Disclaimer: I'm just merely playing with these characters. This takes place after OoTP, and is non-compliant with HBP or DH.


Harry Potter and the Wyld Hunt

Chapter One : Tired

Harry Potter was tired.

Not physically tired, because that would have been easy to deal with. A few pepper-up potions and some bed rest, and he would have been as good as new. He was mentally tired. Emotionally drained. And maybe to the point of being done with his so called life.

Let's look at all the negatives he had in life.

He had a diabolically powerful arch-enemy in one Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort. He had a school headmaster that had been keeping him in the dark about who knows how many things. He had a society of witches and warlocks that was definitely bipolar in how they viewed him, all dependent on the day of the week and which way the wind was blowing. His school mates were no better, alternating praising and condemning him. He had no loving parents, nor grandparents. And to top it off, he had caused the death of his godfather, Sirius Black.

So what positive things did he have?

He had a loyal and beautiful snow owl. He had a mere handful of friends that would back him up in a tight situation, though his two best friends were somewhat suspect because they tended to toe the party line. He had... ummm... he had his broom.

'Bugger.'

Yep, it was official. Harry Potter was officially and truly knackered.

The slight euphoria he had at King's Cross station fled quickly in the presence of his three sullen relatives. The long ride back to Little Whinging and the subsequent weeks had proven to Harry that nothing had really changed. Though Vernon hadn't done anything, there was still that 'yet' that begged to be put at the end of that sentence. So he had started to block his door with his chest of drawers at night. Just in case. And once again, Harry was a prisoner in #4 Privet Drive.

If Harry had been a drinking man, and had been old enough to drink, a glass or two of scotch would have been in order. But instead, he just stared at the ceiling. Blankly. For hours. For him, time seem to stretch out into very large time increments, seconds turning into hours, hours turning into weeks.

He scratched his nose and thought. He was no hero. No knight in shining armour, bravely sweeping in to rescue the damsel in distress. There was no skill in anything he had done. It had all been blind luck. Quirrel, luck. The basilisk and Tom Riddle, luck. Buckbeak et all, luck. The Tri-Wizard tournament, luck. Department of Mystery, definitely luck.

'So bugger it all.'

Harry closed his eyes. It was all about control. Fudge controlled the wizard population by judicious use of the Daily Prophet, trickling out tid bits of information when he wanted. Voldemort controlled the war by controlling the tempo of the conflict, where to strike, when to strike, and when to lay low. And Dumbledore, well, he just controlled nearly everything else, particularly anything to do with one Harry James Potter.

'Well bugger it all to hell.'

Ultimately, Harry knew one thing that he could control. His death. Specifically the time, the place, and the how of his own death.

'Well, no time like the present, as they would say.'

Fumbling for his glasses from his night stand, he put them on and looked around the room. 'Nothing really to say to anybody, so no point in writing a note,' he thought bitterly to himself. Taking care to minimize the noise, he broke a potion flask that he had retrieved from his travel chest.

A sense of calm seemed to enveloped Harry. He felt that he was finally doing something, even though that something would prove to be the last thing he ever did. He sat on the floor, leaning against his bed. Softly, he called Hedwig over to him. She flew silently to him, landing on his leg. Large, seemingly sad eyes peered back into Harry's jade green eyes.

Sighing softly, he placed his forehead against Hedwig's head. "I'm sorry girl, but I won't be able to take care of you anymore." He choked up a bit and whispered, "you're to be free, just like I'll be free..."

He shooed Hedwig back to her perch. Grasping the largest shard in his right hand, he slashed a deep gash across his left wrist. The same was done to his right wrist immediately. Watching the blood slowly seep from his wrists, he idly wondered how long it would take before he went unconscious and then how long after that would he finally be rid of this life.

Time ceased to have any meaning to Harry. A smile crept onto his face as he looked around his room for the last time. But his last sight, before his consciousness slipped away, was the full moon, shining radiantly down into his small room and bathing him gently in her soft light.

But alas, Fate was not so willing to give up her favourite pawn yet.


Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think in a review, it would be much appreciated.