Author's Note (Updated): I am in the midst of editing the currently existing chapters of this story. This is in preparation for attempting to press on with it, despite the existence of a rewrite. Hopefully these edits will make this version more enjoyable for you to read.

Disclaimer: I don't really know that it needs saying. But I do not, repeat, DO NOT, own Harry Potter. Anything you can identify as being specific to the published series written by JKR is obviously hers. I don't make any money of this either way. Anything relating to other series that I reference obviously belongs to its respective creator. Only original characters and ideas belong to me. Again, it's not like I make any money off it though. This will probably be the one time I post a disclaimer for this story.

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Harry Potter, a skinny, dark haired boy of nearly sixteen, was struggling. It wasn't the kind of struggle which could be overcome with muscle and sinew. Or even the sort of struggle that occurred between a person and a trial arrayed against them. It was the sort of struggle, the sort of fight, a person houses within themselves. Many have called this sort of internal struggle a battle against personal demons. An apt phrase in this case, as Harry's problems were certainly tenacious enough in holding out against him as to be described as 'diabolical'. As is so often the case in such struggles, it is a far harder battle than those of a more physical nature. After all what foe could better oppose one than oneself?

Harry had been battling himself - his own feelings of guilt and inadequacy - for the better part of two and a half weeks. Understandable considering what had happened recently. The troublesome thing about battles within your own mind is that it is difficult to tell which thoughts are reasonable or rational, and which are not. Which feelings are real and which are a construct of your worst natural tendencies. Harry felt he was largely losing this struggle.

The task which had been laid before him was monumental in scope and implication. A prophecy existed describing a future in which he, Harry Potter, the so called Boy-Who-Lived, would face and possibly defeat the most powerful and evil bastard Wizarding Britain had produced in living memory.

He was just a boy though, and by his own—admittedly faulty—measure, not a particularly talented, bright, brave or even good looking boy.

He wasn't up to the task. He knew it, but nobody else seemed to accept that fact. They all just blindly accepted, and had faith in, the notion that a sixteen year old boy with only a handful of years worth of basic education in magic, could face a man who had outmatched and butchered almost every opponent he had ever faced. All because of a prophecy made by a strange and perhaps not entirely sane woman to a, possibly even stranger, man in the back room of a pub.

Assuming that the prophecy wasn't complete hogwash to begin with… He most certainly was not equal to that kind of task, and his shoulders most certainly were not broad enough or strong enough to take that kind of burden. It wasn't like most of those who believed in such things had heard the actual wording of the prophecy anyways.

That prophecy — the very same one which Harry now doubted with every fibre of his being — and one man's utterly misguided faith in the truth of it, had led to the death of Harry's Godfather, Sirius Black. But, try as he might, Harry couldn't discount it entirely either. After all Dumbledore was - despite his many mistakes - no fool, and he seemed to put a great deal of weight on the thing. Harry couldn't help the feeling that it would be foolish to ignore the prophecy entirely if for no other reason than to attempt to protect his friends.

And so it was that Harry sat up, as he had so many other times before, the night of Sunday June 24th and contemplated his dilemma. He had of course attempted to simply sleep through his latest bout of melancholy and worry. It had worked before, so why shouldn't it now? His doubts would pass eventually. But tonight as he sat on the edge of his bed he was faced with a crossroads of sorts. It was one he hadn't really expected to find himself at. But the universe, for once in his life decided to reach out and cut him some slack, sparking off a single sparkling light of inspiration within his mind. Such a simple thing. A simple thought really, that for anyone else not in his position would have come easily. A simple choice to be made.

His first option was this. He could, as he had initially intended to, take a single small pill he had pilfered from the upstairs medicine cabinet and drift off to sleep as he had many times before.

Or he could try a new approach, and come at his problem from a different angle.

To this point Harry had seen only one way forward. To sit and wait things out until the man he had trusted above all others, the one who'd actually put him in this situation, finally decided to free him from his annual stay in the de facto prison also known as the Dursley household. At which point, upon obtaining release, he would see what the future held this time, and deal with it as he always had, simply taking it as it came, moment by moment. The unfortunate downside to this strategy was that the future so often held the equivalent of a knuckle sandwich or a knee to the groin for him.

But a simple, frankly quite obvious thought had finally occurred to him, seemingly out of nowhere. What if he didn't just sit and wait it out this time? What if he did something about all this himself? So what if he wasn't capable of living up to such a weighty prophecy? A voice whispered at the back of his mind.

No one was, not really. After all not even Dumbledore himself had managed to defeat Voldemort. Sitting here and waiting on a miracle from heaven wasn't about to make his task any easier after all. He, Harry James Potter, would need to find a way to become equal to the task ahead of him. It was not in his character to simply not face it at all. It was a quality he should have been proud of.

He could sit and wait and hope for someone to hand him the key to victory, or he could go searching for that key himself. Oh, the scales were still balanced against him, but perhaps he should see to actually fixing that himself instead of waiting on someone else to get off their wrinkled backside and do it for him. It wasn't like that plan had actually worked well in the past anyways…

The question which slowly coalesced in his mind, suddenly became crystal clear: Do I want to continue relying on others to show me the way forward? Or, do I want to find the way through this myself? It was a question without an easy answer as he had relied on others in one form or another much of his life. Dumbledore, Hermione, even Ron at some points. But how could he expect to grow in such a way, that he would be prepared for the mission he was supposedly destined to see through, if he let others bear the burden for him without trying to shoulder it himself?

For many this would have been an insignificant moment of inspiration, hardly worth commenting on at all. And so Harry sat there and finally a thought occurred to him…yes, very impressive. He snarked at himself for a second. But in truth for him, it was a moment of truth. A defining moment in time.

Looking back, it certainly hadn't been his intent to have relied so heavily on others. After all he'd basically had one lesson, above all others, all but branded into his psyche by his "Oh-So-Loving" relatives: Don't be a burden. Up until now he had only taken this lesson as it had been intended by his rather unpleasant family, as an insulting comment upon his heritage and character.

But now, in this moment of thought, he looked at it from a different angle a different message came to light, one which he thought he might be able to embrace more gladly: No one else should have to shoulder your burdens for you. It's a kindness if they choose to do so, but it should only be necessary in the circumstance when you can no longer bear the burden alone.

Oh he had no illusions that he could take on Voldemort alone, nor that this was some secret message his relatives had been trying to bestow all these years, but he could become better equipped to help face Voldemort and take upon himself what needed to be done.

This was an attitude that in many ways had been strongly discouraged by Dumbledore and others in his life. They had all but said explicitly to him that he should not not 'burden' himself or his mind worrying about the task ahead of him. That he should not "wish away his childhood." Even in less life threatening circumstances, Hermione, his best friend, had always been there to catch him when he was failing academically, a state of affairs which as he sat here, felt shameful to think about…

He rephrased the question placed before him. Seeing how it sounded under different circumstances. Do I rely on myself, or do I continue as I have thus far?

When phrased like that, the answer became far more obvious. So blindingly obvious in fact, even he in his less than ideal frame of mind could not help but see the answer before him. An obvious problem, with an equally obvious solution. One which had been obscured from him until now. The way he had conducted - and allowed his life to be conducted for him - had resulted in nothing but disaster and heartbreak. One catastrophe followed by another with absurd regularity. No, he told himself firmly, he could not continue as he had. He had been fortunate in some ways, not to already be dead and buried.

His latest, and most monumental failure to date, had cost him his godfather, but in all reality it should have cost him a lot more than that: it should have cost him his life and those of his friends. Luna had been the only one not wounded in the battle for the Department of Mysteries. Ron had been mauled and thoroughly addled by floating brains from a strange aquarium of all things. Neville had broken his nose, had his father's wand snapped and then he had been tortured—mercifully briefly—by a madwoman. Ginny had broken her ankle…and Hermione? Harry paused to take a deep steadying breath here. She had been the worst off. He had watched on in horror as she suffered a dark curse launched by Voldemort's duelling master, Dolohov. Harry had to ask several times before Madam Pompfrey (trying in vain to spare him the guilt) admitted to Harry that it had been a curse intended to cause a long and painful death via internal bleeding. Even with the fact that the spell was cast silently she was confined to the infirmary for days.

No, he could not continue like this. Harry stood, pushing off the edge of the bed and pacing over to the small trash bin next to the decrepit old desk his room had been furnished with, and tossed the sleeping pill into it. It was time he stopped sleeping his choices, his time, his life away. It was time he set his own course. Before it was too late.

A grand declaration to be sure. Admittedly perhaps a bit more grand than his actions and decision making process thus far truly warranted, but to him, in that moment, it was perfect. Of course taking control of one's own life when one has allowed it to be run for them the majority of their life was not so simple a matter. He stood proudly for a moment before a new question popped into his head. Um—where do I start?

And in many ways this could have been where his self appointed mission ended, it could have been where he simply gave up, fishing the pill out of the garbage, taking it and going to sleep. But instead he took the next small step, he asked the next question, a simple one really. How did one wrest control of their life back from well meaning —but stubborn—individuals who would be reluctant to allow him to do so? Particularly without insulting them in the process.

So he did as Hermione often suggested he do when he was faced with a troublesome problem to solve. He made a list. He paced over to the desk and sat in the rickety chair before pulling out a sheaf of paper and writing a short list.

Things in my life controlled by others:

-Home. The Dursleys I suppose, or Hogwarts thanks to Dumbledore…

-Clothing? Dudley's cast offs or the Hogwarts Uniform.

-Money? I don't get money with the Dursleys, Mrs. Weasley handles the shopping more often than not over vacation. Don't really find myself needing a lot of money while at Hogwarts do I?

-Schooling? How do I pay for Hogwarts anyways? Am I paying for it? And my grades are largely thanks to Hermione's help…

-Love life. What Love life? No, we're not going to talk about that mess with Cho. Blimey

-My mission. Prophecy says I have no choice. And it doesn't really matter whether it's destiny or not does it? Since I'm not about to abandon the fight anyway... So I'm pretty much stuck there…

He peered at that depressing list before sighing gustily. I'm really not in charge of much am I? And I made a fuss about the whole Dumbledore's Army fiasco? He reflected with chagrin, shifting the paper and started a second smaller list.

Things in my life I can control right this minute:

-Hygiene….Yup definitely need a shower.

-Food. Suppose I could grab something from the fridge if I'm quiet…

-State of rest. Not going to sleep right now, this is important.

-Where I am…

Here he paused and considered that last one. He didn't strictly speaking need to be here. Not really, Dumbledore had of course stressed the importance of keeping himself 'safe', but ultimately it was just another tie binding him down. Do I truly want to be safe? At least in the way Dumbledore meant it. Or do I want to do what I need to, to get this done? Can I even actually accomplish anything staying here? I can't do magic, I have little information from the Wizarding World, and I can't easily study thanks to the Dursleys. He thought to himself.

He pushed up out of his chair, and grabbed some clothing from his drawers, before crossing the hall to the bathroom and closing the door. He could consider that in more depth while dealing with his shower. He went over everything he'd been considering for the last half hour or so while he thoroughly scrubbed himself. Though he was interrupted as he got out of the shower by a banging on the door.

Harry sighed, and finished pulling on his clean clothes before opening the door, still towelling off his head. Aunt Petunia was standing there glaring at him irately; she always had been the lightest sleeper in the house. "What do you think you're doing, showering at this time of the night?" She demanded.

Harry just observed her blankly for a minute. The answer he had been seeking coming into his mind all at once. So he answered her honestly. "Leaving,"

She blinked at him in confusion. "Leaving?"

Harry just rolled his eyes in a mixture of exasperation and weariness, "Yes, Aunt Petunia, I'm getting dressed, I'm grabbing a bite to eat, I'm packing my things and then I'm leaving," he answered the obvious follow up question even though it wasn't asked. "And no, I have no intention of coming back."

It was strange considering this was likely one of Petunia's fondest dreams, but she seemed uncertain how to respond to such a declaration. He just waited patiently for her to figure it out. "Y-you can do that? Don't you have to have Dumbledore's permission to…" She asked uncertainly.

He shrugged philosophically. "Strictly speaking, yes I assume so." he allowed patiently despite his somewhat soured mood. "But I find myself no longer caring about that. Why should I let him, a school headmaster, run my life?" She apparently had no answer to that. "I think I'll be needing to move fast without stopping for a while once I leave here, you mind if I grab a bite to eat? Or are you intending on keeping me here, despite the fact that you clearly want nothing to do with me?" He asked a touch coldly at that last part.

Phrased like that Petunia seemed to find her bearings. She considered him surprisingly shrewdly for a moment then nodded briskly. "Go pack your things then. I'll have a sandwich and drink ready for you in a minute." She spun on her heel and bustled off to the kitchen. Planning on preparing food for him for the first time he could recall in years.

He didn't bother watching her go, merely shaking his head and walking to his room to gather his belongings. Such belongings as he wished to bring with him that was at least, which were surprisingly few. He reckoned he would bring his broom, if only to have a method of getting around in an emergency, but otherwise it was just his wand, a change of clothes, the old family photo album, a few books from Defence Against the Dark Arts, the Marauder's Map, his Cloak, a couple knick knacks and the remains of the mirror Sirius had given him. At the very least he could see about repairing the thing; it could prove useful someday, in fact he could already think of one use it would be ideal for. That only left one remaining issue.

He looked across the room to Hedwig, his familiar and one of his oldest friends, was considering him with interest. It likely wasn't feasible to bring her with him on the run, he couldn't help but wonder what to do with her. Leaving her here wasn't an option. For obvious reasons, considering his relatives. But there was also the issue of how to communicate with others if he needed them. As much as he needed his independence he didn't believe he could do this entirely on his own.

Which raised a new question. Who could he trust? Not just to take care of Hedwig in his absence but to help him without alerting Dumbledore. Sadly the pickings were slim. To his reckoning none of the Order—even those he was close to, like Lupin and Tonks—would hesitate to turn him in he was sure. Well maybe the twins wouldn't, but they were busy with their own lives, as were Bill and Fleur. That really only left Ron and Hermione.

Ron was right out sadly, despite being his best mate. The boy—or perhaps man, as he was increasingly becoming—couldn't keep a secret to save his life. Being sort of like Hagrid in that regard, really. Ron also wasn't especially good at sticking by him, not when the cacky really hit the fan. And the bloke wasn't ambitious or driven in the least, so he wouldn't be eager to risk the easy life he had at Hogwarts, or Merlin forbid, go off the grid entirely like Harry himself was increasingly intending.

Hermione…well that was a more complicated question. Would she go with me if I asked? Should I even ask? Is it right to ask something like that of my friend? She wouldn't like to be separated from Hogwarts, he suspected, her schooling was her life in many ways. But…she had never shied away from taking the hard route, especially if it was actually hard. Though he had to admit, she was pants at lying, she wasn't entirely incapable of keeping secrets he knew, the third year had proven that in spades. He believed she'd learned not to blindly trust Dumbledore but he wasn't sure…

On the other hand, if she didn't come or if he didn't even ask, Merlin knew he'd probably miss her worst of all. She had been the one constant in his life basically without fail in all the years he'd known her. Oh, the incident the year previous had certainly felt like she'd abandoned him at long last, but she had done what she had with the intent of helping him. If there was one word which described Hermione Granger down to a tee it was Loyal.

He considered that while he sat in his chair at the desk, gazing idly at his faithful bird. Before long a knock came at the door and his Aunt peeked her head in. "I see you are packed. Here's your food." She deposited the plate on the desk and bustled out without further preamble.

He took longer than was—strictly speaking—usual eating his sandwich, but that was mostly a result of how occupied his mind was with other matters. It took awhile, but he finally managed to rough out a plan in his head on how to attack his current problem. He handed Hedwig the last bit of meat from the meal and waited for her to finish. "Alright, Hedwig, I think I've figured out how we're going to play this. I'm going to send you to Hermione with the request that she care for you while I'm gone," he explained, "I'll include a second message asking her if I can trust her not to go to Dumbledore and to just keep it between us if I need her help." He reckoned he looked pretty barmy talking to a species bird not typically known in nature for its brains.* Well, not the mundane kind anyways.

The benefits of familiar magics, he supposed. "I want you to pay attention to what she does. If she doesn't keep it to herself, refuse to return any reply, she'll still take care of you either way I'm sure. If she does try to keep it to herself but fails, then bring any reply that she sends to the Tower of London courtyard on Tuesday. I'll be waiting by those ruddy big ravens they've got gadding about." He decided, as he began writing out his message to Hermione. "If she does keep it to herself and is not caught out, bring it directly to me wherever I am. Do you understand?"

The bird considered him then bobbled her head in a way he knew to be the equivalent of a yes. He nodded, "If she agrees and doesn't turn me in, then I'll figure out where to meet up with her." He spent the next few minutes doing his best to word the message right, before tying it to Hedwig's leg. "Feel free to dawdle on your way over to her. I need a head start I think," he told her, and again she bobbled her head at him, before allowing him to carry her to the window and release her.

He didn't have time to watch her go, instead turning and gathering his belongings so he could leave, wandering first out into the hall, and then down the dimly lit stairway. To his surprise Aunt Petunia was waiting at the bottom of them. As the two of them made their way to the front door, Harry noted a confused expression cross her face. She finally spat out what was bothering her around the time he was doing up his shoes. "What will all this mean for us?" She asked, clearly indicating herself and her husband and son.

Harry shrugged. "The defences on Privet drive, assuming they meant anything at all in the first place, will last for a bit before they fail all together, I think. That should give you time to prepare. In all likelihood Dumbledore will insist on taking you into hiding…" He cocked his head considering. "Assuming I've not been forced to return before they fall." She had a sour expression when he mentioned that and he had to suppress the urge to become irritated. "Look, on the bright side, wherever you end up you likely won't have to put up with me anymore."

She apparently chose to ignore the bitter tone in his voice, frowning uncertainly before jerking her head once in acknowledgement, "Very well, I suppose I should wish you good luck then."

Harry peered out the window by the door. "Depends on who's on watch tonight really. Could you do me a favour? Check out the kitchen window and tell me if you see anything in the bush across the alley?" He couldn't see anyone out front, but that didn't necessarily indicate they were not there.

She left silently, before returning a minute later. "Someone is smoking next to the bush. Seedy looking fellow..." She grumbled.

He nodded, smirking, "Figures Dumbledore wouldn't give Mundungus the boot after his last screw up…But it works out in my favour this time." He rummaged in his pack for a moment and pulled his invisibility cloak. "I'd still better make this quick though," He muttered before pulling the cloak over himself. He heard Petunia give a small gasp when he vanished.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself before resting a hand on the doorknob. "Last chance to back out Harry", he muttered. Harry shook his head, set his gaze and pulled the door open quickly before he could change his mind. and he hauled on the door pulling it open quickly and slipping out into the night. When nobody sprung out of nowhere yelling for him to stop, he decided that he'd managed to avoid notice for the moment at least. But he needed to move carefully for a while, the sound of running feet was more likely than anything to give him away. He closed the door behind him as quietly as he could and inched down the walk.

A few minutes later Harry was confident enough to begin walking at a more normal pace, and he began his journey in earnest. He felt that this should, he hoped, be the last time he ever set foot on Privet drive. He had no desire to see number four ever again, and did not bother looking back over his shoulder for one last glimpse of the place. He knew that there was no avoiding his next step however, no matter the risks that would be associated with venturing there. He needed to visit Diagon Alley.

*Owls are actually noted for not being terribly bright. Contrary to the wise old owl stereotype you sometimes see…

Author's Note: Major Thanks to both Bearmauls and Temporal Knight, who are pseudo-coauthors especially in regards to the first few chapters and who have been much appreciated Betas for this story.

Recommendation: Two recommendations this week in order to inaugurate this story. First Harry Potter and the Rune Stone Path by Temporal Knight. I actually acted as beta for this story! So I hope you enjoy it. And Second...It's Always The Quiet Ones by PixelWriter1, a delightfully twisted and entertaining little one-shot following Luna and what happens should you insult her mother...Don't do it, just don't. That's all I'll say. *Shivers*