Harry had been watching his move all summer. He never stepped out of the Dursley's theshold for anything. He knew even they grew tired of the creaky footsteps pacing back and forth at all times of the night, until finally they had taken a vacation to a faraway place. Harry did not care.
It was three less things to worry about.
He had madesure every move he made after his seventeenth birthday finally came was precise and calculated. He could not afford to do everything on a limb anymore. He refused to.
His friends had written many letters over the summer, each one obviously tampered with. They all told of nothing but how their summer holidays were going, or how they all couldn't wait until the next time they met. There was nothing worth finding in these letters, but Harry still worried. He knew there were still Death Eaters among the workers in the ministry, though he wasn't sure of who they were. He grimaced at the thought of them knocking on the Weasleys' door pretending to do official business, only to kill what little hope Harry had in the world anymore. He glanced at the clock. Eleven fifty-three. Seven minutes until this house's protection wore off. Seven minutes until he was a legal wizard.
He quickly walked to his trunk and emptied its contents. He looked them all over before deciding that only four things were worth taking with him when he set out to rid the world of the most wicked wizard it had ever held. His invisibility cloak, the fake horcrux, his wizarding money, and his wand were the only things worth taking. He hated the thought of leaving his broom behind, but he knew it was too easily traced. He would simply have to walk or apparate everywhere he went from then on. He felt even worse when he turned and saw Hedwig sleeping in her cage, her eyes closed in a peaceful slumber. She would just hold him back, he knew. Too many people had seen his owl before, knew where it reported to. He glanced at the clock before pacing again. Eleven fifty-nine. "Kreacher, come here now." he yelled.
A small house-elf appeared before him, bowing it's head with a snarl. "What do you want, master?"
Harry glared down at him. He would never forgive the house-elf for what it had done to his god-father, but he knew it was necessary before the day finally came. "Take all of the items in this room besides my owl and burn them until they can never be recognized or rebuilt again, not even by magic. Do only this. Do not make any stops on the way, tell no one of this, and do not give hints either. Tell no one. Understand?" Midnight.
The house-elf lifted his head and smiled, showing a toothy grin. "Oh, but you have company. Perhaps another time then?" He sniggered maliciously.
"Wha-" Harry gasped as the house-elf was soon joined by a white-faced, black-cloaked man with hands like spiders and red slits for eyes. Lord Voldemort. Harry tried raising his wand, but found that it was no longer in his pocket. He searched the room with his eyes, frantically looking...until he saw the man standing before him twirling it in his fingers.
"Looking for this?" he hissed, smiling slightly. "Ah yes, the brother of my own wand." He looked down at the house-elf and nodded. "You have done your job. Tell Bellatrix she will be rewarded greatly."
Kreacher nodded and vanished in a puff of smoke, while Voldemort continued to stand across from Harry. He stared, looking Harry up and down before deciding to speak.
"You have done well to make it this far...though in the end I see you decided to do things the way Dumbledore would have. And look where that landed him..." He frowned, though a smile danced in his eyes. "Planning, I find, only goes so far. You see, you relied too much on that house-elf. You thought Dumbledore had been right when he told you that waste of a life had belonged to you. But, you see, in his last year of life he made very few wise assumptions. That house-elf had belonged to the rightful heir, the last of the Blacks. You were not of blood. He only pretended to belong to you. And now, he has stolen your wand for me. Pity."
Harry frowned. He could not think of a way to get out of this situation. No one was home to hear Voldemort's words. There was no spell he could use without his wand. He was left defenseless. He could only think of one thing to say. "I hate you."
Voldemort raised Harry's wand and muttered the final curse. His life flashed before him. His mind became blank. His dead body hit the floor.
A murderer's laugh penetrated the house that once held four people. Only three remained.
For weeks to come, no one knew what to do. Without the boy who lived, there was no hope. No future. People fought, but one by one fell before the Dark Lord. In the end, even the ministry fell at his hands, and destruction was all that lied in his wake. The world ended for many people the day that Harry Potter died. Those that could say so now are only far-off memories, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rules all.