Chapter 2

Portraits and Papers

Kreacher returned the next day, his arms weighed down with heaps of newspapers, all in varying states of decay. Some were clearly very new while others must have been years old. Harry could only assume Kreacher had worked through the night to pilfer this staggering number of newspapers. For the first time Harry was overcome with the desire to hug Kreacher. His only ally was a very devoted one, and he supposed that was enough.

Immediately Harry spread the papers over the table and began meticulously reading through every article. Every dull wedding announcement, every contrite obituary, every story, both front page and last. He told himself over and over that Hermione would not have ignored a single word were their roles reversed and he could not afford to give her any less.

As the day wore on he was buried under more and more discarded newspapers with no relevant information. Cast aside among the papers were plates from meals Kreacher had brought, only for Harry to absently nibble at the food and toss them aside.

Finally he looked up at the little elf. He tiredly rubbed his face, "can you apparate out of the country, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher can apparate anywhere his master orders him to." The elf was giving him a confused look.

Harry pulled a scrap of parchment to him and began listing every neighboring country he could think of. He passed the list to Kreacher with a tentative smile, "muggle and wizarding newspapers, if there's somewhere I haven't thought of, go ahead and go. Oh and Kreacher? Thank you, it means a lot to have your help."

Kreacher beamed brightly, "Kreacher wants Master Harry's Hermione to return so Master can be happy." Then the elf disappeared and Harry was alone once more.

Harry knew he shouldn't hole up in Grimmauld Place lest he end up spending his days like his late godfather, stir crazy and lonely. He just couldn't shake the feeling he had to be on to something. In three years she had to have been photographed at least once, and hopefully made some dull story in a muggle newspaper, assuming she was in the muggle world. Surely, wherever Hermione was, she was successful in whatever she did. Unless, of course, she was being held captive. Harry chose not to dwell on those thoughts though, they had cropped up in his mind too often in the years since she'd been gone and they had a way of squashing his hope.

The last three years had enacted a change in Harry that was almost frightening. The mountain of research he had devoted to his search was unparalleled. Never had he read so much or taken so many notes. It reminded him of the search for Flamel and the stone so many years ago. He was certain if he had looked into the Mirror of Erised in the last three years he would've only seen himself finding Hermione. He wished he could pluck her from the mirror the way he had the stone. He often thought he would gladly face Riddle again if it meant Hermione could be there too. Happily go back to living in a cold musty tent with wild mushrooms for dinner, as long as she wasn't unaccounted for

Sometimes, Harry would slip into a downward spiral of self hatred. He thought if he had her that she would've solved it already. She would've already found him, or Ron. Hell, she would've probably thought of muggle newspapers a solid year before Harry himself did. She would've buried herself so far into research she would've come out with enough knowledge to walk them straight where they needed to be.

It was this constant cycle of research, hope, frantic searching, and eventual disappointment that had killed his relationship with Ginny. In the beginning she had been as devoted as him or Ron, supporting their every harebrained idea or barely existent trail. She had patiently woken him from his ever-present nightmares of losing Hermione, of being unable to save her. Ginny had even tolerated his neglect of not only her, but himself. She brought him home-cooked meals from Molly when he forgot to feed himself for days, led him to the shower when he hadn't bothered, and forced him away from his research when he'd begun to lose touch.

Then Ginny had moved on, just like the rest of the world, just like normal, well-adjusted people did. She signed her Harpies contract and spent time with her loved ones, while Harry slowly folded in on himself. In the few interviews Ginny gave to the press she began to hint at marriage, a possible family with the great Harry Potter. Harry himself couldn't possibly imagine doing either of those things without Hermione in his life. In truth, Hermione and Ron had been the first real family he'd ever known, dysfunctional and strange as it was, he needed them.

When Voldemort had fallen and every tie to his parents had gone along with him, Harry had been deliriously happy he at least had Hermione and Ron. While the rest of his life was so tumultuous, they were his tether. Then the tether had snapped. The resulting crack had blown his eardrums, faded the world into background noise.

Harry had lived the last three years as though he were underwater, watching everyone move above him through a dull, distorted haze, unable to participate or properly understand events. The only ones who seemed to have been plunged under with him were George and Ron, and the only one who shared his reason for it was Ron. A morbid camaraderie had formed around this shared loss. It was made more solid when Ron began working on the shops with George, it offered more time for the three of them to be together. These gatherings were often held in silence. Sympathy and condolences were not required or helpful, so they drank quietly when there were no leads to discuss, or new products to perfect. Sometimes they just told stories, carefully avoiding anything too close to the ends, the loss.

Harry knew why Ginny had been visiting the shop more often, as George had confirmed. He knew that she was close to Lee Jordan, probably considering being more than close to him. He often interviewed her on his wizarding wireless network and provided commentary at many of her games. If he was honest, he didn't really blame her, Harry was scattered at best, and completely absent at worst. Perhaps he was being too hard on Ron, and Ginny. Harry had so little family, Ron and Ginny couldn't say they same, they were raised properly. The Weasley's were raised with a mother who had suffered loss and a father who showed them love, they knew how to handle these things. They were...adjusted, as it were.

Ron would eventually take his healthy upbringing and healthy family life and want to move on from newspaper clippings and three-year-old photos of a childhood sweetheart who'd disappeared and establish a real life. Ron would want a job and a home and a few kids. Harry had a very hard time asking Ron to deny himself that when Harry had spent the last three years using Ginny to ground him to the real world while Ron had only lost love and memories to cling to. He had begrudged Ron the same familiarity he himself had indulged in. Harry had lost himself in Ginny when grief and disparaging thoughts had threatened to overwhelm him. Yet he had expected Ron to hold on to isolation and desperate longing.

Harry knew where it came from. The sadness he'd watched in Hermione when Ron had clung to Lavender. The heartbreak he'd witnessed when Ron had dismissed Hermione's femininity and chosen the prettiest, but least intelligent, girl he could find. Ron had all but screamed that smart did not equal pretty, he screamed how unimportant a brain could be, almost intentionally it seemed. Brains were not on the list of things Ron was searching for, an owl would've been just as effective. For Hermione that had meant she did not qualify for the position Ron was attempting to fill, mostly with vapid, superficial, pretty girls. Now, even though Hermione wasn't here to to be heartbroken by Ron's behavior, Harry still remembered the pain it had caused in the past.

Katie was not those things. Katie was a moderately intelligent, pretty, and nice girl. Ron wasn't being shallow or proving a point, he was dating a girl who shared his interests, and enjoyed his company. Harry? Harry was clinging to a family that may never exist again and feeling betrayed when other people, specifically Ron, didn't cling along with him.

Harry wanted to break down at the thought. He'd been awful to Ron, he'd spent three years all but ignoring the handful of people who loved him, and he'd lost Ginny. That last one was certain, there was no mending that fence. Ginny had moved on months before he'd screamed into the floo, he knew that. But Ron?

So had Ron. So had all the Weasleys. So had the Prophet, so had the ministry, and everyone except Harry. Everyone else was moving on and they all continued to shelter Harry from it. Ron sheltered him from his new relationship, the Weasleys sheltered Harry from their belief that Hermione was long-dead, even Dumbledore had sheltered him, in his death-adjacent state, from the real horrors of his life, "I don't need protecting! I can protect myself!" Harry screamed to the empty room. He didn't expect an answer and didn't receive one.

When the sun was finally setting Harry had fallen asleep at the table. The kitchen was in disarray; newspapers, notebooks, and photos covered every surface. Harry was snoring softly and drooling onto an aging, yellowed muggle newspaper.

He was woken abruptly by a figure climbing awkwardly out of his fireplace. He had his wand out and raised at Ron's face before he realized who it was and cautiously lowered his wand. He ran a hand through his messy hair, "what do you want Ron?" He asked tiredly.

"What do I want?" Ron was very obviously drunk and Harry sighed. "I want you to let me move on, you don't get to make me feel guilty Harry, I'm tired of having to hide Katie, we've been together eight months did you know? She's not a dirty little secret, Hermione left, not me, you understand?" He stumbled a bit and steadied himself on the table, when he noticed the papers he shook his head sadly. "It's time to give it up Harry."

"It's not time to give it up until I find her Ron, I'm sorry alright? You're right. Just go home, go to bed." Ron looked for a moment like he wanted to continue to argue the matter but seemed to think better of it and turned back to the fireplace.

Before he stepped through he turned back once more, "I hope you do find her Harry, but I'm done waiting." Then he was gone and Harry felt the weight of his loneliness and grief return to his chest.

He needed to talk to Dumbledore. The clock in the kitchen said it was only a little after eight, he hoped McGonagall wouldn't be too irritated to oblige and stepped into the flames.

"Can I help you Mr. Potter?" She looked up from her desk the moment he entered and set her glasses down to give him a stern look.

"I just want to talk to him." He asked awkwardly.

"By all means Mr. Potter. He's only pretending to be asleep anyway and perhaps it would do him good to annoy someone other than myself." She stood to leave before she finished, "I trust you can see yourself out when you've finished?" He nodded and she disappeared from sight.

He approached the portrait cautiously and the adjacent portrait of Snape rolled his eyes dramatically. "Professor?" He asked politely.

The Dumbledore in the painting cleared his throat and sat up in his chair, "I knew it would never be me to defeat Tom, even before Sybil gave the prophecy that doomed your parents, did you know that Harry?"

"Er, well, no but I didn't come to talk about that." Harry started but Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"I didn't know at the time who it would be, but I knew it would not be me. When I tasked you with finding and destroying the horcruxes, I knew then. I wanted Severus to inherit my wand, I knew in the end it would be you, and it would be Severus. The two of you share a great many things in common." Harry glanced at Professor Snape, who appeared to be doing his level best to pretend he was temporarily deaf and couldn't see the other occupants of the room. Harry suspected if he'd had another portrait to escape to he would've done it already. "You see, Harry, the similarities between yourself and Tom, existed between Severus and Tom as well. However, it was a difference from him that you and Severus shared that I knew would be Tom's undoing, do you know what that difference was Harry?" Dumbledore asked, as though they were studying and not discussing private matters that made him terribly uncomfortable.

"Love." Harry replied quietly, hoping the blush he could feel in his cheeks wasn't terribly obvious.

"Exactly. You and Severus had a capacity for love I didn't share. There were a great many people and things I loved, but not the way Severus loved Lily, not the way you love Miss Granger. That, I knew, would keep you safe, would keep you focused, would guarantee your success. I admit I did hope that you would not share the same fate as Severus, losing that love, and clinging desperately to the loss."

"Enough, Albus." Professor Snape cut in irritably.

"Right, Professor, but I'm not in love with Hermione, not like that. I actually came to ask about how you managed to find wizarding things in muggle papers, how you knew where to look, or what you were looking for." Harry suddenly felt as though he'd wasted a trip, Dumbledore apparently wanted to speak in riddles instead of giving him information.

"Of course you're not, Harry, of course. As to your question, I'm afraid I can't offer you anything concrete. It can be tedious work, you must be perceptive and look for those things which may be out of the ordinary. I have no doubt you will find what you seek. Now, despite how much I have enjoyed this visit, it is getting late and an old man does need his rest, even if he only a mere painting." This was an obvious end to the discussion and Harry only felt more confused than when he'd arrived. With a heavy sigh he returned to the fireplace.

From the moment he came out in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, Kreacher was shrieking at him, waving a very old looking newpaper around and ranting that he had found her. Harry nearly knocked the little elf over in an attempt to get at the paper.

When he finally saw it his heart nearly pounded out of his rib cage. There she was, blonde, very blonde, but that bushy mass couldn't possibly belong to anyone else. She was only in the background, of a story about some library that hosted regular reading events for children and offered a coffee shop inside for adults. She was barely visible and the paper was yellow and wrinkled with age. When he checked the date he found it had been published two years ago and the library was located in Dublin. "Kreacher, can you take me there?" He realized he was nearly begging the elf but he'd stopped caring the moment that photo had appeared. He could kiss Kreacher, the elf was a genius.

"Kreacher can take you there Master Harry, now?" Kreacher held out his tiny wrinkled hand and Harry was tempted to grab it and leave immediately but he held himself back.

"Not yet, let me pack, I need you to go to George Weasley, tell him to look after Crooks?" Kreacher nodded and Harry ran back up the stairs.

He haphazardly shoved his clothes and some toiletries into his trunk, hoping George wouldn't keep Kreacher long. If there was even a chance the girl in the photo was Hermione, he needed to get to Dublin.