Disclaimer: If I owned all of this stuff, do you think I'd be sitting at home writing fanfiction?

Author's note: Well, it's been awhile since I've written something new, so once I read the sixth book, I was completely re-inspired to write a seventh year story. But I need to make this clear: This has nothing whatsoever to do with any of my other stories. That said, I feel the need to remind you that I'm in love with reviews. So any kind of review is much appreciated. Well, except for the flaming. Those aren't really appreciated, so I'd restrain from doing that. But enough reading my pointless notes. Sit back and enjoy)

Rain droned relentlessly on the colorless grass as thunder and lightening took it in turn to call attention to the sky. Clouds bustled here and there, being dragged about by the rushing wind. Trees howled their approval, throwing their summer leaves into the air. Nobody would want to be caught in such a disastrous storm, especially as it was the dead of night. Yet one person remained as motionless as though he was part of the scenery. This particular person, a young man, sat stonily on a park bench, swaying only slightly when a particularly nasty gush of wind screamed past.

The boy on the bench was bereft of life, it seemed, as his emotionless green eyes looked downwards through his raindrop-covered glasses. His baggy tee-shirt now clung to him like a second skin, and his even baggier jeans were dark with water, and sagged across his knobby knees, slowly dripping water into his trainers.

The boy would have been perfectly normal looking, except for one, tiny little detail. Underneath the mop of soaked black hair was a small scar shaped like a lightening bolt, etched into his forehead. To any Muggle, this sign would have meant nothing. It was just an odd-shaped scar. But to the wizarding world, the world to which he belonged, it showed him as a god. A savior. Harry Potter.

Harry Potter shifted slightly as rain dripped down his nose, and his eyes darted to the tree line. The sun would soon rise, and then his aunt and uncle would realize he had gone. Not that this would cause them any pain, however. No, he thought wryly. It would probably be the highlight of the Dursley's day to think that they might have rid themselves of, "that nasty boy." Harry could just picture in his mind's eye the look on his Uncle Vernon's face if he woke up to realize that his nephew had fled. His fat, flabby cheeks would turn bright pink with excitement, and he would laugh loudly, announcing it to the entire household and hugging his son, Dudley. Dudley would likely smile greedily, and ask at once for Harry's remaining possessions.

Harry's mind turned then to his last remaining relative, Aunt Petunia. At first he pictured her with a look of glee, her horsy face elongating in a big-toothed smile. But then he frowned…would she really be happy? Sure, years ago that would be the case…but now? Now he could almost see Aunt Petunia's face widening in fear. She would grow pale, perhaps, because she alone would know…. She alone would realize that if Harry had gone somewhere, it might have something to do with Lord Voldemort. Aunt Petunia, as prickly as she was, would know that meant danger.

Harry sighed finally, and rubbed his eyes as he peered down at his watch. It was half-past 12 in the morning. He stood up and stretched. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there on that bench, in a stupor, trying to think and stop himself from thinking at the same time. His mind's short jaunt towards the Dursley's was a nice break, though. It had been so long since he had been able to think about anybody other than…his heart wrenched.

"Dumbledore," he muttered resentfully. A week. It had been a week since the horrible incident, and yet the look on his headmaster's face as he looked up at Severus Snape…begging…. Well, suffice it to say it would haunt Harry for the rest of his days. If only he could have freed himself from Dumbledore's binding spell! If only he'd had the sense to do something!

"There was no way you could have stopped it," he told himself for the hundredth time. "You were petrified!" and as if to finalize this, he pulled his hand out of his pocket, where it been clutching a small golden locket in a death-grip. It dangled in his hand, covering itself in small droplets of water from the rain, which seemed to taunt him savagely with each second. It was a fake…it wasn't the real Horcrux.

"Nothing I could have done…."

Yet the voice in his head persisted, and he continued to think up the things he should have done, even as he walked down the darkening Magnolia Crescent. He was reminded strictly of the last year, when he had sat in the park before, mourning a different death. The death of the closest thing to a parent he had ever had. His godfather, Sirius Black.

As he walked down the road, he looked around at the boring houses that contained boring people . What he wouldn't give to be one of those boring people, living life in total ignorance. How he ached to take his own wand and perform a memory charm on himself, make himself forget…everything.

"Oy!" called a voice from behind him. Harry ignored the voice, feeling numb. He heard gigantic footfalls as Dudley Dursley ran to catch up with him. "Hey! I called you. What, too good to answer me?"

Harry stopped walking, and so did Dudley. Their eyes met, and for a split second Harry waited for hatred and anger to bubble inside of him. He anticipated the wealth of ill-emotion he had for Dudley, but it didn't come. He struggled frantically to feel something…anything! He realized then that it didn't matter. He didn't care anymore. What was the point? Where would taunting Dudley get him? So instead of answering, he said nothing, looked towards the sky, and began walking again as though nobody had interrupted him.

"One of these days! I'm going to…" Dudley began, but Harry had stopped walking again. He heard Dudley stop behind him, and could sense the beady eyes on his back. He waited, still looking at the sky, but Dudley didn't finish his last sentence, and decided on a new tact. "What are you doing out so late?" he stuttered, unnerved.

"I'm out no later than you," Harry said blankly, now staring at the ground as the rain began to slow. Dudley gave a huff, but restrained from commenting out of fear.

"What are you up to? Using that…stick…?" Dudley said, whispering the last word. Harry said nothing. "Were you looking for somebody?" The question was greeted with silence. "Are you going to kill that evil wizard? What was his name? Voldermary?"

Harry finally felt something that might have been impatience, and turned abruptly, only to have his toes squashed, as Dudley seemed to have been following very close. "What is it you want? Why are you out so late looking for me?"

"I went into your bedroom, and you weren't there," Dudley said, and he looked very frightened now. Harry saw that his fat face was looking pale, and his piggy eyes were narrowed anxiously.

"What were you doing in my bedroom?" Harry asked, though this time there was some emotion. He was curious. Dudley shuffled his feet, though looked heartened that he had gotten at least some kind of reaction.

"I need to ask you…a question…" he whispered. Harry felt almost like laughing. This was the oddest meeting he'd ever had with Dudley. He gave a cruel half-smile instead.

"Alright, I can't admit that I haven't seen this coming," Harry said dryly. He gave a look of false wisdom, and sighed. "It's true, Dudley…"

Dudley's eyes widened in fear. "But…" he muttered.

"Yep," Harry said sadly. "Santa Clause doesn't exist." Dudley's face contorted in rage, and he gave a snarl. Harry considered him, though it didn't feel like he was looking through his old eyes. More like the eyes of a much older, wiser person. His heart clenched. He had never met anybody as old, or as wise, as Albus Dumbledore. All his fault….

"My mum, she's been crying a lot," Dudley said suddenly, and Harry looked up with his eyebrows raised. "I hear her all the time, when she thinks nobody's listening."

"I'd probably cry too, if I had you for a son…" Harry said, not finding this subject nearly as interesting as the concrete, and beginning to walk again.

"It's like she's arguing with herself or something," Dudley said stubbornly, jogging to keep up. Harry gave a resigned sigh, realizing that Dudley wasn't going to give up without a fight. And to be honest with himself, he was too tired to fight. He turned on his heels, and waited for him to finish. "She's scared of something. That guy you're looking for…. She keeps mentioning his name, and how she's uncertain about something. I think she's hiding something. Magical," Dudley uttered, his face draining completely of color. Harry raised his eyebrows in speculation.
"Well, she grew up with my mum. So she's likely to know something about how scary Voldemort is, isn't she?" he said lightly. Dudley looked around cautiously, shaking his head.

"I think…" he stuttered. "I think she's one of yourkind." There was a long silence in which Harry took in the preposterousness of this statement. He felt like belting out a heartless laugh, but ran his hands through his hair.

"She's not a witch, if that's what you mean," he said shortly. Again he began walking. Dudley rushed along beside him.

"But how would you know?" he asked, apparently getting angry over Harry's light tone of indifference. Harry gave a world-weary sigh. All of this would have fascinated him a month ago. He would have loved to speculate on Aunt Petunia. He would have eaten any information up that had to do with that. Now, however, all that mattered was…what? He didn't even know anymore. "How do you know?" Dudley repeated, bringing Harry back to life.

"Because I just know. When I went to my hearing last year, the Wizengamot told me that I was the only wizard in the area," Harry explained, as though he were talking to a baby. Dudley took on a very deflated look. "You don't seem very relieved," Harry observed.

"I am!" his cousin shouted a little too loudly. Harry stopped, seeing his piggy eyes shining in the moonlight.

"You're lying," he stated. He wasn't sure how he knew this…just that he knew. "Why would you want your mum to be a witch?" he asked sharply.

"I…dunno what you're talking about," Dudley said, walking fast now. For somebody who had just been keenly uninterested in this subject, Harry found himself following his cousin at top speed.

"Tell me," he demanded, standing in front of Dudley's mountainous form.

"Those Demembers!" he finally exploded, looking crazed. "What were they? How did they know…." Harry was taken temporarily aback. He hadn't been expecting this. "And Voldemod! Who is he? Is he going to come and kill us all? He killed your parents to get to you…. What would stop him from killing us too?"

There was a pause, and Harry simply looked at his cousin. He had hardly thought Dudley capable of such thought. For somebody who absolutely despised all things magic, he had obviously spent a lot of time analyzing everything. There was a second when Harry considered keeping quiet and prolonging his agony. But as he stared into the fat face of his year-long enemy, he saw terror.

"They were Dementors," Harry said, deciding to start from the beginning. He was about to explain further, when an idea struck him. Something he hadn't thought to ask his cousin since their last encounter with the ghastly creatures. "Dudley, what did you see when you met the Dementors?"

Dudley gave a little horrified grunt, and quivered. Harry had little patience, and repeated the question. Finally, Dudley opened his trembling mouth and muttered something. Harry frowned.

"What? I can't understand you," he said sharply. Dudley looked very much like an over grown child now, cowering pathetically.

"That man…" he whispered. Harry gave him an annoyed look, which prompted him to murmur, "The giant!"

"Hagrid?" Harry said, with a cold laugh. Dudley nodded vigorously. Harry, who had expected something a little more meaningful, rolled his eyes. "Alright, listen. Voldemort won't hurt you or your family, because your mum is my mum's sister. I'm not going into detail, so you're just going to have to trust me," Harry said quickly, as Dudley had opened his mouth to ask questions. The pair began walking again through Wisteria Walk. "Besides… he'll be gone soon anyways," Harry whispered.

"How?" Dudley asked, starting to look heartened now. Harry turned to look at him with a piercing stare.

"I'm going to kill him."

The rest of the walk was finished in silence, and the two didn't even acknowledge each other as both of them snuck back up to their rooms. Harry opened his door slowly as he heard Dudley's click shut. His brain was working slowly, haven gotten little or no sleep since his return to Privet Drive. He could scarcely believe he had just had an entire conversation with his cousin that didn't end, or begin, with a fight. As he walked across the carpeted floor to his desk, he thought about Aunt Petunia. Had she really been crying? Was she in fact sitting awake in bed, feeling as isolated as Harry was at this moment?

If she was, though, why should he care? Had she given him a thought when he was grieving over the death of Sirius? Had she offered him two words of sympathy when he had told her that Dumbledore had died? No. She hadn't. And with these thoughts boiling in his head, he reached into his pocket again, pulling out the small locket. Opening it for the hundredth time that week, he pulled out the now worn little piece of paper that had been folded so neatly inside of it.

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

Who could that be? Harry thought to himself. It was the question that had plagued him for days. He had read and re-read the small note over and over again. He had read all of his school books over, hoping to find the name somewhere, no matter how insignificant. It was the first challenge in finding the rest of the four Horcruxes, something he had vowed to do. He would find them, and he would destroy Lord Voldemort. The only problem was that he only knew vaguely where one of them was. He was sure Nagini was one, and positive that she was with Voldemort himself. He decided to save that one until last, and just get rid of the snake right before he killed Voldemort. Two birds with one stone.

Then, there was this locket that he still had to find, yet he had no idea where, although he was closer to finding this one than Hufflepuff's cup. How on earth was he supposed to discover its whereabouts? At least for the locket he had some sort of clue.

He knew, however, that the most difficult one to find would be the last one. At least the other's he knew what they were. He had no idea what the fourth one would be, except that it was most likely something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's. He was leaning more towards Ravenclaw, however, since Gryffindor's possessions are still at Hogwarts. Both the hat and the sword. So where would Voldemort hide something of Ravenclaw's? And what would it be?

He decided then to turn to the only resources he could. Ron, Hermione, and (he thought with a slight pang) Ginny. Heaving a sigh, he sat down at his desk and pulled parchment and quill towards him. After chewing on his lip for a second, he began to write:

Dear Ron,

How are you? I got your last package. Tell your mum that those pasties were delicious. I was wondering if you've had any ideas lately, about R.A.B. Or the Hufflepuff cup? I've deduced that the last Horcrux must be Ravenclaw's so if you know anything about that, let me know. Ask Ginny, too, if she knows anything. Tell Bill and Fleur that I'm looking forward to seeing them at the wedding in a few days. Best,

Harry

After rereading the letter, and then writing a similar one to Hermione, he set them on the desk, to await the return of Hedwig, who Harry had let out the following morning. Giving a great yawn, he looked mournfully out the window, noticing that the sun had risen almost completely now. He got into bed slowly as he heard people beginning to mill around in the hallway, announcing the awakening of his aunt and uncle.

He had barely closed his eyes when a knock reached his ears. He ignored it, however, and crushed his face into the pillow. The knock resounded again, and this time was followed by its opening. Harry bolted upright, and was shocked to see a bedraggled Aunt Petunia staring him in the face. Her scraggly hair was in a tight bun, and her eyes were owlish, clashing horribly with her horsy features. It was obvious that she'd just woken up, and almost as if she'd not gotten any sleep.

"What?" Harry snapped as Petunia entered the room and edged closer. Her face was working furiously, and it was hard to discern what she was thinking exactly.

"Happy birthday," she hissed, as though a happy birthday was the last thing she wished him. Harry was glad he was lying down, as he was sure that, had he been standing, he would have fallen flat on his face in shock. Never before had she wished him a 'happy' birthday.

"Birthday?" he asked, nonplussed. He had completely forgotten. Yet Aunt Petunia seemed to have remembered.

"You're an adult now," she whispered. Harry nodded, saying nothing. She edged closer. He watched her twitchily. Staring at the floor, she then said something that sent his senses reeling. "Are you g-going to k-kill him now?"

"What!" Harry gasped. She looked almost pleadingly at him.

"Voldemort," she hissed. "You're going to…." She couldn't seem to finish. She looked behind her, as though expecting to see Uncle Vernon standing there, his bushy mustache shaking in anger.

"Yeah," Harry said coldly.

"And…how…how are you going to do it?" she choked. Harry frowned.

"Why?"

"How?" she insisted. Harry shook his head.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," he snapped, getting out of bed. He was thoroughly alarmed now. It was as if she knew something….

"I think…" she whispered softly, but what she thought was not to be heard. The next second another woman entered his bedroom. Harry's bright green eyes widened. If there wasn't enough to cope with, now Professor McGonagall, the new headmistress of Hogwarts, stood in his doorway, her piercing eyes and slim lips more prominent than ever.

"Potter," she said briskly, brushing Petunia aside. "Happy birthday." Again the sentiment was filled with less than sincerity. Her thin nose was rising in the presence of Aunt Petunia, who was now cowering in a corner.

"Uh, thanks," Harry said breathlessly. She gave a curt nod, and pulled out her wand.

"I'll be taking you to the burrow now, for the wedding," she explained, and with a swoop of her wand, Harry's things began to float neatly into a trunk that suddenly appeared from under Harry's bed. Aunt Petunia gave a shriek.

"What the bloody hell!" screamed a furious Uncle Vernon, who was puffing into the room, closely followed by Dudley, who quickly saw the scene, and left running away as soon as he had arrived.

"Good morning," McGonagall said tersely, her lips tightening in an even tighter line as she studied the large man.

"But Professor, the wedding isn't for three days," Harry said, uncertainly, his eyes darting around the strange scene before him. Mcgonagall…here? She hadn't even sent him a letter to warn him that she would be coming early. In fact, this was the first time he'd seen her since…. His throat clogged.

"I'm well aware of that," she said shortly, while the last few socks folded themselves strictly and dropped into the trunk. "Your owl?" she inquired, looking at the empty cage.

"She'll know where to find me," Harry assured her, even as she left his room. She gave a crisp nod, however, showing at least that she'd heard him.

"Now wait just a minute!" shouted a purple Uncle Vernon, who was hiding a fragile looking Petunia.

"I'm afraid I have no minute to spare for you," McGonagall snapped, gliding stiffly down the steps, with a dumbstruck Harry in her wake. Harry was growing agitated now, however. He wanted just once to leave this house without having the disapproving, disgusting looks on his distant family's faces. Couldn't they, just once, get used to the fact that he was Harry Potter, and therefore odd things were bound to happen? Vernon stomped down the steps.

"I demand to know where you're going!" he raged. Harry ignored him as McGonagall levitated his trunk and broomstick out the door and followed it. He began to leave with her, but was nearly jerked off his feet as a beefy hand grabbed the back of his shirt. "I will not stand it anymore!" he bellowed, spinning Harry around. "I will not stand for your kind running in and out of my house all the time! DESTROYING MY HOUSE, MY SANITY, AND MY FAMILY!"

Harry's eyes widened, and something in him finally snapped. Forgetting completely about the fact that his uncle was three times his weight, he stared him in the eye, and threw the sausage like fingers from his shirt. Then he did the one thing he'd wanted to do since he'd been old enough to dream. He grabbed Uncle Vernon by the throat, and slammed him up against the wall, his fury giving him strength.
"You listen to me," he whispered vehemently. "I'm leaving this place and I'm never coming back. No more House-Elves, no more Dementors, no more gossip, and no more witches. I'm leaving, and I am never coming back."

"I…" Vernon began.

"NO!" Harry screamed. He gave a laugh then at the look on his uncle's face, and let go of him, smiling cruelly. "I don't ever want to hear your voice again," he said. Then he looked up at the top of the steps, where Aunt Petunia was standing absolutely still. "Oh, but don't worry, Aunty Petunia. I didn't forget all you've done for me," he said with disgust clogging his throat. "I'll never forget the way you saved me by bringing me into your home and making my life a living hell."

Harry didn't know what he'd done, or why he'd become suddenly so furious. But it was seventeen years of fury bubbling out in a way that Harry didn't think himself capable of anymore. Not when just s few hours ago he'd been as cold as a statue. But even with this sudden change from frozen to on fire, a great weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders, and he took a deep breath. Before shame or guilt could settle in, he turned on his heel to see Dudley blocking his path to the door.

"Wait just a…?" Dudley began, looking furious, as though he was about to punch Harry. But Harry's cold eyes traveled Dudley's face, and his cousin's resolve seemed to fade.

"Don't-ask-questions," he said, and the three simple words echoed throughout the house as they had always done, yet this time with more importance than ever. None of the Dursleys reacted. Vernon didn't let out a roar of rage, but stared in shock. Aunt Petunia didn't glare or give a haughty sniff, but looked quite blankly down at him. Dudley moved to the side, a stupid look draped across his fat face. Harry was both relieved and empowered, and his feeling of finally being through with this family completed him. He took the necessary steps forward, out of the house he promised never to set foot in again.