I don't own Harry Potter.
Think of this as a sequel to My Godfather? where Harry wonders if Sirius is a let down waiting to happen.
X
You two deserve each other, but I don't think I'd go that far.
Harry loved the Room of Requirement.
He had learnt about the Room thanks to the House-Elves while he was hiding from the rest of the school once his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and once he had learnt about its properties, he had never looked back since. He had virtually abandoned all of his classes in the last year, and he had done the same thing with Divination, and History, and while it would have been nice to do the same thing with Umbridge's class in DADA, Harry knew he couldn't have risked it; he might have gotten away from the Dursleys before they were given a long-overdue snog by a bunch of Dementors, but the woman was still trying to find some kind of dirt on him to use by Fudge, and if he just stayed out of the classes, it would give them what they wanted, and until actual proof of Voldemort's return came in, Harry had no choice but to keep quiet.
But at the same time, Harry refused to not use the Room of Requirement, and truthfully since Trelawney was a drunk and Binns was a sleeping pill, Harry was able to use the Room for his own studying. He planned to get all Os on his OWLs and NEWTs.
Hell, Harry had even started studying more obscure magics.
Parselmagic.
Healing.
Ancient Runes.
Ancient Curses.
Transfiguration that he had never known, and likely Dumbledore had never touched.
Blood Magic.
Technomancy, the science of interfacing magic and technology. Banned by several countries, but laws were meant to be broken, and frankly, Harry was tired of obeying the stupid laws in Britain.
Warding.
Advanced duelling.
Voodoo Magic, even (Harry smirked as he remembered how he had cut off Pettigrew's finger, and stole a piece of skin off of Voldemort's back; granted, he hadn't told Dumbledore about what he had done, but he had already prepared the poppets).
Thanks to the Room, he would never have succeeded in the Triwizard Tournament; thanks to its properties, Harry could summon books, texts, manuals and scrolls which helped him learn how to take on the Hungarian Horntail he'd encountered in the First Task. By the end of the whole thing, Harry's spell repertoire had grown. Not only did he have a stronger knowledge of transfiguration and charms, to say nothing of DADA spells and greater knowledge of how to use different spells in combat, but he had also developed a strong sense of self-loathing for stupidly not going for Ancient Runes.
But thanks to the Room of Requirement, Harry had learned how to save his own life.
And now, Harry planned on using the Room of Requirement to find a way of killing Voldemort.
X
In a sick, twisted sense, Harry had always hated it whenever the Dursleys were proven to be right about anything, but they were right about the magical world in so many ways.
Thanks to the Dursleys, and thanks to the actions of so many in the magical world, Harry didn't really like either world, and he didn't care if either lived or died.
Okay, granted when he had first walked into the magical world, he'd had so many hopes, so many dreams; for the first time in his life, he would be free from the Dursleys, he would learn more about his parents, and while it had been a shock discovering they hadn't died in a car crash and they had died to save his life, something which was made so apparent whenever a Dementor was near him and made him remember his parents' last moments, which was the only piece of her parents barring the images of their faces the Mirror of Erised plucked out of the deeper recesses of his brain, so he wasn't even sure what his father was like, thank you very much, Professor Snape, who seemed to think he knew his father, although Harry cursed his father for whatever feud he had with Snape, who just refused to grow up and get a life.
Okay, he had learnt some good things about his parents, and some bad things. He had learnt his mother was beautiful, smart, and brilliant… and that was all he had learnt, really, barring the fact she was a muggle-born witch. Harry had learnt more about James Potter than he had about Lily Evans, almost like the magical world, the teachers especially those who had taught his mother, were ashamed of her presence because of her heritage.
Harry remembered how that year had gone when Ginny Weasley was possessed by Voldemort's diary because Lucius Malfoy was nursing his pride because Ginny's father had led raids on different homes, and she unleashed the basilisk although whether or not Malfoy understood what was in the Chamber of Secrets was up for debate; it meant nothing to the evil ponce, who merely cared for his sick philosophy and didn't care who was killed or hurt, but he still found it hard to believe Malfoy would willingly endanger his own son unless the ponce was that callous….
But one thing he had noted was how the magical world ignored the fact that just because he could speak parseltongue, didn't mean he was likely the only one, nor did it mean anything.
No.
The students at Hogwarts had taken his talent and accused him of unleashing the basilisk, and more than once he had a sickening feeling Ron and Hermione had begun believing the lies the likes of which Ernie MacMillian, Justin Finch Fletchley, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were spreading through the school. It wasn't until Harry had stumbled across the Room of Requirement, and discovered the incredible wealth of knowledge it could contain that Harry learned about magical oaths, but by then it was too late; everyone by that point knew he hadn't had anything to do with the attacks. Harry had been relieved by that, it gave him an excuse not to leave the school, which he had been tempted to do because he was tired of being treated like shit, but everything had been resolved before he put his plans into place.
But while everyone knew he wasn't the one behind the attacks, Harry had never forgiven or forgotten the faces, the names of the students who had hexed him, and whispered about him, and he vowed to stay away from them all.
And so, when he left Hogwarts for the summer, Harry stopped seeing the place as home. He had come to see for the very first time that McGonagall was right; the Houses were like family, and they were as prejudiced and stupid as the Dursleys. But at the same time, he had come up with the realisation he would need to set up an escape plan, should the students turn on him once more.
He had been hexed in the corridors.
He had been whispered about in the corridors.
His so-called friends had barely stuck with him.
On the Quidditch team, his so-called teammates had either avoided him or the Weasley twins had used him for target practice, but Wood had only stopped them going so far because he didn't want to train a new Seeker. Nice priorities.
Not once did it ever occur to them he might be innocent, and he might not even know what parseltongue was, or what the consequences of speaking in the language would do. If he had known, then Harry would have gladly left Justin to face the snake. Harry didn't want to live like that again, so during the summer, he formed a plan. He would take steps to protect himself.
He would find a place in Hogwarts, an old disused classroom or something along those lines, reasonably close to the kitchens, and to the Quidditch showers. If anyone turned on him once again, then he would move in there. He would also look for other similar rooms if he needed to; with the size of the castle, it wouldn't be difficult to set up a bed in some remote part of the castle.
If things were really bad, he'd leave. The last part was he wasn't sure how he could do it, but he had a whole couple of months to find a decent way of doing it.
Harry returned to Hogwarts for his third year, prepared to cut his losses and take the needed steps he had spent a whole summer coming up with to avoid the student body if he was accused of anything again, although the shadows of the Dementors had given him another problem to worry about, on top of encountering two friends of his father.
Harry had been extremely sceptical of both Sirius Black and Remus Lupin; on one hand, he could understand Sirius being locked up for a crime he hadn't committed, but that did not excuse the fact he'd gotten into that situation in the first place. With Lupin, Harry just found it hard to take him seriously, with that stupid sob story about how being a werewolf was hard. The man just wasn't thinking.
While the school hadn't turned on him in his third year, getting the rooms he wanted proved harder because the school was on the alert in case Sirius Black, a man whom everyone believed to be a Death Eater, and the right-hand man of Voldemort himself, who had betrayed the Potters, had escaped prison to kill Harry himself. While he was disturbed by the twisted ways the Ministry had come up with to protect him, Harry had used the time to study instead, and he had secretly enhanced his repertoire, and one of the biggest victories of that cause was the inclusion of the Patronus charm which helped him drive the Dementors away.
Long story short, he had discovered the Ministry and the Magical world had gotten the whole thing wrong, as usual. Instead of investigating or bothering to see if there was more to the story than what met the eye, the Ministry blamed Sirius Black instead of probing deeper. If they had bothered to investigate, Harry's godfather might have never been sent to prison, although truthfully a part of Harry wondered if perhaps it was a good thing the Marauder had been thrown into Azkaban, but he wouldn't realise that until later, but when he saw Sirius fly away on Buckbeaks' back while he reflected on how many times during his childhood he had hoped for someone to take him away from the Dursleys only to realise it was never going to happen, and he had to start living in reality even if it fucking hurt, he had held out some hope even if the part of him which had taught him to look at life through narrowed, suspicious eyes, worried if he was going to be let down again.
He should have known better than to trust Sirius.
In fourth year, the Triwizard Tournament was hosted by Hogwarts. A dangerous international tournament where three of the largest magical schools would compete to win and Harry was thrown into it. Dumbledore played his damn games once more, even when the softer-brained bastard admitted someone wanted him dead, what did the headmaster and McGonagall do? They didn't do anything when the school turned on him again; the badges were pathetic, a childish show of bullying which Harry ignored although it meant he punched Malfoy so hard it broke one of the blond bastard's teeth when Malfoy refused to just back off and get a fucking life.
Harry received detention.
He didn't go.
He wasn't going to go to detention in a school where bullies were protected, but he kept himself to himself afterwards and he didn't bother with classes, preferring to stick to the Room of Requirement, since it was a better classroom and from there he could master rune based magic quickly, especially when he saw the advantages. Harry sent three letters to Lupin and Black, and he didn't receive a reply to any of them. When he had sent the first letters, he had decided to try to communicate with them three times; if they didn't bother by letter number 3, then he would send them a cursed Howler, telling them he wanted nothing to do with them anymore, that they were as bad as Pettigrew.
He sent three letters.
He didn't get anything back.
He sent them cursed Howlers, spewing out insults and five minutes of poison before the curses activated, and Harry chose several extremely painful curses, but one of his favourites was a curse that paralysed the victim for 48 hours, burning their nerves with agony, so he had used that.
By the end of the year, Harry had gotten a good idea of who his friends and enemies were, and this was before he had dealt with Voldemort, who stole some of his blood for a resurrection ritual. He could hardly believe it, once he had given the whole thing some thought, later on, Voldemort had made so many pointless mistakes.
Why didn't he just get someone to steal his blood if it was all he wanted?
Why did he have to play such an elaborate game while Dumbledore looked on?
But he'd had enough this time. He was sick of the magical world. He was sick of the lies, the half-truths, the never-ending danger, and how Dumbledore, Black and everyone else were determined to make him a prisoner for his entire life. Fudge was already trying to destroy his reputation, although truthfully he didn't care about that, it was just the fact the idiot cared more for his skin rather than anything else that Harry resented, and he also hated it when the magical world refused to think for themselves. They would rather believe Fudge's word than their sense. Why would he lie about Voldemort's return?
As his fifth year began, Harry was relieved he had left the Dursleys and he had gone off to Australia for much of the holiday while he completed his homework early. Sure, the Dursleys and several neighbours got kissed by Dementors which caused a lot of problems for Fudge, whose primary job in the Ministry was keeping the Statute of Secrecy from slipping. The idiot had done a bang-up job. Harry wasn't concerned about the opinions in the magical world. It was just the perfect excuse he needed to just do nothing. The magical world had created the problems which led to Voldemort and they had not done anything to stop him since. Why should he bother?
In Australia, Harry had enjoyed the sun and light, and he had even learnt how to surf and dive and swim. And he'd quickly gained a job for all three (okay, he had needed to avoid the sharks, but it was enjoyable). And then he had returned to Hogwarts where he had found that Dumbledore, and his little gang, had been trying to find him for some time, and it was also when he had learnt about the Dementor attack but Harry wasn't concerned about it, or the loss of the Dursleys.
X
As the months passed, Harry's plans for the Horcruxes continued to gain ground, especially once he had found out what was in his scar, and what he could do about it. In the meantime, Harry went about his business, and all that time Umbridge was getting worse and worse although there was only so much she could do while Fudge was under investigation for his dismal failure to contain Dementors. From what the Daily Prophet was saying, the ICW were not happy with the fact the idiot had made such a mess of the whole thing. From what Harry had heard, Fudge had, typically, tried to suppress the truth, but this time it had blown up in his face.
In public, Harry saw no reason to hide some of his skills, especially with silent casting. It had taken him a while to learn how to make it work, but once he had, he found it easier to cast spells. Sadly he had been seen doing just that. Hermione had seen him cast silently, and realised he could teach her, but on top of that she saw him as the best person who could help her, and others, with Defence magic. When Hermione suggested to Harry to the point of begging that he help teach students Defence, Harry didn't even need to think about his reaction. He refused point blank.
"No, Hermione," Harry replied calmly even as he focused on his work.
"Harry! You can't keep on dismissing this," Hermione said. "Umbridge is destroying Defence, there's a Dark Lord out there, and we need to learn how to defend ourselves. If we go out there, we'll be hopeless!"
Harry found it laughable that this girl who had gone with the crowd due to unthinking peer pressure was suddenly begging him for help. "That's your fault and their own, isn't it?" Harry pointed out darkly as he stared at Hermione, his residual anger at how this girl had treated him was still there. "The students of this school have never used their initiative to go for self-study when it comes to defence, and Dumbledore refuses to do anything about the curse over the post. I can't be held responsible for picking up the pieces, and I don't want to help. What, are you and the whole wizarding world so stupid you can't do anything for yourselves?" Harry shook his head. "Why the fuck are you talking to me in the first place?"
"Harry-!" Hermione tried to say, but he refused to listen.
"Last year, you were a bitch," Harry sneered back. "You stood by, joining those Weasels. You betrayed me. I don't tolerate betrayal, you wore one of those fucking badges, you kept telling anyone who listened I was a cheat, you scorned me, you shouted at me in public even after everything I did for you, you ungrateful tart! You do all of that, and you have the nerve to tell me I have to teach defence. Why? For a bunch of people who don't deserve it? If you lot can't do something yourselves, then you deserve everything you get, and if you think I'm going to cry my heart out about a bunch of wastes of space in this poxy school, you don't know me at all! Now stay away from me!"
X
As the months passed, Harry continued to isolate himself while he ignored Sirius, who seemed to have changed his tune. During the summer, Sirius had merely told him to return to the Dursleys, where he'd be safe and sound. But ever since the year had started, and since that confrontation with Hermione where his former friend had come to see the seed he'd planted in her head, the seed that was planted in the minds of many muggle-borns, the wizarding world was just not worth it, Sirius had likely been told about what he said, and since then he had changed the tune in his letters, but Harry destroyed each letter.
If Sirius had honestly thought for one nanosecond he was going to have a Christmas where his godson would be happy, that he'd talk to him despite the stupid embargo Dumbledore put in place, he was in for a shock.
Sirius had let him down, and he'd reached the end of his patience. Harry had been worried ever since he had seen Sirius fly off on Buckbeak's back two years ago, of the man his parents had chosen to be his godfather would turn into a disappointment. Well, he had. Harry didn't need Sirius in his life, and he wasn't sure whether to laugh or weep at the crap Sirius came out with while he was at the Order's HQ. Sirius kept telling him to cheer up, to talk, and that one day they live as father and son.
Bollocks.
And Harry truly wanted to yell that at the bastard.
That ship had stalled before it could even set sail. Sirius had never been able to take responsibility, and even worse he was a man child who could barely look after himself, telling him how to live his life when he had had ten years of living with nobody but himself to rely on, and now he had some delusional ex-convict who liked confusing him with his dead father telling him how to live when he could barely get his socks on.
And he honestly thought he could take care of a 15-year-old who just didn't care anymore when in his own house, he let a loud-mouthed bitch with too much time on her hands boss him around. Where was his pride? Actually, why the hell did the Order need to use the dump as a rent-free hotel?
If Harry owned a house like this, he would have charged them rent, and if they didn't like it he would have cursed them so badly they'd be unable to walk for a month.
The good news was by the end of the year, he would be able to leave. The Horcruxes, especially the one in his scar, were ready, and he had taken care of the thing in his head. Harry had dealt with it before the attack which led to Arthur Weasley's death. The news shook the Weasleys, but Harry was just as shaken, even though Dumbledore was now looking at him in suspicion and even worry, and a dash of disappointment as if one of his fabled plans had fallen through.
Harry had avoided Sirius and the others when he got to the Order's Headquarters, but when he got there, he had seen first hand the Order simply didn't trust him, they kept hiding information from him, and after a few hours he had decided to let them just live with their delusions. Harry didn't understand them at all, especially when he showed zero interest.
But one thing of note that interested him was how the Order tried to go out of their way to keep Sirius away from Harry. It was subtle at first, but Harry had noticed while Sirius just went along with it without even an apology towards Harry, but the boy didn't care; it was obvious Dumbledore was trying to keep them apart, even now he was desperate for his former boy hero to do his job, but Harry wondered what Dumbledore was thinking since everything he was doing was counterproductive.
Harry was already out of his control, refusing contact with his spies in Hogwarts and the Order.
Harry had already begun expanding his spell repertoire while keeping away from anyone who might obliviate his knowledge.
And Harry already had a way of ending the war, once and for all.
It also didn't take him long to realise the Order was worthless. Christmas was unbearable with the Weasleys and the state they were in, but what was worse was how Dumbledore was often gazing at him with the same suspicion-laden disappointed looks.
Boohoo.
X
As he stood staring at the necklace which contained the piece of Voldemort's soul - Harry wondered if the idiot had even bothered to properly investigate these filthy things; they not only didn't work as was hoped but they were so easy to destroy, that Harry doubted that Voldemort would have even used them if he had known their downsides, but he had discovered one or two of the downsides; just not all of them - Harry couldn't believe how easy this was going to be.
The news that Voldemort had been seen in the Ministry only a few days ago had shaken the magical world now they knew Fudge had been wrong, about a great many things. Now the newspapers were full of praise for the Boy Who Lived, once again; well Harry would let them write whatever they wanted. He raised his wand.
"From hell's heart, I stab at thee," he whispered, clamping down his occlumency barriers when he felt the Horcrux react to the threat. The soul fragments had a really strong survival instinct, right now the piece in the necklace was going off. But the Horcrux was reacting too late as he mentally chanted the Ancient Egpytian spell, making the Horcrux scream as the many soul pieces were attracted into the necklace.
The largest piece was the one inside Voldemort's constructed body. The black cloud screamed threats, adding please and promises, but it couldn't fight the spell even if it tried. And boy, did it try. Voldemort's soul pieces were not the only ones, the magic of the Death Eaters also joined the Dark Lord's soul pieces.
"For hates' sake," Harry hissed as the spell began draining the magic of Voldemort and his followers, "I spit my last breath at you."
While he privately believed the magical world and Voldemort deserved each other, Harry wanted this over with, fast.
With a final scream from Voldemort, the amulet exploded in light, making Harry leapt back. A few moments later when he was positive the Dark Lord was gone, Harry examined the amulet, waving his wand, chanting spells in languages not even taught at Hogwarts, never mind the magical world.
There was nothing. Voldemort was gone, and so were his followers.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. Whatever Voldemort had planned to do, no longer mattered in the grand scheme of things. And whatever the Death Eaters would have done also didn't matter, they had been punished for their crimes against life, because Voldemort would have likely massacred everything around him; man, woman, child, and animals and plants. Life meant nothing to a psychopath who wanted to be the greatest sorcerer in the world, and the only way he could do that would be to wipe out everything and everyone who would become a threat to him.
Harry didn't know what Dumbledore's plans for the war were, now they were ashes in the wind, and the old wizard had been wrong, so wrong, about many things.
A few days later when the end of term came, Harry left the Hogwarts Express for the last time. He would stay in Britain for another couple of weeks, studying for his NEWTs before he scarpered for good before he left Britain for greener pastures, and he would never return to Britain again. All he wanted was to live somewhere better than this place. While he was sorry it hadn't worked out, Harry wished some other way had been needed and everyone who'd 'liked' his parents had wanted to do right by him, he was not sorry for the outcome.
Voldemort was dead.
He was almost free, and soon he would do what he wanted, and nobody would meddle in his life again. And even better, no one from his past would come back to haunt him once he moved, the new measures would ensure that.