6. Master of Death (ONE-SHOT)

It was almost twenty years later.

Harry Potter was quietly giving up on life.

From the way his once-best friend Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes at Kings Crossing, he wondered if she was feeling the same way. After all, she was the smart one. She might have figured out some of the reasons their lives hadn't turned out to be at all satisfying. Then again, that might be pushing his feelings onto hers.

Harry didn't begrudge Ginevra taking her chance to have a little joy in life. He would have, if he didn't feel he was fated never to be happy anyways, and therefore, why quibble about a couple decades of love potions? The Quibbler, he thought. Luna had been talking about reviving it for years, though her careers in the magical animal world had precluded it. No wonder it's called the Quibbler, he thought. That's about all you can do once you see things as they are.

He gathered all the blackmail material he'd accumulated in 17 years as an Auror, and bundled it up. He added a Gringotts draught for a hundred thousand galleons, and used the Potter family owl to send it to Luna. He also sent all his notes and speculations about the wizarding world.

True, she might have to disguise the truth with a snowstorm of fantasy, but it would, nonetheless, be the biggest scandal since the fall of Tom Riddle. The DMLE and Ginny would be horrified.

But Harry wouldn't be around to see it.

He felt a little silly, and a little ashamed of how good robbing Dumbledore's tomb had felt. The Resurrection Stone had been in the first place he looked for it in the Forbidden Forest. The cloak was comforting, but what exactly was he meant to do?

Well, Master meant Master, right?

"I am dead to this life. If my authority permits it, I'd like to go back to when things were simple and hope was present."

Just for good measure, he waved the Elder Wand up diagonally, then down the same way. His first spell.

And just like that, he was back when things were simple, and hope was present.

However the balance between wisdom and excessive faith in his abilities had happened, the result became clear as Hermione was grabbed and dragged into the room. Harry charged in in a blind panic, and managed to hit two of the heads with a killing curse, making them drop her to the ground. He wasn't sure she was breathing.

Then, that became no longer a problem, as the third head dodged his wand and avenged its sisters.

Her best friend, Harry, was gloomy. Even Hermione, who adored him, couldn't deny that. He had a haunted look in his eyes that was totally inappropriate for an eleven-year-old. Mentioning a number of things - the third-floor corridor, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, even how dangerous Quidditch was, could make him flinch and walk towards the wall while whipping out his wand.

It was frustrating particularly that he didn't see how awesome he was. Because Harry was not just the best Defense student the school had ever seen, or the youngest Seeker in a century. No, Harry was something much rarer: he was a Seer. Hermione hadn't believed in such things herself until she knew one personally. It didn't seem to make him happy; quite the contrary. But it had proven to be the most useful magic she'd encountered.

As always, giving Harry a hug seemed to make him sit up a little and not look completely despairing, so she did. But she'd decided it was finally time to shake some sense into him.

"You seem to really hate your power, Harry," she said, suddenly. "I am guessing it involves seeing a bunch of terrible things that could happen? Maybe your power doesn't need to show you the good things to come? I'm just guessing."

"My .. power?" Harry said, sounding a little irritated.

"You know ..." Hermione answered, trying hard not to get irritated in turn. "You're a Seer, Harry."

"A what?"

"Look, I know you hate talking about it, but you should at least once. When we were first here, you had us step back behind the door I opened with Alohamora, and you kept that dog from hurting us. Then you ran down the corridor opposite to where Finch turned. And you suddenly flew over near Professor Snape and Professor Quirrel, in that Quidditch match, just as your broom started acting up, and you dodged a couple of spells before you made them both fall back and smack their heads on the bleachers. You wouldn't say who was doing it, but I suspect they were. And the one I will never forget - you went after me and demanded I leave with you and we barely made it away from a troll, of all things. I mean, any of those could have killed you, and two of them could have killed me. It's a good thing, your power. It saves people!"

It hadn't cheered him up one bit. In fact, as she spoke, he looked as if he was reliving terrible memories. As if scenes of pain and death were passing before his eyes. People said Harry Potter looked "haunted," and they were right.

"Is that what you've been thinking, all along? That I'm a 'Seer' ?"

Hermione hoped she didn't have a "Well, obviously!" look on her face, but she probably did.

Harry surprised her by hugging her tightly, but his voice was much quieter than before.

"No, Hermione. That's not my "power." That's not my power at all."