Memories: I don't own Harry Potter or Dr. Faust. Those lucky people who do, well, sue them.
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They said that I couldn't hate. They said that, no matter the parallels between me and Tom, I would never be like him. They said that I was too good, too pure to ever dislike someone.
Let me ask you, does that sound even remotely possible? Were they all too blind to see the feuds that sprung up amongst the houses? Apparently so, because if they had, then they would have known that love is not 'the power the Dark Lord knows not'. I don't even know what love is, let alone how to use it to defeat a Dark Lord. Living with the Dursleys is not conducive to knowing love.
Oh, you might say that my parents loved me, and of that I have no doubt. But, people, I was one. I could barely say "mummy" and "daddy", let alone recognize love. And, about that, I was one. How could I have defeated Voldemort, the most evil Dark Lord in recent history? I may be powerful, and my mother may have sacrificed herself for me; but who's to say that any other mother would not do exactly the same thing. What makes me special besides some prophecy from an old fraud?
I suppose the only real way to know what happened is to emulate Dr. Faust and practice necromancy. Unfortunately, the oh-so-intelligent Ministry of Magic has deemed that dark magic and therefore, forbidden. I'd like to know why someone hasn't assassinated that man yet. But, I suppose he is bloody useful for the Death Eaters. Good for them. An idiot that can't wipe his ass without advisors is a good man to have in office when you're trying to take over an entire community of sheep.
Also, the justice system is screwed up. My godfather, Sirius Black (ooo, yes, I said the bad man's name; so sue me), was thrown in Azkaban for twelve years with no trial and the farce the beloved Ministry called a trial, he went in with an assumption guilt and no chance to prove otherwise. Then, he was killed in the very same Ministry that hunted him for the last three years of his life. I, frankly, would not be at all surprised to find that after I off Voldemort, Aurors come and knock down my front door to drag me to Azkaban. It's just really fucked up and I know you can't see me, but I'm laughing, honest.
And I know everyone loves Dumbledore, the senile old dotard grandfatherly figure with no fashion sense and is half-blind, but how many people have honestly known him as long as I have? The man may seem senile, but he's just a manipulative old Alzheimer's patient. How many of you would ignore a letter addressed to a bloody cupboard! Moreover, before you say it, the man has hundreds of our children's lives in his gnarled old hands. He's not allowed to make mistakes.
I love my friends, and it used to be that I'd do anything for them. But Ron and Hermione slowly opened my eyes to their faults. I suppose that I really can't trust Ron, no matter how much I'd like to, to always stick by me. He's shown before that he won't. And Hermione, the dear girl, loves authority way too much. The Weasleys really are nice, but, there are some things that they just don't understand. There are some days that I wish that I had taken Draco Malfoy's hand that first day. At least the Malfoys know how to survive. But then I remember that they're Death Eaters. That really fucks everything up, doesn't it?
But, I have digressed. A lot. The main point is that I hate a lot of people and things. Like my fame, for instance. However, that's not important. What's important is that I think that I'm completely and utterly, sick, of being your Saviour. You certainly don't appreciate it, if Ms. Skeeter's columns are anything to go by. Did you know that she's an illegal animagus? A beetle; actually quite appropriate. So these are my last words to you, my dear wizarding world: "Fuck you all, I going to go live! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH!"
Sincerely,
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Leave
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"Harry, are you quite sure that you want to publish this? It'll make quite a few people very angry." Luna says, after she reads over the letter that Harry handed her.
Harry smirks. "That's the point, Luna. And I really am leaving. So I suggest that you and your father get out as soon as it's published."
Luna nods thoughtfully. "Yes, we could go hunting for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. Where will you be?"
Harry smiles. "I dunno. But, one thing's for certain, it's no where that's anywhere near the United Kingdom. I'll owl you later; once I'm settled, and the Fidelus is up. Maybe you can come visit and help me search for more of your exotic creatures."
Luna looks up at him with wide, dreamy, blue eyes. "Maybe. Bye-bye, Harry."
"Bye, Luna."
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I really should not have written this. I am working on chapter 10 of Philomel's Lullaby, no worries; but it's going so slowly. And I can only go on the computer on the weekends now, because my chemistry grade sucks. Well, anyway, this may or may not be continued; I just thought that this would be what a rebellious, antisocial, teenaged Boy-Who-Lived would say. And Luna's in there because she's fun. Review if you like it, flame if you don't, don't do anything if you really don't give a shit.