Wow, this got more followers than expected!

C'mon everyone else, how am I meant to know if it's any good unless you tell me? Review and let me know! Anyways, now to start a bit more of this story.

I should put a disclaimer here: Obviously, with this being a fanfiction site and all, I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto. This is the only time I'll put it here.


*o*o*o*Time Skip*o*o*o*


He shifted from side to side as he knelt before that place of memories, his battle-weary eyes hidden behind closed lids. While his mental shields were strong enough to withstand even the most brutal of attacks, he was helpless against the memories that flooded his mind. Memories of a long and lonely past, his years at Hogwarts, his godfather's death, and Voldemort's rise. His face remained neutral, though he wanted nothing more than to kick, scream and cry to the heavens at the injustice of it all. He may have won the war, but for what? For whom? All his past 'allies' were killed, those he cared about tortured in front of him as he watched, helpless. Until they begged for death, for release from the pain.

And they all blamed him.

But now, his chance to join them was here. But the flutter of the cloth seemed to taunt him, as if it was saying 'You couldn't save any of them, so now you're going to admit you were wrong and join them? Give me one valid reason why I should let you.' And he couldn't answer. Not without admitting that Death was right; he couldn't save anyone except himself. And to do that, he left everyone behind to die.

Weariness filled his soul as he hung his head, drowning in the flood of emotions that swirled around him.

He had given the Wizarding world all they had asked for and so much more, but gained nothing in return. And after his usefulness was over he was discarded, left alone once again as he tried to fit into the side of the world that he knew and loved. On the other side, no one knew who he was or what he'd done. It was the first time he didn't feel the pressure of a whole world on his shoulders. He made friends; he even got a job. But he never could bridge the gap between himself and his new friends; it just wasn't something he knew how to accomplish. Not with everything he had done to finish the horrible, bloody war.

He tried. Oh, how he tried. But the world couldn't see past the image of the hero that they had created, to see the shy, frightened, and alone man that wanted nothing more than to live a normal life. He was always raised to be sacrificed, raised to protect the world that was responsible for his past. Raised to protect a world that shunned him after the deed was done, a world that hadn't expected him to live.

A world that wanted-no, needed him to die so they could return to their normal lives. And now he had found his way.

Death. A permanent solution to a permanent problem.

No one knew what someone had to give up to the Veil in order to die before their time, they all thought it was a job the Veil did willingly; granting you a one-way ticket to Death's realm. They were correct, but they were also wrong. He had retreated from the world when the sole few surviving Death Eaters killed the people he was staying and working with, choosing to hide away forever from the world that had abandoned him so long ago. Not wanted anywhere, he was able to secure a loose job of sorts as far away from the public as possible: researching Death and other phenomenon in the Department of Mysteries. And he enjoyed it, the peace, the solitude. Not to mention he practically lived there, his one and only loyal servant Dobby's numerous children always popping in to feed him and remind him to sleep when he forgot. Harry silently thanked them often, they weren't timid and fearful like the other house-elves after being around him so much, but they would still threaten to burst into tears every time he thanked them vocally. Luckily for him, they were happy tears. They had stood beside him through it all, silently supporting him where needed. They even did some of his dirty work, with naught a word of complaint on their lips. They did it because they could. Because they loved him.

But after many long years he had finished. The rustle of torn fabric, not unlike the long-destroyed Dementor's cloaks, fluttered gently in a faint wind, something that could only be felt when one's face was almost touching the fabric. Pale hands slowly reached out to brush against the fabric, the shell of a former hero suppressing a shudder at the chill of the cloth, the sense of foreboding that slithered up his spine. That feeling of loneliness and despair touched him again as he slowly stood, wincing as his knees creaked and protested and feeling slowly returned to them. As he stepped forward he reflected, I would never have had the courage to do what was truly right back then.

And Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Live-And-Wouldn't-Bloody-Die, pariah of the Wizarding world and a broken man, stepped forward into Death's waiting arms to end it all.


The updates will fluctuate between once a couple of weeks, to anywhere up to a couple of months. University is a pain in the butt like that...Especially in exam season! Hence why this chapter is late, plus I kinda got addicted to Doctor Who... Also sorry that it's so short, I couldn't find a good way to end it but ending it here worked out good for my next chapter, so I'll leave it here.

So, like it or hate it? Either way, I'd like to hear your opinion :)