Title: To Where It All Began

Author name: Kung-lou

Author email: AU

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Harry had had a good life, a long life. One filled with family and exploring the limits of magic. At the end, he was ready to greet death as his ancestors had, as an old friend. It seems however that magic and death weren't finished with him. Master of Death, Political.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from the use of these characters.

Author notes: AU, OC Updated 19/01/2020

Chapter 1: The Death of Harry Potter

"And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life."

—The Tale of the Three Brothers

Year 2189

Harry Potter was dying.

He wasn't dying in some epic battle with dark wizards, 'I left that sort of thing behind a century ago' he thought with a wry grin. Nor was he dying in a fight for survival between the magical and muggle world with their ever increasingly advanced technology. 'Though,' he chuckled to himself, reminiscing of past misadventure. 'There had been a near miss once or twice.'

"Ignition pulse in three, two, one. Pulse"

No, after a rich and long life it was time. Management of the Black and Potter houses had long ago been handed over to his children. No doubt they themselves had grandchildren by now. He had imparted what wisdom he could, and after a century of exploring the limits of magic it was time to allow his magic to add to the family identity. Harry Potters legacy was secure. Both the Black and Potter magics would change and adapt with his death, as with all family members, adding and evolving the family identity throughout history. Allowing for families to grow in their power and accumulate abilities.

"Fusion successful, containment field fluctuations within software norms"

Now, at the end, he was reflecting on those explorations into magic and how many foolish notions and expectations he had overcome. He had explored the very nature of magic and its place in the universe. Investigating the limits of the hard rules that he had lapped up as a lonely, ignorant child and searching for the boundaries of possibilities without rules. It was how he found himself here - orbiting the proto-planet of Eris, at the very edge of the heliosphere. "Perhaps it is somehow fitting, at the end, that I would witness what may be the start of muggles re-engaging with the magical world."

He was of course talking to himself, as he so often did these days. He had perhaps delved too deeply into the madness of the Black family magics over the comfortable solidness of the Potter's. It had left him almost as lonely as he was as a child, this time by choice. It was always difficult when you left your peers behind, breaking expectations and pursuing forbidden knowledge outside accepted norms.

Magic was, once you broke from the indoctrination and rules-based approach of the modern wand using communities, so much richer and more flexible. The further you moved from the relatively safe hard center of magic and into the soft, flexible and moldable edge. Where the personal consequences and costs became higher but also the rewards. Often the costs grew very steeply, unexpectantly at random and irreversibly. There was every chance that you could transform yourself into one off the many horrors stuck within the maze between planes fighting for escape, a unique magical beast or even completely erase yourself from existence.

"Vacuum is stable at 10 particles per cubic centimeter"

History was scattered with the individuals who had successfully overcome their limitations to explore and create uniqueness in time, soul, mind and even death magic. Their will, intention and mastery over their magic had given them that capability. It was what had allowed three brothers to delve so deeply into death magic, that they had created the objects he wore today. Objects that had allowed him to become master of death. Failures were wiped from history, or only remembered as cautionary tales.

"Bose–Einstein condensate stable"

The three artifacts of death had begun whispering to him after a time, aiding in his pursuit of magic. Accelerating his progress in crafting his mind and body, and allowing his magic to grow beyond past limitations in order to more efficiently mold magic and bend the universe to his will. The death artifacts had opened his eyes to the sheer possibilities of magic, and his ability to effectively wield it. His narrow minded and dogged pursuit of wanded magic in his formative years had cruelled his potential into its greater mysteries. If life was a journey, he had been led down the wrong magical path and it had taken decades to recover.

Such dogmatic learning of such a hard rules based magic system, although providing early advantages and being far safer, had negatively influenced his growth and limited his potential. A limitation that was shamefully made and enforced on every 11-year-old born and captured by the artifacts within the magical schools today. "No one should decide another's potential – magic is all."

"Starting test mach 1 dash b."

Even as he had accepted his end, and his inability to change society and the magical education system, Harry's curiosity had taken him here. At the very edge of the solar system. Muggles had begun experimenting with the energy between sub atomic particles, zipping in and out of the multitude of dimensions. If harnessed successfully, they would be able to manipulate matter in a way that was analogous to wizarding kind. This method would always be far more limited than those being born able to harness and manipulate magic. But there was a path for re-integration of muggles and wizarding kind in the centuries and decades to come, with a lessening of the visible differences between their capabilities and the fear that fueled.

"Witnessing the inevitability of wizard kinds isolation is a fitting send off," Harry smiled as he remembered his introduction the separated world of magic so long ago. It was a separation that hurt both communities.

"At least one branch of humanity would be united," Harry mumbled as he watched over the test facility carved into the icy world below. "Magic has always created a wealth of isolated communities, over the millennia each focused on their preferred magical aspects. Like a sphere visiting a 2D world, mostly unaware of each other."

Mindlessly running his thumb over his family rings and the accompanying resurrection stone, he heard the bored recital of a muggle scientist below introducing some concern. "Unusual fluctuations in the containment field at 23 degrees to the azimuth," Harry leaned forward with curiosity even as he casually waved his hand, summoning fiery recording glyphs. "It would be fitting that this moment be recorded in the family grimoires."

"Fluctuations approaching soft mitigation limit, preparing to terminate test mach 1 dash b. If continued fluctuations likely to exceed software's capability of dynamically adjusting containment field leading to fusion plume breach and equipment damage."

Harry sighed in disappointment, no doubt alongside the other muggle scientists in the facility, still rubbing the resurrection stone. Frowning he noticed a small quivering in the stone, "What?' The whispering that he had also become so used to over the decade had also silenced. "I had so hoped to be here when they cracked it," even as he knew that someone in his family line would take up his mantle. But he had witnessed the costs of trying to prolong life passed its natural end – he would great death with a full life, satisfied that he had made a mark on this world.

"Fluctuations accelerating, the test wont abort," now there was no mistaking the panic. "Energy from the vacuum shorting the safety circuits. How is this possible."

Harry puzzled as the elder wand and cloak started to vibrate in tune with the resurrection stone. He had assumed the silence meant that it was his time to pass on, to greet death as an old friend and allow his legacy to be borne by his family. Was it possible that the the elder artifacts were interacting with the muggle experiment in some capacity. 'A mystery that is being recorded for posterity,' Harry checked over his wards, feeling for the ambient magic.

"Oh GOD, the Bose–Einstein condensate is somehow interacting with the containment field what.." Perhaps it still was his time to pass on. He doubted that even he, with a lifetime of ritualistic body modifications, could survive the explosion this close to the muggle facility at the edge of the solar system.

"One last mystery," he muttered as the death artifacts hummed, quivered and seemingly interfered with the muggle activity within the hardened muggle bunker. "To you old friend," Harry saluted. "May you have the last laugh," smiling, Harry drew deeply on the ambient magics swirling around Eris as the proto planet exploded.

It would take 9 hours for the light of the explosion to be seen from Earth, those who where looking might have noticed Eris and its moon Dysnomia were gone from the Kuiper Belt, only dust remaining in their place.

(BREAK)

Year 1986

Harry blinked as a musty smell filled the air and dust filled his nostrils. He felt small and weak with his thoughts foggy, like he couldn't quiet catch them. He blinked again. His eyes blurred as they hadn't since his early thirties when he had fixed his eyesight. It was dark and Harry found himself somehow jammed into an enclosed space. His thoughts were so slippery, refusing to be grasped. Harry felt for his connection to his magic, it was overwhelming, turbulent and full of coils and eddies. It was not the comfortable familiar ocean of endless possibilities that he had become used to. It was not really that surprising with his body so weak and his mind so clouded.

Harry knew he was forgetting something but his thoughts felt slow, his memories incomplete. The muggles. "I should be dead," he muttered. Even his voice sounded high pitched and weedy thin. His mind refused to grasp onto the moment of his death and his magic swirled, fogging his thoughts further and making him feel nauseous. Harry coughed as he choked on dust and grit, ambient magic reacting to his distress by stirring up dust mites and fluff alike.

"My cloak," Harry gasped, suddenly he realized what he was missing. His rings and wand were also absent. Feebly reaching out to the connection which had been the cornerstone of his magic for so long, he stumbled feeling like he was walking a well-trodden path that no longer existed.

Shuddering, he became aware of the frigid cold, and the broken spring digging into his back. "There can really only be one place, but how?" Harry was back, in the cupboard under the stairs. "Or more likely when?"

Now that his thoughts were slowly starting to clear, he knew that there was only one way to be back under the stairs. The taste of blood wards, like an acrid burn at the back of his throat further confirmed his theory, adding further to his nausea.

"Well now, I guess you did get the last laugh." Harry chuckled, feeling instead like exploding into full throated laughter. He hadn't thought of the Dursley's for decades and couldn't really care less if he might wake them. Over such a long lifetime, they had been a mere blip, although a formative one. Even so, best not to tempt fate further.

Flexing his magic in a practiced wandless way, even with its current instability, such a simple task should have been an almost unconscious effort. Instead when he gently pushed against the bolted door, intending to unlock it quietly and make his escape, his magic coiled strangely, unexpectedly. Rather than opening as expected, his push violently exploded the door straight off its hinges and through the gyprock wall on the other side of the hallway. The molten metal slag from the bolts and hinges hissed dangerously on the wooden floorboards.

"BOOOOY," a walrus like bark followed by stomping came from upstairs.

"Well I guess I woke the muggles, that's going to be a problem," Harry almost panted as he crawled out from under the stairs. He ignored the house frame he could now see through the hole in the wall. He felt so weak, his thoughts like eels in heavy fog.

"WHAT HAS YOUR FREAKISHNESS DONE," Harry looked up the stairs and could see his uncle standing at the top looking down on him, staring between him and the damage Harry had wrecked on his house. Lights started to go on around him as his aunt emerged from her room and Harry watched as his uncles face oscillated between purple and deep red despite his aunts restraining arm.

"Hello uncle, you're not as fat as I remember you," Harry quipped. Between his uncontrolled magic, his feeling of weakness and the incredulity of the situation he felt almost delirious. It was also dangerous. Not only for his aunt and uncle, but also for himself. He had worked hard to maintain a careful balance between his mind, body and magic.

Growing and evolving all three with clear intent and appropriate will. Having one aspect overpower any of the others could have unexpected and do potentially irreversible harm. In this state, his magic could stunt his growth and corrode his mind which could rapidly form negative feedback loops impacting his magic and soul. There would be no coming back from that. At best he would become a cautionary tale.

If he was, as it appeared back in time, then it also threatened to permanently damage his magical and physical development.

With his magic twisting and coiling as it was, begging for release he was almost frightened that he might rip open a hole into the maze between planes with devastating consequences for the world. Worse, if he didn't get control quickly, he feared for himself. He couldn't remember a time when he felt this exposed and less in control.

Ironic for, by all appearances, being a child back in the Dursleys residence.

"Aunt, Uncle," Harry idly wondered what it might look like to someone who might stumble across the scene. A small undersized boy, wreckage around him, frightened, desperate with angry and large adults looking down like they would like nothing better than to take the damage out of his hide. But he had bigger concerns than even where, when or how. He had to do something about the imbalance in his magic, the weakness of his body and mind that threatened to damn him.

"Be seeing you," and with that he apparated to a place he knew he could reach. A place where the Potter family magics of solidness and reliability would aid in supporting the process of centering himself and holding who he was. While he had a momentarily enough will and concentration to hold onto his core identity, that would not last. His magic would continue to influence his thoughts and development as it adapted to his new reality of such a weakened body and mind. Potentially leading to a loss of knowledge, memory and experience. He may yet loose himself to become someone or something else.

He didn't expect that he could regain all that he was simply or quickly. Harry had taken a life time of shaping himself through magical research to become who he had. But perhaps he could stabilize himself enough that his potential would not become permanently damaged, and to maintain his core identity.

Harry tried very hard not to think the dangerous thoughts that followed, 'If I am not successful, how would I even know." How does a madman know he is mad? If he had in fact come back in time, he could work to recover what he was. With his knowledge, he would even be better off with time.

A loud crack and he landed in the ruined top floor of the Potter cottage. Even in its ruined and neglected state, the Potter family had made its home in Godrics Hollow for generations and the subtle nature of his family magics were pervasive. The proximity to the storied village, the Peverell history and remnant wisps of death magic from his earlier confrontation with Voldemort in this spot would also help – he had always had an affinity to death magic. Harry knew that he would need that advantage and more. He was desperate.

With only a thought to the most basic aversion charms, more could come later, Harry sat comfortably and dove into the art of occlumency. There were better methods, more powerful, more subtle but his magic already threatened his control and strove to adapt his body and mind. If he allowed that to happen randomly, Harry shuddered in dread, it was as likely to be a terrible outcome as a positive one. His thoughts were even more slippery and he suspected he was at dire risk of losing himself.

He certainly gave no thought to the turmoil that his absence would generate through the British wizarding world. By the time people really started to look for him, he would be beyond simple means of discovery.

(BREAK)

Albus Dumbledore was one hundred and five years old this year, and at this moment he felt every one of those years. He sat somberly in his office at Hogwarts waiting for two of his staff to join him but this meeting had nothing to do with his role as headmaster. That role filled him with pride and positivity, educating and shaping the next generation of wizards. Ensuring that they graduated with the right attitude, all ready to make their mark on wizarding society. Oh, there were hold outs but they were mostly in Slytherin and he had Severus keeping an eye on those ones.

No this had more to do with the role he had adopted and pursued with vigor and some might say ruthlessness for most of his adult life. The deep shame in his actions during his youth had forced him through a crucible. It had made him the wizard that he was today. Albus had dedicated his life to limiting the darker impulses of the wizarding world. His roles as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards as well as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot allowed him great influence and with it the ability to shape the future direction of their society. It was influence he had used over the years and continued to use.

He had learned his lessons over the years with his failure to curb young Tom Riddles growing fascination with power and cruelty and his subsequent decent into the role of Lord Voldemort. As a result, he now took a far more active role in events than he may have otherwise. Through the exploitation of his roles as Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock, he was able to effectively guide the wizarding world through procedures and laws.

Albus had used these roles to ban knowledge and the practice of darker magics. He constantly advocated his more enlightened view of muggles and the roles of muggleborn within their society. The curbing of Darker family influence was also a useful by product. This was all done, despite the opposition of the older families, for the benefit of all. It was his life's work, his legacy.

His long tenure as Headmaster of Hogwarts had also allowed him to shape and influence the education of generations of young witches and wizards. Allowing them to avoid the painful lessons he had learned of the corrupting attraction and dangers of dark magic.

When he had failed through the positions he held, as with young Tom, and the Ministry of Magic had been unable to cope he had established his own Order of the Phoenix to fight against Voldemort and for the rights of Muggles and Muggle-born wizards. 'Even so,' he thought 'Without Harry Potter, we would have lost. That conflict really showed me how much more work there was to do.' It as they said, made him step up his game.

After he had placed the infant Harry with his maternal aunt, he had worked hard to undermine the darker families influence in Britain and abroad through all of the committees and forums that he was a member of. He had already started to lay the ground work for Harry's return to the Wizarding world and a world without Tom riling up the older families. The Bones, Doge and Weasley's had been indispensable to the effort. The prophecy gave him great hope for the future of their world.

It was disappointing that so many had failed to be held to account or their actions along with Tom Riddle. The Notts, Blacks and Malfoys where of particular concern, the Blacks at least were mostly an aging, spent force. 'Such a dark family,' Albus mused, 'I cannot regret their passing.' He didn't imagine Pollux, Cassiopeia or Cygnus had long left in this world before they embarked on the next great adventure. 'With Sirius in Azkaban and Regulus presumed dead, it's unlikely they will become a threat in the foreseeable future.'

The events of three days ago had the potential to unravel more than a few of his plans, with potentially dire consequences. He was not prepared. Harry Potter was supposed to be safely behind blood wards, with his location known to a very select few. He had even taken the location from his deputy's mind.

Harry Potter was missing, for all of his wisdom and experience and all of his positions of influence, events could still surprise him. He would not look forward to breaking the news to Minerva that the son of her past students, comrades in arms and former friends was missing. Severus, he suspected, would take it far better. 'No love lost with the Potters, he never really did consider Lily a Potter. Even after she married James.'

Not even Fawkes, as close to his burning day as he was, could cheer him for this meeting. On the desk in front of him sat his penseive where it sat swirling with silver white memories. It was his memories of the moment that he was alerted to the disappearance of Harry Potter from Privet Drive and what he had found. Or perhaps not found.

At first, he had thought it a simple case of accidental magic. A simple case of a scared young boy frightened of the damage he had done and the consequences of coming home. Something easily resolved with a Reparo and the settling of Harry's aunt and uncle minds. With the protective blood wards still fully charged, and a prophecy in play, he was confident no harm could have befallen the boy.

When Harry hadn't returned, and couldn't be found, Albus returned for a deeper survey and investigation of the house and the situation. What he had found had not at all been what he had anticipated. Sadly, the remnants of the accidental magic in the house had by then dissipated or been obscured by his own magics. In his initial rush to resolve a simple incident, he simply failed to conduct a though probe. Now, not even reviewing his memories in a penseive could tell him more. The memories recovered from the Dursleys had been much more insightful. He could not have imagined that Lily's own sister would feel it necessary to subject Harry to the level of emotional abuse and physical deprivation present in her memories.

No doubt such an upbringing would affect Harry once he arrived at Hogwarts, would it make things easier or harder. Albus idly stroked his long white beard in thought. He doubted it would lead to darker tendencies but such experiences shaped children. Already half made plans, taking advantage of the latest information, started taking shape for Harry's eventual return to the wizarding world.

At six years old, Harry should not be alone. Certainly not for the three days he had been missing. He had not decided what he would do once he found him, but the protection of the blood wards was paramount. Even today there were very real magical threats to Harry's safety and wellbeing. It was too early, he had not yet guided and prepared the Wizengamot to where they needed to be before Harry's reemergence to the Wizarding world.

Albus had been studying his memories hoping to see something in his memories that he had missed earlier, something that might be of use to find Harry. There was something off about the memories that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Perhaps Minerva or Severus would spot it.

With the clock running on Harry being missing, he found that he had needed to enlist some discrete help. If the youngest scion of Potter still couldn't be found, he had some more planning to do. Though, with the prophecy, he was confident that Harry would eventually be found.

A dime chimed.

"Please come in Severus, Minerva," he would have smiled at the tension between the two as they entered his office if the situation weren't so serious. The rivalry between the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin had not seemed to restrict itself to the children of his school. Though he suspected, their former roles in the last blood purity war didn't help.

"Take a seat, what I am about to ask you must be held in the strictest of confidence," he started, peering over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Waiting for their stiff nods he started, "Minerva you are aware of some of what I am about to cover but for Severus's sake and for completeness bear with me."

"Since Voldemort's killing curse rebounded and vanquished him roughly five years ago, Harry Potter has been in the care of his muggle maternal aunt and uncle. They have been protected from magical threats through secrecy around their location and a highly specialized blood ward." Albus watched with a small sigh as Severus drew in on himself. James Potter was a sore point for him, it seemed he was unable to let go of his boyhood grudge. "As of three days ago he has been missing from his residence in Little Harrington."

"What do you mean that he is missing," Minerva interjected in disbelief. "I know that I said that they seemed the very worst sort of muggles but how do you LOSE a six-year-old boy. Especially Harry Potter."

"I am assuming Headmaster," Severus drawled managing to convey a sense of impatience and indifference, "that you have called us here tonight because you have already checked the local hospitals, orphanages and exhausted the obvious magical means."

"Indeed," Albus sighed sitting back into his chair, a giant bronze penseive on the most cleared desk in front of him. "I was initially alerted to a bout of accidental magic. Easily reversed," he assured them. "When he didn't return on his own, I investigated further with limited success." This time he gestured to the penseive in front of them, "I don't need to tell you that time is of the essence. A six-year-old Harry Potter cannot remain lost."

While Albus waited for his staff members and confidants, he couldn't help but reflect back on the scene that had found when he had initially arrived at the scene of the accidental magic. It wasn't strange for children to experience accidental magic at night time when they experienced nightmares and their emotions where roiled. As such he hadn't really thought much of it. His mistake, he should have been more thorough.

It was a strange scene. Harry had blown the door off of the cupboard under the stairs, the molten metal of the hinges proof of his agitation, the vigor and strength of his magic. A strangeness that sadly resolved itself on a subsequent visit. Accidental apparition at his age was also very unusual and showed that Harry would one day be a powerhouse of magic. 'If he lived that long,' he thought guiltily thinking of the greater good that would result from the conclusion of the prophecy which involved Harry and Voldemort. It may lead to a golden age of peace and light magic.

Swearing brought him back to the moment as he watched Minerva withdraw from the memories. "Oh Albus, James and Lily's son. How could they," Albus agreed with the sentiment but he had approached them both for their expertise in magic and their familiarization with the Potters as much as his trust in their judgement.

"We have to find Harry first Minerva," Albus nodded as he saw Severus remove himself from the memories "at least it appears to be misadventure and not something more." The passed conflict was still very active in their minds – they had effectively lost their civil war against Voldemort. With his demise, it had merely moved into the economic and political realms. Different philosophies, personal interests and the future of their society would allow nothing else.

"Perhaps not Headmaster," Severus sat, head tilted looking pensive. "The boy, that seemed more than accidental magic after a nightmare. Despite looking quite ill, I swear he smirked before apparating. If it were a conscious act…"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous Severus, his six," Minerva exclaimed. "No six-year-old could intentionally do that, not even Albus. He was scared, and that uncle of his…" she finished with a scowl. Albus had wondered about that, along with Harry's final words, "aunt, uncle, be seeing you." Minerva was right, to consider that, you had to assume that Harry held a level of magical and mental maturity years beyond his six years of age.

"Either way," Albus stood up, wrapping his bright purple cloak around him. "I was hoping that you would both accompany me for an excursion. Perhaps you will see something that I did not. If it is more than mis-adventure," he didn't want to consider the possibility. Equally he would remiss not to. Particularly if Harry had found himself in the hands of any of the Darker families. "Indeed, if it is mal-feasance, I will need you both to help me continue the search."

Reaching out to the shelf behind him he picked up a yellow submarine bath toy. Expecting that reviewing his memories would be a precursor to a visit to Privet Drive, he had prepared a portkey. Holding it out, Severus and Minerva grabbed hold of it with the barest of grimaces over its whimsy.

An uncomfortable trip later and they were knocking on number 4. "Hello Petunia," Albus greeted an uncomfortable looking woman at the front door.

Tall with an uncommonly angular looking face, her eyes darted between Albus, Minerva and Severus before hissing at them. "Well come in quickly, I don't need any further attention. The missing boy threatens to be more than enough of that." She turned around, looking at Albus shrewdly, "unless you can do something about that too." Petunia mimed waving a magic wand in the hallway.

"We shall see," Albus nodded as they entered. Each of the party pulled out their wands and started muttering and waving as they made their way further into the house. He wasn't quite ready to accept Harry lost to him, where would a six-year-old unfamiliar with magic or the magical world go if not back to the home that he knew.

"I don't know that you can blame us for the boy's disappearance," Vernon stomped heavily as he approached the group of witches and wizards moving through his house. He looked decidedly uncomfortable at the magic being done around him. "We gave the boy shelter, food, an education. The ungrateful wretch still wrecked the place," Albus watched as Minerva paused what she was doing visibly biting her tongue in anger. Clearly thinking better of it, she resumed her exploration of the house.

"I can see that Petunia," Severus sneered caustically. "The evidence is all around us. Still, I have what we came for. Headmaster," he nodded his head and stalked out. Minerva followed, glaring malevolently at the Dursleys muttering under her breath about the worse sort of muggles. "Of course," Albus replied smiling gently eyes twinkling, a look that he had perfected to great effect over the years. "We will leave you to your evening."

Keen to see if tonight had been a waste of time, he held out his Portkey retuning them all to where they started the evening. Once more seated in his office, with Fawkes chirping over his shoulder, Albus settled into his chair. "Did you find anything that might help us find Harry? Any clue where he might have gone?"

With Harry kept ignorant of the magical world, he doubted that he would have fled to any magical locations. Perhaps he could alter the blood wards somehow to allow for tracking. 'Yes, it might just be possible,' Albus eyes twinkled at the thought of the challenge. 'The trick will be in beating the natural decay of the blood wards if Harry isn't found.'

"Headmaster," Severus started haltingly with a perplexed frown. "You are aware of my sensitivity to dark magics. I thought I detected a strange echo or residue coming from the cupboard under the stairs. I will have to do some research before I know if it will provide any hint as to his motivations or whereabouts. It is the only thing that I found."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, unless you plan to excuse me from my teaching duties, I have potions assignments to grade."

Albus nodded as Severus made a quick exit. He knew that he would make an effort despite his briskness and reservations. Severus was one of the few who was aware of Harry's role once Voldemort inevitably returned. 'Self-interest will trump boyhood grudges every time,' he thought with satisfaction. It did concern him that Severus Snape had detected a residue, one that was so weak that it had escaped his notice. Putting it out of his mind for now, he expected it was related to the abuse experienced inside the cupboard. Emotions, particularly negative ones, had a way of amplifying magic.

"I am not happy Albus, I warned you and not five years later he is missing. Harry Potter is missing. The house was remarkedly devoid of any evidence Harry even lived there. Still I will do what I can." Minerva stood, and with a last shake of here head, followed Severus out. "Word of this cannot be allowed to get out, people would be devastated."

"Well," Albus turned speaking to Fawkes. "What do to about a missing Harry Potter." He would have to tread carefully. Too many people knew or suspected that he had had a hand in Harry's placement for him to appear unexpectantly. It certainly wouldn't do for Harry to find himself in the custody of a family like the Blacks or Malfoys. He was sure, if it came to that the Diggory's or Weasley's would find a place for the boy.

With that, he turned his mind to the latest battle in the Wizengamot. The older, pureblood families still refused to give up their darkest artifacts citing history and culture. Perhaps if he got the Department of Magical Law Enforcement onside. 'Mmmm….' The plight of Harry Potter forgotten for the moment.

(BREAK)

A week after his disappearance from number 4 Privet Drive, Harry was still seated comfortably in the ruined top floor of the Potter cottage. The moon shone brightly in the clear night sky shining down on his position on the exposed floor, the smallest of breezes ruffling his hair. The only evidence that he had even moved in the week since he had arrived, were the empty plastic food wrappers and water bottles scattered haphazardly around the floor. A small pile of clothing along with odds and sodds that he had stolen in his journey to the muggle village also filled a corner. The runic arrays surrounding his position had expanded to cover almost the entirety of the second floor of the wrecked Potters Cottage.

The runic arrays glowed green, blue and red with malevolent intensity. The magic sputtering and arcing dangerously to the point of failing or exploding.

Over the course of the week Harry had barely given himself time to scavenge and steal necessities from the muggle village of Godrics Hollow or even to sleep. He was barely aware of the time passing at all. After a week of shoring up his mental defenses and using his magic to manipulate and evolve his mind, he still felt like he was holding on to himself by his fingernails.

His core identity - Who he was, the memories of events that shaped him, the philosophies he had built up over a lifetime along with the principles that drove him. It is what made him Harry Potter and if he allowed himself to forget, or for magic to influence him in unexpected ways, good or ill he would no longer be the Harry Potter he was.

The barely developed, weak and fragile mess of a mind that he had found himself with, he had by now estimated a biological age of about six, was slowly developing. The strong foundations he was building right now would allow him to, perhaps decades from now, recover what he had lost. Along with it, the ability to create, shape and control the most esoteric magics he had become known for as Master of Death.

His magic felt even more wild and uncontrolled than it did when he had first found himself back in cupboard under the stairs. He was losing control. Even with the amount of magic he was pouring into the magical suppression and aversion runic arrays, along with some custom ones he had developed for when he really didn't want to be found. His magic threatened to overwhelm his body and mind. He simply couldn't dump any more.

The amount that he was channeling as it was, was placing incredible strain on his undernourished and under developed body. Far beyond the safe limits he felt comfortable with. If he succeeded, he only hoped that the damage would be reversable with time.

Not that he had much choice, if he lost this fight, he really wasn't going to be Harry Potter any more. There was a large question mark over what would happen. There may even be a new magic creature born from an uncontrolled release of magic, unknowing that it had once been a human child called Harry Potter.

Time was the issue. He simply could not maintain the concentration, the will or his sense of self under such a barrage for the time it would take for his body to grow and mature enough to balance out his magic. Even by enhancing the process, body and mind magic had their own limits. There was also a cost, and a point in which the cost outweighed any benefit. That point was always subjective, but there was a line he would not cross.

Under his current circumstances, his options were few. There was a reason magic usually developed alongside the body's maturity, with the mind acting as the third in the trinity. Each aspect being influenced and influencing the others development. Parts in a complex system. If he were back where he came from, he might have been able to lever heavily on the Potter and Blacks family magics. The families had grown substantially over the generations and he could draw upon that heritage. Allowing him time to bunker down and re-center his core identity by adapting his mind and body – evolving what was. Controlling the evolution.

Instead, here he found himself the last Potter, and the state of the Black family was perilous. He dare not touch upon it too heavily until he explored his current connection to the Black family magics more thoroughly. With the way that the Black's pride themselves on walking the narrow edge of madness, so too would the family magic push him towards madness's edge. What he was doing was madness enough. Better to rely on what he could from the more solid Potter magics.

No, even if he wanted to, his six-year-old body significantly limited his options. That was unless he wanted to significantly damage his magical potential, stunt his growth or corrode his mind. All three were still a possibility at this point.

His mind was the lessor issue, and he had started to make progress on the foundational structures that he would need to retain and comprehend the memories and magics that he had brought back with him.

'Perhaps,' he considered. 'If I were to construct a big enough magical sink, dedicated to rebuilding my mind and strengthening my body as it matured. Building in constraints tied to my core identity I could give myself some time.' It was a core identity that he had spent the last week attempting to imprint on his weak mind. He really had no idea what effect such a sink would have on an already maturing body and mind. Perhaps he had achieved enough – barely.

'Damn, I am hungry again,' Harry grunted as his stomach suddenly felt like a hollow in the middle of his abdomen. He watched as the arrays around him sputtered angrily against the night sky, 'I guess its decision time. No take backsies.'

It wasn't death he feared, he had already resigned himself to that fate. No, he was about to engage in risky magic under a time of great magical stress. Such fluid, unstructured magic where the rules, and consequences were undefined carried great personal risks and were normally conducted with meticulous preparation.

"I am just out of time."

To say that this was risky, with the smallest chance of success, and a much better chance of the entire thing blowing up in his face was an understatement. If successful however, he could buy himself the time he needed to find a more permanent solution. 'Well, decision time. Before I can no longer make one,' he glanced at the arcing and sputtering runic arrays. He didn't think he had pushed them too far, but with his magic so unreliable, unstable, all it would take was the smallest twitch to set it off.

Standing up unsteadily and being careful not to leave the area bounded by runic arrays, Harry reached into the small pile of clothing at the edge of the ruined floor. Withdrawing a small plain copper bracelet and holding it up to the moonlight, he studied it for imperfections. The bracelet had been stolen it on a previous food run, 'I thought I had more time – I guess it will have to do.'

With a grimace of pain, he started focusing his magic on the bracelet, using his figure to outline intricate glyphs. Most were wedge shaped Sumerian cuneiform, with some of the more modern pictographs mixed in. He steadied his hand, twirling the bracelet until it was completely covered by black charcoaled marks. With Sumerian cuneiform there was less chance of unintended consequences. Considering the conditions, back to basics really was best here.

Harry winced again, the grimace of pain was real. His magic was putting great strain on his young body, and the work he was doing to enhance his mind only added to the strain. Trying not to collapse, he concentrated his will on who he was. The life that he had led, the magics that he had performed and the family legacies that he had built. 'Time to throw the dice,' he muttered and clasped the bracelet around his skeletally thin arm.

Immediately he felt a change. His magic, which had for the last weak been a turbulent muddle of chaos, unexpected coils of possibilities and tangles of barely restrained action started to calm and recede. Even as the endless ocean shrank and the swirls and eddies calmed, he maintained his will and concentration.

Once his magic more resembled a calm small puddle than the turbulent ocean it had, only then could he start to relax and sigh with relief. The struggle of holding on to who he was over the last week, had almost led him, fueled by excess magic, to become who he was. Holding back that tide, with the smallest energy left over to anything else. Now that he had had a chance to breath, he was shocked at how close he had come to loosing himself.

After he grabbed some sleep, and something to eat, he could begin to think and plan. The bracelet would – 'wait,' his mind shuttered off track. 'What am I forgetting – something important.' The bracelet seemed to be working, it would at most give him at most two years to find a more permanent solution. Without the struggle required to hold onto himself, he was confident that he would….

The crackling and hissing of his runic arrays interrupted his thoughts again, violently reminding himself of what he was forgetting. 'Oh Shi…'

A combination of perpetual overloading, carving into and maintenance of a material unsuited to holding such large amounts of power, along with a considerable change in ambient magic finally overloaded the arrays on the second floor of Potters cottage. The explosion was spectacular, completely consuming Potters Cottage and the surrounding cemetery.

It would keep the ministry obliviators very busy and attract the attention of the Ministry of Magic. The destruction of such an historic and cultural icon wouldn't go unnoticed or unremarked.