Harry knew that seeking refuge in an old shack wasn't his best idea in the world, but it was all that he could do. If only that one witch with the wild hair and kind eyes were there; all he wanted was her accusing tone to keep him in check. He knew that he had grown into her accusation that most wizards don’t have common sense. Had she made that accusation? If she had, when had it been? Then there was the gangly ginger. He would, of course, make some sort of joke to cut the tension that was running through his body.
The issue was that They were onto him again. After years of running away from Them, you would think that They would just leave him alone. That was all he ever really wanted! But no, now he was a prize to obtain; something that was sought after.
No one had won the war, not yet. And that was Harry's fault. He knew that, but he wasn't going to choose sides. He just couldn't choose sides at this point; both sides had done so much for him. The 'light' had given him an identity, someone to be. The 'dark' had given him a life, something to do every day. How could he choose between love and necessity; who was he to make that decision?
He was finally brought back from his musings by the doorknob rattling. Rats, he had wished they would just pass over this place. Who would be stupid enough to hide in a shack?!
He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the door, fully expecting some form of his worst nightmare to blow through it. But, he didn't know what his worst nightmare was anymore. Dementors, perhaps? No, he had grown too much for that. What was there to fear when you were too tired to dream? If there were no dreams, could there be nightmares?
"The kid has got to be in there," said a muffled voice. This shook Harry out of his reverie. He focused for the first time in a long while, it sounded to him like it would belong to a female Death Eater; but in this world Harry didn't know anything; not anymore.
"Are you sure about this one, mate?"
"Positive." Would they just hurry it up already? There is no point in just chattering. If Harry were trying he could've gotten away already!
"Shit," he mumbled, "That's what I was supposed to be doing!"
But, what was the best way to do it? Send a wave of magic at them that was powerful enough to knock them out, or just apparate silently like he had learned to do? Better yet, why didn't he turn into his animagus form? That would frighten them quite a bit! Or would it? Perhaps the thought of being trapped in this shack was what Harry was afraid of, and an animal being in here wouldn’t be nearly as terrifying to the Death Eaters as it was to him.
The doorknob slowly turned, which reminded Harry that he couldn't just plan this one out. He had to actually do what he was good at this time, just fight and fly.
Harry tried to turn into his animagus, which was an Australian Shepherd, but his body and magic refused to work for him. He tried to send out a wave of magic to knock out his pursuers, but his magic wouldn't work, and he wouldn't dare apparate in case he splinched himself like Ron had.
Ron. The name sent a nostalgic pain through Harry. He tried to forget names, they only hurt him in the end, but why had Ron and Hermione left him? Why did his mum and dad leave him? Why had Sirius and Remus left him? Peter had even left him to a certain extent. Everyone left him in the end… Why was that?
He sat there in silence as his mind finally figured out what his body and his magic had. He was tired of running. Why should he run? He had no one else to live for. If it did happen to be the Death Eaters, They wouldn't do anything because they wanted Voldemort to kill him; once and for all. One Avada missing him was fine, but two? Harry couldn't be invincible; no one was.
Finally, the door creaked open, and there stood two tall, imposing people in long, black cloaks and bone white masks. "So, it was Death Eaters," said Harry's amused mind.
"We've found you, Potter!" One of them shouted. Harry wished he knew who they were, they seemed interesting enough.
"So, it seems you have." Harry mused quietly.
They looked at each other and then back to Harry, as if expecting something from him. So, they wanted a glorious tale of how they had finally brought Harry Potter into the Dark Lords custody? So they wanted battle scars?
They wouldn't be getting those today.
Finally, after at least a minute's worth of silence, Harry stood up, "Well, we best be on our way. Speaking of which, where are we going anyways?"
One of them grabbed his skinny left arm and growled, "Don't try to get yourself out of this, Potter! We've got you, fair and square!"
Harry raised an amused eyebrow at the person. It was obviously the girl that had spoken earlier; she was seemingly about the same age as Harry was, around 43 years old. Her words struck a chord inside of him though, and his internal monologue mused that she was a Death Eater, there was no 'fair and square.'
"Well then, take me to your leader." Harry said with a smirk, knowing a Death Eater would never understand what he had just said, he would take it as a literal.
Finally, the man got irritated enough to just apparate out of there, leaving a simply charmed note that Harry had dropped where they had once stood.
Voldemort was not in the best of moods as his two newest Death Eaters walked into his throne room, toting a man with them. No doubt they thought this man was Harry Potter. They saw a man with Black hair and Green eyes and they automatically believed it was The-Boy-Who-Lived. These two were very troublesome, and if this was not the actual Harry Potter he was going to flip his lid and just kill them.
Their names were Dirk Creswell and Marietta Edgecombe. Dirk was a Mudblood, so he was expendable. He was here for the pure purpose of getting information. The girl was a pureblood, a Ravenclaw, in fact. You would think that she would be smarter… but no. The only reason that she was here was because she had told Umbridge about Harry Potter's Army of sorts while they were in school.
They dropped the man to the ground, and he just stayed there like a rag doll. Maybe they had only brought back the empty shell of a man this time? With these two it seemed very likely. There was just a shortage of good help now.
Lucius Malfoy and his family had run off after the battle where Harry Potter had feigned death, and Voldemort had so foolishly killed Snape. He should've seen that it was actually Draco who had control of the wand. Who it was now is still unknown to Voldemort, and that prospect bothers him greatly.
Dirk and Marietta drop to their knees in front of Voldemort and kissed the hem of his robes. He felt like making them squirm so he kept silent for a few minutes, "You may rise." Voldemort hissed in Parstletounge.
He saw the stranger stir as they stood. Voldemort saw a flash of a strange scar, and he knew that they hadn't messed up this time.
"You are dismissed." he said in an icy voice.
They fled from the room, knowing they would gain no praise or punishment from Voldemort today. After a long period of time, the feeble looking man stood up and looked at him square in the eyes. The stranger wasn't frightened, or worried. There were no emotions in his unearthly eyes.
"Hello, Tom," He said quietly. His voice was still strong after all of these years… Voldemort still wanted to break that strong voice piece by piece.
"Why are you here, Potter?" Voldemort’s voice sounded tired to his ears, and he was shocked to see that Potter's face reflected his voice.
"You know why I'm here."
It's true. He did know why he was here, but he didn't want to let him know. The shock of seeing him again after almost 20 years was too much, "Why?" Voldemort whispered in a hoarse voice.
"Because I still need you, Tom; no matter how long we are apart, I'll always need you."
"Lies!" He hissed.
"Please, Tom, just liste-…"
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort’s voice rang out.
There was a loud bang as his wand shot out the curse, and all was silent afterwards except for the flop of Harry falling to the ground. Voldemort stood there with his chest heaving and his eyes turning a bright red. Why hadn't he done that before? Why had he never killed him before?
Because you loved him.
Voldemort broke down in that moment, his first and last moment of vulnerability. Harry Potter was dead, dead by his hand. His Harry was dead. Black tears trekked their ways down his cheeks. He had loved him… Voldemort had killed the man he loved. Why had he just let Voldemort kill him? Why couldn't he still be here with him? What was love without the one you loved? Why did Voldemort love him anyways, he was after all just a thorn in his side!
Weeks passed before Voldemort could finally convince those two dunderheads to show him where Harry had hidden. They walked him towards a rundown shack in the middle of nowhere and let Voldemort walk in there alone. By now there was news everywhere about Harry Potter's death. No one tried to resist him anymore; they just did as they were told. Without Harry, their spirits were gone; and so were Voldemorts.
He saw a plain white paper on the ground, and scanned it for enchantments. There was only a very weak notice-me-not charm on it. He slowly picked it up and read it, knowing that the information in it would be very important; it was obvious that it was created by Harry.
To whoever should find this and care enough to read it,
This was the last place that the late Harry James Potter had run to in his desperation to get away from the darkness. This was also the last place that he had run to in his desperate attempt to get rid of the light.
He had gone through too many losses and he had gained so little. There will never be a true resting place of Harry James Potter because one cannot sleep when you are in such a situation. All you can do, dear reader, is hope that he met his demise with a smile; for there is no greater pleasure to a dying man than the thought of embracing death as a true friend.
Harry has left three things to the world, and for those who should find them. One is a cloak that turns things invisible. But don't worry, you can find it if you set it down. The second, a ring that brings those back from the grave, but they will never be truly whole again. And last, is a wand, made of Elder wood, with a string of trestle hair in the middle of it. Whoever gains these three items shall be the master of death himself.
But only I shall be Death's true friend. For I have met him and been pushed back out of his grasp many a time. That's all that matters in the end; sometimes you just need to have a friend in high places.
Harry James Potter,
Order of Merlin (Second class),
Master of Death,
Voldemort held in his pain as he pocketed the note. There would be time for grieving some other day, but not today. Then again, why should he grieve? The thorn in his side had been removed, however painful the removal was. He shook his head as if to rid himself of these thoughts; he could always do something about the note some other day. That is all that he could ever do.
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