He was tired of it all in the end. Nobody knew the sufferings he had been through. He had wanted it that way. People who knew him, people like his friends and those who were like family to him, they always had told him that none of whatever happened was his fault. He was just some kid who was rather deeply involved with bad luck in all of this. But Harry had never accepted it honestly. Ever since he had come to his senses he had come to know himself as the freak, an outcast in both – the mundane and he magical world. Up until his eleventh birthday when he came to k now about his true personality he was an abused child whose abuses didn't stop even after that. At Hogwarts he was a constant target of the enemies and the media while a home he was the target of the very people under whom he lived.
Things had become worse since the end of his fourth year – when Voldemort returned back to life. While he was tortured like hell by the nose-less monster what was worse was that when he told others about Voldemort's return he could recognise the look on their faces – they didn't believe him or didn't want to trust him. He didn't bother. He wasn't stupid. All these four years and he was sure that he was not some boy who was stuck in these scenarios involving Voldemort. He was a key part of all of this. How? He didn't know but he was sure to find out about it.
The summer had been a hell for him. Not only was he abused even further but almost every day of every week saw Dudley and his friends beating the crap out of him. The Dursley couple had gone on a vacation thanks to some company trip of Vernon. The trip was just for two people and even if Dudley was everything to them a free trip was a free trip. Harry had known it then that Dudley would release his anger on him and the fun that he had been shared by his friends as well. For the entire time Harry was in that house saw him being beaten into a pulp and every night loud music was played by Dudley and his friends – partying and drinking, never minding their age because who cared?
By the time the Dursley couple returned back home Harry had several broken ribs, his left had broken twice and the right leg also being broken. He was having trouble walking far less doing the chores of the house, earning him another bout of thrashes from Vernon. Even after all of that he found himself lucky enough to be alive but wished to be out of that place as soon as possible. Fortunately the holidays were coming to an end and he knew someone from the Weaselys would be there to pick him up. So it was time for him to hide it all once again.
Ever since his third year when Harry and his classmates were taught the cosmetic charm spells Harry had found it extensively useful. Secretly mastering the spell the first thing he did after having his command over it was to hide away the scars that covered his back and thighs. This allowed him to be a bit free regarding that no one will see his scarred life. He then mastered the temporary healing spells during the extra times that he got in between classes and after the end of the day. He was lucky that no one else had found out about him. He wanted it to be that way for two reasons – he didn't want anyone to know about how he lived in the mundane world and second, Hermione would eat him up with questions regarding how he learned such spells and charms all by himself. She was already secretly jealous of him as he was better than her in defence spells – he best in his year. He had decided to keep it all a secret. The healing spells, he thought, would be helpful in keeping him alive when he was at the Dursleys but there was a problem – he couldn't use magic in the mundane world unless he was of age. So he did his own bit of research and using anonymous means succeeded in finding out that the ministry could not detect wandless magic. He had more to learn. That didn't stop him. After his experiences with his relatives before the beginning of his fifth year he was adamant to learn wandless magic to heal his wounds and fractures that he received from their wrath. They wouldn't mind seeing him in walking condition the next morning. He was a freak anyway.
It took him the entire fifth year. It could've taken him far less time if it wasn't for Umbridge and the DA but he had succeeded in the end finally but then it all shook apart when Sirius died. Harry had plans – he had plans to live with Sirius when this was all over. It didn't matter to him whether or not Sirius was proved innocent or not. Harry was never going back to his relatives after the end of his fifth year. But all his dreams were shattered by that smiling face and sorry-filled teary eyes with which Sirius had looked at him as he fell into the veil. It had shattered Harry completely from the inside. His world was over. He didn't even think about his friends during that moment. All he had wanted to do was make Lestrange pay for what she had done but he had failed at that, too and Dumbledore had to come to his rescue – again.
The next year saw his death and with the end of the leader of the light people started to lose hope. It didn't matter whether they had hope in Harry because Harry himself didn't believe that. After knowing about the prophecy, followed by the death of Dumbledore and the betrayal by Snape Harry had lost all hope himself. He had never felt this helpless before. All of this led to one thing – the empowerment of Voldemort and thanks to the scar Harry could feel it all. The nausea and headaches that drove him near-crazy made him try to kill himself several time but he stopped himself with all his might. It was a good thing that none of it happened in the presence of anyone. Harry always made sure that whenever he lost himself it would be in the vicinity of the people he knew cared about him.
But they weren't his family, they weren't Sirius. They weren't his parents, although he never knew what kind of people they were but they had seemed nice when he met their memories when he first duelled Voldemort at the end of his fourth year.
And now he stood watching the tombstone that read Dobby's name – the last thing he could lose – a loyal friend. Dumbledore had told Harry to enjoy his childhood by being in Hogwarts but he had never done that. Such opportunities never presented before him. He was never a normal child even in the magical world. For times he thought it would've been far better if he was raised in some orphanage. At least it would be better than all of this.
So he stood there – at a small hill within the vicinity of what now remained the base of the Order – watching the sunset. He never noticed the single streak rolling down his cheek. He had long ago forgotten how to cry. Turning back he looked at the small cottage that was the only remaining property of the Weaselys. It had all been his fault and nothing would change that. Nothing would change the fact that he was now a normal child. A normal child had normal problems – he didn't. It was enough – enough for others to die for him. It didn't matter what they said. It was all because of him. If the prophecy was to be believed then he was the centre of all this. So it was time to take matters into his own hands. No one else had to die anymore because he could not take any more losses. So he wondered what would be the best thing he could do. There were some thoughts that came into his mind. Some were selfish, some weren't. Some were dark while some considered everything and everyone else. He was confused, feeling helpless that he couldn't even think of something without help.
He fell down, writhing in excruciating pain as his scar began to bleed. As his vision became blurry he saw a fading Hermione and Bill, followed by Luna and Ron coming towards him with worried looks. He felt ashamed. Ever since Voldemort's return he hadn't been able to do anything on his own. He was tired of this feeling, tired of this helplessness and tired of this pain.
Harry woke up with a throbbing pain in his head. Slowly opening his eyes he felt some light breeze hitting his forehead. The source led to a navy-blue crystal looking thing above his forehead. He then realised that there were two people present in that room.
"What is that?" he asked looking at Hermione and Fleur.
"A lacrima," Fleur answered with a weak smile. "We Veela use it to store magical power."
"They are quite fascinating," Hermione added. "And the principle is very simple, too."
"How are you feeling?" Fleur asked.
"Head still hurts," Harry said with a dry throat. Hermione had sensed it the first time he spoke as he handed him a glass of water from which he took a few sips before coughing hard. "Why does my throat hurts?"
"We don't know," Hermione said. "Fleur saw you shaking after you fell on the cliff. Your scar was bleeding like anything. We were so worried, Harry!"
"Well, I am alive," Harry said with half a smile.
"Don't talk like that," Hermione said, close to tears.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Close to seven in the evening," Fleur said.
"The other Order members would be arriving anytime now," Hermione said. She then noticed Harry waving his hand in some pattern. "IS something wrong, Harry?" she asked, looking worried.
"I think you should leave the room," Fleur said. "I need to work on the lacrima to heal him properly. I appears as if the after effects of whatever happened to him is still there. Don't let anyone in."
"Okay," Hermione said reluctantly before standing up and leaving the room. Harry waved his hand and locked the room, now looking at Fleur.
"Don't get me wrong," he said, looking at Fleur who had hazy eyes, something Hermione had seemed to miss for which Harry was thankful. She would've immediately recognised what was the reason behind it. "I need your help and you will help me."
"I will help you," Fleur said with a smile.
"Tell me the uses of his lacrima and what kind of magical powers can it hold."
"All kinds," she said. "I've used healing spells to continue the supply of healing magic for you."
"How does it release magic?" he asked.
"It all depends upon the runes with which it is made," she said. Unlike this one a lacrima can also be used as a bomb releasing explosive magical spells at once and in large quantities depending how much magical power has been stored in it."
"Teach me," he said.
"How long will those two be in there?" Molly Weasely asked worriedly.
"She's healing him, mother," Bill said. "Veela magic is very delicate and she doesn't want to be disturbed."
"But it's been more than three hours," Molly exclaimed. "I am worried for both my children. Bill, open that door."
Bill knew better than to argue with his mother so giving out a tired sigh he walked over to the door and knocked it twice, being careful to be slow. There was no reply. He tried to listen through his ears but no sound came from the inside. Now he was worried as well. Turning the doorknob he found it unlocked which confused him. He was pretty sure that Hermione had said that she'd heard the door lock click. Curious he pushed open the door and was shocked at the sight.
Hermione, too, recognised it quickly.
Fleur stood there, looking towards them with the lacrima in her hand, her face expressionless. There was no Harry on the bed and the window was wide open.
"Is she under imperious?" Hermione asked.
"But how?" Arthur asked. Bill was already by his wife's side, shaking her to her senses.
"Why is that lacrima glowing?" Hermione was the first one to notice it before the entire cottage was covered in a bright light coming out of the lacrima.
Far away on the cliff standing beside Dobby's grave was Harry Potter, looking at the white glow of light with teary eyes. It was painful for him but it had to be done for the sake of his friends' safety. "I'm sorry, everyone," he said, now pointing his wand at the ball of light covering the small cottage, waiting for the final spell command from the caster. "Obliviate," Harry said, twisting his wand arm to the right side, emitting a hazy glow from the tip of his wand which enhanced the glow of the light coming out of the lacrima – a very useful thing indeed. He had known everything about it thanks to Fleur and some of his legilimency training that he had done on his own. It was easy to do it on people who trusted the person in front of them. Harry had felt bad for using Fleur like this but it was all to protect his friends. The lacrima that had just exploded in the presence of the remaining Order members had enough members present that the spell would take effect on those people as well who knew these people. It was many targets with one shot. There was no Harry Potter in this magical world. He had never existed and he would never exist in the future either. He was just Harry now, a person with no identity and one on a solo mission. Voldemort now won't be targeting his friends specifically because he, too, wouldn't remember who Harry Potter is.
"See, Dobby?" he said as tear after tear rolled down his eyes, "I now have less things to worry about. Sorry I couldn't save you or those who died on me. I wish I'd dome this sooner but what's done is done. I have the information I need to destroy Voldemort and with him not knowing me puts me at an advantage somewhere. I guess I'll see you in the heavens if I am worthy enough to go there, considering how I've betrayed my friends today." He took out a small flower that he had taken from the pot in the room where he was a few hours ago and placed it delicately on the tombstone before appparating away.