Prologue:

 

We aren’t free. None of us. We may think we are, we may feel that the choices we make are our own, but the truth is that in just about every way our actions are predetermined. Our choices result from the way in which we are raised and the way in which we’ve been trained to view the world. There is no escape from the personal handholds, the personal traps; each moment in a life builds upon the previous – laying out the behavioral map. A city full of one way streets, the roadmap of existence moves only one way, each boulevard merging into one highway with no exits. So when you reach a point in your life where every possible decision ends the same way, with the same outcome, what options are there? Does an option even truly exist?

 

 The question I’m really asking is this: is there any way to escape the predetermined outcome dictated by the converging experiences of our lives prior to the present moment? Not if we can’t escape our own selves. Not if we’re forced to remain a party to our own consciousness. Because no matter what choice we make, it is the choice we were destined to make. We believe in free will but our assumptions and choices hinge on those we’ve made prior that have led us to this point. There’s no use trying to confound your own expectations, because the moments prior in your life are the ones that led you to that outcome, that decision, and there is no escaping the fate plotted out by your own existence.

 

And so here’s the trick. In order to confound your destiny, you must become somebody else. This act itself, of course, will have been predetermined. But it will be the last of those sorts of decisions, because given a blank slate you have only the option of choices to make, and they will inevitably lead you off on a different path, one more to your liking.

 

Because the truth is that I’m tired. Simply tired of living this life, this specter I can’t escape. The damning weight of a thousand expectations I can’t live up to – I haven’t yet and I won’t still. Because he’s out there in the open and I’m here cowering in a tent. Not that I’m not trying. I’m doing everything I can. But I’m underprepared and underequipped.

 

Dumbledore went too soon. I wasn’t meant to be on my own just now. Or, well, I clearly was, but that’s not how I want it to be. And I am alone now. I’m alone because I demanded I be left alone.

 

I’ve got a plan.

 

It is selfish and stupid, I know. But as I’ve said, I’m just so damn tired. I’ve so few choices in life; I’ve never had many, or even thought that I might have many. I’ve always known my fate led me in one direction, destined to fight a war I’ve no hope of winning. The dark armies mass, the fronts dig in, trenches set. And I’m nowhere near the battlefield. Not a soul knows where I am. And that’s good. That’s a good thing. Because I don’t want anyone to know. I don’t want anybody to know what I’m about to do. I just want to disappear.

 

But as long as I’m myself, as long as I am Harry Potter, all roads will lead me back to this one final destiny. This one final inevitability. I’ve made all the preparations, tuned the spell to leave the necessities – knowledge of magic, language, I can even give myself an accent if I want. Which could come in handy. I’ll leave the remnants of a persona not my own.

 

The question of physical appearance is difficult. Not being me, that’s not enough. I also can’t look like me. Because if I do, I’ll be recognized. And then they’ll find a way to reform me, to restore me. And I can’t let that happen. So I’ve got to change my look, re-devise my appearance. Permanent personal transfiguration has never exactly been my forte, but I’ve been studying as diligently as possible.

 

You can see how I’ve been spending my time. Some would say I’ve abdicated my responsibility. I would say I’m simply trying to live my life to my own specifications. I’m trying to find a way to regain control. I guess you could say I’m trying to arrange a lifelong con.

 

And with the mind and body altered, where will I go? I need a new starting place. If I stay here, I feel there’s a strong likelihood that I will still end up fighting in this fucked up war. I need a new starting place, but one I can reach discreetly. Which, as I am now, is a near impossibility given my current name and face. And so that’s where the whole idea of an accent becomes useful. It may be a long shot, but if I am discovered with little memory and knowledge, but I speak with a strong accent placing me as being from a different country, there’s a strong chance that the ministry would remove me to that government’s care and protection.

 

It’s certainly not a flawless plan, but it is the best I’ve been able to devise to the moment. And so I’ll likely be using it. I’ve bought an international portkey, polyjuiced to resemble a muggle I’d come across several weeks ago, and it will send me to a random city on the continent (I didn’t know enough about the options to make an informed decision, and so I didn’t even look at the destination, just purchased one, had the clerk promise me that it wasn’t a portkey to anywhere in the UK) in oh, say, ten minutes, regardless of my intentions as long as it is on my person.

 

But then there’s also the trouble of my wand. In the wrong place it might be recognized. But that’s a chance I’ll just have to take, because no other wand works like it for me, it is one part of this life that I’m completely connected to.

 

They’ll hate me for this, if they ever really find out what happened. I know that, I know they will. They might say they understand, but they never truly will, and in the end they will blame me and they will hate me. Especially if the war ends in defeat. Which seems the most likely at this point, to be honest. Without me, without the child of prophecy.

 

It seems wrong to damn them to that defeat.

 

But I’m no guarantee of victory. They need to understand that. Things might actually go better for the ministry if they stop looking outside for help and start focusing on improving their efforts on the inside. This may be unlikely, but a man can hope, can’t he?

 

Truthfully, I’m relying on that hope. Because if I thought my leaving really did resign them all to that defeat, to that hell, I’m not sure I could go through with this. But there is strength in the world beyond me. Greater than me. And if they just learn to rely on themselves… they’ll maybe have a chance.

 

I picture the faces of my friends, the faces of those lost and those still fighting on, and I realize that this might be the last time I picture these people. I myself may never see or imagine these particular friends every again. Not that I plan a continued existence.

 

Because I won’t really be me anymore.

 

That’s the whole point, really.

 

Escape the bonds of the self. The bonds that tie me to the world.

 

Where will I go? Who will I become?

 

I wonder at questions I’ll never know the answer to. I’m frightened; I’m quite willing to admit. I’ve got to set it up so that I appear, or can at least make my way to, a place with people who will discover me in my mindless or memory less state.

 

Technicalities and such, I suppose. I’ll make them work.

 

So there aren’t too many preparations left. I’ve new clothes, new hair, and new glasses. I’ve been working on the face, the transfigurations. And after several hours of working, I think I’ve crafted an attractive but not too noticeable face. I’ll blend well. But ah, I suppose I’m a little vain. I couldn’t handle making myself, well, unattractive. And wizards are just generally better looking than muggles, so there is really no reason not to.

 

And so there’s only the act itself remaining.

 

It is so much easier to make the decision beforehand. In the moment, well, again, I’m tampering a bit with magic. No promise that this will work. I’ve not had the chance to try it before. Going purely on theory here. Which has never been a high point of my academic endeavors...

 

And yet that fear can’t overwhelm my despair, my hatred for the life I’m living, for a life without options. I’m starting over.

 

And I’m doing it now.

 

I draw my wand; I clear away the tent and other traces of my camping out here. I’m leaving my belongings behind, the cloak and all. I’m bringing just a trace of gold to help fund my new life

 

I steady myself for a moment.

 

A moment longer.

 

Checking to make sure my portkey to a different world is still resting on my belt; I call the words and wave the wand towards my intended target. Towards myself. With a flash of light and a stab of pain the world goes blank.

 

And with my last thought as myself I bid good riddance to my life as Harry James Potter.

 

Now on to something new.

 

…….