The Art of Peace

Prologue:

The Point of No Return

People ran screaming as a devil walked among them, no sign of emotion on his face even if they had dared to look. Others were there as well, cloaked and hooded figures sending the runners to their Maker with the killing curse, laughing as they did so. One of the Death Eaters made his was to the Dark Lord.

"My Lord?" he started timidly.

"What is your report?" Voldemort demanded.

"I have just returned from Privet Drive, my Lord. The bomb worked perfectly. Harry Potter is dead."

Three Days Earlier:

"Boy, get your lazy butt into the kitchen!" yelled Uncle Vernon as he walked down the stairs. Harry groaned pulling on his clothes as he rolled out of bed. It was his first day of summer vacation after fourth year and here was Uncle Vernon starting it the way he always had. In a way, though, Harry was glad to be here -- at least now he did not have to look at any of his classmates anymore. Ever since the Triwizard Tournament it had been eating at him, wearing him down. No matter what anyone said it was his fault Cedric had died, and nothing could change that. It seemed no matter what he did it was those he loved and respected that got hurt. It was time to end all of that.

Right on schedule, Uncle Vernon interrupted his thoughts. "I don't have time for your laziness, boy! Some of us work for a living." Harry snorted at the thought of Uncle Vernon working, but he went downstairs anyways, ready to do his own work without vocal complaint as he always had, although he certainly reserved the right to curse under his breath. At least Dudley's gang of friends did not come around anymore - that had stopped when Harry had a sudden growth spurt. It was amazing how scared people became when their target got bigger than they were.

The rest of the day went by quickly enough, with Aunt Petunia cursing his laziness and Dudley stealing his food as usual. At last Harry could climb into bed, sleep lurking around the corner again. However, tonight sleep was the last thing Harry wanted. He waited until the snores of his relatives filled the house and quietly collected the bag he had hidden under the bed containing all of his magical things. Stealthily he crept down the stairs and raided the kitchen for the supplies he had taken stock of this morning. He then collected Dudley's camping equipment from a failed camping trip a couple of years before. It seemed that animal sounds gave the poor boy nightmares after living with his appliances for his entire life, so he definitely would not miss the tent and sleeping bag. Harry now had a good sized load for even his lanky 6'2" frame, so he strapped it to his back, quietly calling for Hedwig. This had been the biggest problem in the plan, as Harry was definitely not leaving her with the Dursley's, and he could not just ask someone to keep her while he ran away, but neither could he feed her on the run. He had finally come up with what he thought was a foolproof plan. The letter he now tied to Hedwig's leg went like this:

Ron,

How's the vacation so far? I'm doing all right. I do have a little problem though, mate, and I was wondering if you could help me out. It seems Minister Fudge decided to reward me for winning the Tournament, although it probably just that he doesn't want me telling anyone about Voldemort being back. Anyway he gave me this great new hawk owl. I'm sure you can see the problem. I can't keep two owls, but I can't give away Fudge's gift either, so I was wondering if Ginny could keep Hedwig on a sort of permanent loan. This way I could see her once in a while (Hedwig, I mean) and Ginny could finally have her own owl so she can write letters without you and your brothers reading them and writing your comments. Take care of her, Ginny. Well, that's all, so have a great time home with the garden gnomes. Thanks again.

--Harry

P.S. Could you not send a reply for a few weeks? I barely got this letter out, so we'd better give the Dursley's a couple weeks to get used to me being here again.

Harry felt badly about lying to his friends like this but he figured they would understand they were safer with him gone and get on with their lives. Sirius and Hermione were a problem too, but to tell them why and when he was going would have just gotten him caught. Sirius deserved a whole new life now, and maybe Hermione and Ron could finally get together without him being in the way all the time. At least they knew he was still alive thanks to this letter. Shaking off any final doubts, Harry went out the door and released Hedwig, leaving Privet Drive and the Dursley's for good.

When Voldemort was notified about the bomb's success, he was elated, if a soulless being like him could really feel anything other than hate. Without a word he apparated to Privet Drive; one could never trust a mere servant after all. As he popped into place, Voldemort surveyed the area. Sure enough, Number Four Privet Drive was a smoking ruin. The fire brigade had yet to arrive, so he looked for Potter's body himself. His elation disappeared a moment later when he realized he was a body short. Potter was not there. What could have gone wrong? According to his moles in the Ministry, the boy had not left the house since arriving earlier in the week. This could only mean one thing; as of now, Voldemort was the only one who knew that the boy was still alive. Without delay he drew on his vast reserve of Dark magic, using it and his borrowed blood to create a perfect copy of Potter, except this one was most definitely dead. Tossing it into the flames to be discovered by the Ministry and Muggle authorities, Voldemort disapparated. He had a boy to find a lackey to kill. For Voldemort, failure had long since ceased to be an option.