Hey all. Had this idea floating around in my head and I just had to write it. It's a one-shot, rather dark, and doesn't really end well for some characters, so if you get upset at character death, then maybe this one isn't for you. Otherwise, hope you enjoy it and review if you do. Actually, I'd like a review in any case, so…

Endgame

Harry was in his room, pouring over a book he'd gotten by special delivery from Flourish and Botts. Given Snape's dismal abilities to teach anything, be it potions or occlumency, he'd decided to read up on the latter. Picking up the second book he'd ordered, he went through the index and opened the book on the page of the subject he was reading about in the other one and began cross-referencing the two pieces.

He'd had somewhat of an epiphany earlier that day. Well, that and a whole lot of other things had happened. In an effort from Ron to help keep him in the loop, he'd taken to sending the Daily Prophet's from the day past to Harry. He appreciated the gesture, but in todays, or rather yesterdays paper he'd read about how he was once again the great hero, trying to get the truth out while under attack of the ministry and so forth and so on. With the death of Sirius and everything afterwards, that was the drop that broke the dam. So, yet again the incredible fickleness of the human sheep mind had turned them around completely in their views of him. No longer the raving attention seeking boy, but once more the Boy-Who-Lived, the great Harry Potter. The worst part was that there were a few articles in the paper that began questioning why the great hero, the Boy-Who-Lived had not yet taken steps to ensure the safety of everyone else. Why he had not yet rid the world of that madman that they were too afraid of to even speak his name.

The few meagre belongings he had had been turned into trash in his rage at the entire situation. Luckily for him, the Dursleys had taken a weeklong vacation to Marge's, and had only left the day before. Otherwise Vernon was sure to have come and checked what all the noise was about and a whole other can of unpleasantness would have been opened then. Once his rage was over though, he found he didn't care anymore. Couldn't care anymore about mindless sheep that let their paper and their governing body do their thinking for them.

So he'd drawn a bath, nice and hot and stepped in it once it was nice and full. Once used to the hot water, he'd taken the razorblade he'd cannibalized out of Vernon's throw away shaving equipment. Then, deliberately and methodically, he'd used it to cut open his arms, from elbow to wrist. Amazingly, there wasn't as much pain as he'd thought there would be. Letting the blood pump out of his body, he slipped further and further away from consciousness, the loss of blood and the hot water making him pleasantly woozy. Small and slender as he was, it hadn't taken long before enough blood had left the large wounds and he'd fallen unconscious, never to wake again.

Except that he had woken up again. Some two hours and change later, he'd woken up in a cooling bath, stained red from his blood, with the cuts in his arms healing from his magic and his blood being similarly replaced. He could feel his magic doing its work, and furious that he couldn't even die on his own terms; he'd tried to counteract his magic and somehow ended up drawing himself into himself on a metaphysical plane. There he'd found that prophesy was what was driving his magic to heal his wounds and replenish the lost blood. Prophesy and magic itself were not going to let him die and escape his probable fate.

That's when he'd had his epiphany. He was a weapon. A tool to be used at Dumbledore's discretion and will. Why else would he have been placed with the Dursleys as a toddler? Why else would he have been allowed to suffer through a horrific childhood? The supposed reasons of hiding him away for his safety and to allow him a normal childhood crumbled when he thought about them. The only safety that staying with the Dursleys had gained him was physical safety from his enemies. Surely not his mental safety, from either enemies or his relatives, for they sure were not his family. Not even physical safety from them, as he'd been beaten on an almost regular basis when he was younger. If not for his magic then, he'd have starved to death for sure. Even then it had seen to it that he'd be alive to fulfil his role in this war.

It made no sense that as a weapon, he had not received any sort of training that would enable him to take out Voldemort. At least, it hadn't made sense until he really thought about it. Why waste time and effort to train him when there was most likely some sort of ritual or spell to either allow him to kill Voldemort or die trying? Or more likely, die taking him out using some obscure spell Dumbledore would have "miraculously" found just in the nick of time.

Harry had dwelled on such thought ever since awakening from the tub. He'd decided that if a weapon was what he was to be, then he would become that weapon. Harry, sole survivor of a killing curse, was no longer. Now only Harry the weapon remained. First things first, to gain a sufficient level of mental protection from Voldemort and find a way to either erase or suppress his emotions. After all, what use has a weapon for emotions? Or at least emotions other than anger and hatred? None, that's what use.

By mid July, he'd achieved a greater understanding of how occlumency was supposed to work and had managed to isolate and suppress his emotions, leaving only a single-minded, focused Harry. Making good use of that special delivery service, he ordered dozen more books on all kinds of magic. Telling the bookshop to charge the cost to his trust vault, he'd spent a small fortune on books already. A random thought occurred to him that Hermione would be proud to see him so studious. She would not like the reason however. Still, it was all irrelevant, as she didn't know and wouldn't come to know until it was by far too late. That one errant thought brought to mind the feelings he'd once harboured towards the young witch. How he'd thought of her as possibly more than just friends. Back when he still allowed emotions to exist within him. It no longer had any meaning.

His relatives had returned home some days ago, and had seen neither hide nor hair from him since. One thing he'd learn from his suicide was how to use his magic to keep himself alive. Upon taking conscious control on it, he'd managed to improve upon it and instead of merely keeping him alive, it kept him alive and began to improve on his body. No longer was he underfed or scrawny. He was beginning to gain some real muscle mass and some tone to it. It would take a lot of time still to get him in any condition a weapon really should be, but the start was there.

Regularly tying a note to his constant companion to be delivered to his jailers/keepers/guards, he kept them away from looking too close at him and his dealings. After all, god forbid that they actually check up on him personally instead of merely posting one single wizard or witch to watch the house from afar. Ever relying on the blood wards that Harry could feel weakening every passing hour.

Taking conscious control over his magic had allowed him to learn quite a few things about it too. Magic was much like a muscle. The more you exercised it, the stronger it became. So using it to keep himself alive was one exercise. Another was to stretch it out and levitate something or move something. Just to keep it used and growing. Upon stumbling across a drawing of a Mobious ring, he'd gotten the idea of letting two parts of his magic continually push against each other, forcing them to adapt and grow stronger.

With the single mindedness he'd achieved, he devoured book after book on magic, learning at speeds not witnessed before, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge. In a ritual he'd found, he'd bound his wand to him. The core of his wand to his own magic core. Nobody would ever be able to use that wand, except him. An unexpected, but highly useful side effect was that due to the growing power of his own core, he'd forced the core of his wand to grow stronger was well. Each day the wand became more powerful, and looked it. Each day the wand sent feedback into his core, pushing against it, strengthening it even more.

Letters had come for him, and lay scattered on the ground, unopened. Why would a weapon need correspondence anyway? By mid-August, his friends were frantic with worry as they hadn't received a single letter from him, and thus they had no idea how he was. Dumbledore assured them that he was still alive and in good health even, so nothing was done to get anyone to take a personal look on the boy.

By now Harry had grown three times as powerful as he had been at the beginning of the summer, bringing him ever closer to the level of Voldemort. His knowledge of the arcane had grown with leaps and bounds as had his control over his magic. He had evolved his wand into a staff and had simply wished that the flare of magic would not be detected. His magic had responded and shielded the erratic flares and waves of power that occurred during that evolution.

Having come across a rather interesting piece of muggle reading, he'd searched the link between him and Voldemort, and had managed to tie his life to that of the Dark wizard. Should he be killed by Voldemort, at least he would take him out at the same time.

September first rolled around and he was bundled off to the train to get to Hogwarts. This served to alarm a great number of people who knew him, as he was distant and cold to everyone. What little reactions they managed to get out of him left them weary of his mental health as he reacted with the same indifference to everything. Upon arriving at Hogwarts he completely ignored the abundance of food but merely got out another book and read through the entire meal, once more ignoring everyone else.

Finally, at the end of the meal when everyone else was sent off to their dorms he was taken to the office of the headmaster, who by now was also worried about him. Once there, his head of house was there, as was Snape for some unknown reason. Some other members of the Order where there, even though he didn't know them or if he did, he didn't bother to acknowledge them. Even Hermione, Ron and Ginny where there, as were Neville and Luna. Luna had a sad look on her face, compared to anxiousness and worry on the face of almost everyone else. Snape off course was sneering at him, as if he was the sole reason for all the bad things in his life.

"Harry, "Dumbledore began, "we are somewhat worried about you. You have not contacted anyone this summer, and we respected that, to allow you to grieve for your loss. But you've grown distant and even cold. Let us help you, my boy. You are not alone in this."

Harry stood at parade rest while the older man was speaking, as he'd once seen on the telly.

"I've been busy completing what you started all those years ago." He replied.

"What I started? Harry, I'm afraid I don't understand. What is it you are talking about?" the aged mad said, forehead furrowing in an attempt to understand what the boy before him could be talking about.

"The process of turning me into the weapon you need to destroy Voldemort."

Gasps at the hated name sounded through the room, while denials were shouted in loud voices that he was not a weapon.

"Harry my boy, where do you get this idea that I would turn you into a weapon?" Dumbledore asked, shocked at the answer Harry had given him.

"When you placed me with the Dursleys all those years ago, you knew what kind of people they were. Narrow-minded, bigoted, petty, a hate for everything that was different, especially magic. But still you placed me there and left me to be used and abused without ever checking up on me. Then when I finally came to Hogwarts, every year there was some kind of test to gauge my abilities. First year, Voldemort's wraith and the philosopher's stone. Second year, the heir of Slytherin and the Basilisk. And so on. Even the mindless sheep that make up this countries magical population are beginning to ask when I will step up and take responsibility to destroy their screw-up once and for all."

"Harry, please, that is not true, "Dumbledore interrupted him. "I do not see you as a weapon nor did I try to…"

"Save it, "he was interrupted by Harry. "I have no need of useless lies. You wanted a weapon, and you got one beyond your wildest imaginations. Next time Voldemort and I meet will be the last, one way or another. I've seen to that."

"How do you mean?" Dumbledore asked, weary now and seemingly decades older.

"Have you ever heard of the M.A.D. concept?"

Dumbledore had to shake his head in the negative, but Hermione gasped and brought her hand to her mouth to cover her shock. Tears started to stream down her face while she shook her head in denial.

"Ms. Granger figured it out. MAD. Mutually Assured Destruction. I've tied my life to his. He kills me; he kills himself in the process. Anything else in impossible since we're both protected by prophesy. We must take each other out. And if by some miracle I do survive, I will be free of that prophecy, and finish what I began this summer."

Dumbledore had gone deathly pale, as had everyone else. Hermione was still shaking her head that it couldn't be true, and Luna's sad look from before was much more pronounced now that she had confirmation on her earlier thoughts. Her face was streaked with tears as well. The headmaster looked decidedly ill and appeared to want to ask something but could not get the words to form. Deciding that he would most likely want to know what he had meant with that last comment, he simply shrugged off his robe and presented those present with the angry red scars that ran from elbow to wrist on the under side of his arms. Everyone understood at once what he was showing them. Before anyone could react to the horrific events that had played out these last moments, a shimmer began to appear around Harry.

"Prophesy calls. The endgame has begun. Whatever happens, I wish you all good and long lives. We will not meet again, for after this I am a weapon without purpose. I would rather be nothing compared to that." He finished and was whisked away from them by the forces of prophesy.

Pandemonium ensued after that. Spells were set of, tracking devices pulled from their storage places. Panic ran rampant when nobody could find a trace of where he was or had gone. People were called, orders given and followed. Scouts were sent ahead to known hideouts of Death Eaters. One thing was learned, Voldemort had been pulled away in a similar matter.

It was only six hours later that one of the tracking devices suddenly began thrilling and whirling about. Another hour passed before they found the battlefield where the final confrontation between Harry Potter and Voldemort aka Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Voldemorts body, what was left of it, was found to be smoking and decaying rapidly into a large pile of ash.

A shriek alerted everyone that Hermione had found Harry. When they all arrived, she was cradling his head in her lap, tears streaming down her face. Blood ran from his mouth, the left side of his face a bloody mess, horrible wounds around his eye. When Poppy ran towards him to try and heal the grievous wounds that could be seen all over the rest of his body, she was suddenly thrown away from him when she started casting a healing spell on him.

"Don't…bother…my magic…will resist…any…healing…" Harry softly said, looking out his one still functioning eye.

"Harry, please don't die. Please don't die, you're too important to me to die." Hermione urged him. "You can't die now, not when I only realised this summer that I love you than more than a mere friend. Please don't die, you can't, you mustn't…" She began babbling, telling him not to die and professing her love for him.

Harry smiled weakly. "I wish…I had known…earlier…I could…have…used…a reason…to survive… but it's… too late…now…death is…inevitable…now…"

Lifting a broken arm, he pulled her closer to him and kissed her for the first and only time. In doing so, he used what little life energy he had left to transfer the knowledge he had gained to her. His magic, forbidden to keep him alive, fought against his efforts to get it to merge with Hermione's. Eventually the magic stopped fighting as it could not deny its master and flowed into Hermione's magical core, adding its strength and power to her own. Letting go of her, he started to fall away from life.

"I will…be with you…always…" he whispered softly. "Remember me…" breathed out on his last breath so that only she heard the words.

A scream tore itself from her throat as she lost her very first true friend and man she loved. A scream that was echoed by Ron as he roared out his rage at the loss of his best friend. Crying and sobbing could be heard and seen everywhere amongst those present. Dumbledore had fallen to his knees and was crying uncontrollably. He had truly only wanted as normal a life for the young man as would have been possible.

When the news became known, Harry was called the greatest hero ever known to have died defending everyone from a monster. Mourning swept through the country, stories were told about him, even some shrines rose. But all the grieving and mourning, all the grand tales and stories could not chance the fact that Harry Potter was no more.

Eventually, live was picked up again, and people moved on. Dumbledore resigned from all his post and titles and died of grief within two weeks after the final battle. Ron matured quickly at the death of his friend and became the rock Hermione needed to keep from losing herself in her own grief. They grew closer as friends and promised each other to live life to the fullest, as Harry would have wanted them to do. Hermione eventually found love again, but nowhere where anyone would have expected. She could never really explain how she had come to love Luna Lovegood, but love her she did, and Luna loved her just as much. Between their shared intellect and the knowledge Hermione had been given by Harry, they ushered in a new age of magic. Ron made it into the professional Quiditch and became a star keeper. At a certain point in time, Hermione and Luna asked his help in fathering a child by them. After much consideration, he eventually agreed and became the father of two redheaded girls. He never did find a wife of his own, but he did not mind as he had Hermione and Luna as mothers of his children and their love as best friends.

For others, life went on as well, and the stories about Harry grew stronger and larger by the years, eventually becoming legends when all the players had long since died of old age. Years later, the legends became myths.

But in all that, Harry's last request was granted. He was never forgotten.

There. All done. Let me know if you think it's any good. Feedback is always appreciated.