AN Shout out to my bois! Gamer0890 and Palkey, they are the reason this is readable 3 u bbs and go read their stuff. Stolen Hearts and Beads of Brilliance respectively.

Chapter 3

A black and white cat wove through their legs as they sat around the dinner table. It was sleek, almost comical, with its large pale green eyes and slim frame. Harry reached down to scratch its boney back as it passed, chuckling at the distrustful eye Fleur was throwing it.

"New cat, Hermione?" he asked, she looked up from her plate and over to his side. She had a twitchy way of peering over, the darting of her eyes and craning of her neck somewhat panicked.

"Oh, yeah, Crookshanks-" she called, snapping her fingers, and the cat turned from his attentions to prance over and smell her hand. He furrowed his brow, looking around, and did not see her tabby Kneazle anywhere.

He glanced over at Fleur, she was not paying attention, she seemed to be relegating as much of her attention as possible to separating bits of potato from the stew. She tapped them on the edge of the bowl to shake off as much of the gravy as possible before eating. Not for the first time he worried over Hermione, but Fleur had long since given up that fight. Hermione refused to be relocated to the colony and in Fleur's mind that was the end of that.

"So, your letter mentioned you wanted to show us something?" he prodded, and Fleur spared a glance across the table at his old friend after he asked it. Hermione continued to pet her cat, which was evidently also named Crookshanks, not even a look his way to acknowledge his question.

Fleur's fiery eyes found his, and he rolled his own with a half smile for her benefit, she narrowed hers but the hard set to her eyebrows softened markedly. She reached out with a foot under the table and kicked his shin, but there was no force to it.

"I think I will retire for the evening," Fleur announced not more than a silent minute later, stiff and overly formal. She shot him a loaded look as she stood, and then looked over Hermione's way with the subtlest jerk of the head. He nodded, placating, and Fleur saw herself to the room they usually shared when visiting.

"Hermione-" Harry tried again when they were alone. She hummed a response, now pushing around the contents of her stew ineffectually. "What's going on?"

"Not yet," she looked up then, and he wished she hadn't, because the grimace she sent him was heartbreaking. It was meant to be a smile, meant to be casual and reassuring no doubt, but it looked like she'd forgotten how and this was her best attempt at faking it. "In the morning."

He sat, brow furrowed, for a few beats as she returned her attention to the table. With a heavy sigh he followed Fleur to bed, leaving Hermione to contemplate her dinner.

-o-o-o-

For the briefest, most wonderfully terrible moment, Harry forgot the events of the last few days when he woke. It was Hedwig's soft chirping that finally pried his eyes open, and his view of the pillow was not enough to jog his memory.

The dream he'd had was vivid, not slipping away as he returned to consciousness like most dreams, and he only had to puzzle at it for a second before the reality of yesterday crashed into him. He sat up, looking around the sparsely decorated room, and sighed.

Hedwig flapped to his side, and headbutted his arm until he raised a finger to brush the feathers along her head. She accepted the affection for a minute before hopping across the bed to the window and giving him forlorn looks until he leaned over to let her out. He watched her glide toward the Forbidden Forest with an odd mixture of confusion and elation bubbling somewhere near his stomach.

The dream bothered him all through the process of getting dressed. It was so real, it was real, he was certain of it. That was his last visit to Hermione, just days ago, and nine years away. He could not remember traveling to her sanctuary, he couldn't even remember getting into bed with Fleur that night, but he remembered dinner now.

He dithered in his quarters for as long as he could justify, before the need to meet with Dumbledore won out over his trepidation at facing the world. It was five flights of stairs up to the Headmaster's office, made all the worse when he was told by the gargoyles that Dumbledore was down in the Great Hall taking breakfast.

Seven flights down, two layovers to allow the stairs to circle back around to the correct path, and one altercation with Peeves later he slipped through the great wooden doors into the empty hall.

It was not quite as empty as he expected, all the way up at the head table two others joined Hagrid and Dumbledore. As he approached he had to fight down a smile as the hugely magnified eyes of Sybill Trelawny blinked at him. Professor Sprout seated next to her, in between the two men, gave him a much more reserved inspection.

He almost slipped up and greeted the Head of Hufflepuff by name, but Dumbledore spared him by standing and waving Harry over.

"Ah, Harry, come come." It was a bit awkward, the staff table only had seating on one side, and after reaching the table across from them he had to hastily go around the end to join them. "Pomona, Sybill, Rubeus, this is Harry."

He waved, feeling like a student again, and took the vacant seat to Dumbledore's right.

"We met!" Hagrid chimed in excitedly, and he was the only one to return Harry's wave with one of his own before Dumbledore carried on:

"We have been in correspondence this summer about a new teaching position at the school and I daresay last night he convinced me."

"Filling in the Defense post, eh?" Professor Sprout chuckled, "braver than I!"

Harry realized, as bacon fumes wafted up into his face, how completely ravenous he was. He lost focus for a moment as Dumbledore explained his thrown together excuse for a teaching job. He had not seen a proper breakfast in years and he filled his plate with more ambition than he could likely commit to.

"Yes, yes," Trelawny said dreamily, nodding sagely as Dumbledore explained. "I had foreseen such shifts in the tide, just this morning in fact."

Everyone at the table wore a polite smile as they let that statement wilt in the air between them, unanswered. She carried on unperturbed: "You must allow me to do a proper reading sometime."

"Er, yeah, sometime," Harry answered around a mouthful of beans, as noncommittal as he could manage. It was enough for her since she turned back to her toast satisfied.

Professor Sprout, it transpired, stayed on the grounds full time to maintain the greenhouses. She and Hagrid filled most of the silence throughout the meal, both loud and excitable characters, with much to say on their overlapping interests in flora and fauna. Trelawny, much the same as he remembered, took it all in with a twitchy sort of focus and an obviously put-on air of mysticism.

Sprout was the first up from the table, Harry was only halfway through his plate when she bustled off claiming something to do with Aconite petals. He was losing steam, the eggs and toast left on his plate looked bigger with every bite. It was with no small relief that he dropped his fork at Dumbledore's summons.

"Unless you wanted to stay and finish?" Dumbledore offered with a smile, but he was turning to leave, and Harry's stomach turned at the thought of more. He caught up to the Headmaster at the doors, internally lamenting the trip back up to his office.

"How was your first night in the castle? It can be a bit drafty," Dumbledore asked as they set off, not up the stairs but towards the grounds. Harry was starting to regret loading up on rich foods he was unaccustomed to.

"It was… eventful, my owl turned up," he stalled, for a moment wanting to talk about his dream, but something held him back. That brought Dumbledore to a stop though, Harry staggered to a halt a step past him, noting his eyebrows raised in shock.

"Your owl?" he asked, and by the time the words were out only the faintest furrow of his brow belayed his puzzlement.

"Yeah, she was at my window just before bed, does that mean something?"

"I don't know…" he didn't sound particularly pleased by this new mystery. "Was that all?"

"No, actually-" they began to walk again, and Harry felt immediately guilty for withholding the dream. "I had a dream last night, only- I don't think it was a dream. I think it was a memory from right before I came here."

He cast a furtive look around, too late to take the words back, but the lawn was empty apart from them.

Dumbledore was nodding, but he did not respond right away, Harry used the time to convince himself that that was enough sharing. To skirt around the real issue that made him hesitant to bring it up: Fleur.

"I'm not entirely surprised," he confided in Harry, "I was at least hopeful this might happen, if you continue to recall the events that led you here we might just get some answers from it. If you would like to use the Pensieve you're welcome to."

Harry thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "This dream wasn't that helpful, if I get more, I will."

"Very well then, for the present though, I'm sure you're quite curious where we're heading?" Harry only nodded, a slight smile on his face. This Dumbledore would have no way of knowing that Harry had long since learned it was best to go with the flow when it came to the Headmaster. "You told me there is a horcrux at the old Gaunt estate, correct?"

"Yes sir, the Resurrection Stone."

"Well, I think today is as good a day as any to collect it," he said brightly, and Harry could only gape at him in response.

"You are surprised," Dumbledore observed with an amused set to his mouth.

"I- yes," Harry admitted with a chuckle. "I would've thought you'd want a bit more time to plan first."

"Well now," the Headmaster said with a proper smile. "There will be time for planning, and no small amount of frustration I'm sure, but it is rather difficult to justify putting off the ones we can reach out and take, no?"

"Speaking of, professor, what of the locket?" He did not want to ask it, but there were too many issues he was avoiding thinking about right now. He felt the need to air some out, and of the lot, Sirius was oddly one of the least painful. It also felt the most productive.

"I sent a missive to our furry friend," Dumbledore's trademark twinkle was back at the little joke. "He should be on his way north now, when he gets word to me he's ready to reenter the country you can go collect him."

"Me, sir?" He stumbled as they crossed the gates, they could apparate at any point now, but Dumbledore stopped.

"Of course Harry," his tone was gentle, incredibly understanding, but confident in his plan nonetheless. "I know it must be difficult for you, to be a stranger to your old friends and teachers, but some encounters can't be avoided. What's more, I think you and Sirius can help each other, you are both in need of loved ones at the moment."

He struggled with what to say, ironically sparking his question. "What should I tell him?"

"Ultimately, my dear boy, I think that will be for you to decide." Perhaps it was clear on Harry's face how daunting that responsibility was, because he continued unprompted. "I think it would be safe to say that pretending to be anything other than James and Lily's son is a doomed effort. It will unfortunately be much the same with Severus, I believe, but how much of your story you wish to share with either of them is entirely up to you Harry. I would recommend telling Sirius only as much as need be…at least for now. I don't think he will be too bothered by the details once he sees you, if we're being honest."

Harry pulled a shaky breath, but even now he could feel the beginnings of hope under all that trepidation.

"Besides, given the circumstances, I rather figured you'd enjoy a trip abroad."

The statement was innocent, delivered with a soft smile, but it struck Harry like a bludger. His hands shook, his breath hitched, and his heart missed a beat. In his mad dash to Dumbledore, and answers, he had somehow failed to think about getting out of the UK. He was suddenly torn on the issue. Half of him wanted nothing more than to pop across the channel this moment, the other half was afraid that if he did it would all suddenly seem too real, and he would be crushed by loss.

Dumbledore, again, could sense at least a part of the struggle playing out in his heart and mind. He smiled, and this one was more warm and full.

"There is time to think on it Harry, Fawkes returned late last night with the message that Sirius was in Italy, he will not make it back for some days." He extended an arm, and Harry took it, because they'd been standing at the wardlines for too long now. Dumbledore turned, and Harry allowed himself to be pulled along with him into the crushing void between places.

They appeared quite a ways down the country lane from the village of Little Hangleton, wary of any wards Voldemort and Wormtail might've placed for detection. The walk towards town was an opportune time to bring up some of the issues Harry could recall about Dumbledore's first trip here.

"There's some pretty nasty wards on the house," he told the old teacher. Despite his age he had a spritelier step than Harry, who couldn't walk for more than a few minutes without his leg beginning its protests.

"Oh I'm not too concerned, Harry. I did, after all, retrieve it once already. It is Riddle Manor that worries me most now," Dumbledore replied, never slowing his pace.

Harry closed his eyes and pulled the veil off his senses, like removing a glove to better feel, he opened his eyes to a very different world. In the distance, up the lane and to the left, the shimmering fields of wards rippled in the sky like an aurora. There were multiple, overlaid so that the bubble shifted constantly between a pale yellow and deep green. Most importantly they did not extend far beyond the house, which was still out of sight behind low hills.

"They've got wards up, but they don't extend this far," he told Dumbledore, who spared a glance his way that remained fixed there at the sight of him. Harry turned his attention across the lane to their right, where a more sinister and complex array of wards were emanating from a copse of trees.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said, taking in the faint red runic equations tattooed around his eyes and their dim luminescent green shine. "Ritual Enchanting?" he asked.

"A pretty way to say blood magic," Harry grinned, nodding, and Dumbledore returned it with a slightly tight smile of his own. "Desperate times," he added, feeling the need to explain himself.

"Certainly Harry," Dumbledore said, and he did sound understanding. It was a point of contention Harry had harbored all day and it was a relief to let it go. "What do you see?"

"Wards and traps can look like anything from a heat haze to solid walls of light, just depends, and enchantments on items differ based on the effect," Harry explained.

They were entering the shade of the little wood, he could see the malignant red of the wards around the Gaunt hovel poking through the trees as they approached.

"Well, I think we've stumbled into quite the opportunity here," Dumbledore said as they stopped just at the edge of the wardlines. His smile was not tight this time as he looked over at Harry. "A better job interview I could not have devised, I think."

Harry chuckled and turned his attention to the magic cloying the air.

Most wards could be broken, but depending on their complexity that could alert the caster. He was not certain what multiple horcruxes, a quasi-death, and partial rebirth had done to Voldemort's connection to the magic Tom Riddle cast here decades ago, but he erred on the side of caution. Too many lives had been lost in the early days of the war to unnecessary risk. Breaking these wards was far from necessary anyway.

"Well, first things first," Harry said, after pacing around the perimeter of the wardlines and rejoining Dumbledore. "The most surefire way to slip past a ward is to go around, so, follow me."

They circled around to the right of the house and Harry reached out and contacted the first invisible barrier.

It was a strange magic, manipulating wards, a sort of somatic spellcasting. It was done by feel, and greatly aided by his unique ability to see the magic he was toying with. Dumbledore sat idly by, he was entirely capable of doing the work himself, but he observed Harry's process with a critical eye.

"Now there's no visual traps over the windows," he explained, running his hand over the rough exterior wall of the aging building, "but knowing old Tom, I doubt he'd make it that easy."

He felt around, patting the corner and checking the window sills, before he found a little cluster of runes just under the eaves hidden under an illusion. He dispelled the disguising filth and grime and studied the circle.

"Nasty stuff," he said brightly to Dumbledore, trotting over to retrieve a fallen sick.

He poked it through the downed shutters a few inches until it reached an invisible barrier inside. The branch crumbled to ash immediately, he pulled back, and noted with interest that the degradation of the wood carried on. It was half gone, the remnants floating in the gentle breeze, by the time he dropped it. He shrugged and turned back to the wall.

"Easy enough to counter though, the angles of this," he slashed his wand at the little runic anchor point, "tells us there should be four more."

He cut through all five of the hidden rune markers, their locations plotting the points of a perfect pentagon centered on the window.

"Now, it's important to note that we won't be disabling most of the wards," he continued, adopting a teacherly tone. "Without seeing the rune work that powers them it's impossible to tell if disarmament will alert the caster, in this case I did know there was no trigger alert, but we can't be bothered to find all the wardstones."

He hopped up onto the window sill, pushing aside rotting shutters, and stepped down into the house. Dumbledore followed suit, looking wholly out of place and yet content to be skulking around climbing through windows.

"Now, for five points, has anyone found the horcrux yet?" He scanned the empty room for imaginary students before pointing at the floorboards in one of the back corners. "Very good Albus, five points to Gryffindor."

Dumbledore gave a mock bow and they both crossed to the spot he could see there was a patch of cool violet emanating from the floor.

It was always this way when he saw magic, a near indescribable mixing of the senses. It was, in fact, a new sense. Seeing wasn't exactly accurate, but it was easiest to describe as such. The magic under the floorboards looked deep purple, but it also felt cold, and sounded like a solitary nail sliding across a chalkboard infinitely. It was all those things, and yet none of them were true to the nature of his actual perception of it.

He checked one final time for hidden wards before prying the boards loose from their rusted nails. Inside rested a small black wood box. The haze of purple was more intense now it was unobstructed, he felt he could almost smell the malice coming off of it.

"This," he said, shuffling over to get a look at it from multiple angles, Dumbledore stepped out of his way quietly. "This is going to take a bit more time."

He knelt down, and though the runes were hidden, he could see their roots with his enhanced vision. The box was crawling with them. So tiny they were hard to spot, even after he dispelled the protective illusions, and steadily sliding along the surface of the box like little rows of ants.

This sort of thing was exactly why he and Fleur had spent so long developing the ritual that granted him his extra sight.

The protective measures built into the box were still a mystery to him, but he'd seen their like in his years combatting Voldemort. The spell had multiple triggers, all designed around disarming the enchantment the wrong way. If he broke the wrong string of runes, if he broke the right string at the wrong place or time, if certain strings weren't in the correct proximity… The more complex the spell, the more room for error, exponentially so.

As he had worked on similar such jobs, done by Tom himself, he knew how to pick this particular style of encryption apart.

He watched the shifting pattern for long minutes, crouched down over the hole with Dumbledore watching on patiently. Periodically, as certain runes moved down the line and intersected others, they would glow faintly brighter. They were keys, points the ward could be unraveled. Once they were identified he simply watched for their pulses, not all flairs were equal, so he simply looked for the brightest. A few more loops of the pattern to confirm there were no more pronounced and he jabbed at the rune in question with the tip of his wand.

The purple energy around the box dissipated, the runes vanishing even from his eyes, and he reached into the hollow and retrieved the box. The top face slid out, and nestled in a cradle of velvet inside sat the Resurrection Stone as Harry had never seen it.

Whole, and still in possession of Voldemort's soul.

"Very good, Harry!" Dumbledore smiled at him as Harry removed the ring from its home.

He held it up to get a better look, and then tossed it Dumbledore's way, the vulnerable old wizard caught it was surprising dexterity and mirrored Harry's inspection the dim light trickling in through the windows.

"Don't test it!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly possessed by the horrified panic that he would watch the professor shrivel up and die on the spot. Dumbledore gave him a quizzical look before he tucked the ring up his sleeve.

"I do recall your story," the wizened professor told him, and Harry felt a hint of warmth in his face at the words.

"Right, sorry professor, it was just a big deal in my day. Kinda like the point everything started going wrong I guess."

"That is touching Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile. "We shall work to avoid the mistakes of my future." His eyes twinkled, but the joke fell somewhat flat on someone who had actually lived through those mistakes.

"Well, let us flee," Dumbledore said with a joviality Harry envied. "I must admit, as horrible as it may be, I am quite eager to have my time with the ring."

They departed the little shack, wards left neatly intact, and set off back down the lane. Now reassured there would be no trap, they didn't cross but a few steps past the Gaunt property line before apparating back to Hogsmeade. He could not see the Riddle house from the trees, but he looked in it's direction in the moments before he traveled away, hoping he wasn't making a mistake by leaving Voldemort there to nurse his wounds.

-o-o-o-

The ring sat smoking on the headmaster's desk.

Harry poured two tumblers of whatever liquor Dumbledore had in his decanter, something amber, but lacking the soft glow most magical spirits contained. He brought the second glass to the head teacher and raised his in silent toast as the last evidence of Voldemort's horcrux drifted through the air between them.

"A job well done," Dumbledore said, smiling as he lowered his glass after a sip. Harry's own drink was heartier, a shot of liquid courage to face the coming conversation.

The headmaster read his mood and sat back in his chair to wait.

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, staring into the muggle scotch in his hand, and then he downed the last of it decisively.

"The Beauxbatons champion," he said, catching Dumbledore by surprise if the subtle rise of his eyebrows was any indication.

"The Beauxbatons champion," the headmaster repeated gently, when Harry's explanation stalled.

"She- that is," he cleared his throat and set his brow in determination, "if everything goes the same, she'll be a French Veela by the name of Fleur Delacour."

Dumbledore did not interrupt, nor betray his thoughts, as he waited for Harry to continue at his own pace.

"We were involved-" he grimaced at the phrasing, "that makes it sound- look it's not like there was much opportunity for marriage and a honeymoon after things went to shit, but we were together."

Dumbledore was nodding and Harry lapsed into silence, juggling too many bits of information and unsure what all to share. Some of it was personal, some of it he was actively avoiding thinking about, and yet he felt the need to tell Dumbledore regardless. The headmaster spoke up, reading some of his difficulties on his face.

"And you are telling me this because you are unsure how to proceed?"

That was close enough to the truth.

"Well," Dumbledore continued, "if you were hoping for my blessing, or otherwise my intervention, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. It is not my desire to meddle in the matters of the heart. I don't think you need reminding that the Ms. Delacour presently preparing for her final year at Beauxbatons is not the same woman you left behind, but that's not to say there isn't benefit to her presence here at Hogwarts."

Harry looked up at that, pulling his gaze from moody contemplation of his empty glass.

"What do you mean professor?"

"What I mean is that your situation is unique Harry, I don't believe any interaction with the people of your past is insignificant. We are in untread waters, I think our insights will only grow as the school halls fill. And…" his tone softened, his eyes taking on a gentle set, and Harry looked away. "There is more to be had from your past than a way home Harry. Comfort, familiarity, companionship, within the bounds of propriety these are not things to be shied away from my boy."

Harry drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and looked out the office windows. Within the bounds of propriety, he'd said, Harry wondered if a more obscure and subjective statement had ever been made.

"Have you had any time to think on a way home?" Harry asked instead of addressing that.

It was all a moot point anyway, he needed to get back, for his sake and theirs. Helping this Dumbledore deal with his Horcrux problem was a pleasant distraction, but only so long as it freed up the man's schedule for solving the real issue Harry faced.

"Ah," he said, and he gave a wan smile that Harry caught from the corner of his eye, Dumbledore's tone told him all he needed to know. "Well, I don't pretend to be an expert on the subtleties of time. I know perhaps more than the average witch or wizard, but far less than the Unspeakables working on Time Turners in the Department of Mysteries."

Harry hummed an unenthusiastic response, still watching the sun slowly set over the Forbidden Forest.

"You mentioned a dream," Dumbledore prompted softly, and Harry sighed.

"Yeah, I had a dream last night that I'm pretty sure was actually a memory from just before I came here. We- I was visiting an old friend, just after my birthday. It's all a bit hazy, but I think the last thing I remember before waking up here was going to sleep there."

"But nothing relating to the how?" Harry shook his head in answer, Dumbledore carried on unperturbed. "This is a good thing Harry. Perhaps your mind is simply adjusting, perhaps as you settle in more will come to you."

There were too many maybes, and absolutely nothing in the way of certainties. Harry wasn't blind to the way Dumbledore listened more than he spoke and offered ideas. The man was infuriatingly similar in his own time, but he didn't press the issue just yet. If there was anything he'd learned in the intervening years since he'd last spoken to his Dumbledore, it was that relying on others to do your work for you rarely worked out.

"My offer of the Pensieve stands, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, making Harry feel guilty for the paranoid leaning of his thoughts toward the headmaster. "And I encourage you to visit the library, and your fellow professors once term begins, the answers you seek may not be there, but the path to them certainly is."

Harry nodded, distracted, and a silence fell as Harry stared distantly at the ring on the table and Dumbledore finished his drink.

"Well," the headmaster said after a spell, "do you want the first crack at it?"

Harry pulled his focus from memory and looked to Dumbledore, he was looking down at the ring.

"Oh, no professor," Harry said quickly, standing from his chair. "Have at it, I'll see you at dinner."

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry could see the apprehension and anticipation in his gaze as he looked down at the Resurrection Stone. He let himself out of the office and headed off for his own quarters.

A few hours after dinner Harry was making way for the kitchens. He supposed he could've summoned a house elf from his chambers, but a bit of fondness for Hermione's old equal rights initiative had him making the trip himself.

It was a special occasion.

Dumbledore broke the ring, as Harry had dispatched the diadem, and then Harry had stripped away the extra curses laid into the ancient artifact. He'd left Dumbledore with the Resurrection Stone, and if the old man had a teary reunion with lost loved ones, he didn't show it at dinner that night. After the meal, as Harry moved toward the entrance hall, Dumbledore had passed him a little paper parcel the size of a throw pillow and he knew instantly what was inside even without Dumbledore's words.

"The cloak is yours, Harry. The wand will die with me. Dispose of the ring when you are done with it. There should be no Master of Death, I think." As Dumbledore's footsteps grew further away, Harry contemplated his words.

He was inclined to agree.

So after sitting on his bed, looking at the ring perched innocently atop the folded cloak of invisibility for far too long, he went and retrieved a bottle of wine from the kitchens. With the prospect of what was to come he allowed the Elves to press a second bottle on him easily enough. He retreated back up to the Hallows waiting in his quarters.

His hands shook as he slid the tarnished band over his middle finger. He closed his eyes, pinched the stone, and rotated it around his finger thrice.

No one shared the room with him when he opened his eyes. A desk, a chair, and two bottles of wine were his only companion.