The Graveyard - 4

The bright, early afternoon sun on this chilly day was in stark contrast to the warm June night he often relived in his nightmares. His palms began to sweat, and his heart hammered in his chest as terrifying memories assaulted all his senses.

Phantom images of Death Eaters appearing from nowhere, the sound of cold, cruel laughter, the acrid smell of smoke as it rose into the night, the feeling of his body being ripped apart…

"Ow!" Ron yelped, hopping around on one foot and holding his knee with the other. "Bloody hell, Harry. I didn't think you'd set us down right in the graveyard. I slammed right into that tombstone."

"I didn't mean it," Harry said quietly, his eyes glued to the tall marble headstone directly in front of him. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to pull his gaze away from the name engraved on the stone.

Tom Riddle

"I was afraid this might happen. I told you to envision the spot carefully, Harry," Hermione said, her lips puckering. "It's a wonder we all didn't get Splinched." She looked torn between concern, annoyance and frustration – the expression on her face rapidly alternating between the three.

"Harry?" Ginny said tentatively, resting her hand on his bicep.

"Yeah," Harry said, shaking his head to clear it. Sheepishly, he admitted, "At the last minute, my mind drifted. Sorry about that. We're only a few meters from where we should have been. That's the Riddle House there, on the hill." He pointed towards it, but once again his eyes traveled to the marble gravestone and moved along the length of the grave. The large stone cauldron had since been removed, but he could picture it there, churning and bubbling, remembering the stark terror of watching the smoke rise into the night…

Ron clapped him on the back, his eyes shifting between Harry and Hermione. "We can't afford to get Splinched, mate," he said, looking around the graveyard uncomfortably. "It's a right mess, and I don't know how to undo it."

"And we can't get the Ministry Reversal Squad involved, Harry. We don't even know if they still exist," Hermione said, her eyes wide and apologetic. She wrung her hands nervously. "You need to slow down and think a bit first."

"All right," Harry said, feeling nettled. The memories were assaulting him fast and furious, and he felt his breath coming quicker as he recalled what easily had to be the scariest night of his life. "What's done is done, and we're okay."

"That's not the point," Hermione said indignantly. "I know this must be hard for you, Harry, but we can't be impulsive. We can't afford any mistakes." Her eyes softened, and she rested her hand on his arm. "I do want to help, Harry, and I know this must be traumatic, but I can't assist you if you won't let me. You have to trust that we can handle something if you can't once in a while."

"Is this where it happened, Harry?" Ginny asked quietly. She'd wrapped her arms around herself and was staring at the stones apprehensively. Harry thought she looked ready to sprint for the road at any moment.

"Yeah," he said, turning his attention away from Ron and Hermione and focusing solely on her. "That's the grave where I was tied. Wormtail did it before I even knew what was happening." He silently traced his hand along his cheekbone, remembering the blow Wormtail had used to still him.

He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt the desperate need to talk about it – a need like he'd never felt in the past. "The cauldron was there, and Wormtail stood between us, carrying the thing Voldemort was. He looked like some kind of grotesque baby. When Wormtail dropped him into the cauldron, I kept hoping he would drown," Harry whispered, swallowing thickly.