Godric's Hollow? I've answered that question before—it's Godric Gryffindor's birthplace. Are we here to look for the legendary Sword of Gryffindor?"
He couldn't help a flicker of excitement. He'd known this Christmas trip wouldn't be so simple.
(According to Rowling's canon, Harry doesn't know about Godric's Hollow in the first six books, and only glances at it in A History of Magic in the seventh. So it's not worth debating whether Harry would know about his parents' grave.)
At his words, all three adults and Dobby turned to stare at Harry with a look he couldn't quite decipher.
Harry realized he'd probably said something wrong.
Sirius shot Douglas a questioning look. "You never told him?"
Douglas's face darkened, his tone a little sharp. "It's written in plenty of books. I thought he knew."
Seeing Harry's continued confusion, Douglas had to fight the urge to give him a good kick.
Lupin spoke softly, "Godric's Hollow isn't just Godric Gryffindor's birthplace. It's also where Harry Potter was born."
Harry stared at the village in shock, his eyes growing red as he murmured, "This is where I was born… where my parents died? This was my home…"
A thousand thoughts crowded his mind. If Voldemort had never come, he would have grown up here in Godric's Hollow, spent every holiday in this village. He'd have invited friends over, maybe even had a little brother or sister.
He could have asked his cousin to build him a secret passage from his bedroom—one the Ministry of Magic would never find—so he could visit London whenever he liked.
He could have stood proudly at the village entrance, waving at his cousin, his godfather, Uncle Remus, and shouted, "Welcome to my home!"
Douglas glanced at the group, then said softly, "Let's go."
He led the way along a path trodden through the snow, heading toward the heart of the village.
As they passed each house, Harry's eyes lingered on every one, searching for some spark of memory, though he knew it was impossible—he'd been only a year old when he left.
He wondered if his old home still stood, or if the house had survived the night that changed everything.
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