This is the last one I have completely finished. I've got a few more in progress, but I don't know when I'm going to have time to edit them, so the next update will probably take longer (hopefully not 2+ years though). We're still sticking with Harry for a bit. Thanks for reading and reviewing.
"This is highly irregular Mr. Potter." Filch wheezed as he unlocked the gate.
Harry frowned, how was that man even still working? He had to be ancient by now. "I realize that Mr. Filch, but this is a rather urgent situation." He bypassed the caretaker, and made his way up to the castle.
He'd managed to time his arrival to coincide with breakfast, so he managed to avoid seeing any students in the hallways.
He'd owled ahead from the village to let McGonagall know he was coming. He'd also taken that time to write a short note to Ginny as well. That he loved her, and missed her, and was trying his best to be home for their family soon.
McGonagall was standing outside her office, the familiar tight frown on her lips. She looked him up and down; "I'll summon you some breakfast in a minute. You don't look as though you've been eating enough, Harry."
He was slightly surprised by the use of his first name, rather than 'Mr. Potter' but he shrugged it off.
"I haven't really, thank you, Minerva." Her name felt strange on his tongue, and it must have shown on his face because she gave him a wry smile as she led the way past the gargoyles and onto the moving staircase.
"You understand that he might not be much help to you?" She asked as they approached her door, stopping him with a stern look.
"Yes." Harry's mind unwillingly returned to the first time he'd come here after Hermione had lost it. He'd been in a panic, Hermione was missing and he'd had no explanation as to why she'd gone off the deep end. When Dumbledore's portrait couldn't give him answers, he'd flown into a rage. He understood why McGonagall was reluctant to let him back in, but it had been ten years, and he'd mellowed in that time. He was still embarrassed about his behavior, and it was part of the reason he hadn't managed to bring himself back sooner.
"I have to try."
Minerva nodded, and opened her door. "I'll be back in 15 minutes."
Harry made his way to the wall of portraits. Most of them were feigning sleep, but he caught a few peeking at him. He approached Dumbledore's portrait, and cleared his throat. "Professor Dumbledore."
One twinkling blue eye opened, "Harry. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I uh…well, I wanted to apologize first of all, for the last time I was here. I was extremely upset, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."
A small smile quirked Dumbledore's lips, and now both his eyes opened. "Thank you Harry. Though I suspect you did not wait ten years to say that and only have that to say."
"No, I wanted to have found something, to have improved from where I was in my search for answers."
"I take it you have then?"
"Possibly. I had a dream last night, and… It gave me an idea."
Dumbledore waited, patiently as Harry tried to find the words he needed.
"All this time, I've been searching for a curse or a disease, but what if it's more sinister? Bellatrix was thoroughly convinced that she was going to rule alongside Voldemort…forever. What if. What if she had one? A Horcrux?"
"What would that have to do with Miss Granger's condition?"
"The dagger. She cut Hermione with it. At Malfoy Manor, when the Snatchers caught us. And who knows what else she might have done to her? And then she killed Doby with it, and…what if it was a Horcrux, what if it got into her somehow? I don't know if it's actually possible, but I've been searching for these answers for so long, and it's the only theory I have that even seems plausible right now."
The former Headmaster gazed down at Harry unblinkingly for several moments, Harry felt that old familiar piercing, as if the man was looking right through him. "Harry, I'm not Dumbledore."
The statement was not at all along the lines of what Harry had expected to hear. "What?"
"I'm all that remains of him, but I am a portrait, at most a memory. Dumbledore gave me his memories, taught me to behave as him, but now he is dead, and I am stagnant." The portrait breathed deeply, his eyes looked sad, "I can give you advice, its true, but I cannot guide you. As much as I wish I was, you must remember that a portrait is not the same as a living person."
Harry was tight lipped, "I know that, just-please. Your wisdom is still valid."
"It is an interesting theory. I cannot corroborate it, of course, but it is a possibility. The books on the subject of Horcruxes could help you, I'm afraid they were last in the possession of your friend, were they not?"
"They were."
"A pity."
"I've mapped out all locations of significance to Hermione that I could think of, and searched them, but I've found no trace of dagger or bag. I tried summoning them to me as well, but no luck, Hermione charmed her bag well, no surprises there."
"Indeed. Have you thought to look in places of interest for Bellatrix?"
That gave Harry a moment of pause, "Well, I extra searched the places where her presence was strong-" His eyes widened, as he remembered the memory left by Ron, "Except for Shell Cottage!" Harry stood up, ready to bolt out of the room.
"Harry, if you do not find what you are looking for there, a wise move might be to look more closely into locations more personal to Bellatrix, even if you've never been there. Or, perhaps there is something that overlaps with Hermione."
Harry nodded, "Thanks Professor."
He left the office before McGonagall returned, the promise of breakfast forgotten.
As he hurried to the gate, he attempted to ignore the fact that if he didn't find what he needed there he would have to go where he dreaded. It had to be Shell Cottage, he knew it. He hadn't known about that dalliance in the trees before; that must be it. It had to be. He did not want to visit Malfoy Manor again any time soon.
The place was turned upside down, as the Aurors searched everything. Harry stood in the wrecked hall, using a spell to blast open the floor where Hermione had lain as her arm was cut to ribbons. He found nothing under the floorboards, and with a sigh repaired them.
He walked through the upper floors, and then down to the cellar. This was where he's been held with Ron, Luna and Olivander while... He shrugged off the dark thoughts. It looked like it was simply being used for storage now, there was a stack of slumbering portraits against one wall covered by drop cloths, outdated pieces of furniture in that corner, a box of photo albums, and hundreds of bottles of dusty wines in racks along the far wall.
"There's nothing here." He finally mumbled to himself. He turned on his heel and headed for the front door.
It had been nearly three years since Voldemort's fall. It had taken them this long for the Ministry to get back into enough order, and for the court case to go through to get the permits to search the premise for this purpose. The elder Malfoy was in Azkaban for his service to the Dark Lord, but the family still had money, and did all in their power to block this search. Narcissa had been less than helpful in answering questions about her sister. She seemed hell-bent on blocking every angle of the investigation that she could.
And there was Narcissa and Draco, standing just outside the gate, watching as the Aurors tore apart their home. Draco had a defeated air about him, but Narcissa was stone faced, glaring at him.
He tried to hurry past, intent on getting home to Ginny and the baby, and avoid Lady Malfoy's wrath, but no such luck.
"Mr. Potter." Her words were icy. He steeled himself, and turned to face her.
"Yes?" He inquired crisply.
She took a step toward him on the gravel path, he noticed Draco seemed to flinch away even further, "My sister has been dead nearly four years, this is a fools errand. If you ever so much as step inside my home again-"
"I won't." He said tightly. They stared at one another for several long moments. Each knew their debt to the other. He had saved Draco, and she had saved him in return, they were even, but not friends. "This house doesn't have what I need, but those boxes might." He gestured to several boxes being floated out of the house by an Auror. They contained all the information on the Black family that was to be found in the house. "I'll have them returned when my search is over. Good day."
He turned on his heel and marched away, the back of his neck prickling. He expected to be hexed at any moment judging by the fury he'd seen in her face. But Narcissa was the rational Black sister, cold but calculating, and he walked away safely.
"Where ya want me to take these boxes, sir?" The auror who had them asked.
"I'll take them home with me and look them through if I get a chance tonight."
"With a new baby, Harry? Come on, these'll get dusty." The pockfaced young man joked.
"I assure you, they will not." Harry snapped, as he snatched the boxes from the air and Disaparated in a huff.
"And they didn't did they…" Harry muttered to himself bitterly, as he appeared on the sandy beach near Shell Cottage. He'd gone home that day and spent maybe five minutes with his wife and son before holing himself up in his study and starting to comb through those boxes. "Maybe Ernie was right."