Albus Dumbledore had thought that it would be an undertaking of a couple of weeks, months at most, to locate Harry Potter. Yet after three years, he had neither hide nor hair to show for his considerable efforts. It had become quite frustrating after a while, with all the time and resources he had dedicated to the search, to still come up empty handed. Worse still, time and again he had to assure the Wizarding public that all was well with his famous charge.

The lie was necessary, because the political fallout for having lost the boy-who-lived would be enormous, to say the least. So it was even harder to search for him, without letting on, that he had indeed lost the boy. What Albus had gathered until now was that Harry had vanished while attending a muggle primary school and, as his aunt had personally assured him, the appropriate authorities had been notified of his disappearance, but couldn't find any clues either.

Seeing as a magical means of kidnapping had most assuredly been employed, Albus had inspected the crime scene with utmost care, but there was no trace of magic still lingering there, that he could detect. So without any evidence on site, he had turned his attention to a possible motive of taking the boy. Toms supporters were of course the first to come to mind, but Albus hoped that they would have had their revenge and made a public affair out of it by now. Otherwise he didn't want to think about the fate of the boy was suffering right now, if they had indeed kept him alive.

The wealth, fame and name that Harry possessed, also could have played a role here. Although it was quite unlikely that any opportunist would be so brazen in his ambition, or indeed as capable in its execution. But without any concrete evidence, Albus couldn't afford to overlook any possibilities. One fact that he was fairly certain of though, was that in one form or another, at least one influential pureblood family had to have been involved with the kidnapping. There was simply no other explanation of how the boy could possible have been shielded from his investigation this long, in any other scenario. Although an old man by any measure, Albus was not one to give up hope prematurely, but he had the sinking feeling, that he would have the next clue to Harry's fate only whence he stepped foot into the halls of Hogwarts for the first time.

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Life at 12 Grimmauld Place was definitely an improvement over Privet Drive, but if Harry was honest with himself, it was slighter, than he had hoped for. Sure, he could spend all day learning every aspect about magic and magical society he liked, that is after the mandatory studying Walburga was putting him trough daily. That was pretty much it though. The spooky mansion, for all it's dilapidated splendor, was really not all that filled with entertainment.

Not that he wasn't used to being deprived of fun, but here he couldn't even take a step of the property, for reasons of his own protection. And worst of all, Harry couldn't even disagree with his nan's reasoning. Didn't make him less bored out of his mind though. Thank every higher power out there for the small garden in the back, or Harry would have gone bonkers within the first week. Here he could at least see the sun and breathe in fresh air, every once in a while.

There had been a short period of a couple of months, right after he had turned eight, when life had been a bit more exciting. For his birthday Kreacher had brought the Black family's wand collection out of the Vaults. Even though the piece of ash wood in his pocket only reacted to him in a manner that Walburga had called 'barely acceptable', the feeling of euphoria when he first touched it was still very vivid in his mind. So, from that point on, he had thrown himself into learning as much practical magic, as he possible could, as always under the watchful gaze of the overbearing portrait of the Lady of the House.

Quite fast though, that too became just another routine. Now, after learning about magical theory, he learned how to put it to practice, but it was still just that: learning all day every day. After a while, even the painted drill sergeant herself acknowledged, that the pace they had set for themselves was unsustainable. So, begrudgingly the Matriarch of the house had made some concessions. Firstly, he was allowed to read the Daily Prophet and other newspapers he had Kreacher bring to him. And to his utter shame, most days he read them front to back, just to have the illusion, that the world was still more than just this cursed house, no matter how lackluster in quality most articles were.

Secondly, he was granted the privilege of having 'fun', or what constituted as such for a proper Black. When Walburga had first put it like that, Harry had snippets of hunting down muggles flash in his mind and had shuddered in disgust accordingly. Turns out though, that playing wizarding-chess and listening to classical music was more along the lines of what she had meant, so Harry became apt at the first while gaining an slight appreciation for the second within a couple of months. Those were also some of the few activities he truly enjoyed undertaking with his honorary grandma, so it was usually scheduled before or after the worst part of his daily routine.

That had all started with the worst betrayal one could imagine: by his own tongue. To this day, Harry cursed it, for letting slip one evening at dinner, that he had started learning Occlumency by himself. Walburga's smile promised hell and it only got worse from there. Yeah, getting ones thoughts, feelings and deepest desires ripped from ones mind for '''training''' by someone that couldn't really divulge it to others, was not as bad as it could have been. Still pretty fucking bad though. After a couple of weeks, the old crone probably knew everything there was to know about him, judging by how she ripped his mental defenses to shreds like wet paper in a hailstorm, on a daily basis.

At this point it was not really that clear cut, if having no more nightmares through his connection with Voldy, was really worth this constant embarrassment. Walburga had assured him that he was getting better, but Harry was even surer, that she was lying. As sadistic as this – well – witch was, it wasn't really her fault, that Harry apparently had the same talent for Occlumency as the average potato.

At least he had finally overcome his tenth birthday, so freedom was approaching, well crawling more like. At a pace too, that made a snail's look like the speed of light in comparison. But Harry was nothing if not patient, though he was getting more than a little stir-crazy lately. He even snapped at Kreacher a couple of times lately and he would have felt bad for the knife wielding child-slasher, if it didn't seem like the deranged elf had enjoyed the experience thoroughly.

Walburga's research into Horcruxes had sadly not been as fruitful as they had hoped, as the Black library certainly offered enough advice about how to create one, or indeed how to best deploy such an abomination. Little was written however about how to destroy or even locate one. Of course there were still a lot of tomes that Walburga couldn't read for one reason or another, so not all hope was lost just yet. And as much as he wanted to get rid of the thing in his head, he wasn't exactly keen on doing so with untested methods.

The investigation into Sirius' death had been long and 'thorough', but of course yielded no result, labeling the whole incident as an unfortunate accident. The icy silence of one present raven had told everybody in the Wizgamot, what the Lady Regent Black thought about that, but as far as the wider public was concerned, the case was now closed. Walburga of course had her own suspicions about who the people involved were, but there was little the three of them could do about it at this point.

Their powerlessness was indeed the reason for an argument, that had cropped up more and more as the years went on: "You will not invite this harlot and her mudblood husband back into the family!"

"Why would I not, when it is only your stupid pride that prevents us from strengthening our position in the Wizarding world?"

"My pride and the pride of this esteemed House are to very distinct entities, you insufferable brat. I couldn't care less if you wanted to slum around with every muggleborn under the sun if you did it as Lord Potter. But I will not have you nullify my husband's decision regarding Andromeda. Reversing such a verdict would show weakness of the House Black and that is unthinkable"

"You mean weakness like being stuck inside a drafty old mansion, because the only living member can not reasonably take a single step outside for fear of being lynched?"

"You, young boy, are only concerned with the short term future. Would it be beneficial to have more minions to order around to fulfill our ambitions? Of course. But what exactly makes you think they will not betray you out of resentment for their exile, even after it is lifted. Their daughter can't exactly inherit your titles ether, so you would be as heirless as you ever were. This is an unnecessary risk that I am not willing to take and you shouldn't be either!"

"So what you're saying, old hag, is that I could have help from the not crazy rest of the family, but I can't, because you say so?"

"Urgh you can be so frustratingly stubborn if you want to be, Harry. Bringing Andromeda and the girl back would under no circumstances go unnoticed by the politically savvy. It would signal a shift in House Black that would indicate what is really going on and with a weak position like ours we can't reveal any of the cards we hold at the moment. My main concern, boy, is keeping you alive, not happy. Mayor changes in the political leaning of our House should be left for after we deal with the fallout of your revelation"

Once again Harry reluctantly had to concede to Walburga's argument, slumping down in his chair with a defeated groan: "I am dying of boredom here, woman!"

Walburga sipped her afternoon-tea with a self-satisfied smile: "See, that's the problem, Harry. You know it would be stupid to pardon the Tonks, but you constantly let your emotions get the better of you"

The portraits words only made Harry groan louder and bury his head an his arms, that were resting on the table.

"Want me to buy you a play-pal, dear?"

A glare from his hunched position was Harry's only answer.

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Albus Dumbledore was sipping on his afternoon-tea, when a sudden realization struck him: it was Harry Potters eleventh birthday today. It took all his astounding self-control not to spit his tea all over the notes on the desk in front of him. This was simply a disastrous turn of events, that he had completely forgotten about in his craze to bring the boy back home to his family.

As part of her daily duties, Minerva would pen the letters to each child eligible to attend Hogwarts on their respective birthday. Since Harry's name had been written in the book of admittance ever since that fateful night, he would receive his today. Or should have at least. The Ministry register that normally kept track of magical children had no information on one Harry James Potter and if Albus had his way, it would stay exactly like that.

Problem was, Albus obviously had no idea where the boy was either, but had done a good job of convincing everybody of the contrary. So Minerva would obviously give the letter to him, in order to bypass whatever precautions Albus may have put in place to keep Harry's whereabouts secret. So his time on finding the boy had officially run out, because if Harry wouldn't reply after he had 'delivered' the letter, Minerva and all of Wizarding Britain would have some very choice questions for him.

But maybe not all was lost, if he could leave the castle without running into his deputy, he had at least a day, maybe more to finally solve this mystery. With haste he grabbed his wand and was about to floo out of his office, when there was a knock on the door. He tried to ignore it, but the knocking just got more insistent: "Albus, are you in there?"

With a sigh, he stepped back from the fireplace and addressed his deputy at the door: "I am indeed, Minerva"

His right hand woman strode through the door in measured steps before noticing his attire: "How fortuitous to have caught you, as it seems you were just about to head out. I have Harry Potter's letter ready, I assume you want to deliver it in person?"

"Quite so, I was headed there before you came in, in fact, but would have forgotten his letter in my excitement, apparently"

Minerva handed him the parchment with an incredulous look, struggling with herself for a moment, before speaking up again: "Would it be possible to accompany you?"

His grandfatherly smile was working an extra shift today: "I am afraid the wards will only allow me to get close to the boy. However, in few a short few months he will finally be able to experience all the wonders this world of ours has to offer"

"Alright Albus, but do send my regards"

Albus Dumbledore nodded sagely, before finally using the floo to get out of there.

He didn't even acknowledge his brother when he exited the fire place of the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade. Stepping out into the sleepy town, Albus was still at a loss of what to do with the letter in his pocket. With a sigh, he apparated to Privet Drive in Little Whinging, it was after all a place where Harry had resided for a long stretch of time. To his horror the house the Dudleys had lived in, was seemingly torn down, not to long ago. At least judging by the unfinished construction site, that now filled the lot. Grinding his teeth, Albus nonetheless started an intricate locator-spell of his own creation, not deluding himself into thinking it would succeed.

Harry's letter was the focus of course, since he had nothing else connected to the boy since the incident on the day of his disappearance. The parchment hovered in the air, trembling slightly and for a moment Albus thought he might actually be onto something. Then the letter disappeared from right in front of his eyes, without so much as a noise. A whole host of spells and hexes and curses later, an erratic Albus Dumbledore had confirmed, that there were no traces of magic present, that he could possibly backtrack. Again.

His neat, long strands of hair had fallen over his eyes and he was panting from the exertion, before straightening himself back up and neatly coming his hair back with his fingers. The dangerous glint in his eyes though, never wavered for a second. Somebody was fucking with Albus Dumbledore, and he was damned if he didn't make that somebody realize, that this was indeed a grave mistake to make.