The Final Horcrux

It wasn't hard, to find the right pieces of the puzzle, to fix what was broken. For Harry, the knowledge that the greatest Dark Lord of the era was still lingering within the mortal world came in the form of parseltongue.

After all the excitement surrounding Hogwarts died down, Harry was hardly ever left a moment's peace. Ginny was constantly at his side, basking in the glow of being the girlfriend of The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, while the wizarding world's proclaimed savior wanted nothing more than to be by himself.

Ron and Hermione understood the needs of their friend immediately and sought to redirect the spotlight anywhere they could but the two could only do so much. Harry Potter was the savior of them all, the vanquisher of Voldemort and the icon of the light after all and the public was ruthless in their quest to dissect his life bit by bit. Harry himself took it in stride, gritting his teeth and baring the brunt of his unwanted fame. But underneath, he was wearing thin.

Dumbledore had once expressed to him, within the white and surreal walls of King's Cross Station, that power was better left to those that didn't want or desire it, the ones that held it with pride but didn't seek it out. At the present time, Harry politely disagreed with that assessment and even went as far as to laugh in the face of it. The raven haired teen wasn't meant to be in a position of power, and he most certainly wasn't meant to lead. Past experience alone proved that, specifically the Department of Mysteries.

Harry Potter was not meant for the spotlight. He was the silent protector, preferring to linger behind the scenes and do what needed to be done without a fuss. Discression in the matters of importance.

It was these thoughts that eventually lead him to the Black family gardens.

Harry paced back and forth over the cool damp earth in the calmest hours of the morning. Brilliant shades of orange streaked across the sky, half hidden behind the forecasted clouds of London but the ravenette teen payed them no mind. As the quiet male paced, his thoughts dwelled upon the wizarding world.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had not remained as Minister of Magic. That decision alone was a major catalyst for all that was to come. With the unfortunate election of Percy Weasley came the stiff and demanding regulations of dwindling magic. Magic perceived as dark was highly regulated and to be caught using it illegally demanded a hefty toll.

However, what saddened the teen most of all was that nothing had really changed at all.

Creatures were still treated as lesser beings, muggleborns were ridiculed, purebloods unofficially ruled and the slow trickle of magic aware muggles continued to grow. He'd once agreed with Dumbledore'e ideals and his desire to include the muggles. He himself could admit that his first time experiencing the wonders of magic, he'd been so intensely grateful to suddenly be apart of it. However, muggles were a disease.

They found the tricks and words exciting until they realized that such a feat wasn't possible for them. Almost immediately they changed and grew hateful. Purebloods wizards had learned that long ago and it seemed to Harry that the followers of the light would never accept that the two separate beings couldn't merge.

In moments like these, The green eyed teen oftened wondered what the world would've been like if the Dark had won. Despite the Second War being intensely bloody, it remained a sharp turning point for the wizarding world. The Light had once again won, the Dark remained in the shadows and the world of magic was falling apart, one banned spell at a time.

The tired teen plopped down into the garden and laid back, content to feel the steadily warming rays glide over his cheeks, and the cool breeze caressing the exposed flesh of his arms. Within the envelopment of safety provided by his solitude, Harry allowed himself to mourn for the injustice of it all, for not realizing that things always get worse before they get better. But change required sweat and tears, death and devotion, loyalty and sacrifice. What did the Ministry know of loyalty? Their loyalty could be bought with gold and no true politician would sacrifice anything they'd gained. Greed forbade the promise of change, and Harry regretted it.