Harry Potter and the Mad Horcrux Hunt

Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters in this series, these are J K Rowling's creations. I do own this version of the seventh book however, and if someone copies, I'm agonna kicka them in the pants!

Chapter One – Ponderings and Wonderings

As the sun cast filtered beads of yellow light into the messy upstairs bedroom of No 4 Privet Drive a boy on the cusp of manhood lay on his bed trying (and having no apparent luck) to clear his head of all thoughts. Undertaking this task was not done out of a need to practice Occlumency, lest the most feared Dark Lord in a century take control of his mind again, but more to quell the never-ceasing, swirling mass of thoughts that seemed to plague his brain. He had achieved something close to absolute darkness in his mind on a couple of isolated occasions, and found the bliss of empty-headedness and ease intoxicating. However both times conscious thought had seemed to come rushing back into his mind making his head hurt.

Harry rolled over casting a withering glance around his room, a room that summed up pretty well his existence in the Muggle world. His bed, tattered and with a broken mattress, seemed to strain under the weight of the thin sheet that covered it, let alone his undernourished frame. His desk, appropriate for a person half his height was covered in many books, all half-opened as though someone had made a feeble attempt to read them all at once and had failed spectacularly. The cupboard in the corner contained all his clothes, though this statement immediately drew the argument that Dudley's threadbare sheet-like clothes could hardly be called 'his', if 'clothes' at all.

But whether it was because he hadn't the energy to care, or whether it was because there was so much else to occupy his emotions, Harry couldn't bring himself to despise his surroundings. It symbolized the life he was leaving behind in two weeks and to make a big deal about it now was childish. He was determined to eradicate any of the childish tantrums and emotional outbursts that had plagued his last six years and to that end had begun clearing his mind at any available opportunities. As Harry's eyes wandered around the room they fell upon the empty cage of Hedwig, his snowy majestic-looking owl; probably off hunting. It was a testimony to their close relationship that Harry knew she would return, despite how horribly she had been ignored. That was yet another thing he would rectify, as last year he had virtually forgotten about her alone up in the Hogwarts Owlery.

Thinking about leaving the Dursley's drew Harry's eyes to the pages of the Daily Prophet newspaper that were crumpled in the bin beside his desk. Headlines such as 'School Governers Close Hogwarts after Shock Death of Headmaster Dumbledore', and 'Scrimgeour Maintains Ministry is Doing Everything They Can Against You Know Who' annoyed him like a pesky fly. He cold indifference towards Scrimgeour had mellowed of late, and he was actually permitting himself to feel a little sorry for the man taking over Cornelius Fudge's corrupt debacle of a term as Minister of Magic. But he could not understand why Hogwarts would close, surely parents realized that their children were marginally safer there than at home, even with Dumble…. dead.

Thinking about Hogwarts caused him to think about Professor McGonagall and the way he had talked to her that horrible night. It was a night that had etched itself into Harry's mind, determined not to be forgotten or even ignored for more than a couple of hours. That night seemed to have changed everything for Harry; the sanctity of Hogwarts from Voldemort's influence gone, his home away from 'home' gone, his education and childhood gone, but most significantly the death of someone Harry had come to recognize as an older uncle. Professor Dumbledore had seemed to be everything Harry needed to be to defeat Voldemort. He'd been magically strong, intelligent beyond imagination, just crazy enough to be labeled genius and calm enough to look fear and death in the face with a dry smile and twinkle of the eye. Even now the idea of Dumbledore's death was alien to him and he woke every day desperately hoping that the whole sorry debacle involving the fake horcrux and the events thereafter were a distant dream.

But alas it was no dream, that night when he'd spoken to now-Headmistress McGonagall he had been rude, and while he was emotional at the time, that was no excuse. He had sent off a quick apology the other day not expecting a return and was surprised to find one on his desk still rolled up, not in the least because he wasn't aware that Hedwig could detach a letter by herself!

Harry

Do not give last weeks conversation another thought, emotions were running high and you remained as courteous as can be expected given the circumstances. In saying that I would gladly like to know where you and Dumbledore were and what you were doing purely because I might be able to help. You need all the allies you can at the moment, especially with the school closed; do not actively push people away. Finally while doing my routine check of the Gryffindor dormitories I found a map that belongs to you, you may collect it at any time.

Kind Regards

Minerva

Almost immediately he had ran to his trunk and, pulling out everything, found the Marauders Map scrunched up at the bottom. Puzzled he began pacing while looking over the letter. Why would McGonagall lie? Why?...Unless…..He ran back over to his trunk, procured his wand and tapping the letter uttered the magic words I solemnly swear I'm up to no good. Immediately a smaller letter appeared at the bottom in McGonagall's elegant cursive writing.

Harry

Meet me at the top of Privet Drive tomorrow night 11.00pm

Minerva

That was yesterday morning…..