Thursday, 1st August

His terrible feeling had been right.

Striding quickly through the Hogwarts ground, Dumbledore had an uncharacteristically grave expression on his face. Hagrid had gone to the Dursleys yesterday as planned, but based on the half-giant's memories, it hadn't gone well.

Reaching the main gates, he sighed and stepped outside to enter the apparition point.

He hadn't received Hagrid's note until late yesterday afternoon, and the man himself hadn't returned until much later. The stone had been safely collected, at least, and was now under numerous wards and runes in his own office for the time being, but as for Harry…

"He's not here! My husband got rid of him! We don't want anything to do with your- your- your freakish kind!"

There was something very very wrong there.

Turning on the spot, he apparated to a quiet side alley two streets down from Privet Drive.

By the time he'd watched Hagrid's memories, it had been too late to respectably visit, and he didn't want to increase Petunia's ire at the risk of not finding out where her nephew was. No, it had been better to wait until this morning, no matter how much the delay had pained him. At least by now, Mr Dursley should have left for work, and he was hoping that by speaking to Petunia alone, she would be more honest with him - as well as more forthcoming about Harry's whereabouts.

Technically, the cut-off date for him to accept his place at Hogwarts had been yesterday, but Dumbledore was the Headmaster for Merlin's sake - so surely he could find a workaround and convince the Book of Admittance to accept the boy a day late. After all, it wouldn't be the first time extenuating circumstances delayed a student from getting their letter.

Walking slowly up the driveway, he admired the flowers in the Dursley's front garden. Someone had clearly been paying a lot of attention to them; there wasn't a single weed in sight. Knocking on the front door, he wasn't surprised when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to find Petunia's long thin face peering back at him from behind the window where she'd pushed the curtains to one side.

When she saw him, she paled drastically, which was never a good sign, before scowling fiercely and letting the white netting drop. A moment later, the door was flung open.

"What do you want?"

"Hello Petunia. Lovely morning, isn't it? Just the right level of crisp".

"What do you want?!"

He felt his heart sink.

"No time for niceties? Alright. Then let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house". He stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him. "It has been a long time since my last visit - I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing!"

"Don't think I won't call the police on you like I did with that- that- that freak you sent to terrorise me with last night!"

"Freak? My dear lady, Hagrid is many things, but he is most certainly not a freak" he replied sternly, "Although you do seem quite taken with that word, don't you? Ah! And this must be your son, Dudley".

The large blond boy from Hagrid's memories had just peered around the living room door, his mouth gaping in astonishment and fear.

"Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?"

Dudley scrambled out of the way as Dumbledore passed him, ignoring Petunia's hushed whispers, telling him to go up to his room and not come out until she told him. Instead, the Headmaster settled himself in the armchair nearest the boarded-up fireplace and took in his surroundings with an expression of benign interest.

It was a rather dull room, full of pastel tones like beige, salmon, and peach. It also didn't escape his notice that, although the walls and mantlepiece were positively drowning in picture frames and photos of Dudley, there was not a single even minuscule sign that a second boy lived here.

Or that a second boy had lived here.

"I told you to get out! I don't want to talk to you!"

"Well, that's quite a shame, because I do wish to speak with you" he replied easily, turning back to her, "Where is Harry, Petunia?"

"He's not here! I already told that- that gatekeeper or whatever of yours last night! The boy isn't here and you shouldn't be here either!"

"I understand that Mr Potter is no longer living here, but I also know that up until a few days ago, he was". He peered down at her through half-moon glasses. "What I'd like to know now, is where he has been moved to".

"What, your freakish letters can't tell you?!"

"You know as well as I do, Petunia, that there's a cut-off date for attending Hogwarts".

She flinched, memories of a jealous thirteen-year-old girl begging him to attend the school and "become" a witch no doubt rushing to the surface.

"Where is he?"

"He's gone".

"Gone where?"

"Just- Just gone! We didn't want him anymore so we got rid of him! We tried to beat the freakishness out of him but it didn't work! You told us to keep him until he turned eleven and we did. Now, the freak is gone, and he's gone for good! You're never going to find him!"

Well then.

It wasn't ethical of him, as such, to use Legilimency on an unsuspecting muggle, but in his defence, he did try to be as gentle as possible.

He subtly suggested that she think of Harry and a wave of memories rose up in her mind - memories of a small, skinny, pitiful little boy with a thin face and knobbly knees. He had his father's unruly black hair and his mother's startlingly green eyes, but that look - that look of weariness and resignation and exhaustion, the downturn of the mouth and the inward turn of the shoulders, the steely determination in that gaze and the firm set of the jaw - that was all Harry's. A boy who had spent his life fighting, being beaten and downtrodden and oppressed, but refused to give up, resolved to continue a losing battle…

No child should ever look that old.

Dumbledore flipped through each memory as it was brought forward, seeing ten years' worth of abuse in as just as many minutes - a cupboard with a childish scrawl on torn paper declaring it Harry's room, harsh words and cuffs on the head along with the occasional broken bone, scared looks over the top of the stove as tiny fingers tried to reach the frying pan, that same frying pan barely missing the child's head as hot grease splashed onto bare arms, clothes that swamped a far too skinny frame to cover up the deep black bruises underneath-

On and on and on it went until Dumbledore started to feel physically ill from all that he was seeing, until finally, at last, he reached the final memory the woman had of her nephew.

"It's you that they want. And they won't stop coming after us until you're… gone".

"Vernon? What are you doing?"

"The freaks keep sending those bloody letters to him wherever he goes, so it's about damn time that we were done with him!"

"But- But Vernon, we can't! You heard what that- that despicable old man told us!"

"He only told us to keep the boy in this house until he turned eleven! So as far as I'm concerned, we've done our part! I promised, I- I swore that when we took him in there would be no- no- no bloody freakishness in our house! So if I can't beat it out of the boy, then we're just going to have to get rid of him!"

He'd heard enough.

Exiting her mind with, perhaps, just a little less gentleness than what was strictly necessary, he gave the furious woman a look of utter despair.

"Oh, Petunia" he lamented, "How could you?"

"How could I?" she hissed, taking a step forwards, "How could I?! You're the one who left the boy on our doorstep with nothing but a letter explaining what had happened! And you expected us to- to- to treat the freak with kindness? To happily take in one of your kind?!"

"I expected you to raise that child the same way Lily would have raised yours".

She reeled back as if struck.

"You did not do as I asked. You never treated Harry as a son. He knew nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon your own unfortunate child" Dumbledore continued quietly, "The magic I evoked ten years ago meant that Harry had a powerful protection while he could still call this house home. However miserable he clearly was here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom… Or, should I say, you had allowed him houseroom".

"H-Had?" she asked, her voice trembling, "What do you mean had? That m-magic was because of me! Because of my blood! And I'm still here!"

"No, Petunia. That magic was linked to your blood, yes, but it ceased to operate the moment you kicked that poor boy out of this house. You are no longer protected here".

"What?! But- But that Lord whatever - he's dead, isn't he?"

"Supposedly" Dumbledore allowed, "But I have a suspicious feeling that he won't remain that way for very long".

Petunia shook her head even as her face paled while realising what that meant.

"But- But you can protect me, right? And my family? I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?"

"There is".

"Well, then, why can't they protect us?! It seems to me that, as innocent victims, guilty of nothing more than harbouring a marked boy, we ought to qualify for government protection!"

Dumbledore couldn't help but smile despite the distinct lack of amusement he felt.

"I believe the muggles have a saying for this… You've made your bed, now lie in it".

Her face, if possible, paled even further.

"Where is he, Petunia?" he asked quietly, standing up, but she shook her head. "I- I don't know".

"Where did your husband bring the boy?"

"I don't know, I tell you!" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air, "Vernon said he'd get rid of the brat, and they left. Two days later, he came back and- and that freak was gone! He could be dead in a ditch for all I care!"

He slowly nodded, suddenly feeling far older than his already advanced years.

"Well then… Since there's nothing more that I can do here..." Dumbledore gave a cursory glance around the room, some tiny little remaining tendril of hope buried deep down in his chest extinguishing as Harry didn't appear. "I'll take my leave… Just know, Petunia, that your sister would be rolling in her grave if she knew how you have treated her son".

He barely remembered leaving Privet Drive, still in shock from all of the horrible things he'd seen in her memories, unable to comprehend how one family could treat a child so terribly.

Dumbledore wondered, briefly, if the poor child was dead - if Vernon had snapped after one too many "freakish" occurrences of accidental magic, and that's what Petunia had meant by "got rid of".

He hadn't expected them to treat Harry like a prince, but he never thought they'd stoop so low as to outright mistreat him. He expected him to be as normal a boy as he could hope for, under the circumstances, but for the Dursleys to abuse him - for Petunia to deliberately harm the son of her dead sister… it was incomprehensible to him.

Apparating back to Hogsmeade, he began the long trek back up to the castle.

Dumbledore was rather prone to regret, but in recent years he couldn't remember ever regretting anything as deeply and as truly as not listening to Minerva ten years ago.

But- the boy couldn't be dead. Harry Potter, killed by his muggle relatives? It was unthinkable. Laughable, even. Surely the Dursleys hadn't taken things that far. They had certainly mistreated him - Petunia's memories alone had shown that - but to go so far as to- to-

No.

He couldn't accept it. He wouldn't. He simply had to find some way of proving that Harry was still alive, find something that he could reassure himself with, find something that he could find the boy with. Since the cut-off date for accepting his place at Hogwarts had passed, he couldn't use Harry's letters to try and find him, as the Quill of Acceptance would no longer be writing his address to-

Wait.

The Quill of Acceptance.

Abruptly spinning around, Dumbledore bypassed the hallway that led back to his office and instead, quickly walked towards a little-known narrow staircase leading up to one of the numerous towers in the castle. The door, which locked itself to students and lesser members of staff, swung open at his touch, and he gladly stepped into the small circular room which held nothing but an old wooden table, a self-writing quill, and the Book of Admittance.

A relic from the founder's days; it was this magical artefact that decided which children were magical enough to attend Hogwarts. Wrapped in black dragonhide, the Book's decision was final, and no one - not even the Headmaster of Hogwarts - could change its mind.

Dumbledore had yet to see it in action, but he knew the mechanics behind it, just as he knew that he wasn't allowed to touch it. What he could do, however, was ask.

"Harry Potter, if you please".

The old yellowing pages of the book flickered restlessly but didn't turn. Dumbledore frowned, white brows furrowed in confusion before he realised. Old magical artefacts tended to be a bit pedantic, after all, you only had to talk to the Sorting Hat to realise that, but ancient magic was just as wonderful as it was weird, which meant that it likely wouldn't recognise a child by anything except their true name.

And, if memory served, young Harry had, in fact, been named after his late great-grandfather.

"Then, perhaps, let us try… Henry James Potter?"

With a whoosh the pages began to flip over and over and over until-

His eyes widened as the book finally stopped on the magical records of December 1981. Harry wouldn't have even been two years old yet - that date was only a few weeks into his new residency with the Dursleys. For him to have performed accidental magic at that age, magic strong enough for the Book of Admittance to register, meant that the boy was… powerful.

The fact that his name was still written there and hadn't been scratched out was yet another marvellous sign - it meant that Harry was still alive.

So now, all Dumbledore had to do was find him.

Monday, 19th August

He couldn't find him.

Just over two weeks after leaving the Dursleys, and with only two weeks to go before Hogwarts began, Dumbledore finally had to admit that he could search no further on his own. He had done everything he could think of to find Harry Potter but to no avail.

First, he'd tried sending an owl - initially with another Hogwarts letter, and then again with a normal one, both simply addressed to Harry Potter. Having retrieved the smartest bird from their owlery and attaching the notes, he'd cast Avenseguim, only for the owl to ruffle her feathers, give him an almost disparaging look, and then refuse to fly.

Dumbledore couldn't blame her - it went against her own magic, after all, to allow a tracking charm to be placed on the letters, even if it was for the recipient's own good.

A quick floo call to Madam Hopkirk at the Ministry had revealed no occurrences of underaged magic by Harry, meaning that the trace hadn't been activated, which very likely meant that the boy hadn't gotten a wand yet - or had even been introduced to the wizarding world yet. Based on Petunia's memories, she hadn't even deigned herself to tell the boy what he was, never mind who his parents were or what role they had played during the war.

There was no taboo on Harry's name and nor did Dumbledore want there to be, but all of these things combined added up to one unfortunate fact - namely, that he now had no other ideas about how to find the boy.

Which meant it was time to call in reinforcements.

"Thank you all for arriving on such short notice" he greeted, as the last professor, Filius, took his seat.

"What is this all about, Albus?" Severus drawled, "You're a week early for the Head of House meeting, and I still have potions for the infirmary to brew".

"I understand that we're all busy preparing for the upcoming year, however, I'm afraid that I recently received some rather terrible news and it is of the utmost importance that we act as soon as possible".

"Terrible news?" Minerva straightened up in the armchair by the fire. "What terrible news?"

"Well, there really is no other way of saying this-"

"So just say it!"

"Harry Potter is missing".

There was a beat of silence, and another, and then three, before suddenly, almost as one, the four professors started shouting as one.

"What?! Harry-"

"-Potter is missing?! How-"

"-in Merlin's name is he-"

"-missing? Are you certain?!"

"Quite certain, I'm afraid" he replied with a small smile, "When young Mr Potter didn't reply to his Hogwarts letter, I sent Hagrid to collect him, only for him to find that Harry was no longer living with his relatives. The following day I visited them myself and… found it to be true. Harry Potter has vanished".

A murmur of disbelief swept through the room before Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean 'the following day'? The cut-off date for acceptance letters was weeks ago! What have you been doing all this time?!"

"I have been trying to find him, my dear Minerva, but unfortunately, I have had no luck so far".

Severus scoffed and shook his head. "And now that you realise just how horribly out of your depth that you are, you've decided to ask us for help".

"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't concerned, my boy".

"Concerned? About what? The brat has probably just realised that he'll no longer be treated like a prince once he starts school, so he's decided to run away and make all of us chase after him as a twisted form of attention seeking!"

"Severus!" Professor Sprout immediately scolded, "I highly doubt that an eleven-year-old child would leave his home for three weeks just to have someone fawn over him!"

"Pomona is right" Filius added, "If the boy truly is an attention seeker, then he wouldn't have lasted on the streets this long, and if he isn't, then I highly doubt that he actually ran away in the first place. What did his relatives tell you, Albus?"

"Not as much as I'd hoped" he admitted, "According to his aunt, her husband… got rid of him".

There was a stagnant pause.

"Albus, when you say 'got rid of'… surely, you don't mean…"

He slowly leaned back in his chair, feeling a heavy weight press down on him.

"I don't know. Before three weeks ago, I would never have believed that Harry's family would ever hurt him, but after speaking to his aunt… He's not dead. That much, at least, I'm certain of".

"There are many things worse than death, Albus!" McGonagall said sharply, "I told you! Ten years ago I told you not to leave him there! I warned you that they were the worst sort of muggles imaginable but you ignored my advice and left him behind! And now you mean to tell me that Harry Potter has been- what? Neglected? Abused? By his own family?!"

"I had my reasons, Minerva, as you well know. I believed that Harry would be safest with his family, given the protective charm his mother left on him".

"Safety should not come at the expense of neglect or worse!" Pomona exclaimed, "At least tell us that you checked up on the boy?"

The room filled with tense silence, and as the full gravity of the situation started to settle around them, Snape let out a bitter snort.

"No, you didn't check up on him even once, did you? Why bother? It's not as if you left the saviour of the wizarding world with a bunch of magic-hating muggles!"

"I could not have predicted what would happen, Severus".

"No, you're right, you couldn't have… but what you could have done was the absolute bare minimum and at least ensured the boy's safety!"

"I admit that I was wrong. I should have been more vigilant; I can see that now. However, we need to focus on the matter at hand - namely, finding Harry Potter!"

The professors exchanged disapproving, and disbelieving, glances, before Pomona, ever the voice of reason, spoke up.

"We can sit here and blame the Headmaster all day, but that isn't going to find the boy any faster than us arguing will. Harry's safety is our top priority right now and we all need to concentrate on locating him".

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "You are correct, as always, my friend. Regardless of the circumstances, Harry needs our help. Now, I've already contacted the Ministry; discreetly, of course, and I have Madam Hopkirk's assurance that if he should pop up there, she'll let me know immediately. Filius, I would be very grateful if you could use your goblin contacts to find out if and when Harry arrives at Gringotts".

"Assuming, of course, that the brat even knows he's a wizard" Snape drawled, "Let alone manages to figure out how to get to Diagon Alley".

The Headmaster ignored his sarcasm with ease after a decade's worth of experience.

"The last letter the owls sent out was addressed to the Railview Hotel in Cokeworth. Since you know that area the best, Severus, I want you to ask around; see if you can find out where Harry and his uncle went after leaving the hotel".

He let out a heavy sigh. "If I must".

"Minerva, I want you to reach out to both magical and muggle law enforcement. The Dursleys, of course, haven't reported Harry as a missing child, but if he's found, then he might just appear on some sort of database. The muggle police and the Auror department will start circulating his description soon enough if that is the case".

Minerva nodded firmly. "Consider it done, Albus".

"Meanwhile I can do some research in the library" Professor Sprout added, "I'm afraid there's not much that my own area of expertise can contribute here, but there might be some sort of archaic ritual or charm that could help us find the child".

"Excellent idea, Pomona" he finished, before clasping his hands together in front of him, "Well then. I believe it goes without saying that we need to keep this to ourselves for the time being. You all know what you must do - and time is of the essence".

It was as clear a dismissal as any, and one by one they stood up to leave.

"Just a moment, Severus".

The Potions Master internally groaned and reluctantly sat back down. Dumbledore waited until his office door had finally shut again behind Minerva - who gave him a very dirty look as she did so - before turning back to the man.

"Severus, I understand your… resentment of the boy-"

"Resentment?" He scoffed. "That's one way of putting it".

Dumbledore sighed, his eyes locking onto Snape's intense gaze.

"I know the past is a heavy burden for you, Severus, but you cannot let it cloud your judgement. Harry Potter needs our help, now more than ever".

"Albus, I highly doubt that the brat is in any real danger. More likely, he's off enjoying the sympathy he'll get when he's found!"

"Harry did not run away".

"Did his relatives tell you that? Or did you even stick around long enough to listen?"

Dumbledore took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

"Petunia Dursley told me… many worrisome things, Severus. I know that you have reservations about the boy, and, for the most part, I do not blame you… But from what I have seen, and what I have heard, Harry is nothing like his father. Not in any way that matters".

"You haven't even spoken to the brat!"

"No, I haven't. But either way, no matter what the boy is like, no matter who he takes after - he is currently a child in need. I implore you; do not take your anger out on the boy. I need you to promise me that you'll approach this with caution and… empathy".

"Empathy?" His lip curled in disdain. "For the spawn of James Potter?!"

Dumbledore's gaze remained unwavering. "You must not let your animosity toward Harry's father affect your actions, Severus. James is not here. Harry is, and he needs our help".

"He's likely currently revelling in the concern and worry of whoever's found him! I won't be a part of this charade, Albus. Expecting me to cater to the demands of a spoiled brat! Are you insane?!"

The old man sighed once more before slowly, almost reluctantly, reaching into the folds of his robes. He withdrew a long thin vial containing a silvery liquid and carefully placed it down on the table in between them.

"My visit to the Dursleys" he explained, voice forcefully light, "Along with a few… additional memories from dear Petunia".

"I can't imagine she gave those up willingly".

"Yes, well, thankfully for us, she is… unaware, shall we say, that she donated anything".

"A donation?" Snape scoffed in disbelief, but the Headmaster could see the curiosity brewing behind dark eyes. "And what makes you think that I have even the slightest inclination to watch Tuney's rotten memories?"

"Because when you do, Severus, you will realise just why we have to find the boy".

The Potions Master grimaced but his gaze lingered on the vial. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore had opened a set of cupboard doors in his office and with another swish, his Pensieve came sailing out. Catching it, he placed the shallow stone basin on the desk in front of him. Picking up the vial, he pulled out the stopper and tipped its silvery contents into the Pensieve where they swirled and shimmered.

Dumbledore smiled and gestured at the bowl. "After you".

Severus reemerged from the basin an indeterminable time later, his face ashen.

The Headmaster could empathise.

He hadn't joined the professor on his journey through Petunia Dursley's memories; he didn't need to. He could still picture it as clear as day - the neglect, the isolation, the unspoken cruelties. The life of abuse that he had subjected that poor misfortunate child to.

Snape's expression almost immediately contorted with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

"This... This cannot be true!"

Dumbledore's gaze was sympathetic, although who he was feeling sorry for at the moment currently eluded him.

"It is, Severus. Harry has suffered greatly at the hands of the Dursleys. You see now, why we must find him?"

"Why? So you can apologise?" The younger man's moment of shock was well and truly gone, and in its place, a familiar sneer emerged. "Isn't that what this is really about, Albus? You sent that child to that house! Even after Minerva warned you that-"

"They were his family!" Dumbledore interrupted sharply, "How on earth was I to know that his own family would-"

"What? Hurt him? His own family? Why, how could they?" Snape mocked, "You never learn, Headmaster! You clearly didn't learn from your mistakes with the Dark Lord and you most certainly didn't learn with me! And now Potter is- How many more children have to be abused before you finally realise that not all muggles are harmless?!"

"Severus-"

"No, Albus!" He leapt to his feet with a clatter and began pacing the room, his anger a palpable force. "This is the Boy Who Lived! No child deserves to be treated like that, but for him- for this- for her to- to- Why in Merlin's name didn't you check on him?! After leaving him with her?! With nothing but a- a bloody letter? Have you truly lost your mind?!"

"Severus, please-"

"Don't you 'Severus please' me, old man! There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that you could possibly say or do that could ever make this right!"

There was a resounding silence after those words, and Dumbledore felt a wave of crushing grief wash over him. Had he really failed his students so much?

"... I didn't know".

"And who's fault is that?" he snapped, spinning around to face him, "Would it have killed you to check on him even once?!"

"I never intended for Harry to suffer this way. My trust in Petunia was misplaced, and for that, I am truly sorry".

Snape abruptly stopped, fixing Dumbledore with a withering glare.

"Sorry? Sorry?! Sorry won't erase the years of torment he's endured! Sorry won't make up for the fact that you condemned him to a lifetime of abuse! Sorry won't cover up the mistake you made leaving him to- leaving her son to-"

He cut himself off and took a slow, deep breath. When he finally regained a tight grip on his emotions, he continued.

"I'll do as you asked" he said, quieter this time, "I'll search for him until he's found… one way or another".

"Do you truly believe that there's a chance the boy is dead?"

He continued to glare at him for another moment before scowling and looking away.

"No. I don't" he bit out, "My luck would never be that good".

Dumbledore watched Snape's inner turmoil play out on his face, a mix of frustration, anger, and perhaps just a trace of vulnerability. After a few seconds, the younger man finally turned back to him, his eyes still smouldering with fury.

"I will search for him" he said coldly, striding towards the door, "But don't mistake this for loyalty or compassion, Albus. I'm doing this because of the vow I took, not for the boy's sake, and certainly not to absolve you of any well-founded guilt!"

Dumbledore slowly nodded.

"I understand. I'll gladly take whatever help I can get, regardless of your motivations… I know you'll do the right thing, Severus".

The Potions Master paused for a moment, his hand on the doorknob, but then left without another word.

Dumbledore, left alone in his office, sank back in his chair, weariness etched across his aged features. The weight of his mistakes bore heavily on his conscience - as did Snape's words.

He understood the complexities of the man he had once called both student and ally. Severus's harsh demeanour and his biting words - both were defence mechanisms guarding a heart scarred by a tumultuous past.

But no matter what he did, Albus couldn't shake the feeling that, in attempting to protect Harry, he had unwittingly condemned him to the exact same fate.