This was started because of a challenge from The Hazel-eyed bookworm. Thanks for my very first challenge! I look forward to continuing this in the future. (PS. For those who have read A Missing Sword, this is one of the fics I plan to work on while that is on Hiatus.)

This first chapter was made with the help of said Bookworm, thanks for all of the inspiration!

This is pretty fun to write, and it's good to get some variety once in a while. So enjoy! XD

The events leading Harry to his position in Dumbledore's office were much different than the usual ones. Rather than the actions of one Draco Malfoy and his goons, or the antics of some other villainous persona against his own person, there was no one to blame but himself.

It was his own decision to break into The Department of Mysteries, all because he couldn't tell the difference between his own thoughts and those of that poisonous snake, Voldemort. It was SO STUPID. If it weren't for him, his only family member would be still alive. After surviving all of those years on the run from the Ministry, the dementors, and almost everyone else, his Godfather was dead because of his stupid mistake.

The face his Godfather made when falling through would haunt him for the rest of his life, no doubt. The utter fear and shock as he fell backwards towards the dark stone arch looming forebodingly in the background like the hangman's noose ready to snatch its victim away.

He didn't know how what was on the other side, but he could only hope that it was better than what he left behind.

But the fight between Dumbledore and Voldemort had been utter agony. The feeling of being forcefully possessed, the attempt to control him entire time they fought. Even through the consuming pain, he could feel some kind of sick pleasure out of seeing Voldemorts pain. He couldn't possess him. That was good. He was also miserable and alone. Not good. But maybe he deserved it after all of the mistakes he had made over the course of his short life. Now the knowledge that nothing would change? The thought that his godfather, his parents- their deaths. The thought that they might not mean anything? That was terrifying. If his parents and godfather, some of the best wizards of their generation, the thought that their deaths were all for nothing is terrifying. If they couldn't defeat the dark wizard hell-bent on destroying the world, what chance did he have? Not a snowball's chance in hell.

If he was- If he was supposed to die in this war, what could he actually accomplish with it? What would he be able to do? Would it just be throwing his life away, with no actual accomplishment?

Leaning back into the chair, feeling like the world was resting on his shaking and bent shoulders, he couldn't help but ask, "Why?" his voice broke on the single word.

"Why me?! Why couldn't it be anyone else?! Out of all the people in the world, all of the people HE has wronged and hasn't, what makes me the one that has to fight him?! Why not Hermione, the smartest witch in the school?! Why not you?! Why can't you do it?! How many more people that I care about have to die for Voldemort to finally lose?! Why? Why?...Why?"

Dumbledore looked torn, there was nothing he could say to those completely true words. Harry shouldn't have to fight; Children weren't supposed to. They shouldn't have to grow up hated and alone, to have to face the expectations of countless others, all based on the single action of another that ended up defining his entire life up to this point. Why?

But he knew why. Life wasn't fair, and there really was no one else but him that could do it. It was fate. And even he couldn't deny fate its wants and desires. It had a nasty way of getting what it wanted, in the end.

Leaning across the table, he put his hands on the trembling boy opposite him's shoulders, rubbing soothingly with his thumbs, "You're right. You shouldn't have to go through this, to experience all of this so young. No one of any age should have to go through what you have, and many wouldn't have survived to this point." He could see Harry's teary eyes glancing up through disheveled bangs, glinting a light yellow green, contrary to their normal shade of emerald.

"But- it has to be you. As much as I wish it was someone else, as much as I wish that I could take that horrible burden from you. I cannot. It is not my place. One cannot go against the hand of fate, lest they be crushed under the weight of change. And the Wizarding World, my boy, "is not strong enough for change."

A calculating look came upon him, "But, young Harry one day you might be."

Harry felt no pride, there was nothing that could save him and others from his own mistakes. He didn't want to focus on his own guilt, the feeling he felt that this could have been avoided had he been given more information, that he hadn't gone in locked out of the secrets about himself. He couldn't contain that feeling of rage at the rest of the world, for doing this to him. For people for being so horrible, for being so weak. The incensed need for revenge on that bloody bitch Bellatrix Lestrange. He could have killed her, he had had her in his power, only his own feeling of mercy that saved her wretched life. The whispers of his own guilt and underlying anger fueled this hatred. He wanted to live. He wanted the whole Wizarding World to figure it out without him. But most of all, he wanted the hag to pay in blood.

"Dumbledore," he whispered through his teeth garnering the old man's attention from his own thoughts, "I want the bitch that made all of this happen to pay. I want her to die. Painfully, choking on her own blood. I want her to pay."

Dumbledore looked askance at this formerly unseen behavior by his student, "Harry, I understand that you are upset-"

Here he was cut off, "UPSET?! UPSET?! I AM ABSOLUTELY LIVID!" breathing hard he ranted "She took away one of the last people that was my family! She took away any kind of future I had with him!" He grit his teeth so hard that he bit his tongue, and sat there in the chair, hands gripping the armrests too hard, and breathing fast and deep.

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man, only monsters feel no anger; no regret. This pain is part of being human-" No doubt the Headmaster would have had further to say on the issue, likely some inspirational quote on the durability of the human spirit, or the supposed "power of love" that he always harped on about, but Harr Rising to his feet, Harry's green eyes seemed to glow in fury and fear, and a momentary flash of uncontrolled madness, glaring at the slightly agitated and worried visage of Albus

Dumbledore he roared, "THEN I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN!"

A deep-seated silence followed that statement, and both Harry and Dumbledore appeared to be processing what was stated. Two faces, two separate expressions. One younger, a look of realization, then determination. The other older, shocked, concerned and finally regretful.

"Harry, my dear boy, I am deeply sorry for your loss. As am I equally sorry for withholding the prophecy and its contents from you. I only wanted you to have a normal childhoo-"

A raised hand silenced the Headmaster, interrupting him for the second time in such a short period.
"Stop, Professor. Apologies will get us nowhere."

Harry's expressionless face unnerved Albus far more than the outburst earlier. The concern on his face deepened, and he brought his hands together cautiously, as if to not alarm a wild animal.

"Harry, maybe it is best if you go to bed, and think about the past and the future for a bit. Maybe it will help you decide on the actions you want to take on the present. Maybe you will find a bit of the peace you deserve." He kept his eyes fixed on the young boy- no man- that sat in the chair across from him. He had faced and triumphed against too much to still be called a child. Eyes to the floor, hair across his eyes hiding them from view.

A breathy and tired exhale, "Fine."

Rising stiffly from his chair, he made to leave, but stopped and turned, eyes downcast, but voice sad and hopeful, "The Prophecy. Can it be wrong? Is there...Is there no way to get out of it?"Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Harry's thoughts moved rapidly, thinking of any possible inclinations towards the affirmative, only to come to a crashing halt at the responding words.

"No, my boy. I regret to inform you that such things are set in stone...I have to ask the unthinkable of you, time and time again. You will never know the depths of my sorrow." For the first time since Harry had come to Hogwarts, the venerable old wizard looked every year of his 115 years, and it almost made him desire to abandon his plans that were stewing in the back of his mind. Almost.

Harry turned his eyes back to the floor and nodded, before turning to exit. Interrupted by a soft "Harry?" he turned, "I will, try Harry.I will try to make it so you don't face that fate. But very few ever win the battle against the Moirai, the fates. But Harry, I will try."

He gave the headmaster a bleak and forgiving smile, "I know you will.", but he might have a solution to the problem that might just save himself, from everyone else.

Later in the Dormitory

After that emotional rollercoaster that he couldn't seem to stop , he felt like he should take the Headmasters advice. He needed to think, he had some important decisions to make for his future. He had the inklings of what could be a lifesaving gambit, meant to save himself from the death wished for by most everyone else. He didn't want to be anyones martyr, he just wanted to be himself, little Harry Potter, worrying about the things that everyone else had to, rather than some grand scheme of good versus evil.

That little plan started with a gift he thought he would never get to use, one unobtrusive square of leather, smooth and written in hard to read chicken scratch mixed with spiraling script. In that unsuspecting little book was detailed the steps of one of the most difficult magical transformations in Magic. It detailed how to become an animagus. Written by the only people to ever become one and never register.

Something that he hoped would get him out of this...destiny...that lay before him.

Opening his trunk he dug out a package, wrapped in plain red wrapping-paper, shaped like a small rectangle, something he could easily fit into the pocket of his robes. Badly wrapped, torn in some places, and a few splotches that looked suspiciously like dog slobber, it felt like home.

It had been a Christmas present from Sirius, one he had carefully hidden from Ron and the others, at the man's instruction. Should he try it?

I in no way own anything as awesome as Firebreather or Harry Potter.