Hah...finally I found this fan fiction. Its about what will happen If Harry doesn't know HE was the last Horcrux. Quite amusing actually.
As Always I did not write it
Credits goes to HappyAuriga from HPANA.
Happy Birthday, Harry!
The rain had stopped. Finally. Thanks Merlin for small mercies. It had been pouring for nearly a fortnight. It never had at this time of the year, not so long and not so fiercly.
Harry left his shelter immediately and set out to find something edible. He had run out of food three days ago.
The slope was slippery from the rain. He held onto the trunks of the young trees he passed on his way. Their bark was as moist and slippery as the forrest ground. Harry held on as tightly as he could. Soon his fingers were scratched. The young trees shook under his grip, spilling thick dropplets of water on the man.
Harry was barely aware that he was soaked to the skin in minutes. His hunger was overwhelming. He scanned the area for food. Mushrooms. Berries. Anything. Anything, which didn´t move to get away. Harry doubted he´d be strong enough to catch a fish or a rabbit.
Using magic was out of question. They´d register it and come for him. He´d lose the little comfort he had been enjoying in his cave over the past months. His blanket. He hadn´t had one in years and he was not ready to give up that little treasure he had found back in May. Muggles must have left it. It was dirty and sticky when he found it, but nothing that couldn´t be changed with water, time and good will. And time was something Harry had in abundance. The only thing, actually, which he had more of than he needed.
Or his little cauldron. Well, it was more likely a muggle pot, but Harry liked to think of it as a cauldron. It enabled him to have warm meals.
There. Mushrooms. Harry dashed to the small group of bushes and sank to his knees, not caring that the last bit of his robes were soaked. He started pulling out the mushrooms, stuffed the first few into his mouth raw. When his worst hunger was taken care of, he harvested every tiny mushroom he could get into an improvised bag formed of his robes.
When he got up, he had to hold his robes up in order to transport his prey. The forrest was now full of vapour. Harry´s bare legs felt hot and wet, his soaked robes didn´t help.
Slowly he made his way back to the cave, careful not to lose the precious load he had gathered.
He took off the damp robes as soon as he had put his mushrooms into his cauldron and spread them on the dry floor. Harry moved in order to get warm. He flapped his arms and hopped up and down a bit. Then he wrapped himself in his blanket and sat in the back corner of his home.
Another year survived. Barely. And what a life it was. Was it worth living?
Of course it was, Harry scolded himself. He had to. He was all the hope the wizarding world had left.
The man stiffled a sigh. He had to go on and finally meet his destiny. It was what he told himself every year. His friends. He had to go on for them, if not for himself.
They needed him. He told himself that every year, too. Though he wasn´t even sure they knew he was still alive. He couldn´t know whether they even remembered him. It had been years since he had seen any of them. Decades.
They were better off without him. Voldemort´s myrmidons were aware that he was alive, as they never had caught him, and they were still after him as certainly as the sun was going to raise the next morning. Harry was sure that they still observed his friends in order to catch him.
Harry tried to think of something else. He intended to avoid his annual birthday depression this year.
Ginny´s face occured in front of his inner eye, her hair long, thick and red. Her eyes warm and welcoming, her mouth sweet and soft. The freckles on her nose – fewer than her brothers´ - giving her face an air of cheerfulness. Harry remembered each of the tiny spots although he hadn´t seen the girl he loved since she had wed Seamus and left for Ireland with him. Funny, how he still saw a girl when he thought about her, although she must be a grandmother by now.
He knew that Ginny´s eldest was a son by the name of Patrick. She had let Ron know and Ron had told Harry. The youngest Weasley boy had still shared Harry´s cursed life then. Ron and Hermione. They had accompanied Harry on his quest for Voldemort´s shattered soul without a second thought. They were real friends. The best he ever had. It had hurt to see them suffer. He had suffered, too. But that was something different. It was his destiny, not theirs.
They shouldn´t be forced to hide in forrests. To live in a tent. – Harry remembered the times when they still had a tent fondly. – They should get decent jobs. Fall in love. Get married. Start a family.
They did fall in love. Actually they had a long time before they went into hiding, but they only got aware of that later. Harry felt awful. He knew what his friends longed for, but couldn´t have because of him.
It wasn´t so bad at the beginning. They found one Horcrux after the other and that gave them hope. Hope that the tent was only a temporary home. Hope that it would be over soon. Hope that Harry would fulfill his destiny and kill the monster wizard. Hope that they could go home and do what they longed for.
Harry tried to grant them as much private time as possible. They always looked happy when he announced he´d go for a walk – to think about possible Horcruxes – and wouldn´t be back soon. When they finally looked happy ONLY when Harry went for a walk, he asked them to leave.
He had to beg them, for they truely were his friends, but at last they agreed. Hermione had told him they´d try to go to the continent. Staying at Britain was out of question for Harry Potter´s best friends. Harry never knew whether they had made it. He hoped that they had reached safety and started a family. He often pictured their wedding. Ron grinning like a fool all day, Hermione in a blue dress robe smiling that happy little smile she had smiled at the Yule Ball back in their fourth year. That smile which had seemed so wrong back then as she smiled it for Victor not Ron.
Harry hoped with all his might that Ron and Hermione had gotten what they wanted. That they were alive.
So many of his friends had died. Neville, in an attempt to avange his parents. Rumour had it that Bellatrix had used Cruciatus on him for hours. It had been – rumours – Draco Malfoy, who finally killed him. There were times when Harry wondered whether it had been an act of mercy. But then it was Malfoy.
Parvati and Padma. They had refused to get married to deatheaters. Back then, when Voldemort had the brilliant idea to gag his younger enemies through marriage. The whole idea hadn´t worked. Percy Weasley had been the only one to make use of the “generous offer”. But many had died, when the ministry – rather deatheater headquarter nowadays – had approached them.
Molly and Arthur had died when they had disenherited Percy at his wedding.
Tonks, Lupin, Shacklebolt. They were all dead. Killed during their work for the Order. Killed, because they continued their work in order to make things easier for Harry, when he finally came for Voldemort.
But Harry was still one Horcrux short. It had been more than twenty years since he had destroyed one. Merlin knew how many Voldemort had made to replace those Harry had deleted.
Not much good had come of his search for the final Horcrux. The Creevey brothers had died after they had been seen with Harry. The only good thing was that Voldemort had killed the traitor Snape fifteen years ago.
Snape had been after Harry for years. Taking over Dumbledore´s position hadn´t been enough triumph for the man. He had to persue Harry. He had to be the one who handed him over to his Dark Lord. First Harry had thought the man was after him to kill him. Merlin knew Snape hated him enough to wish for that, but when Snape had finally caught him in a Forrest far in the North, near Hogwarts, he had wanted to talk.
Harry hadn´t complied. Perhaps he was going to die, but he was not going to give Snape the satisfaction of humiliating him. Voldemort hadn´t been pleased with Snape. Harry still had no idea why the dark wizard had apparated to Snape´s side then. But he had and he was furious with Snape, for not only had the traitor failed to hand Harry over immediately, he had forgotten to take Harry´s wand.
Harry had apparated away the moment Voldemort was distracted by casting Avada Kedavra.
He had stopped looking for the Horcrux fifteen years ago. Instead he was hiding. The prophecy said it would be him who killed Voldemort. Didn´t it? So no need to run around killing off people by making himself seen with them. If he laid low and waited, Voldemort and his Horcruxes would come to him and nobody else needed to die.
His wait had become more complicated, when the Ministry had started tracking all magic away from wizarding homes. They had nearly caught him several times.
But not since he had forgone using magic. He could warm by a fire, started the muggle way, he didn´t need warming spells. He could dry his robe by spreading it in a dry place and waiting instead of using a drying charm. He could catch fish without magic. He could do anything without magic. Muggles did it all the time. Sometimes Harry had to remind himself that he had to keep his wand. He´d need it for the final battle. He only hoped he was going to remember how to use it when the time came.
Harry smiled. Another year survived. Another year without causing any more deaths.
Happy seventieth birthday, Harry!