Yo! Sorry about the wait-shit health, still trying to deal with it, no I'm not better, but I'm doing what I can. Thank you to all readers so far!

"What the hell!?"

Bill winced, but nodded. "It's definitely his," he said before Harry could ask. "I don't know him as well as you, but I've been around him enough to be able to tell that much. My spell's results listed his name too-Neville Frank Longbottom."

"You're positive? There's no mistake?"

"I am, and I used three different spells three different times each for each of your relatives, so that's nine times in total, and it was his signature every single one of those nine times."

Harry dragged his fingers through his hair, looking both confused and aggravated. "But-but how is that possible? How could he have-no, no it obviously wasn't him. Neville has as much reason for killing the Dursleys as you do."

"He was framed too, then?"

"Yeah, he must've been." Leading the way through the flat, Harry took at seat in his favourite armchair, but didn't reach for his coffee. "I'm going to have to check Neville for an alibi too," he said as Bill sat down on the nearby couch. "He should've been at work and nowhere near Privet Drive at any point, but I have to make sure."

"Then what?"

Harry didn't answer at first. Really, he didn't have an answer. "Do you think Neville's magical signature was planted too? The same way as yours was? Maybe it's masking another signature?"

"I'm...not sure if that's possible," said Bill slowly. "I'm not saying it's impossible," he added quickly when he saw Harry's frown, "but I've never heard of someone layering more than two spells or signatures. The more you layer, the more unstable the final product becomes, and the more likely it is to be noticed." He stood up again. "Tell you what. I'll speak to some colleagues-don't worry, I won't tell them why I'm asking or anything, but I'll see if any of them have dealt with more than two layered spells."

Harry regarded him closely, then sighed and nodded. "Alright. So long as you're careful not to let anything about the case slip, it's okay. I really hope you can figure something out here, because I'm seriously way out of my element here." This kind of magic was something Harry wasn't at all familiar with.

"I know," said Bill quietly. He didn't say anything else-had nothing else he really even could say. He knew Harry was beginning to feel a little helpless with the situation, and he knew this was a feeling Harry really hated. Bill couldn't blame him. Harry had spent a lot of his life feeling helpless. Having to feel the same way again in his career-a career he was in charge of, it was terrible.

"You don't have to do that now," said Harry when he realized Bill hadn't actually moved beyond standing up. "It's late-you may as well get some sleep and ask around tomorrow. There's no point doing it now. Everyone's probably heading to bed anyway."

Bill blinked, checked the time, then nodded. "True enough." He made to turn around, but paused again, hesitating. "Are...are you sure you'll be alright alone?"

Harry cracked a smile. "Of course I'll be fine. I'm not a kid, Bill."

Bill sighed inaudibly. "I know you aren't. ...Alright, I'll head out, then." It wasn't that he thought of Harry as a child or anything, because he clearly wasn't. It was just that he was kind of...worried about leaving Harry alone right now. He was saying he was alright, but Bill was sure he was lying about that. How could he possibly be okay after what had happened?

But he left Harry's flat regardless. He couldn't stay if Harry didn't want him to, and he certainly didn't want to abuse Harry welcoming him into his home whenever he wanted. Bill sighed again. Hopefully Harry would make it through the night without getting too overwhelmed.

The moment the door shut behind Bill, Harry felt a sense of regret. He probably should have asked Bill to stay. Being alone for an entire night likely wasn't a very good idea right now. He'd been fine during the day when he'd had a lot to do, but now he had hours to stew on things, and Harry knew that when he stewed, he stewed hard.

He could have still asked-could have just hurried to the door and called Bill, he was probably only just down the hall. But he couldn't. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't bring himself to actually get up and do it.

He just stayed where he was, seated in his armchair, and in an attempt to squash the urge, he just reached for his coffee instead, only to grimace at the taste. It had gone cold. Well, that was fine. He knew he could just cast a heating charm on it, but coffee before bed wasn't a particularly good idea anyway. He needed sleep if he wanted to stay focused tomorrow.

With a heavy, drawn out sigh, Harry decided it was best for him to head to bed too. He returned to his study first, and added what Bill had told him to his notes, and then began preparing for bed. He was exhausted. Hopefully he would be able to sleep undisturbed tonight.

The darkness should have been terrifying-would have been for most, but for Harry it was comforting. The silence was too. He was alone as well, he realized. That didn't bother him either. These were things Harry liked. Things he wasn't used to, but had always taken solace in. But they were also things that reminded him about how lonely he had always been, and often still felt.

The loneliness had been instilled in him when he'd been a very young child. But he'd never really actually gotten used to it. You could think you were used to being lonely, but you never really would be-that was what Harry had learned. But he'd always pretended otherwise. He'd always pretended he wasn't lonely, mostly because the Dursleys would have loved knowing he was. They'd always used things like that as a weapon against him-always, without fail.

Harry wasn't surprised when the scene formed around him. He'd been thinking about the Dursleys, so it was no surprise to him that their house materialized before him in this deep darkness.

The house was the same, its contents too. The only strange things were the corpses. All three of the Dursleys lay dead in the middle of the sitting room, their faces pale and peaceful. The sight filled Harry with an unnatural hatred. Maybe the Dursleys didn't deserve to die, but they certainly didn't deserve peace. Now they had both.

"Why can't you guys just tell me who did this?" Harry said in a mutter, only half aware he was talking to himself. "You never used to shut up, and now you can't even say a word?"

Of course, there was no answer. Harry hadn't really expected one. They were dead, after all, and corpses couldn't talk. That was probably a good thing though.

Why was he here? Why was he seeing this? What was the point of any of this? He already knew the Dursleys were dead. He already knew how he felt about it. He already knew he had no clues to figure out who had done this.

Were the Dursleys going to continue haunting him even now?

Harry woke abruptly. He stayed still where he was, blinking up at the ceiling slowly, staring at the blurry stain over his head. Though the dream hadn't been a nightmare, and nothing had actually happened, Harry didn't really feel like he had gotten much sleep. He still felt as tired as he had before he'd gone to bed the night before.

Deciding it would maybe be better not to think about it, Harry checked the time, cursed when he realized it was later than he'd expected, and heaved himself out of bed so he could get ready for what was bound to be another long day.

He had to make a trip to Hogwarts, and he wasn't really looking forward to it. It wasn't as if he hated being there or anything-Hogwarts would always be a place he considered home, but there were just...too many memories there. Good memories, yes, but also many bad ones. He'd suffered a lot when he'd been there, and it was hard to forget that even despite the good memories.

But he didn't have a choice. He had to talk to Neville-had to do so in person too, so going to Hogwarts wasn't something he could avoid, even though he sort of wanted to...

Just like Number Four, Hogwarts didn't look any different than he remembered either. The castle and her grounds were as massive and magnificent as always. But even then Harry felt a bit of dread. He couldn't forget the war that had taken place here when he'd finally been able to defeat Voldemort. A long, gruelling, deadly war.

He tried to push the memories back behind their shields, and walked through the grounds, approaching the greenhouses. Considering the time, it was most likely that Neville was in the middle of a lesson, and Harry didn't really have the time to wait for it to end.

He heard voices as he approached, and followed them to Greenhouse number one. The door was open, so he poked his head in, only to blink in surprise when he saw the professor heading the class.

"Professor Sprout?" he called, entering.

The woman turned. "Oh, well hello there, Mister Potter. I didn't realize you were coming here today. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was looking for Professor Longbottom," said Harry. "I have something urgent I need to discuss with him. Is he here?"

"No, but..." Professor Sprout, looking somewhat confused, said, "Have you not heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Professor Longbottom appears to be missing. It's been at least a week now since he's last been seen here at Hogwarts."

And that's it for now. Again, so sorry about the wait. It seems like a medication I was put on for an autoimmune issue had depression as a side effect, which made my already existing depression so much worse. I really haven't done much writing at all over the past few months because of it. I'm now on a different medication, because apparently the first one wasn't even working, so hopefully my depression levels will go back to their normal crappy self along with my already piss poor updating schedule. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!