Chapter 1 - Until only revenge was left -
Disappointment was the last emotion he felt. As his godfather was falling, an instant closer to his death, all he seemed to be able to think about was the deep and heart wrenching feeling that this was truly the end. Not Sirius's, but his own. What had caused this particular feeling, was purely the loss of an escape he had wished for his whole life. Sirius too had submitted to the cruelty of Harry's life, and had crumbled under the overwhelming feeling that nothing would be able to save Harry from his own destiny. Maybe that was exactly why Sirius's face had reflected his disappointment back at him. Maybe he too had hoped to get to know him, maybe even help him. But death had chosen to throw salt on already gaping wounds. And Sirius died.
Harry had only been able to stand and watch, his mind processing so quickly how deep into despair he would fall instead of ordering his arms to grab for Sirius. His friends had always said he had a 'saving people' thing but here was the proof they were wrong. Or maybe he too, had bowed to fatality and understood he wouldn't be able to catch his godfather no matter how hard he would have tried.
Harry had done his best though, because until now he had believed he had a chance to break free from all the pain. But that was all lost now. His fighting spirit, his hope, his chance, gone with his godfather on the other side of the Veil.
All Harry could feel now was Remus Lupin's arms around him, as he kept him from going after Sirius. The wolf probably thought he would run after his godfather grieving too deeply to realise he was launching himself through the Veil. And maybe Harry would have, but not for the assumed reason.
In a matter of seconds, Harry had thought it all through. His chance at life was gone, he had no way to find peace. He would rather leave this world together with his last hope than stay behind at the mercy of the living.
But Remus intervened, and even though Sirius was gone, Harry lived. The miserable, pitiful Harry that no one could see. The one that hated himself more than anything, and yet couldn't do anything more but add to his guilt.
So many died because of him, and yet here he stood, another corpse at his feet, safe and sound. Why was his life so twisted? He would rather have died in their place; Sirius, Cedric, his parents and so many others he didn't even know about.
Just then, a voice cut through his thoughts, a female voice that provoked in him a wave of rage he wasn't sure he could control. He couldn't hear her words above the furious beating of his heart, but he still understood the tone, taunting and proud.
Suddenly, he had to have her, bloody and shaking, another piece to the collection at his feet. Only this time, it will be by his choice, by his wand, he will make her a corpse even if this was the last thing he got to do.
Harry broke free from Remus's arms with a strength that surprised the werewolf and ran after the witch, passing the Order member trying to stop him, ignoring his friends that called out for him to stay. When he got to the Ministry entrance hall, she was waiting for him a joyful smile on her face. But when he got close enough, the grin vanished, and Harry spied fear in her eyes.
But Harry didn't know why she was suddenly afraid of him. Maybe, because it was the first time she felt his unrestrained magic, free to rage as it was prone to do when he got angry. The panic on her face grew clearer and clearer as he raised his wand, the tip already glowing.
"The Killing Curse, Potter?"
The new voice surprised Harry, because this time he heard the words distinctly above the drums of his rage. As if the newcomer had appeared in Harry's own head, the voice spoke again.
"How ironic that the spell match your eyes, isn't it?" It taunted, a dark laughter reasoning in both his head and the hall.
That's when he recognized it, Voldemort. How could he have forgotten the man? A smirk came back to Bellatrix's face as she used the opportunity to disappear in the background. But Harry wouldn't let her leave, he swore he would have her dead, so have her he will.
He pushed Voldemort out of his mind with ease, using the storm of anger raging in him to carry the murderer out. His wrath a bitter taste in his mouth, he let the spell run after her, following her into the darkness where she thought she was hiding. The emerald green light struck her almost lovingly, enveloping her in the magic before the light receded. Once the light gone, there was nothing left, no corpse, no blood, absolutely nothing.
Pity, she deserved worse, thought Harry not yet realising what he had just done. His mind was cold and mechanic in his vengeance and he had left his principles behind.
Harry felt a breeze on his side and skipped a few step back to avoid Voldemort's trade mark curse. The red light of the spell seemed to be stalking him as the snakeman kept casting it and missing. Harry wasn't scared.
Somehow, Harry wished for the end that would come with the green light, so he waited. He kept dodging the Crucios, until finally he saw his enemy's frustration reach a peak. The spell was coming, he got revenge for Sirius, he had no more reason to stay. He had made his peace, so he just waited for the spell. The tip of Voldemort's wand grew brighter until the distinct green light appeared, but the spell never came.
Dumbledore stepped in, duelling the Dark Lord to save Harry.
How noble of him, he thought bitterly.
Harry ignored the rest of the duel, as he was quickly pulled into a fortress of Aurors and Order members. Instead he started to wonder hidden among the protective wizards, what reason would he have to live now?
Harry James Potter was many things. The Boy-who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Saviour - to the press and most of the wizarding world. The Gryffindor Golden Boy, Troublemaker, Dumbledore's Favourite - for the students and teachers of Hogwarts. His closest friends saw him as a hot-headed, naïve but cheeky teenager. And yet, it wasn't who he was. In fact, he couldn't find himself in any of their descriptions, so it only gave him one more reason to leave.
To him, all he was, was a pitiful child. Miserable, sad, desperate and above all powerless. But no one else saw it, no one had even attempted to know him. He had never cared really, hadn't expected it from anyone. But when Sirius fell into the Veil, he realised how much he had hoped that at least his godfather would see through the masks that had been forced upon him.
Hermione and Ron came to his side, to support and console him but there were nothing they could do. They didn't know him either. And his only hope was gone, but somehow he couldn't even bring himself to be sad, not even for his godfather's death. All the loss had brought was more suffering and the ever present sense of resignation that had haunted the back of his mind for years.
Still they whispered reassurances, like 'everything will be fine', 'it will get better', 'we're here for you'. Like it had ever helped, Harry almost snorted. He had nothing against his friends, he loved them even and owed them so much. And yet, he had for them a hatred so deep, it scared him sometimes.
They were supposed to be his friends, not Dumbledore's protégées that happened to like him enough to hang out with him. They believed in the old man first, and Harry second. Otherwise, there is no way they would have stayed quiet about the little they knew about the Dursley's. He knew they loved him, so he knew they must have told someone about the starving, the bars on the windows, and the chores. And yet, nothing had happened.
Because Dumbledore must have said, 'Harry is safe at Privet Drive, the blood wards protect him from Voldemort. He can't stay anywhere else, it's too dangerous.' It was too dangerous, but he still got to spend half the vacation with the Weasley's? How come the Burrow isn't safe for the first month but is for the second one? It's the same with Grimmauld Place. It was safe enough for the Order to meet, and for an escaped convict to hide, but not for Harry.
But his friends had never caught on to that. They hadn't cared enough to do so. So Harry would stop putting their safety above his own. He was just so sick of always having to give but never getting anything back. He had enough of fighting, he just wanted to be left in peace.
It wasn't that he ever expected something back. He had been their friend so he had done his best to keep them safe and happy. But what reason could there be, to be willing to sacrifice his own life for people that won't even believe in him?
No, Dumbledore's lies were truer than anything he could say. He said Privet Drive was safe, so Harry had no choice but to return there.
For Harry, the only rational reason to have to go back to the Dursley's would be if his presence was needed there. And then, it would have nothing to do with his safety. Harry never got an explanation as to what exactly the wards were. But the fact that Voldemort was reborn thanks to his blood must've had an effect. Voldemort had been able to touch him thanks to it. Doesn't that mean that maybe the wards were useless?
We share the same blood, I'm pretty sure Voldemort could walk through the blood wards if he knew where I lived. Harry thought before noticing that the battle was over, and that Moody was pushing him into the Floo.
Harry refused to speak to anyone, his thoughts weren't in order yet. He watched Mme Pomfrey work her magic on Ron first, and putting him to sleep, before healing a few scrapes and cuts on the rest of his friends. When she came to him, and cast the spells, he flinched. Not because of the spell but because Hermione had sat next to him and taken his hand. He didn't want her comfort when his mind was in a frenzy about all the doubts he had. But still, she misunderstood and said something that brought more anger to Harry's heart.
"It's only a Diagnosis Charm, it's only to bring up your health history. It goes from your birth until now, and lists every physical injury - by magic means or not. It's a shame it doesn't…"
She continued to rattle on as she was prone to but Harry's focus was caught only on a few words. 'From your birth', she had said but it couldn't be. They would have said something, if not the teachers, Mme Pomfrey surely.
Hermione had to be wrong.
But Hermione is never wrong.
They had seen his health history since birth, the first time he came in the hospital wing in first year. And they had still, made him go back to the Dursley's. How could they have betrayed him like that?
They must have saw it all. How little he was given to eat, the scars on his back from his Uncle's belt, the dent left from his broken leg that had not healed right. They must have known about how much suffering he had experienced at his 'family's' hands.
He had asked Dumbledore to not send him, pleaded even. But the man had said he would be 'safe' there, when he knew exactly how many times Harry had almost died from the beatings.
When he had received his letter from Hogwarts, he hadn't even dared to hope for an escape from the cruelty in his life but he still had thought it would maybe be a reprieve.
He had endured all the years at the Dursley's. Their anger, their hatred, their punishment, all of it he had dealt with as best as he could even if he didn't know why they couldn't be family. He had learned to read, to count, to cook, to clean, to take care of himself and others as quick as he had been able to on his own.
By the age of seven he could manage the household in his aunt's stead. And yet, it hadn't been enough. He would still be punished for something as ridiculous as wasting space. Still, he had gone through it all. Thanks to some irrational instinct that he had a right to live, that his chance would come.
But it hadn't. Only a letter had arrived. A single pitiful letter, just like him, the green ink somehow taunting him, matching his green eyes, and cleanly stating where he lived. "The cupboard under the stairs," it had said, like it was where he belonged.
Now that Harry thought of it, how could nobody have noticed where the letter was going? Harry was a celebrity that had disappeared for ten years. How come no one had been curious enough to look at the letter's destination?
Or someone had seen it and ignored it. Harry wondered, his suspicions going to the old man that had taken his death away.
Even when Harry had finally realised that his aunt and uncle were wrong, that he was not a waste of space, just when he managed to convince himself that his relatives just hated him for some reason he had yet to discover, just when he began to believe in his own worth, the insulting letter had given him the chance he had been waiting for without missing the opportunity to 'put him in his place'. And they had condoned it!
After, he had gotten his letter, he finally had understood why his aunt and uncle hated him, they didn't love him. They didn't have any reason to ignore that he was different. They hadn't even chosen to take him in, they had been forced to do it. And even if they had accepted him, he wasn't even like them, he was something else. A 'Freak', Uncle Vernon often said. Well, it seemed others called him a 'Saviour'.
At least, he had gained something. Somewhere to go. A reason to leave.
His years at Hogwarts had always started full of little hopes, and gentle attentions from people that almost seemed to care. And in a sense, that was exactly why it was now so hard for Harry to see the truth.
Because even if he knew ridiculously little about their world, he took great pride in how good he was at reading people.
Even if he knew little of the stories that were told about him, he understood that none of them spoke of him, personally. He understood that Dumbledore, the Weasley's, even Hermione and Ron only saw the character from some bedtime story when they looked at him. They only saw a boy that would rid them of some evil man, like the sacrifice he had been born to be. That understanding was worse than every beating he had taken at Privet Drive. At least, in his dark little room, he had been himself. But the wizards had made up a totally different 'Harry', a 'Harry', he knew nothing about.
To them, he wasn't someone, he was something. A hero, a saviour, a weapon to save them from the evil dark lord. So they liked him.
Harry knew Ron had only befriended him because of his fame. He understood that Ginny was in love with him because of all the bedtime stories her mother had read to her. He noticed how worried Mrs and Mr Weasley looked when he came back from the Dursley's.
And still, they had done nothing. Ron still continued to be a jealous prick at every new article in the prophet. Ginny still stalked him, even when he told her he didn't share her feelings. But the worse was how Mrs Weasley would scold him about not eating enough when Harry could see how worried she was. But once again, they stopped there. They didn't help Harry even if it only meant taking him in one month longer, but they helped the Boy-Who-Lived even when it meant risking their life.
Harry had always found weird that he had been left alone, to find the train the first time he went to Hogwarts. Wouldn't it have been dangerous if a Death Eater had thought to ambush him? How convenient it had been that the Weasley' just happened to shout about the train. Why would Mrs Weasley call out the way to the platform for Hogwarts when all of her own children had already been there? He had seen Ginny look his way that day, her gaze full of admiration. He had known instantly that they knew who he was, and that he was right next to them. This only had been a way to discreetly grab his attention.
Had it been planned? Maybe there were reasons he again hadn't been told about to make the Weasley want to befriend him before any other Wizarding family?
Dumbledore wanted him to believe that he cared for him. But he knew better. Why would he had been left at the Dursley's door in the middle of the winter, with only a letter to explain? Even if Aunt Petunia despised Harry's mother, the sensible thing to do would still be to ring the bell and announce her death. And more importantly, the Headmaster should have asked the woman if she wanted to take Harry in.
He could see the truth now, Dumbledore had not done so because he knew she would have refused. So he knew she hated her sister and still he had left Harry there. If he cared then why hadn't he even bothered to check on Harry in the long ten years he had spent at the Dursley's? If he had cared, he would have checked even if he thought it would be safe.
Or he had checked but had ignored the abuse. He had ignored the slavery Harry was subjected to and left him there, for some reason only the old man could fathom.
Now Harry could see it. He understood it all, but he was so tired of all the lies.
Once again, his thoughts were broken by a worried voice.
"Are you alright, my boy?" asked the Headmaster.
Harry could only nod. What he had realised still haunted him, and he hadn't been given the time to deal with the implications. He had yet to decide what to do so he nodded.
"Do you think you are well enough to follow me to my office then?" Dumbledore asked again.
Harry knew he was physically well enough to play Quidditch, but was he mentally that healthy? That was what the old man had meant. And no, he wasn't, but he wondered what was so important that the man would dispute Madam Pomfrey's authority to get Harry alone?
"I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey. Just a bit exhausted, I'll go to the dorm to sleep it off once the Headmaster is done." He spoke in a tone calmer than he felt. When the matron was about to insist, he cut her off. "I really want to sleep in my bed tonight, and I'm sure Professor Dumbledore won't keep me long."
Harry stood up from the bed he had been seated on, and realised he didn't really know how he had gotten there. Still, he ignored the last few remarks the nurse spoke to the old man and went ahead.
He left the Hospital Wing and strolled through the hallways, his mind working furiously as he wondered what the Headmaster wanted to talk about. But he knew he wouldn't be told about the reason why he had to return to Privet Drive, or any other revelation he had had about the wizard. It would project so much bad light on his reputation, Harry was pretty sure he would have to resort to Legilimency if he wanted answers.
It must mean that Dumbledore was about to reveal to him, something he knew nothing about yet? But why now? What had happen that would push the man to reveal one of his so precious secrets?
Harry was almost certain, he hadn't realised that Harry had intended suicide while he was duelling Voldemort. So it had to be something else…
And then it came back to him. The prophecy.
He had shattered it before he had gotten the opportunity to listen to it, but Dumbledore knew about it. The tag on the glass sphere had said that he had been the one to hear it? Would the man really share the content of the prophecy with Harry?
Well, it had been about him and Voldemort so Harry obviously had a right to know but it wouldn't be like Dumbledore to tell him about it. He was never told about things, even when it was about the fact that he had a godfather or that the whole wizarding world was thinking he was crazy. He had always had to find out about it on his own.
Did Dumbledore think that he had heard the prophecy and wanted to confirm it?
That has to be it, Harry thought with relief. He had found his answer before the Headmaster had reached the office. He walked to the wall in front of the gargoyle and leaned back against it. His arms were crossed in front of his chest as if to chase off a cold, he didn't feel. He could hear the steps of the Headmaster around the corner of the hall. He had no time, how was he supposed to trick the Headmaster into thinking he knew the Prophecy?
"Harry, my boy, let's enter, shall we?" he spoke as the gargoyle moved to let them pass.
They entered the office in silence, only once they were both seated with cups of tea did the Headmaster ask:
"Are you alright my boy? I know what Sirius meant to you."
The compassion in his voice almost brought out a snort out of Harry's throat.
But he stayed silent, not knowing what to answer.
He knew what Sirius meant to me. I'm sure you did, he was my escape from you, it seems.
The venom in his thoughts was getting more potent each time he thought about how he had been robbed of so many opportunities to better his life. And somehow, all of it with the exception of the death of his parents was this man's fault.
Did he plan for Sirius to be killed too?
The thought struck Harry like lightning, and he felt his heart twist. He ground his teeth trying to stay impassive. Had the man played a role in his godfather's death? Without Sirius, no one would have more authority over him than Dumbledore.
But Sirius wouldn't have taken Harry away from Dumbledore all together, he would have just moved and started to live at Grimmauld Place. So this all came back to those damn blood wards and what they could do, then.
Harry couldn't find any way the old coot would have done it, but somehow it made sense to him. The burn of his anger still hot, his thought process flawed with paranoia but still, his instinct told him those blood wards were no good. That Dumbledore was using them for something totally different than Harry's safety.
"Harry? If you are too tired, we can talk tomorrow, my boy?"
Rage spiked once again in Harry, his magic struggling under his control, wanting to satisfy his anger in the only way it could. Destroy. But he couldn't let it go free, Dumbledore already noticed his magic flare, he had to say something.
"The prophecy…" he ground out, his voice strained by all the worries and doubts that gathered in his throat. He didn't know how to ask the man for an honest answer. He knew Dumbledore would not give him one. And then, his luck struck.
"Oh, Harry. I wasn't sure if you had had the time to listen to it. I should have told you about it sooner, my boy. It seems you came to the same conclusion that I did, I'm terribly sorry Harry that it falls on your shoulders to fight Voldemort. But nothing is lost, my boy. You have fought Voldemort many times, you know better than anyone that he is flawed. You must keep strong, Harry. "
And then, Harry felt terror in his heart. It tore through his already ruined hopes. He suddenly felt fingers, terribly cold not unlike dementors, circle his throat and squeeze. Was that simple fear or was death too eager to take him to wait? Harry tried to speak, beg for his life if he had too but his voice died into that maddening grip. He was already so far gone, and yet that freezing hand was somehow pushing him further, deeper into the sea of despair that flowed through his soul. Was he supposed to just drown? Just because some old coot had said that he had to be the one to fight Voldemort?
The storm of his magic raged stronger, creating waves on the water surface, it uncovered all the darkness he had managed to keep hidden all this time. The doubts had leaked through a crack made by Sirius's death, but the Headmaster had just dropped the key needed to open that part of himself he had forgotten. All the little details, he had forced himself to ignore.
His head of House pitying looks when she looked at him. The other students judgmental gaze when he walked the halls. His friends' expectation when they spoke to him. But the worst was that disgusting appreciation that had grown in him with every time he had witnessed Voldemort torture his Death Eater. Harry was terrified by that sense of satisfaction at finally being able to cause pain rather than experience it. And the fact, that he wasn't sure if it had all been Voldemort's feelings was horrific.
The awful hand on his throat tightened, bringing his own up in his panic, afraid to suffocate. When his fingers got into contact with the soft skin of his neck, he suddenly felt the grip on his breathing be released. Harry felt relieved when he thought he was getting back in control, only to feel a tug at his heart. A pull that took him even deeper in the blackness of his soul. He tried to fight it, but he had no reason to anymore.
He had locked his darkness to protect his friends from it. And he had just decided to stop putting them above himself. Maybe that strange part of him wanted to help. Somehow he understood it, he suddenly knew that this side of himself would refuse to let him die no matter what it would take. And Harry was tempted to let it take control, but he was scared.
He was uneasy. He knew best how easy it was to betray. Every single person in his life had done so. The Dursley's had not loved him. The Headmaster had lied too many times. His friends had given up too easily. Even Sirius had left him behind. Everyone had betrayed him, how could he trust himself not to?
The paranoia rising higher and higher, like a burning sun over an ocean of betrayal it shade light on the depth of the darkness, but Harry refused to look into it. The suspicions taking away that curiosity, he looked out again.
Taken aback with how easy it had been to break free from the pull of darkness, he looked at the Headmaster, at the worry in his eyes. But he knew the man wasn't concerned about his inner struggles, he was troubled that he had not sworn immediately he would die to save them all.
Fortunately, that particular 'Harry' had drowned, and the new one took the frost in his blood for what it was. Terror.
"I can't…How can I…?" he whispered. His sentence shattered by the fear.
"Prophecies are self-fulfilling, my boy. It makes a point of stating that you have the power to rival Voldemort's. Tom sealed both of your fates when he went after you. 'Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not'. Only yours and young Mister Longbottom's parents had fought him and lived as many times. But he chose you, maybe because you were a half-blood like him, I'm not sure. But the scar he gave you that night marked you 'as his equal'. The prophecy became truth when he did, and that proves that you have the power to defeat him, Harry."
Dumbledore had leaked bit and pieces of the prophecy, like Harry had hoped. But all his mind could focus on was that his parents could have been spared. If Dumbledore had been more cautious, he would still be living with his parents and he would be happy.
"How did he know?" Harry asked, not really that interested in the answer but he had to keep Dumbledore talking. He had to know if there was more to it.
"I failed you, my boy. I was interviewing Professor Trelawney for her current position in Hogsmeade when she spoke the prophecy. I didn't realise a death eater was listening in on us and he reported the three first sentences to his lord."
'The three first sentences', why not all of it? And how could Dumbledore know, it was only the first three? If he hadn't noticed the spy, how could he know how much he had heard? Either he had noticed him and stopped him from listening further. Or he had been told by the spy later on. A spy?
Snape!
The rage took over his magic this time and made a few of Dumbledore's trinket explode with the student magical pressure in the room. But Harry didn't care, he had had enough. Snape had been the reason his parents were dead, and yet he had been given a job?!
And even worse the man still had the guts to belittle Harry, and hate him for the sole reason of being his father's son. The man owed him big time, his magic couldn't wait to get its 'hands' on the Potions Master.
"I'm done." Harry said his tone so full of finality that Dumbledore flinched.
"Harry, my boy, surely you don't mean to…"
"I said I'm done, I want out!" Harry shouted, before the Headmaster could start to sputter nonsense.
"'And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives'. My boy, the prophecy is clear, only you can save us all from Voldemort." The old wizard almost whispered, as if the softer voice would appease Harry enough to see sense.
But the words spoken as soft as they may sound, could be nothing else but brutal. Harry truly had no way out, only he could kill Voldemort for a reason no one knew.
Not knowing what to do anymore, drowning in suspicion, ignorance, and cruelty, Harry laughed. The sound dark and so full of despair that it made the old light wizard move back in his chair, away from Harry.
But still, Harry laughed, hunched on himself, his heart hurting from betrayal. The world had made a joke of his life. All this time he had sought freedom, he had thought he would have it someday with his godfather, and when the man had died he had thought he would get it in death. But he wasn't allowed to die, oh no…. Harry had to live and die fighting a snake-faced psychotic maniac because the Fates had decided so. So he laughed, until giggles became sobs and the bitterness in his mouth took on a salty flavour.
He had been played with his whole life. The gods throwing cruelty and pain in chunks, he had lived through it all and finally, it was for nothing. He would never get peace. He was never meant to find peace. His only role in this sadistic world was to be a puppet. And he was so tired of it. So tired of it all, that somehow he found it all so terribly funny.
It had been there for him to see from the start. He should only do what he was told. He wasn't allowed to think and act for himself. That's how Fate designed his life after all. Making sure that every single detail would hurt more, push him deeper into the darkness.
The supposed loyal friends that followed another one's word rather than his own. The Order that protected him by jailing him with hateful masters they called his 'family'. The Headmaster that was teaching him how to 'survive' when it only meant he had to die at the appropriate time. The Death Eaters that had sworn to fight for their Lord but were too incompetent to kill a teenager. His nemesis that was so much of a genius that he never realised he was being played with as much as Harry is.
He too was Fate's plaything, Harry realised. But the difference between Voldemort and Harry was that the man had somehow learned how to play the game.
Harry was only a puppet, Voldemort got to be a player. He had made his choice between Harry and Neville, between ignoring the prophecy or not. Harry had been born into the game. A game where Fate and Destiny were challenging each other on how cruel they could make a life.
"My boy, don't be so distraught about it. You are 'the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord', everything will be fine." Dumbledore had tried, he really had. But his words only caused a whole new set of giggles.
Vanquish?! The word is quite descriptive of what would happen when a man was somehow pushed out of his body and forced to become a ghost, isn't it?
He had fulfilled his destiny already, he had vanquished the Dark Lord with a power he didn't know. No one had known how he did it. But still, Dumbledore had thought that it meant he could get them rid of the snake definitively.
His giggles continued as he stood up, wiping tears of despair from his eyes. He turned his back on the shocked Headmaster, the man was so shaken that he let Harry leave his office without a word.
Harry walked slowly to his dorm, his giggles returning to sobs again. He climbed the stairs of the only home he had ever known, feeling its magic comforting him. But it was all in vain, there was no way he would be able to break free from Fate itself! How was he supposed to fight Gods?
The young green eyed wizard went to bed broken that night. Yet, the saddest wasn't his shattered hopes but the fact that no one seemed to notice it. He spent months with them, and yet they didn't notice, how destroyed he was. They never saw the weariness in his eyes after hours of Voldemort induced nightmares, manipulated memories, and torturing visions. His body aching from the lingering pain of the curses he would feel in his dreams.
Well, that was his proof then. None of them cared for who he was. They cared only for who he could be. What he would have to be for them. And the answer was tragically simple, a sacrifice. He was meant to shield them from what scared them.
Harry knew he had no way out. He had no choice but to be what others wanted him to be or they would force it on him. And more than anything else, Harry was tired of fighting…
Harry had done his best, he had battled trolls, acromantulas, basilisk, dementors, and dragons even. But he was not meant to think or act by himself from the very beginning. He had been made to go along with what happened to him, born a toy for Fate's own entertainment.
Once, in a rare bout of clarity, in his sinking mind, he asked his friends what they thought about the prophecy. And as usual, they had said the Dumbledore must have been right. As usual, they ignored his explanation about how vanquish didn't mean kill, that it meant make something disappear. But they had not listened. And he had been left to drown in his despair.
He obeyed when he was told to go back to the Dursley's. He stood silent even when he knew it would only cause him more pain, when Moody and Mr Weasley spoke to his relatives at the train station. He took the hits, when his vindictive Uncle beat him in punishment for how the 'Freaks' had threatened him.
In the darkness of his cupboard, curled up and almost unable to move in his little 'room', Harry opened his beautiful emerald eyes and looked at the nothingness that was now his life. For that was how he had lived or rather survived, he only recently realised how empty it was. Owning absolutely nothing, he had fought to at least keep his own thoughts and wishes alive and still somehow he kept losing something else at each of Fate's turns in her deadly game.
No matter what Hagrid had said, what his friends told him, what Dumbledore had assured him of, Harry knew that if his caring relatives didn't, the Dark Lord would see to his end. Strangely, that seemed almost comforting to Harry, the real Harry. Finally a certainty in all the lies and half-truth that the world had fed him.
At least, he could trust the pain. Broken bones, bruises, and hunger could not lie. But even the prospect of his death left him empty of any feeling.
In his life, Harry possessed few things. The love his parents had had for him. The magic he was gifted with. And the cutting mind he had sharpened like a blade and was his sole weapon to ensure his survival.
If he had owned something else, Harry would never know. Some maniac murderer took it away. Voldemort took it all. Before he was old enough to remember, he was already losing. If he ever 'had', he had lost it when Voldemort had cast that damned killing curse.
Harry knew that was when the Fates had begun their game. A terrible game where the only goal was to found new ways to turn his whole life around to direct it to even darker places. How the cruel entity could always found something worse, Harry will never know but how he resented them.
But even then, Harry had thought that maybe, just maybe, he would get a chance to live. He wanted that single, precious opportunity to live so much. However, as always, cruelty had struck him and made it so that he would murder his own escape, bringing him to the Veil. Destiny had joined in on Fate's scheme and revealed themselves to Harry, they had spoken to him through the Prophecy. They were telling him to obey their will, that if he did, he would fight, struggle, and in the end he would still lose.
In his dreams, he could hear their voices mocking how powerless he could be. He listened to them talk about how much fun he was to torment, how tasty his tears were, how beautifully he screamed.
But Harry had kept his sanity. Even with Sirius' death on his conscience, he had kept his thoughts, his wishes, and his desires. Even as drenched in despair as they were, he kept them preciously, in hope of a chance. But as always, there were absolutely nothing he could do with them. And maybe Fate and Destiny resented him for his tenacity.
Because another cruel twisted turn of their game was played and he had lost them too. His thoughts, his wishes, his desires all vanished in an instant with the words his aunt Petunia had spat at him when his uncle had beat him to his knees the night before. She had said no one wanted him, not them, not the freaks, and not even death.
He had tried to convince himself that it wasn't true. He had screamed back at her as much. He had sobbed that his parents had loved him, his parents had died to protect him, that his parents had wanted him.
She had looked at him with pure pity in her eyes. For the first time in Harry's life, he saw something else than hatred in her gaze. She had watched him on the floor, coughing blood and struggling to breath. She had kneeled in front of him so their eyes would meet looking straight at his vulnerability, so he would see the truth in her words and spoke her tone calm and freezing.
"If they truly wanted you, they would have taken you with them. If they loved you, they wouldn't have left you behind."
"They didn't left, they died!" he shouted back at her, but she didn't care.
"And just because they died to protect you, it doesn't mean they loved you. It's because of you they died. You are the reason they are gone." she continued a disgusting smirk on her lips.
"No! They loved me, they have to! It wasn't my fault!" he cried, his voice drown in bitter tears.
"Why do you think it's so hard to get rid of you? Even with all the effort my dear Vernon took to get rid of you, you never died. Even in death, they don't want you. They never did. And that is the truth Harry." she spat at him, her conviction clear on her face.
'They didn't love me, then?'
It was then that Harry finally drowned. It was at that moment that he felt the freezing black water of his despair finally invade his lungs and force him to succumb to misery.
The Dursley's had been right. All his life, he had raged at them, he had fought his uncle's beatings, he had ignored their words for years now. But in the end they had been right.
Harry really was a freak. Not because he had magic, like they thought. Because he had no identity, no right to exist, no place to simply be, let alone belong.
Recalling her words, Harry couldn't help the sob that broke through him. Even with the pain it put him through every time he took a shaky breath, he couldn't stop his anguished cries. He had done his best. Facing monsters and people, allies and enemies, all as dangerous as the last, even facing Gods, he had survived because he had still believed that his parents watched over him. That they had saved him because they wanted him to live. But he had been wrong, they had just left him. They had been the very first to abandon him. How could he find the strength to survive now?
In his life, Harry had only possessed a few things. The love his parents had for him. The magic that was protecting him constantly. And his cutting mind he had sharpened like a blade.
But the Fates had brought the truth to his eyes. He had never had his parents love. And he had lost his mind when he accepted the role of a fool. All he had left was his magic. And even when it was all he had left, he could not use it. He didn't know how, and even if he knew he wasn't allowed to.
In the end, Harry had nothing, and was nothing, was meant to be nothing.
So here, he was laying late at night in a cupboard, his heavy panting the sole sound that could be heard. His breathing raspy from his screams of denial. His cheeks tainted with blood and tears. His soul in shreds, he lay almost dead. And, yet, he was too scared to let the unconsciousness take over. He was absolutely terrified of the nightmares his mind had provided even though he had been wide awake. Visions of his parents rejecting him in death and sending him back to the living only to die again and again. Once at the hand of Voldemort, once at the end of Dumbledore's plan, too many times to bear.
Not brave enough to face his life or his death, he decided to do just like his parents had wished. Just like the wizards had hoped. He will fight as their Saviour, he will let his friends stab him with their kindness for the Chosen One, and he will kill the Boy-who-Lived. Just like they wanted. He had no other choice. This was all he could do, stay the gods' puppet until they choose if they wanted to keep him alive for another round or send him to a whole other kind of hell.
If only, he was smarter, stronger. Maybe he could found a way to finally play his turn in this gruesome game. If only, he could finally act of his own will and find a way to break free. If he could break free…
Harry felt bubbles break to the surface, coming from the terribly dark depth of his soul. And suddenly he knew what he would do if he could ever escape this infernal destiny. Rather than peace, he would yearn for vengeance. Revenge for all the time they looked at him in pity but didn't help. Revenge for all the time he was ignored when he had all the answers. Revenge for all the years he survived in pain when he could have lived happy.
Harry will finally let the monster he had shackled at the bottom of his ocean like soul, go free. He will let it take his vengeance on them all. As cruel as he would manage, on as many as he would reach. On the wizards, on the muggles, and especially on the gods…
This is how, a young man that had very little, lost all. He lost his parents, he lost his name, he lost his will and finally he lost his very right to live. All of it, gone, vanished without leaving a trace. Until only a terrible desire for revenge was left.