Gordic's Hollow - Part 3

What am I doing here?

Suddenly remembering his conversation with Moody the previous morning, Harry removed the Spell Detector from his rucksack and placed it on the end of his nose. He inhaled sharply as pale images of blue, pink, and green light emanated from every direction on the lot at number sixteen. Harry frowned in confusion.

He walked back to the spot of scorched earth and stared through the Spell Detector. The light he saw was vivid red and appeared to be pulsating. Harry yanked the Spell Detector off his nose and backed away as if he'd seen something indecent. This place – his familial home – was virtually alive with magic.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that the entire area must be under a concealment charm, otherwise the Muggles might have rebuilt it, or worse, the wizarding population would have turned the spot into a tourist attraction. He'd found the location very easily, but he'd known where to go, or perhaps it wasn't hidden from him since it was his family. All of these uncertainties made his head pound.

He put the Spell Detector back on and continued to poke around. It took several minutes before he saw more traces of red. They were coming from a spot near the back of the dwelling, where much of the rubble was piled.

He wondered if perhaps there had been another floor since there was so much debris. He moved some stones and dirt again until he saw the same, deadened black marking. This was where his mother had died, where he'd received the mark on his forehead. Harry absently ran his fingers along the scorched earth, his mother's screams echoing in his head.

Putting away the Spell Detector, he reached out with his thoughts to try and identify the magic on his own. He felt the same shiver he remembered from the cave on that fateful night with Dumbledore. Still, he didn't know if that was simply coming from the maelstrom of emotions this place was evoking in him.

Harry sighed heavily and stood upright. There was nothing here but memories now, and he'd have to test his ability to feel the magic in a less traumatic place. It was useless to attempt it here. As he turned on his heel and took a single step, he saw a quick flash of a long, wiry tail flicking behind some rocks. Harry drew his wand, aiming at the pile of rocks.

"Reducto," he hissed, blowing the rocks apart.

The rat squealed and scurried toward another pile of rubble, revealing its telltale silver paw as it sprinted.

"Reducto," Harry growled again, sending more dust and particles into the air. "Hiding in cracks and holes again, Wormtail? I suppose a rat can never change its spots, either, eh? Come out and face me man to man."

As the dust from his second blast settled, Harry looked around warily. There was no sign of the rat anywhere.

"Come out, Wormtail. I don't have time for your sodding little games. You've been following me for quite some time now; you must have something to say. Spit it out before I do what I should have done a long time ago," Harry said, his hand shaking.

All the rage, fear and pent-up emotion over seeing the destruction of his parents' home finally had an outlet, and Harry was nearly radiating fury. Here in front of him was the stinking little rat who'd betrayed his parents and was directly responsible for everything that had happened here. The thought that Wormtail could still find his way here because he was supposed to have been this home's protector made his blood boil.