Born From Chaos

Harry: Be Careful what You Wish for

Staring down on the letter with unseeing eyes, Harry James Potter was torn between hysterical laughter, bone deep exhaustion and fury.

Right now, all of those emotions lay at his fingertips and felt as if they were on another continent at the same time. Like most things nowadays. Which, if Harry wanted to be optimistic, was a good thing, since he knew how to handle that.

Mostly.

Leaning back in his kitchen chair, the savior of the Wizarding World (at least he still had been last he checked, wasn't sure what the public had declared him to be today yet) exhaled. Calmly. Controlled.

Funny how a year on the run, a very very near death experience and fulfilling your destiny put everything into perspective.

Or destroyed everything you had built your world view on and plunged you into a permanent state of sure, that may as well happen .

Exhaustion it was, then.

That wasn't a surprise. Not really. Or at all. By now, Harry was thankful enough to even feel the sparks of emotions before just going with whatever bullshit fate itself threw at him. That didn't mean he was just accepting it, of course not. He had just yesterday told Shaklebolt to go fuck himself. Not in those exact words, but it had been close enough.

Why did everyone think they knew what Harry was going to do? Or what would be best for him? He had no clue whatsoever what he wanted to do. And it was best to not even think about what would be best for him, because the first thing coming to mind was straightjacket .

Sure, he had always wanted to become an Auror. But had he wanted that, or had he been made to believe he wanted that to hone his skills to fulfill his bloody destiny? Did he want to become a magical copper and spent the rest of his life fighting against the next wanna-be Dark Lord?

Always provided that Rita Skeeter didn't have the sight and he wouldn't someday snap and use all the dark powers and worrying influence he had, militarized Dumbledore's Army and declared himself King of the Universe. Or whatever she thought he was going to do.

On the other hand, he was absolutely 100% sure he wasn't a Saint, something she had written a few weeks ago, so he was probably good.

Also, he would never be able to rule the world without Hermione and as she was going to repeat her seventh year in Hogwarts he would have to wait for at least a year before going mental and declaring himself Major Threat Persy.

Looking down on the letter lying before him, Harry exhaled. This was, in a twisted sort of way, everything he had wished for since he could remember. He hadn't wished for this, of course. Not at all.

It wouldn't change anything though, would it?

Grabbing his wand he summoned his patronus without really thinking about it. "Sherbet Lemon."

This had not been the eighteenth birthday he had envisioned. Hell, he had planned to stay in his cosy apartment, thanking Merlin himself that no one aside from Ron and Hermione knew that he didn't live in Grimmauld place any longer and meeting with them later on in a pub in the muggle part of London.

Where no one knew them.

Where no one would get either weirdly appreciative or offended or tried to kill him. And yes, that was becoming even more common since the end of the war and wasn't that depressing?

He had just wanted a quiet day for once.

As if he could even have a fucking quiet day.

He had even braved the worry and ire of Molly Weasley when he had told them last week he didn't want to celebrate his birthday just to have a little peace and quiet.