Actually, even if I were J. K. Rowling, this story is still free and I don't get anything out fo it, so you would be able to read it just the same, right?

From the diary of Harry James Potter:

War is inevitable. It is when you live in the world that we see right now.

Obviously, there are many ways to prevent it, with the simplest solution being that people finally learnt how to let go. Simplest, but not easiest. Who in this greed-driven world of people shouting "I want it! Give it to me! That's mine!" would decide to simply step back and let go, whenever something of value is at stake?

It's strange that no matter what we do – build new cities, make a breakthrough in science, go to new planets – throughout it all, one single truth stays the same. The fact that the greatest danger to man is man himself.

So, if we can't deal with it peacefully, there's another simple enough way to stop history from repeating itself.

Whenever there is a war or a conflict, all the people involved in it have to die. And no, not only the soldiers that fight in it, but their families, close friends or anyone else who, after that side looses could say:

"I hate them, because they killed one of my friends", "It's because of them that we lost our homes", "It was their fault in the first place"...

In the end, we need to learn to let things go. If we can't get used to the idea that some things happened, but they're long in the past, then it's better to simply erase it from, not only the pages of history, but also the memory of anyone who could have seen, heard or experience it in any way.

If we don't let go of the past, the future will be tainted with grievances growing just below the surface, old animosities gaining strength while they're hidden, and somewhere in the future... people once again stabbing others in the back, basing their acts on something that happened long ago.

Months were passing one after the other, with Harry Potter's presence being all too well known in the magical community, as the body count kept raising steadily. Wizards begun to fear and hate him in really short span, even though it was common knowledge that he attacked only bad people. Those that knew they were bad, feared the time when he would finally knock on their doors. The good ones, feared and hated him in turns, since they never could know for sure if he wouldn't knock one day.

But since thus far, Harry was attacking only Death Eaters, one thing no one thought about, even though it was inevitable, was coming closer and closer to becoming true...

"My Lord! He's here!" a terrified Death Eater burst into the Dark Lord's chambers. He didn't even had the opportunity to relay that quarter of their troops were already in no condition to even stand when:

"Crucio!" came the reply.

It wasn't even that Voldemort was annoyed at such a sudden entrance. It was rather about the fact that he was the one meant to strike fear in everyone's minds. When anyone shouted that he was here, it should be him, Voldemort, the most powerful warlock of all times that everyone had in mind and trembled in fear at mere thought of his presence. Not some brat that just happened to go on a killing spree.

But as it was, he wasn't too worried about Potter being there. In fact, he considered it to be the good news. Finally he would have the opportunity to deal with the boy once an for all. Voldemort chuckled darkly as he stepped over the still twitching body, leaving his chambers to join in the fun.

Death Eaters had epiphany. Every single one of them, and as a whole group, they had a sudden realisation. And it wasn't even that grand. They simply finally understood what, in reality, they were.

Punks.

It finally struck them that they are not the most powerful group in the entire wizarding world. They finally realised that what they were doing so far was to kill some unarmed people and kids, or play cheap tricks to loose the aurors that were after them. They finally saw that the only way they could play was dirty.

That in itself was one thing, but it really struck home when they encountered someone just as ruthless as they were, but far more better at the game they were playing.

Potter didn't hold back. He wasn't inhibited by any moral code or a lifetime of proper behaviours stopping him. When he meant to kill someone, he simply di it. Quickly and brutally.

And no matter what they threw at him, no matter how cheap or dirty their move would be, he showed them that it could get even worse.

Whenever they cursed him, he didn't simply dodge or block like they were used to. Instead, he used one of their own as a shield, throwing the rotting carcase back at them. When someone got the idea to turn the entire floor into a lake of acid, he used bodies as stepping stones to simply walk out.

And when he managed to get up close, he wasn't about fighting. He was about effects. He didn't play around, but simply broke their arms to prevent them from lifting a wand at him. He crushed their windpipes to prevent even a muttered curse to come his way. And when it came to it, he snapped their legs to prevent them from running away.

Even when standing on the other side of the room, watching that happen to anyone else, every single Death Eater finally realised that they were terrorists, able only to take candy away from children, not really suited to real combat. Because even in their own game, they were only brats, not knowing what they were doing in the face of someone with greater skills.

Simply put, they weren't expecting to live much longer.

But then something strange happened. Everything stopped. They watched Potter simply stand there in the middle of the room, and they were too terrified to try anything, since they couldn't be sure if he wasn't just taunting them. But it wasn't long before a single voice spoil the previously impeccable silence.

"So glad to meet you again, Potter," Dark Lord said while stepping into the room, casually moving to stand right in front of the boy. "I received the news that you no longer use magic, and became a bit more physical, and that's why I decided to prepare this little thing for you," Voldemort continued his monologue.

"You see, what you're experiencing now is a simple Body-bind, although with couple of improvements. This version doesn't stop you from moving," the Dark Lord stated, and his lips curled into a cruel smirk when a sudden snap reverberated through the room, and left Harry with a bone jutting out of his arm, "although it does block all the movement in the body, making it act against itself," the man finished his explanation, watching with interest how the boy never even blinked when his bone got broken.

"Simply said, the more physical you get, the worse for wear your body..." the greatest warlock of all times stopped his bragging, and everyone could see that even he was baffled when the bone sticking from Harry's arm snapped back into it's place, with the flesh healing itself instantly, not leaving even the slightest scar.

"Now, that's truly unexpected," Dark Lord muttered, returning his gaze to eyes that were unwaveringly staring back at him. "You know, I intended to torture you in lenght, before finally killing you and returning your body to general population. And even though this healing ability you have there would help in making the fun last longer, I clearly see that you don't have even the slightest appreciation for pain, and general population as it is now would simply sigh with relief at the news that you are no longer alive... That's why I'm simply going to kill you," he said, while taking his wand out and pointing the tip right between Harry's eyes.

"Farewell, Harry Potter," he said, but paused. It was the slightest pause, but it was still there. The whole situation didn't feel right, with the boy standing there, drilling him with his eyes... He felt that something strange was going on, but his need to get it over with won, and after that minuscule pause, he whispered the words.

"Avada Kedavra"

Darkness.

That was all that he knew. There was no time, no space. Nothing tangible aside of that overwhelming darkness.

But then, after a second or a millennia of lasting in that suspended state, things begun to appear out of the thin air. A motorcycle that flew by, only to disappear moments after it appeared. A big black dog walking past him, vanishing when he turned to follow it with his gaze. A broken down mattress that felt strangely familiar.

All the strange things, appearing and vanishing like flashback from a long forgotten dream. The more things appeared, the longer they lasted. An envelope with a writing done in emerald ink. A piece of wood that probably was more than it looked like. A strange, ugly old hat. A broom. A baby looking like it had been flayed...

All those seemingly unrelated items, floating around him, like if he was suspended in a galaxy of his own. But he didn't pay attention to them. Not the ones that were there, nor the new ones that appeared all the time. Things were never his main interest.

Instead, he turned to a window. No, not a window. A mirror, he corrected himself, looking at the strange frame with clawed feet, and and inscription carved into it. He didn't knew why he had the idea that it was a mirror, since it clearly didn't reflect him. Instead, it showed him a couple.

A man and a woman were on the other side. They weren't happy, he noticed. The woman was screaming and beating at the glass, crying and screaming for some reason. The man was trying to calm her down, because, although still sad, he knew that there was nothing they could do. Finally, after holding her close for a while, they turned their backs to the glass and started walking away, and just as if they have left the room, the light coming from the other side vanished.

The mirror was still there, but it's once light surface changed to be entirely black, and it resembled polished obsidian more than anything. But it was then that it started doing it's proper job, reflecting whatever stood in front of him.

But was it really him? All he really saw was this white, porcelain mask, with the rest of his body tangled in black robes that seemed to not have an end. He studied the simply look of the mask, just a white surface with slits for his eyes, and he couldn't stop thinking what he really looked like, why the mask was on his face in the first place, or who really was he?

He rested his forehead against the cold surface of the mirror, trying to remember anything... But he couldn't.

"Think" he kept saying himself, but the longer he simply stood there, the angrier he got at the situation. Soon enough he started beating his head against the cold stone in front of him, trying to think of anything, but only audible thuds filled the blanks. Then, when he decided to smash this infuriating mask to pieces, one thing came to him.

"Harry!" A woman's voice screamed his name somewhere from the past.

His eyes flew open, and for the first time he noticed the sparkling green eyes staring back at him from behind the mask. That single moment lasted until the white porcelain connected with the black stone, and a lightning shaped crack appeared on it, chipping the impeccably flat surface of the mirror at the same time.

He stood there, shocked as ,little by little, the stone crumbled, falling off from it's place, and he haven't noticed when that initial crack spread through the porcelain, and the mask broke and fell from his face.

When the last of the stones fell of, he was no longer standing in front of a window or a mirror. A clear exit way stood open in front of him, with sun once again shining upon his skin...

"Go away you idiots!" Dark Lord shouted as Death Eaters ran to his side.

In the instant that he spoke out the curse, it seemed that a magical flashback caused by his wand being so close to the boy, sent some of the energy back to him, sending him to the floor. But that was of no importance. The most important thing was that the boy was finally dead.

That train of though died in an instance when Dark Lord noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned only to see the boy still standing there, although it was impossible for his body to stand when he was dead, no matter how much instinct to fight he had in his bones.

Then happened something that made Voldemort feel something he though he wouldn't feel again.

Fear.

It wasn't because of the fact that the boy lifted his hands, watching them as he flexed his finger, which clearly indicated that the spell became undone and he could move again. It wasn't even because moments after he lowered his hands he turned his gaze to stare at the Dark Lord himself, with the intensity even greater than the one before.

It was because, for the first time in a really long time, Harry Potter smirked.

AN. One more chapter and this story will be finished.