J. K. Rowling finished her books a while ago, and since this story is reaching it's end now... Well, you see where I'm going with this, right?


Once upon a time, something drastic was done to an innocent man. When as a result of that he retaliated in the only way known to him, he was called a monster. But the most interesting part happened when that part had ended, giving way to something new, entirely.

Harry Potter was gone. More correct of a statement would be that there were no news of him. After months of corpses being brought in at a steady pace, it was like if he simply vanished from the face of the earth. But what was more interesting, was that all the shouts of hate were gone with him.

It wasn't even about Death Eaters, whom no one ever saw again. It was that without the bombshells falling, even as the smoke cleared, no one showed to point fingers or state who was responsible for all of this. All of the wizarding families simply stayed hidden at their homes, too scared of the thought of something else coming to take a peak.

Then, slowly, everything returned to normal. Shopkeepers once again sold their merchandise, with crowds once again filling once empty streets. And in time, even that pesky thought that there was someone out there to get them was pushed to the back of their minds.

Well, not quite so, as there were many times over those first few days, when a group of complete strangers, pointed their wands at the same dark alley, only to see a cat dart from it. Over the following years it became a norm, and everyone found solace in thought that, if a threat appeared, they wouldn't be the only ones to fight it immediately.

It seamed that wizards finally learned to deal with their problems as they came, since if they didn't, there was never a way to know who would end up being dead.

A certain bushy-haired know-it-all saw the beginning of it all, and throughout the years, she remained the only to tell the tale as it really went. Without diminishing faults on either side. And all of it because of a certain diary...


Hermione once again found her way to what earlier was Harry Potter's bed at Hogwarts.

It wasn't because of any kind of trouble that touched her personally. Truth be told, Hogwarts was a lot more quiet than it was before. With Harry taking out all of the leading hate-mongers in the school, and that kind of behaviour not occurring to them ever again, there was a definitely less conflicts appearing all around.

The rest of the school, not knowing how to behave in the face of those happenings, simply stayed quiet, with gossip-windmill dying a sudden death. In time, that appeared to be the new norm, with everyone trying to not step on anyone's toes.

Hermione herself had no problem with that. Especially since Ron started listening. At first he still had problems with his temper rising, but then he simply went on a walk... A really long walk. By the time he returned, he always had the thing that troubled him figured out, and could once again continue their conversation.

It also made Hermione to be more forgiving to mistakes. Something that constantly made her blush, since she haven't realised before just how far that particular habit of hers went. Throwing Luna Lovegood into the mix, with her slowly getting used to trusting other people, the new trio had more than enough of awkward moments.

That's why Hermione sometimes visited the asylum that she made for herself out of Harry's bed. It was no longer because of anguish. Now it was because she simply missed him. With Harry around, no matter how awkward or scary a situation was, he always did something, anything, to make things better. That kind of behaviour always came naturally to him...

That's why she regularly returned to his diary, reading page after page. But she no longer thought that it was him. Instead, she saw it as everything that he wasn't. All the things that were around him that he couldn't fix or make better. Everything that bothered him and wouldn't let him rest.

She just couldn't believe how much of it there was.

But this time, when she finally reached the last page, she stopped. She simply stared at the writing, not believing her eyes. She knew Harry's writing better than anyone. Probably better than he, himself. She went through all those scrawled loops so many times that she probably could forge it perfectly, if she only tried.

But when she opened the last page, she no longer saw the same writing. Oh, it was Harry alright. Even with what little she knew about handwriting analysis, she could instinctively tell that what she had in front of her was written by Harry's hand. But... the problem was that it was no longer him. At least not the boy that she knew.

She followed the ink, loop by loop, and she couldn't believe how sure each stroke looked like. It was no longer a writing of a shy, introvertic boy. It was now a writing of a strong man, sure of himself and the things that he stood for.

Getting past how the letters looked like, she finally got to reading what was written on the paper.


Last entry from the diary of Harry James Potter:

Dear Hermione,

How are you? What interesting happened while I was away? Is Crookshanks still waking you up in the middle of the night?

Yeah... I honestly don't know what happened with times when those were the things that I honestly wanted to know. Those time that that was all that mattered... It seems like such a long time ago.

I bet you have lots of questions, but before you burst, I really have to say I'm sorry, because I don't know anything myself. Even now, when I'm finally back, I don't know how my body still knows how to do all those things. My best guess is muscle memory.

My magic is gone, that one is for sure. But instead, I'm faster than eye can see. I'm strong enough to not know what exactly I can't move, since I can't find anything large enough to check. And my body heals fast enough to make me thing that I may have became immortal... Don't ask me about that, you would have to feel what I feel to understand.

But what truly is the most radical change, is how I perceive things around me.

Hermione, I can feel the world. I sense, in a way, everything that is. And you won't believe what a feeling it is just to walk by a couple in love. Happiness doesn't feel anything like excitement, elation, or anything that compares to feeling at the top of the world.

Instead, it's a gentle breeze that kisses your cheek while you watch a beautiful sunset, at the end of the perfect day. Happiness is that moment of contentment that make you sigh since, even if you don't have all the things in the world, the things that you do have, are all that really matters...

But, like with everything, there's always the other side of the coin. Hate, anger, jealousy... That's actually why I'm writing you. When I'm near someone who's hate-filled, I simply can't stop myself from reacting. Of course, you will no longer hear of things of the kind that I did before. I really am shocked myself that I did that in the first place. Instead, look for all those myth-stories. You know, a Moth-man, Yeti, or anything else that a panicked human mind can come up with. If you will notice that that person no longer wish to do anything to cross any lines, that'll be me, saying hello.

Obviously, other people will notice too. In time, they will have to. And when they do, they'll start talking. If they want to say I'm good, let them. If they will say that I'm bad, they probably have their reasons. But when they'll start making reasons to cover why I do what I do, that's when I need to you to tell them exactly this.

For the first time in my life, I'm not doing anything, for anyone. Beside myself. I don't do it for anyone, and don't want to get anything out of it, beside a peace of mind. I want to stop hearing shouts of anger and threat, and all those hate filled voices... scrapping at my mind like large chunks of glass...

Tell them that, and watch their reactions, and you'll probably see what I saw. That world is divided into two kinds of people, and only two. There are people standing in their proper place. And there are people stepping on other man's face... But they aren't really people. They're more like babies stealing other's toys, not noticing that that's not sandbox they're playing in, but a litter-box that goes down the drain, while they persist on shouting what's theirs to take.

I have enough of dealing with babies, don't you? Either they finally grow up, or they deserve to be treated as middles cattle.

So, I would like to say that I'll see you around, but I don't really know where I'll end up. It's strange how fate works, but who am I to question it when it dumped a purpose and means to see it through right on top of me.

Stay good, Hermione. And you should really get out of the castle more. With you spending so much time in my bed, people will start getting ideas...

Love

Harry

PS. I almost forgot. Tell Headmaster that I did my part. It's a bloody time that he finally started doing his. He'll know what I mean.


Ron finished the letter, and closed the diary. He finally got through it, reading it since the moment Hermione shared it with him. It was a strange read. Seeing his friend in this light.

But he wasn't concerned with Harry. No matter what came at him, he always managed to get out of it alive. Knowing that, Ron was more concerned about the person that was still around.

He turned to watch the girl that sat at the windowsill, staring outside of the window. He went to stand right behind her. Putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, he said:

"Don't worry," at his words, Hermione turned to stare at him quizzically, "He'll be alright," Ron finished.

It just made her smile a little as she replied: "I know,"

"Come on. It's almost time for dinner," Hermione said, jumping form her seat and going towards the portrait-hole, even as she stared back at him over her shoulder, with that peculiar smile still in place.

Ron stood there, gaping at her for a while. Finally, he moved... but he didn't go to the Great Hall. Instead, he went for one of his walks, thinking of the way she behaved. For the longest time, he couldn't get what made her so happy. Then, reading through Harry's last letter for what had to be the hundreth time, he finally caught on, and it only made him laugh.

It no longer mattered that there were so many questions unanswered. It wasn't even about the fact that Harry's life took an unexpected turn. The most important thing was that, after loosing his mind, becoming a villain instead of a hero, leaving everything he knew behind... Harry finally seemed to have found a place he was comfortable in.


AN. If you were expecting some kind of large battle with Harry displaying how awesome he was... Well, all I could think of would be somewhat anticlimatic. Like, he stepped right to the shocked group, and, while Voldemort was still on the ground, simply snapped his neck... then picked Death Eaters one by one or left them to hide in some hole and live the rest of their lives in fear.

Obviously, this could be continued, with Voldemort returning for revenge, Dumbledore struggling to finally find the Horcruxes, and Harry somewhere in the middle... but at this time I think this thing is good enough as it is now. Maybe not perfect (especially that last scene), but good enough.

If anyone want to take it over, go ahead. Just send me a link so I can add it here, or even write me if you want to discuss ideas.

Also, since I've never been good at pointing to particular genres, I've created a poll to let you decide which two work best for this fic. If you happen to be visiting my profile, please, be so kind to take part.

With that done, I guess for now it's over and out.