(A/N) Hello all. Yes, this is another random plot idea that wouldn't leave me alone. For once, surprisingly it wasn't in the MASH realm. This is my first Harry Potter fic; be warned. I promise I am still working on an update for Nine for One. I just seem to be getting random one-shot inspiration lately that won't leave me alone.

Disclaimer: Let me put it this way: I'm not British, my only published work appears on this website, and I'm poor. Does that sound like J.K.R. to you?

Story stuff: this Harry's journal; this other POV (it can really be anyone you want though I did have a specific character in mind when writing it); this stolen from Jesus Christ Superstar

Read. Review. Enjoy...or not.

(Harry's Journal - for those of you who skipped the A/N)

Contrary to popular belief, I remember most things I read. Well, I do if I care about what I'm reading or if it has certain significance for me. I can clearly remember things I read at the Dursleys'.

They used to throw me in my cupboard with a small copy of the Bible. It started one day when I asked why magic was so bad; a few minutes after they threw me through the little door under the stairs the door opened and a book followed me. All the verses declaring the wickedness of witches and magic were marked. I wasn't sure at the time what stoning was, but for years I was convinced that was how I was going to die.

…Now. Now, I still remember things I read from the book. It was the only entertainment I had for a long time; I must have read it in its entirety even though I never read it from front to back. Some sections I remember better than others.

Gethsemane… Lately, that's been on my mind quite a bit.

(other POV)

When they first found the leather-bound pages in his pouch, I felt… relieved. No, I'm not sure that's the right word. I don't know what I felt. All I could think was, "I'm going to hear his voice again."

Not literally. I knew that. But reading someone's journal… it's like hearing them talk to you in a way. The same way their letters talk to you. At the time, I was going to take anything I could get.

Now…Well, there was a reason he didn't tell me everything. I can see that now. Hearing him talk about such things… even two-dimensionally- is painful. But I can't help feeling, at the same, time that he should have told me. Surely I could have helped…somehow.

Even if I really have no idea what he's saying in places.

No pureblood could possibly understand that reference, I suppose. I've never heard anything remotely religious since I joined the wizarding world. I guess they take offense to the anti-magic standpoint present in most of the writings, not that I blame them. I'll admit, I was quite relieved to escape that particular aspect of it all.

Hermione might understand; she came from a muggle background. I've never asked her about her parents' views though. Perhaps they aren't that sort; it would explain their easy acceptance of her abilities. Though, maybe they just gave up the anti-magic part when they found out about their daughter's talents and kept everything else. I guess I'll never know.

Not that I'd tell her, or anyone, anyway. He didn't either. I guess it's a Savior thing.

I've read most of it now. It's taken me awhile to work my way through it; it gets too painful in places to read in one sitting.

I always knew he kept things from all of us; we all knew. It was just a part of who he was: Harry Potter hid his feelings from the rest of the world to protect them. It wouldn't do for wizarding society to realize that their martyr hated his fate and tried to talk his way out of it.

Even though I've never heard any talk of God from wizards and haven't believed much of what I heard from the muggles since I threw myself into the culture of the wizarding world, there is still a piece of that child in the cupboard that can't forget. He wonders. He sees parallels between the God of the book and the Merlin of the new world he became a part of.

He supposes there's no harm in such a belief. The idea of an afterlife, at least, is very appealing. Especially lately. I've heard wizards talk of something like it, though they're never very descriptive. I find I like the images I remember from the book.

And I find I identify with the ideas of fate and destiny it describes, too. Of course, I'd identify with any story of inescapable fate.

One story in particular though sticks out among the rest. Gethsemane. The savior bargaining with the higher power, trying to evade his purpose. Yeah, I hear you mate.

In times like this, I find myself hoping that God or Merlin – or whatever the bloody hell he or she is calling himself / herself – is really there. Hell, no one else is going to understand this shite.

I had to look up the book he talked about. I thought it would be difficult to find; after all, he never mentioned the author.

Walking into the muggle bookstore, though, I realized how wrong I was. There was an entire shelf dedicated to this book, Bible, which seemed odd enough to me. Then there were all the different versions, the travel covers, companion books, study guides, volumes of counter-arguments, compilations of essays, separate volumes containing extensive indexes, books covering the history behind the writings and translations, books about the contexts of its writing. There was an entire section of the store dedicated to Bible paraphernalia. I was beginning to think this was no ordinary book.

I vaguely remembered some references to it in Muggle Studies and History of Magic - something about it being an account of disputed historical events that somehow became a basis of a belief system that seemed to kill people for disagreeing with them. I remember drawing a comparison with Voldemort.

I read some of the books about the book first. I actually stalled my progress in the journal, so I could gain some understanding of what he was talking about.

A lot more of his words make sense now. I had to reread parts, but I understand more about him. It isn't an ordinary book. Certain groups of muggles believe it was written by a supreme being, taking its words as the ultimate law. I can't imagine growing up like he did – convinced the law of the universe hated you.

I've seen what hatred from the majority of society can do; many muggleborns never really got over it. A lot of them gave up on wizarding society, returned to muggle life by willingly being obliterated. Hatred by a supreme, all-knowing being though… It explains a lot about things he used to say and do…. It explains a lot.

I didn't bother reading the entire book once I got around to Bible itself. I'd read enough by then to realize it would do me very little good. I skipped straight to Gethsemane.

I understand where he was coming from.

I started researching Horcruxes on my own after Dumbledore told me what they were. I just…had a suspicion. It just seemed…logical, I guess. My life worked like that; that was the way it's always been.

I didn't, of course, find much about Voldemort's Horcruxes. Even I didn't think he'd be barmy enough to write down their secret locations in an easily accessible location. I also knew there was no bloody way there'd be enough information about his personal life and childhood in those books for me to piece together their locations. I needed help for that part.

No, what I did find was more information on their creation and some about the way they worked once created. Even that I had to sneak into teachers' private libraries and the Restricted Section to find. And this particular information, to me, was even more valuable than directions and a map to Voldemort's hiding places.

Dumbledore had ideas as to what and where the Horcruxes were and Hermione was able to help confirm his ideas. I never let her see the books that would've given her the last piece of the puzzle that I held. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore knew, though.

I've known for a while now that I'm supposed to die. It's for the greater good.

I blew up when I found out, of course. Luckily, I'd put up the strongest silencing charm I knew before snooping through that particular library that night. I can't even remember whose it was; isn't that barmy? You'd think I'd remember the place where I found out something like that.

Then, later, I was calmer. By that I mean I didn't have the energy to keep screaming. I spent weeks in a funk I guess you could say. I know everyone noticed. I just told them it was nightmares; they let it go.

I vividly remember the night at the Weasleys' before we left on this damn goose-chase. Finally realizing there was nothing at all I could do to change the fate that'd been given me, I gave in to resignation. But I wasn't about to lie down without one last hurrah in my own defense. I was completely desperate, so I made my appeal to the God I'd left behind at eleven, hoping I could change his mind.

I slipped out of bed and down the stairs as quietly as I could. Once outside, I put up the silencing and privacy charms I'd taught myself when I realized it was much easier to evade questions from Ron and Hermione if they knew I'd been out without my invisibility cloak. They didn't need to know about my new and extensive knowledge of magic that worked just as well.

I only want to say
If there is a way
Take this cup away from me
For I don't want to taste its poison
Feel it burn me

As I talked, I remembered my determination at the beginning of fifth year. Even then part of me knew that my purpose was to rid the world of Voldemort. Though, I'm pretty sure that was mostly guilt, for being an asset to his return, talking.

I remembered the ridiculous sense of accomplishment and purpose I got from leading the DA that year. I was actually excited to be a part of something like that. I had hope for the days to come, and I reveled in sharing that hope, determination, and excitement in the people around me. Even the days I didn't hold those feelings myself, seeing it in them was enough.

A lot has changed since then.

I have changed
I'm not as sure, as when we started
Then, I was inspired
Now, I'm sad and tired

I found a lot of hidden anger in myself that night. I always resented my fame for getting me into trouble and my circumstances for forcing me to be something I never imagined myself being. I just never knew how bloody pissed I was about it until I heard myself screaming my lungs out about the unfairness of it all. I'd done everything, and more, asked of me since I turned up in the Great Hall six years earlier.

Why couldn't that be enough?

Listen, surely I've exceeded expectations
Tried for three years, seems like thirty
Could you ask as much from any other man?

A great while in, after my voice started protesting the prolonged use, I realized no one was listening to me. I kept talking anyway. Still addressing the entity controlling my life, but starting to realize it wasn't listening and wouldn't change the plan even it was.

Well, I decided, if the bloody plan wasn't going to change, I had a right to bloody well know why THIS of all things was the best course of action! How the fucking hell was my death going to do anyone any good! The least the sadistic son of a bitch could do was tell me that much!

But if I die
See the saga through and do the things you ask of me
Let them hate me, hit me, hurt me, nail me to their tree
I'd want to know, I'd want to know, My God
I'd want to know, I'd want to know, My God

Want to see, I'd want to see, My God
Want to see, I'd want to see, My God
Why I should die?

No answer. Again. I was beginning to realize this was a waste of fucking time. There was nothing in the stars I was staring at that ever could or would give me the answers I was looking for. Fine. In desperation, I began throwing out my own reasons. If it couldn't tell me outright, perhaps it'd tell me if I got close?

Would I be more noticed than I ever was before?
Would the things I've said and done matter any more?
I'd have to know, I'd have to know, my Lord
Have to know, I'd have to know, my Lord

Have to see, I'd have to see, my Lord
Have to see, I'd have to see, my Lord
If I die what will be my reward?
If I die what will be my reward?

Have to know, I'd have to know, my Lord
I'd have to know, I'd have to know, my Lord
Why should I die? Oh why should I die?

Surely, I thought, there had to be something! Some reason! This couldn't be some random, arbitrary death sentence, could it?! Why pick me and lay it out explicitly in prophecy and fate for no apparent reason?! No, I was convinced that the reason was there if only someone was willing to point it out to me. It would be so much easier to willingly face my untimely demise if I could be assured of its necessity and purpose!

Can you show me now that I would not be killed in vain?
Show me just a little of your omnipresent brain
Show me there's a reason for your wanting me to die
You're far to keen on where and how, but not so hot on why

Nothing!! Can't someone tell me something!

No, I suppose not. But maybe if I had gotten a reason that night, I could tell someone else about what's going to happen. It would be nice to share the burden of this foreknowledge with someone, anyone! I can't, though. I'm not strong enough to watch their denial and pain and still work through mine.

If I had a reason, maybe it could work. I'd have something to cling to, a motivation to drive me through it make me see it through to the end even through the pain and denial of others.

It'd be so much easier if someone or something had answered me that night. But, in the end, I know I'll follow through with it anyway.

Alright, I'll die!
Just watch me die!
See how I die!

I just wish…No, I suppose that's not going to do me any good is it?

I wish I could forget the vivid details I have of those weeks before the battle. They haunted me restlessly in the days afterwards and have begun again, worse than before.

I have the context for them now. I can almost hear the thoughts in his head as I replay the images. The speculations I made at the time weren't anywhere near the mark. I have reason to believe I'm closer now. I wish I wasn't.

My earlier ideas were less painful.

I can remember the awful…emptiness he carried around with him. He always seemed so…heavy, weighted down by the burden he had been given.

Then I was inspired
Now, I'm sad and tired

Three years…How could it have only been three years ago that this war started up again? He only returned a little less than three years ago…Three years can cause a lot of damage.

I'm living proof of that damage. Well, not living for long I guess. Heh, I must be coming to terms with this whole destined-to-die thing if I can joke about it. Yeah, coming to terms with it…only if that means I'm less angry about it now. I am less angry. I'm still terrified though. I don't know why.

With all this damage, you'd think I'd be willing to follow through.

After all, I've tried for three years, seems like ninety
Why then am I scared to finish what I started
What you started - I didn't start it

Well, willing or not, it's time to go.

God, thy will is hard
But you hold every card
I will drink your cup of poison

Why can't I forget! Why did I have to read this god-damned journal! I don't want to see it all again! Better to have never heard his voice again than to hear it this clearly!

I loved his voice; I really did. He had a way of speaking that commanded attention while maintaining respect and approachability. I used to fight with him then sit back and listen to the tones of his voice as he yelled at me.

Now…I can't rid myself of the sound of him yelling for me! Screaming in pain!

Nail me to your cross and break me
Bleed me, beat me
Kill me

Gethsemane…The one last desperate attempt of a Savior to abandon his purpose on the night before his arrest. He knew it would be soon and fought against with all his will and, what's more, fought against his acceptance of it.

The storm before the calm.

Take me, now!
Before I change my mind