Disclaimer: Why would I write fanfiction if I had owned Harry Potter? I would've been far too busy writing the real 7th book.

Um…you see guys, I have been playing around with this idea for a while now. I wasn't sure whether I should write about it or not because I have seen many other authors dwelling along the same lines, the seventh book. But then again, every author has a unique perspective and I thought maybe I would just give my concept a chance to be born. Please Read and Review!

Harry Potter and Destiny

By MilanGulsar

Chapter 1: A Trance

A strong, cool breeze blew towards the north, making the blossoming green trees around the Burrow sway dangerously from side to side; the sky was concealed behind a gray veil of ominous clouds that stretched across the horizon. An enormous shadow of the shaggy building that the Weasleys called their home was cast diagonally across the lawn in which countless gnomes ran about merrily, looking complacent under the shade's false security. The weather was very dismal indeed—so dismal in fact, few would guess that it was the first day of summer vacation.

To the young man who sat silently in the Weasley's living room, gazing out from the front side window, the weather was a perfect manifestation of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Thinner than ever before, the black-haired and bespectacled Harry Potter mulled over the latest events that besieged the Wizarding community—events that would forever change the lives of everyone, and in particular, his life.

He would not have been here at the Burrow (the closest thing he had to a home) so early, had it not been for the murder of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the most powerful wizard in recent history, and the only one whom Lord Voldemort, the darkest and most menacing wizard of all time, had feared. Dumbledore had been a close friend of Harry and their bond had remarkably strengthened over the past year that they had spent at the school. Together, they had embarked on a journey to destroy the Dark Lord—the one who was so feared that few found the courage to utter his name. Now, the voyage they had started on together, he Harry Potter, would have to finish alone.

He wasn't quite sure what he was called these days. Ever since he had been born and singled out by Voldemort as the one who would one day destroy him (or be destroyed by him), he had been called names. Last time he had checked, he had been dubbed as "the Chosen One." He didn't quite protest against this particular name as he had done to the many others because he did feel chosen—chosen to suffer and watch his loved ones fall one after another. He had suffered since the age of one—starting with Voldemort's murder of his parents. Though Harry himself had been the real target, the killing curse that had been cast at him had rebounded on the Dark Lord, leaving Voldemort utterly weakened. Although some believed that he had actually died, wise wizards like Dumbledore had known better. In fact, Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts had been marked by his direct confrontation with the Dark wizard, who had grown back his body right in front of Harry's eyes.

Only a year after his full-fledged return, Voldemort had greeted Harry with another murder—this time his godfather, Sirius Black. To Harry, Sirius had been a savior, an extension outside of his life at Hogwarts and the terrible summers that he had to spend at the Dursleys. Sirius too had felt a strong attachment to him—it had been like a father and son relationship. Without his parents, Sirius had been his closest friend—a substitute father. Then, a band of detestable Death Eaters, servants of Lord Voldemort, had killed him…killed half of Harry's life with him. Even the thought of it choked him.

And now, his last and most powerful protector, Albus Dumbledore, the one who had been so patient with him, who had on countless occasions endured his silly paroxysms of anger, who had guided and cared for him…who had…had…done so many things for him that listing them, even in his head, would be a foolish undertaking, had been killed. The feeling of loss—or more so, the realization that he would never see Dumbledore again, created such a vacuum in his chest that he felt he might be sucked into it. The pain and grief that suddenly overtook him was irresistible—a tear escaped his watery green eyes and trickled down his cheek.

He was brought to his senses by the tear's tickling sensation and quickly wiped it off with his sleeve, hoping against hope that none in the room had noticed the incident. Almost immediately, his fears were answered.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione, who was sitting on the sofa opposite him, asked in a concerned tone. Both were waiting to make phone calls to their Muggle guardians with the phone that Mr. Weasley was attempting to connect since breakfast to tell them that school had closed early due to special circumstances.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry lied, suddenly feeling like he had been sitting on a radiator; his cheeks felt as though they had reached boiling point. Worse, Hermione seemed to have noticed.

"Shall I get you a drink?" she offered kindly.

"No, I'll be okay," Harry replied and a tinge of irritation involuntarily escaped him. Hermione picked up on it and went quiet.

For several long minutes, an awkward silence fell between them. The only noise came from Ron's room across the hall, where Mr. Weasley was working to fix the phone line. Harry, feeling a bit out of proportion, considered going to him and helping him out, but thought better of the idea when, without warning, Ron, Fred and George burst through the door.

"Harry!" Fred said excitedly, "How's it going man?"

"Er…fine, you?" said Harry.

"Really good—business is booming you know!" Fred said.

"Yea, latest magic-technology is really popular," George added matter-of-factly, putting his enchanted watch on the table. Harry wasn't quite familiar with the term however, and a quizzical look spread on his face.

"You know I think we brought some of the protego-bracelets with us, right Geroge?" Fred asked, taking off his socks and tapping them with his wand. They became instantly clean.

"Yea…" George fumbled in his pocket, taking out two shiny bracelets. "These are permanently charmed with the protego spell," he explained as Harry and Hermione gave surprised looks.

"You mean to say that if you wear one of them, and someone throws a curse at you, you won't have to deflect it?" Hermione said, clearly impressed.

"Exactly! Hermione is catching on is she!" Fred said mockingly, and held out one of the bracelets. "Want one?"

"No thanks. I prefer to do the shield charm with my wand. Umm…and I'm not sure those will hold for too long."

"Harry, you have one then," Fred threw one to Harry.

"Not accepting no for an answer!" George added, noticing Harry's reluctant look.

"Right…er…thanks," Harry muttered.

"Don't worry mate. You can throw it out once they're out of the room," said Ron, moving from behind the twins and taking a seat next to Hermione.

"Did you guys know Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley are here?" asked George quitting his business talk and very suddenly looking a bit concerned about something.

"No," Hermione answered, surprised. "When did they come?"

"A little after breakfast. They're downstairs chatting with Fleur and mom," Fred said casually, hanging his black-dragon skin coat and moving towards the door after George. Just as they were about to step out, the latter turned and added on a side note:

"By the way guys, if you're interested in some candy—we bought a whole lot from our shop."

"Wait George!" Harry said after a moment of thought. But it was too late—the twins had already disappeared behind the door and could be heard clambering down the stairs. "Dammit!" he said in a disappointed whisper.

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron asked.

"Nah, nothing…just wanted to ask them….um…if they had any of that instantaneous darkness powder thingy," Harry said surreptitiously, and immediately realized he had said too much.

"What's your plan Harry?" Hermione asked, looking and sounding thoroughly worried.

"Well, you know, its good to have some for emergency situations," said Harry trying to evade explaining his real intentions. "And such situations can occur anytime nowadays."

"No I'm sure that's not why you wanted the powder," Hermione looked at him directly in the eye. Since when did she learn legilimency?

"Yea, that's sounds like a pretty stupid excuse to me too," Ron pressed. "I mean who would want to start fighting in the darkness. You'd be putting yourself in greater danger wont you?"

"Er…okay I'll tell you what," Harry realized that he would not get anywhere if he didn't explain to his friends. "I think the Order is here to protect me again. It's stupid, you know. I need room to maneuver if I want to find the Horcruxes. If they start guarding me, I can't possibly have that room."

"So you plan to make a grand Malfoy-style escape from the grasps of the Order do you?" said Ron while Hermione gave a look of disgust.

"Well yeah," Harry tried to sound nonchalant. "The fight is between me and Voldemort now, not Voldemort and the Order. That's too risky anyway—I don't want to see more deaths. I've had enough."

"And you think you'll single handedly defeat Voldemort—Ron enough of your wincing! It's Ridiculous! Get a grip!—Harry?" Hermione seemed incredulous.

"You know perfectly well that that's not what I meant Hermione," Harry was slightly angered and didn't bother to control its flow in his voice.

"Whatever you do mate," Ron said, looking serious, "you're not leaving us behind. Hermione and I will come with you, whether you're going after Voldemort or the Horcruxes."

Harry felt deeply moved to hear that he was not without friends. It seemed to be a realization he had not had for the past few days. Not to mention, he was surprised that Ron had said the Dark Lords name.

"And Secondly," Hermione jumped in, "The Order of the Phoenix has highly trained Aurors. Learning from them will strengthen us greatly—especially in our search for the Horcruxes. Your plan to get rid of the Order's guards is rash, Harry."

"Yeah…even Dumbledore came out weak, didn't he? And that was only one Horcrux," Ron added, sounding slightly afraid of the truth he had uttered.

Harry felt a flood of uncertainty engulf him and looked away from them. True, he had many things to learn—occlumency for one. He had yet to master nonverbal spells, too. These skills had proven to be significant in his fight against Snape only three days ago. Had it not been for their lacking, Harry was sure he could have killed the traitor and avenged Dumbledore's murder. Moreover, he wasn't even planning to go back to Hogwarts for the seventh year; he would have to acquire his skills from elsewhere.

But then again, anyone who helped or loved him had almost always been killed. Not for a moment did he doubt that if some member of the Order undertook the task of teaching him, another loss would soon accost him—Voldemort would warrant as much. Harry was certain that madness would grip him if that happened. He did not want to risk the lives of others anymore, or for that matter, risk suffering, himself, from the agonizing grief caused by another death. Where he knew that Voldemort had physically split his soul into seven horcruxes, the Dark Lord was certainly doing a good job ripping apart Harry's soul—emotionally at least—into countless smithereens.

Perhaps he had been debating for too long with himself because when he looked up, he found that Ron and Hermione had taken the opportunity to embrace each other; their mouths were firmly interlocked. It had been only yesterday that they had clearly expressed their love for each other. And now their new found affection was in full "corporeal" expression, thought Harry. Their snogging lasted for far longer than he would have expected—given his presence. Not quite sure about what to do, he quickly decided to walk over to the window, wishing that his friends would watch out for their own privacy. But a feeling of guilt stole through him at these thoughts as he recalled the time when he had kissed Ginny in front of the entire Gryffindor common room. That had not been a very confidential location. Not to mention, he was in such close terms with Ron and Hermione that he knew his presence did not always register as impersonal.

He had just begun observing the lawn below when suddenly the door to the room burst open once more with a tremendous clunk. Ron and Hermione jumped apart looking very guilty. Ron had gone bloody red.

"I've got it guys! It's all connected!" exclaimed a jubilant Arthur Weasley, standing fixed in the doorway trembling from his excitement and not taking any notice of the scene he had just disrupted. The older, red haired and loving Mr. Weasley had always had a passion for muggle artifacts and when Harry and Hermione, both of whom had lived in muggle homes, offered to help him with the phone line, he had insisted that he be let alone to do it.

"Believe me…," Mr. Weasley added on a side note, "all those hours of work…couldn't have gone for nothing could they?" He seemed enormously relieved.

"Thanks a lot Mr. Weasley," Hermione said kindly, her blushed cheeks disappearing behind a broad grin. Harry too nodded his appreciation, not in the mood of talking.

"I'll come with you," Hermione added.

"And Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, as though eager to show off his achievement. "Aren't you commin?"

"Yeah…but I'll wait here 'til Hermione is finished—unless…um…you feel otherwise," Harry replied. He preferred a bit of isolation for now, badly needing time for the many thoughts that occupied his mind.

"Whatever you please, Harry," said Mr. Weasley said in a tone that indicated that he understood. He and Hermione turned and left.

Ron, who had been standing still and shooting furtive glances at Mr. Weasley all this time, gave a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them. His ghastly red appearance seemed to abate a little.

"Dad doesn't have to know yet," he said quietly.

Harry didn't know what to say and decided to remain silent.

"It's almost lunch time, Harry. Mum says the decorations for the wedding will begin immediately afterwar's," said Ron after a few moments, changing the subject.

"Oh…right…I almost forgot," Harry said, suddenly remembering his purpose for being at the Burrow in the first place. "They're gonna need our help, I think. I'ma have a hard time with that Fleur around."

Although Fleur Delacour, Bill's fiancée, was a burning beauty, she was exceptionally talkative and condescending towards those who were younger than her. Ron, who had always had a soft spot for her since their first meeting, blinked several times at Harry's remark.

"Yeah well, she's not going to be here for much longer anyway. Bill says he's bought a building near the Gringotts headquarters in Egypt. She's gonna leave with him of course," Ron seemed disappointed at his own observation.

"I'm sure Ginny and Hermione will be pleased," Harry mused. Ron paced uncomfortably.

"So long as Hermione's pleased," he muttered.

"Ooh…Ron's got a plan in mind, does he?" Harry suddenly felt a little cheery, now that the conversations had moved themselves from awkward, serious and sad subjects—to something more friendly and teasing-like.

"Harry, I'm going down to get some food from the kitchen. Getting hungry—it was a long journey in Diagon Alley," said Ron, suddenly looking exhausted and apparently desiring to bring an end to the discussion that put him in a spotlight. Harry had nearly forgotten that Ron and twins had indeed been out shopping for the wedding at Diagon Alley since breakfast.

"Go ahead…I'll come after I make that phone call, mate," said Harry, mildly disappointed that their chat had come to such an abrupt end.

He walked back to the sofa and took a seat while Ron made his way across the room towards the door. The beauty and perfection of the nearby tree seemed immensely satisfying and Harry found himself observing it for several seconds before he heard the door close behind Ron.

The clicking noise of the door seemed foreign to him however. He felt a drowsiness suddenly overcome him—a strange feeling. He wasn't sleepy and hadn't even felt the slightest tinge of sleep touch him for the past few days. Not to mention, he had been perfectly awake just a few seconds ago when he had been talking with Ron—this was utterly eccentric. All of his control over his body was ebbing—rapidly. His vision blurred and the tree he had been observing disappeared behind a misty mosaic created by his unfocused eyes. He was fighting now—struggling to pull himself out of this…whatever it was. He willed his eyes to open, and found he could not do it. He dared himself to look at the faint glint of the sun that was still present despite the mild weather—but his eyelids remained tightly locked. What was this? A force he could neither command nor control.

Yelling several times, he attempted to stretch his legs, to punch the air in front of him, to sit up. But none of these things happened. Then very abruptly, his thoughts became fuzzy—and he found himself struggling to think of the present. Then darkness surrounded him—his mind went blank.

The appearance of a blazing light jerked him from his blankness—his drowsiness a thing of the past. His eyes flew open—but only to find ubiquitous rays of light beaming at him from all directions. They were beginning to spin from what he perceived to be its center and the spinning was gaining speed. His body too began to swirl with it.

As suddenly as they had appeared, the fiery lights went out. And through the darkness Harry fell into the void of which he conceived no end, with clenched teeth and shaking fists.

Thud!

He was so shaken from his traumatic ordeal that he did not recognize where he had landed. He was still clutching onto his throat, through which he was sure that his heart would have leaped out if his fall had been prolonged, when he saw the portraits of the Hogwarts headmasters. As his senses cleared up, he noticed the whirring and puffing of silvery instruments that lay scattered about the room. Dumbledore's office.

Harry pulled himself to his feet, unsure of how he had managed to get to Hogwarts and how he would return. Still dazed, he stood still for several long minutes—not knowing what to do. Finally deciding that his legs might give away underneath him, he walked staggeringly to the nearby chair and sat down—hoping to calm his dizziness and think out a way from this place.

As soon as he sat down however, and as strangely as was this entire predicament, the door to the office flew ajar. Harry was totally taken aback, not only by the door's opening but by the very sight that now stood before him. He was quite sure Dumbledore was dead, and looked back at the walls to make sure that his portrait was still there. Sure enough, there sat a Dumbledore on the wall, looking at him serenely from above his spectacles.

But there fixed in the frame of the door, stood another Dumbledore, fully alive, looking powerful as ever, with shining blue eyes, smiling peacefully at him in greeting. The calm yet welcoming expression mixed with the knowledge that Dumbledore was actually dead, sent a chill down Harry's spine. He was so bewildered, he lost his voice.

"I see you have kept my appointment, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, the smile on his face broadening as though he had expected this all along.

"Um…Professor Dumbel-ddo-dor," Harry croaked. He couldn't say much and was still trying to decide what was happening. How was Dumbledore dead and alive at the same time?

"No, No. I am dead alright," said the professor, reading Harry's thoughts. He moved behind his desk and proceeded to take a seat. "This is not the time to discuss that however."

"We have more important concerns at this time, Harry," Dumbledore continued, reaching into his cloak pocket for something. "Forgive me, but I'll have to begin this discussion without much introduction."

Harry was too bemused to say anything.

"In our search for Voldemort's fourth horcrux, Harry, we instead discovered this fake locket," Dumbledore held up the object he had procured from his pocket.

To Harry's amazement, it was indeed the fake locket that he and the professor had painfully acquired three days ago from Voldemort's hiding place. He had had the impression that it was in his, Ron's and Hermione's possession now and was puzzled by how Dumbledore had gotten it. He suddenly remembered that the professor had himself confirmed that he was dead and decided that his conclusion that Dumbledore was holding the actual locket was silly. This must be some sort of a vision or something of the sort.

"But fortunately, I did not pay my life for nothing. The note inside this fake locket, Harry, is of enormous importance—a clue perhaps to the Horcrux that you and I were unsure of," Dumbledore looked thoughtful and added in a lighter tone, "the one that we could not identify as the fourth horcrux Harry."

"And of course," he continued after a moments pause, "the real locket that was supposed to be in place of this fake one has been destroyed."

Harry's curiosity now overwhelmed his other concerns.

"But sir, the only word we have for that is the note in the locket you're holding," Harry said dubiously, completely forgetting about the strangeness of the entire situation. "How can we trust it?"

"Good question, very good indeed, Harry," said Dumbledore. "As you may recall from study of Voldemort's life, he was extremely confident about his skills. He would never bother to apply his entire magical prowess only to hide something that was of no value to him."

"So from that, we may deduce that the note here is sincere because there was indeed a horcrux in this place. R.A.B here would not lie about such an accomplishment as overcoming Voldemort's defenses. Not to mention, I'm fairly certain R.A.B is indeed dead because otherwise he would not have taken the risk of bragging about his success—because Voldemort would have made sure he was killed anyway, Harry."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face, looking at Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

"Do you reckon you know who this R.A.B is, Professor?" Harry asked, keen now.

"I have my suspicions Harry," Dumbledore said in an almost self-deprecating tone. "But as I have proven by trusting Snape, my feelings and judgments could be wrong. Losing my touch, as many would put it."

"A single mistake out of the countless decisions you made to save the Wizarding world is not a bad record professor," Harry urged. Dumbledore smiled again, looking moved.

"I see you've not lost your faith in me, Harry," Dumbledore said softly.

"Of course I haven't. Remember? I'm Dumbledore's man through and through." Harry smiled slightly as he recalled his conversation with Rufus Scrimgour, the minister of magic, from a few months previously. For a few moments there was silence, but not an uneasy one. The old professor seemed too touched to speak.

"Thank you, Harry, Thank you," he said finally.

"You may confide your suspicions to me, Professor. I'm sure they'll turn out right," Harry pushed on kindly.

"That was the point of this meeting, Harry," Dumbledore looked up, eager to continue. "I wanted you to know that R.A.B may be closer to you than you think. Sometimes Harry, things that we think are complicated are very simple—we overwhelm our senses with complicated solutions so much so that we forget how to look at matters simply."

"You mean to say that this person R.A.B is related to me? I don't understand…um…what you mean by 'closer to me than I think'," Harry was surprised, and looked at Dumbledore inquiringly.

"No not related to you but related to someone you know Harry, or I should say, someone you knew," Dumbledore said, as though challenging him to solve the puzzle. But he was as lost as ever.

"Someone I knew? But I know everyone I knew?" his face screwed up in concentration and thought. Then the epiphany hit him like an electric shock.

"You think that the 'B' in R.A.B stands for Black?" said Harry, a look of alarm spreading on his face.

"Yes, Harry, yes. Sharp as ever, I see," Dumbledore smiled at him—the same peaceful smile that he had greeted Harry with before the start of this meeting. But this one seemed to indicate quite the opposite—farewell.

"But—" Harry couldn't finish saying, "it can't be!" before he found himself once more losing control of his senses and then abruptly spiraling out of control—the smiling face of Dumbledore pasted in his head.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I will try to update within one and a half weeks time. Please Review! Your encouragement and suggestions will definitely help!