The thick wooden door could not block out the faint clamor and shadows moving within the small pub. Snape and Grindelwald crossed the snow-packed village square.
He tilted his head slightly, signaling Grindelwald to follow, then turned toward a narrow lane beside the pub. The path seemed to lead out of the village, in the opposite direction from where they had come.
He had only taken two steps, his boots crunching softly against the hardened snow, before realizing there were no footsteps behind him. Turning back, he saw Grindelwald still standing motionless at the pub's entrance, a fine layer of snow already gathering on his shoulders.
At that moment, a local villager wrapped tightly in a thick woolen scarf hurried toward them, head ducked against the cold. The man was clearly eager to get inside the warm refuge, walking so briskly that he almost collided with Grindelwald's tall figure.
The villager sidestepped deftly, went around Grindelwald, and pushed at the pub door.
The moment the door opened a crack, a rush of light spilled out, carrying with it the mixed scents of tobacco, ale, and food. Laughter, voices, and the clinking of glasses spilled out like a wave of heat.
One foot already across the threshold, the villager hesitated, glancing back at the silent stranger standing outside.
"Sir? It's freezing out here. Warm inside, care to have a drink?" he asked gruffly.
Grindelwald's gray eyes narrowed slightly, stung by the sudden light.
His gaze pierced through the doorway and its golden glow, reaching toward something distant and hazy, perhaps another time, another place, where there had been the same warm light, the same voices, and a young man's proud silhouette.
Seeing no response, the villager shrugged, muttered something under his breath, and disappeared into the pub. The door closed again, cutting off the noise and sealing the warmth away from the winter storm.
Snape had already turned back and was now standing quietly beside Grindelwald.
"Would you like to go in for a drink?" he asked, glancing toward the pub sign.
Grindelwald gave no answer. It was as if he hadn't heard. Abruptly, he turned and strode down the dark alley Snape had meant to take earlier.
Snape followed. The two men walked in silence, one behind the other, along the snow-covered road leading out of the village.
The houses grew sparse, the wind stronger. Most windows were dark, though a few still glimmered faintly.
Snape's eyes swept past them, toward the end of the lane where the houses stopped and the wilderness began.
There, on the edge between village and field, stood a darker shadow, blacker than the night itself, rising solitary and still.
Without a word, Snape adjusted his grip on his wand beneath his sleeve and approached the ruined house.
As they neared, more details became clear.
The front hedges, though partially destroyed by an explosion, still bore traces of meticulous trimming. The snow-covered lawn remained surprisingly flat, with little debris scattered across it.
Half of the house still stood, stubbornly upright. Deep-black ivy clung to the walls, the leaves frozen stiff beneath layers of snow.
The other half was gone, reduced to jagged remains of broken beams and shattered bricks, exposed to the bleak sky. Wind swirled through the ruins, carrying flakes of snow like dust in a hollow shell.
Snape and Grindelwald stood before the half-buried gate, silently observing the wreckage.
After a pause, Snape carefully raised his wand, pushing open the crooked gate, and stepped forward through the deep snow toward the gaping entrance.
Inside, the air was colder still. It carried a chill so deep it seemed to seep into one's bones.
The ground floor was littered with debris and dust. Furniture lay overturned and shattered.
A faint light glowed from the tip of Snape's wand. His eyes swept over an overturned sofa, broken porcelain, and the collapsed mantelpiece, before settling on the tilted dining table.
On the wall above it hung an old toy broomstick, its handle scratched and dented from a child's play.
Beside it hung several framed photographs.
In one, a young James Potter, no more than eleven or twelve, stood beside the scarlet carriages of the Hogwarts Express, his face bright with excitement.
Steam billowed around him, and on either side stood his smiling parents, Mrs. Potter's gentle expression and Mr. Potter's proud hand resting on his son's shoulder.
In another photo, the Potters sat around a dining table filled with food. A visibly older James grinned widely, while beside him sat Sirius Black, looking both delighted and a little embarrassed as Mrs. Potter served him a slice of pie.
Mr. Potter laughed, watching them both with quiet affection.
Snape's gaze lingered for a few seconds, then he turned away and motioned for Grindelwald to head upstairs.
They ascended the creaking, dust-coated staircase, up through the ruined upper floor and onto the topmost level.
Passing through a corridor half-exposed to the storm, they reached the far right side of the top floor, the master bedroom James had described.
The destruction here was even worse. Most of the roof and one wall were gone. Wind and snow swept through the room freely, filling it like a frozen nest. The remnants of the walls and beams lay buried under heaps of snow.
Recalling James's description of the hidden compartment, Snape took one step forward into the drift, and then stopped. There was no need.
Where the fireplace had once been, there now lay only blackened stone and rubble. The concealed recess had been violently blasted open, the secret compartment inside emptied, save for a thin scattering of windblown snow.
Snape stared at the hollow for several seconds. Tom hadn't merely killed the Potters, he had found what he was after.
The Invisibility Cloak was gone. Voldemort now possessed one of the Deathly Hallows, very likely transformed into a Horcrux.
"There's nothing left. The Cloak's gone. We're done here," Snape said, turning toward Grindelwald, who stood at the doorway, expression unreadable.
Grindelwald gave a soft snort. "Already? That's it?"
"The Dark Lord wouldn't leave a Horcrux lying around for us to find," Snape replied calmly. "There's nothing left here but ruins and memories."
Grindelwald raised his eyes toward the snowy horizon beyond the shattered wall. "Since we've come all this way," he said evenly, "walk with me through the village."
Snape hesitated, then nodded. He knew what Godric's Hollow meant to the old man, the beginning of an age, and the end of something far more personal. "All right," he said simply.
Leaving the ruins behind, they returned to the village streets.
This time, Grindelwald walked ahead. His tall figure moved steadily through the snow, Snape following quietly a few paces behind.
Every so often, Grindelwald paused before a shuttered house, gazing at the closed doors and snow-laden fences. His gray eyes reflected memories only he could see.
Snape wisely kept silent, allowing the man his solitude.
Passing a modest but tidy cottage, Snape noticed a small wooden sign beside the door: Bathilda Bagshot.
Grindelwald did not linger there.
They continued until they reached a dilapidated, long-abandoned house. Unlike the Potters' home, this ruin bore no marks of violence, only decay and neglect.
The hedges had grown wild and unkempt, reaching skyward like twisted claws. Yellowed grass poked through the snow, and fallen stones lay half-buried beneath it.
Grindelwald stood silently before the wasteland for a long, long time.
Finally, Snape approached cautiously.
As he neared the rusted iron gate, a faint ripple of magic spread through the air.
With a soft pop, a weathered wooden sign rose from the weeds, like a strange flower unfurling.
Its faded letters glimmered faintly under the snowlight:
Dumbledore's House.
Snape wisely stepped back to Grindelwald's side and said nothing.
Grindelwald's gaze did not fall upon the sign. After a few seconds, he turned sharply and strode away, without a word.
They soon returned to the center of the village square. Grindelwald's eyes shifted toward the small, solemn church across the way.
He did not enter through the front. Instead, he moved toward the back, where the churchyard lay.
The gate to the cemetery creaked open by unseen force as they approached. Snow slid off the iron bars, revealing the narrow path beyond. Snape followed him in.
The snow was deep and untrodden, the path slippery beneath their feet. They moved quietly along the side of the church, the stained-glass windows glowing faintly above them, leaving two dark tracks that the falling snow slowly began to fill.
Beyond the church stood the true resting place of Godric's Hollow. Rows of black and white gravestones rose from the snow like a stone forest.
They waded through the knee-deep drifts, their breaths visible in the freezing air.
Snape's eyes scanned the inscriptions on the old stones. Some names he recognized; others were strangers. Some belonged to Muggles, he realized.
After passing one belonging to an "Abbott," Grindelwald seemed to find his direction. He walked toward a sparser part of the graveyard and stopped.
Two rows ahead, Snape saw a darkened gravestone. He approached slowly.
On the ice-crusted surface, he could barely read the names, Kendra Dumbledore and, beneath it, and her daughter Ariana, followed by an inscription:
Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
Snape slowed his steps. Grindelwald stood motionless before the stone, his back to Snape.
The wind rose, scattering fine snow through the air. Snape's breath misted and vanished.
After a long silence, Grindelwald's low voice broke the stillness. "Let's go."
He turned to leave, but had barely taken ten steps when he froze.
Spinning abruptly, he lifted his wand, pointing toward a shadowed corner of the graveyard.
Snape's heart tightened. Instinct took over, he drew his wand from his sleeve, ready for battle.
Following Grindelwald's line of sight, he scanned the darkness between the gravestones. The area was old, the markers cracked and leaning.
Grindelwald motioned for Snape to stay back, then advanced cautiously. Each step pressed sharply into the snow.
As they moved deeper, Snape noticed the names on the stones around them, Ralston Potter, Hardwin Potter, each belonging to an ancestor of the Potter family.
Finally, Grindelwald stopped before a heavily weathered stone. Its top was broken, its surface rough and scarred.
Snape stepped closer, squinting at the worn engraving under the light of their wands:
Hardwin Potter, Iolanthe Potter, and beneath, a faint carving of a simple triangular symbol.
The air seemed to grow heavier, the night darker. Far away, the last light in the church went out.
Grindelwald lowered his wand until its tip nearly touched the cold stone, as if feeling for something within.
Then he began to mutter in a low, guttural tongue. Snape recognized it, an ancient variant of Old Runic.
As he chanted, the light at his wand tip flickered, while his other hand traced complex sigils in the air.
A ripple of invisible force spread from him, forming a translucent dome that enveloped both of them and the gravestone.
Then Grindelwald drew a sharp breath and struck the center of the stone with a blinding beam of white light.
A hissing sound followed. Thick black vapors erupted from the ground, seeping through cracks in the stone and through the engraved mark.
The darkness coiled and twisted, taking on grotesque, half-human faces, howling, writhing, dripping with hate and malice.
They lunged at the light, shrieking, trying to devour the two intruders.
The red glow of the triangular mark flared on the gravestone, and several silent curses shot out from different angles, aiming for Grindelwald's vital points.
Snape's face hardened. Instantly, he joined the defense.
Shields sprang up before them, shattered, reformed, and shattered again. Spells ricocheted off in bursts of color, burning holes in the snow.
For several tense minutes, the two wizards fought side by side, the storm around them alive with magic and fury.
At last, the shrieking black vapors lost strength. With a chorus of wails, they disintegrated into the night. The red light faded, and silence fell once more.
Grindelwald wiped the sweat from his brow and gave Snape a brief nod of approval. Then he turned back to the gravestone and raised his wand again.
With a muttered incantation, the heavy stone lifted into the air, floating aside.
The earth below shifted and peeled away. Snow and soil rolled aside, revealing a deep pit.
At the bottom lay the remnants of a coffin, little more than rotted wood and dust.
Amid the decay, something glinted.
A small golden box rose from the dirt, hovering until it dropped gently into Grindelwald's waiting hand.
He waved his wand once more. The earth flowed back into place, the gravestone settled, and the snow drifted down to cover it all. The site looked untouched.
After purging the box of residual magic, Grindelwald exhaled softly, turned, and tossed it toward Snape.
"Here," he said lazily. "See if this is what you were looking for."