Chapter 2 - The Creator has left us

Harry was sitting on the ground with his back against a tree and hugging his knees pulled to him. What's wrong with him? What's wrong with him? Parents, Godfather,

mentor, and friends… Why?

Potter was in a lot of pain. And it's not from the fact that the head is splitting, or other wounds on the body. It hurts deeply, there, in the soul, where he has already managed to build castles in the air of a cloudless future no matter what.

Stupidly.

The familiar picture of the world was coming apart at the seams, like a rotten fabric, no longer wanting to hold on as its creator had planned. Once a calm and even a little bit happy corner of the soul, where he fell when it was too hard, now it's like they poured mud on him, generously adding other shit. It didn't seem right... Blasphemy in the highest degree.

The world. The world he had seen since he was 11 years old. He falsely seemed kind, sympathetic, funny, and the only dark spot was the enemies... Why did he fight? What was all this started for and by whom? Despondency overwhelmed me. Everything he believed in went to Mordred to bow. I wanted to summon Hellfire and erase everything in this world, so that it would be better, it would be like before. Or not... He was no longer fully aware of what he wanted.

Footsteps suddenly sounded very close by, which seemed to pull him out of the pool into which he rushed headlong. And then a heavy object crashed to the ground near him. But Harry did not raise his head, only burrowed deeper into his knees. He wanted to be given a little more time to think, until morning...

He saved everyone… So why... what did they want to achieve with this? Harry hasn't done anything wrong... to anyone... ever… so why?! Ugly tears have long distorted the face, running down the cheeks, and did not want to end in any way.

Meanwhile, the one who, apparently, was standing next to him, without waiting for absolutely no reaction, snorted irritably and gave out in such a familiar female voice:

— Rather than snot here and drown in the wildest self-pity, it's better to do something.

From surprise, Potter abruptly raised his head and stared at his... ex-girlfriend. Was Hermione even his girlfriend? No, well, everyone was friends to Harry, but did everyone consider him their friend?

— Ger… What are you doing here? — he asked defiantly and tried to get up, which turned out only on the third or even fourth attempt.

The sorceress did not hurry him, but she did not help him, standing next to him. She was silent, so unusual and strange that it made him wonder: did he know the real Hermione? And Rona? And everyone...

— I'm just offering you a way out. And it seems that there is only one that will suit you," pointing at the lying object with a glance, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and threw as indifferently as possible. — I found this artifact in the Rescue Room. It was lying on an old parchment, on which there was just something similar to the instructions for use. This is my parting gift to you, Hero," the last word settled over him like a mockery imbued with dark irony.

"Are you leaving, Hermione Granger?" — without even looking at the "gift", Harry asked, gazing intently into the girl's eyes.

What is she doing? What for? Isn't she on Dumbledore's side? Is this some kind of new move? Is she going to demand a decision from him now? She had come to find out what he had chosen... How little time was given to make a decision on which his future fate depended…

— I'm emigrating. Do you really think it would suit me to look into our director's mouth forever, be his pawn and marry this… Weasley, — on the last words it was clear that her self-control was interrupted for a moment and Granger just couldn't help but grimace.

"Oh, so that's how it is..." — for some reason Potter knew that she was telling the truth. Right now, for some reason, an understanding of this has come. Something inside—which usually saved him from stray spells in battle and suggested what was best to do in the next dangerous situation—made him understand that now the girl was not lying and did not even bother to pretend. And is it possible to play such a complex emotion as disgust in the look? Oh, yes…

Chuckling, Potter finally looked at the object lying quietly next to him and at the same second he laughed, then again, and then just couldn't hold back his laughter. A laugh that made Hermione shudder; it was so lifeless. It felt like a dead man was laughing. Granger looked closely at her kind-of-friend and began to notice those details that she had not seen before. Grinning to herself, she stepped away just in case. On the ground near Harry lay a pistol with a wyvern engraved on the handle, a spiked tail wrapping around the edge of the pistol.

"Huh, so you're suggesting I shoot myself with a magic artifact?" — raising the copper-silver pistol and twirling it in his hand, Potter asked sharply calmly. — I can already imagine the headlines: "Three times "M": The Hero of Magical Britain shot himself in a Magical Forest with a Magic pistol!" Or "An insignificant suicide after a Great Murder, pushed around by so-so true friendship"... Ta-ak, I really didn't think... yes, I didn't even imagine such a future!

Sudden mood swings alarmed the girl, but once she started, she would finish her job to the end, especially since it would be better... Isn't that right?

— I think I should explain how exactly…

"Granger, I already know how to pull the trigger, how to put the muzzle to my head, and how to pick up a gun in general. Don't disappoint me by underestimating my skills so much.

The girl was a little taken aback. With the confidence in his voice that Potter showed, there was absolutely no doubt that he had decided to commit suicide. And he won't give up. Grinning to herself once more at how quickly people break down after betraying those they let too close to them, Hermione shook her head.

— The charges of this artifact are the Bullets of the Worlds. There are several of them in our world, it seems so... In short, by withdrawing, a wizard or a magical creature falls into another world. So to say, death is just another exciting adventure," she smiled bitterly. — But this is what I read, and you can't completely trust it... well, it's not a problem for you. If it's true, you'll get out of this world, leaving the old usurper with a nose, if it's a lie, it's the same, only beyond the Edge. How do you like it?

"Self—withdrawing?" the young wizard thought with a grin. - "In other words — "committing suicide"?" Nodding to Gryffindor, Harry staggered into the depths of the Forbidden Forest, leaving the sorceress in English, without saying goodbye. On the way, the magician picked up the Resurrecting stone, thrown by him before the battle into one inconspicuous hollow, the Elder wand (yes, yes, he also went to the place of the magical duel, where he miraculously found the only surviving wand, under a pile of mutilated bodies ... well, he had to do at least something to conjure? His wand was broken by the order, more recently ...) and, of course, the invisibility cloak dropped there on the ground. He walked on and on, straight into the depths, not paying any attention to the fact that the Forest was getting darker and the sounds were becoming more threatening.

His body was exhausted, and his mind was kept afloat only thanks to the memories of Snape, the only person who showed him at least some care. Ironically, even after his death, he still continues to help him, not letting his mind slide into the abyss of madness and despair.

The guy stopped only near a tall powerful tree, wearily shaking its branches. "This is the place," Harry suddenly thought, and, without any fear, walked up to the old plant, took one last look at the night sky. The stars shone brightly in the dark blue firmament, merging into constellations. Putting a gun to his head, the guy exhaled into the forest silence only one word, slightly modified, but repeating the last will of the one who really cared about him:

— Forever.

After a loud sound that echoed through the Forest and seriously stirred up the forest with a wave of raw magic, the centaurs, just feeling all this, immediately hurried to the epicenter of the magical ripple. The cloven-hoofed half-humans managed to see only the moonlight, white light, gently wrapped in grave darkness under the old anchar, which suddenly began to bloom…

The oldest, most respected centaur raised his head to the stars, listening to their answers, nodded and frowned for a long time, and then announced to the whole herd, huddled in a single clearing, completely filling it with their bodies:

— A Gray Gentleman has just left us, who forgave his traitors in the afterlife. He has no enemies, because he himself is the strongest enemy of all living things, if he wanted to. The Grey Lady accepted the gift of her Master, guarding his soul, for his mercy knows no bounds, but... the soul is broken. We can only breathe a sigh of relief and wish for a great journey... However, our sins, though forgiven, require atonement. May there be a judgment hour for us in the future.

The whole herd knelt down, greeting and saying goodbye to the one who could kill all the living and revive all the dead, swap old age with youth, make time bite its tail. The streams of magic carried this message to the rest of the magical creatures of the whole world. This day became a Day of Great Mourning, because their Creator left this world.