To Whom It May Concern

(or There's No Guarantee)

By Richan

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody mentioned here.

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst.

To Whom It May Concern,

There's no guarantee that this will be anything to be concerned about the action that I have taken. Shock, yes. I can understand that such a shocking thing will rock the entire community. But concern...

I have been beneath concern all my life but for the first fifteen months, and even then I am the source of my parents' death. Without me they would have been able to hide all that much earlier and thus avoided Peter's decision to join Voldemort.

Yes, quite a shock to the wizarding world that the one who had saved them twice didn't like his own life. At this point, I will no longer care what the public has to say about me, but I have written this letter in the hopes that maybe someone I cared about will take the time to read it. I doubt that will happen, but I wish it with all my heart that maybe one of the people I loved in life will care about me in death enough to not let me become some news freak show.

Now, the shock of this - I don't have the energy to laugh about it, but at one point I did. Those first few days after I learned that I was a wizard and wanted and all manner of things the Dursleys had never wanted me to be were the best I ever had in my life. The month after I turned eleven was the greatest I have ever spent. It wasn't until I stood in Kings Cross, desperately searching for Platform 9 and 3/4 that I started to realize just what was in store for me.

Meeting the Weasleys was the best and worst thing to ever have happened to me at that point. I had been able to ignore the haunting dreams I had all my life of a green light and a woman screaming, but now I was confronted with the fact that I was famous.

Me, Harry Potter, scum of the earth as deemed by Dudley Dursley and his friends, was famous and WANTED!

But as I sat down in that train compartment, with the help of Fred and George Weasley, I realized with the breathy exhalation of 'You're Harry Potter?!' that I now had a completely different role to take than the one I had wished for.

Upon reading my invitation to Hogwarts, I had hoped that I would be able to make friends for the first time in my life, to have teachers who cared, to maybe - just maybe - have someplace I could call a home. But that was ruined by the obvious expectations of my peers. Even now I can remember Ginny asking her mother 'Can I go see him, Mum?' and Ron's astonished look as he realized that his brothers were not playing another one of their tricks and that I really was The Harry Potter.

At that point in time, I thought to myself that I am not a show at the zoo, some caged creature there solely for the pleasure of others to look at and then ignore. I had stepped into a world where everybody knew my name and seemed to genuinely want to know me.

The doubts began to creep in the more I learned about the wizarding world. I could write off some of the things that had happened as a desperate wish to get more out of life that isn't as good as everyone would think. Quirrell I could dismiss as being seduced by Voldemort and it had nothing to do with me. I could ignore the fact that I was the one who had made Voldemort that way, even to the point where I barely remember our conversation that first time.

Now I have doubts about that year, when between Ron and Hermione and I we figured out that something had gone terribly wrong in the defenses around the Philosopher's Stone that the school was surreptitiously guarding. The three of us, eleven and twelve year olds, had accomplished what no grown witch or wizard had thought to do. It may be cynical of me to say this, but I think that I was set up. I, an eleven-year-old, with all the doubts and fears of one my age, had been guided by an unseen hand along a path I was meant to take all along. Clues that should have been obvious to people much older than I was had been handed down to me.

No. I was not guided. I was manipulated along that path.

Second year was a shock for me. First when Dobby approached me, and I had to escape the Dursleys by means of the Weasley family car, the twins, and Ron. Being blocked from entering the platform at Kings Cross was cruel, and subconsciously I knew I should have heeded Dobby's warning that something terrible would befall me. When the entire school decided that I was Slytherin's Heir due to my ability to speak in Parseltongue, I was devastated. People I thought were friends went out of their way to avoid me. I was glad for Hermione and the Weasleys then, for trying to act so normal around me.

And then I met Voldemort for the third time in my life. Sure, this one may have been much younger than the previous two versions I had seen of him, but he was just as mean.

Notice I don't say 'evil' or 'dark.' I have learned that those two have entirely different meanings than what I was taught. But no one will believe me if I tried to explain it, so I will take it to my grave.

I was met by a boy not much older than myself who had lived under circumstances eerily like and dislike my own. We both had a parent who had descended from one of the founder's (though I did not know that at the time) and a parent who had come from the Muggle world. The difference that separated our lives was the fact that my mother was a witch who had been embraced for her uniqueness in her family (read her parents and not Petunia - who was jealous of all the attention that my mother got). And it was also that my mother loved me enough to sacrifice her own life to help me live, when all his father did was sign one piece of paper giving up all parental rights.

By this time, I had started to learn what a family should really be like. Watching the Weasleys had been a new learning experience that I eagerly watched. The interaction by all members - the twins teasing Percy, Ginny off in her own little world as the only girl, Ron trying to see just how he could be as great and lovable as his older brothers - had started to make me crave the same for myself. So when I met Tom Riddle as he tried to escape from his diary, it started to show me that I was never going to have a family like my friends had. I was alone in the world and facing a very intelligent opponent who wanted nothing more than to erase me from existence. I was unimportant to him at that point, other than the fact that I had managed to best him at the age I had been. A fifteen-month-old boy had brought down him - a fifty-year-old man who had studied for most of his life in his quest for something better than he had suffered when a child.

It wasn't personal at that point, and I could ignore it in favor of the house points Ron and I collected after saving Ginny from Riddle, and the school was safe from being closed. I was with my family, in my home, and things could not have been greater.

Third year...

I quite like my third year. That was the year that maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought. I learned that my father had had dear friends, and it was with the idea that I could have such things too that I went to Remus Lupin to learn how to protect myself from the terrifying memories - the only memories - that I have of my parents. Maybe it was in his nature to be stiff when meeting new people, because it was only when I mentioned the fact that I could hear my father's voice did his begin to loosen and soften towards me.

Then I was mad at him, because he had obviously known my father but never talked about him. I was desperate for a little piece of what I could have had had my parents lived and I was terribly hurt by the idea that I wasn't good enough for the information. I know that nobody told me such a thing, but nobody ever thought that I needed that information. I needed the memories people had of my parents because the only one I have ever had is when they were killed. Sure I have vague feelings and hear soft lullabies with no words, but they aren't the same.

And here was a man who had been friends with my father and he was holding back. I had not known of his condition, and even now don't hold it against him, but I craved the attention of an adult who would look upon me like I was worthy of their time. The patronus lessons helped with that, even as I told myself that he was only doing it because I asked him and as a teacher he was obliged to help a student in need.

Then I met Sirius Black. The one man I have learned to respect more than Professor Dumbledore. He risked being Kissed by the Dementors to protect the boy he had promised his best friend to watch out for. He was willing to open his home to me, even after knowing me for half an hour.

I was amazed and terrified all at once that this complete stranger - to me - would open their heart to me when all I had heard for most of my life was that I wasn't worthy of their time and consideration emotionally. I was only allowed to have anger and disgust and curiosity thrown my way, not this consideration and kindness.

I was actually wanted for myself, I told myself at the time. Someone wanted ME, a boy named Harry who at the time didn't realize that I had the weight of the entire wizarding world resting on his shoulders. I was loved and cared for and all manner of things that I had wanted all my life.

And then Fudge took it all away.

I blame him the most, even though Snape played his own little role in the destruction of my life.

I know it is pointless to blame them when they couldn't have known that by making Sirius run once more, they had destroyed the only chance that I have ever had of having a somewhat normal life.

I should have known that my life was not meant to be like that - normal, I mean.

I will not bore you with going through the rest of my years at Hogwarts. It's only three and a half more, but it was from this point that I knew what my life was headed for. The shock of having my name come from the Goblet of Fire was the start of everything that snowballed into what it has become. I see Cedric's face all the time - in my dreams, in my nightmares, and in the faces of all those that have been killed since him. I see my parents, continuing to try to protect me from the man who killed them, even after death.

I do want to state, however, that I am not my father. I know that he was loved by many, and hated by still more, but I am not and never will be him.

Instead, I have had to live with the expectations that I would become him. From teachers and the rest of the adult world, to Sirius and Remus. They all see me as a reincarnation of him and I am not. I was given life by both my parents. But all they can see are my mother's eyes set into my father's face.

I am not what they wanted like I thought I was.

I have been made to take burdens I never wished to carry.

I just wanted to escape the prison that my cupboard had become, and I find that I have left one kind of prison for another. I was put on a pedestal so high that I could not climb off, even when those around me hated me. My peers knew that I was no one special, but adults can be funny about that.

It's why I will not live to be an adult. I think like one, but I cannot handle the stress of being one if this is what it's like. Some may say that I am a child, but I would like to know what child could live through all that I have seen.

Death is my sole companion now. He and I have been walking the same path for most of my life, though I knew it not. He only showed himself when Voldemort uttered the words 'Kill the spare.'

As if Cedric was a *spare* anything.

I was the spare. I was that odd wheel on the wagon, the one that's smaller than the others and has to work twice as hard to even get by unscathed. I was the one dumped by the wizarding world onto relatives that tried to beat the magic out of me. When the physical beatings didn't do it, they resorted to mentally willing the magic out of me, no matter that I had turned my teacher's hair blue when she scolded me for doing something that Dudley and Piers had done even then. I was the spare when I was around Ron and Hermione. The proverbial third wheel and all that.

But now it is just Death and myself. His scythe had cut a swath before me with impartial precision, taking out family and friends and enemies alike. I only raised my wand twice to do his job and he took care of the rest.

I must say that I regret killing Lucius Malfoy. He may have been mean and 'dark' but he loved his son with all he had and I took away his ability to be with his family - the only thing that I have ever wished for with all my might on every star I ever could and I stole that from someone.

I do not regret killing Voldemort. He, along with Death, has stolen everything that my life could have been. First my parents, then my friends starting with Cedric, though I doubt he called himself my friend, and then my family again with the Weasleys.

I do not blame Sirius and Remus for their decisions during the war. Each of them were protecting the last remnant of their friend. I say that like I am a piece of carpet left over, but I feel that way. It was different in third year, when I was innocent and ignorant of what the world is really like. Then I was worth all of their care and pretend love. But it is my fault - I saw things that weren't there in my want.

Since the end of the war two months ago, I have seen Sirius and Remus twice. Once was at the funeral for those killed in that final battle, the one that was to protect me of all people. The other time was the first time I went to Godric's Hallow since the night my parents were ripped from this world. Both of them were friendly like always, but they didn't see that I needed their love.

I guess what this comes down to is that I just wanted to be loved. Whether it was a familial or romantic love, I craved it and nobody ever saw fit to show me that.

On the other hand, I have loved many: Ron through his jealous fits and Hermione through her too-intelligent morals; Ginny who was the sister that I would never have; most certainly Fred and George for all their help in keeping me sane when it seemed they weren't; Mr and Mrs Weasley for accepting me into their family even when it could get them killed and did; Remus for teaching me that I could fight the darkness; and lastly Sirius, for whom I love more than anyone else. It was Sirius and the love that I have for him that got me through this war. It got me through the dark times when it seemed as if he had fallen off the face of the world and I was terrified that I would get a letter announcing his death.

If I had gotten such a thing, Voldemort would be ruling this planet for I would not have been able to carry on.

But Sirius has never seen my love for him.

He sees James.

He doesn't see me, Harry, who loves him with every fiber of my being.

For once, I would like to be held, to be hugged, to be kissed, to know that I am not alone. And I wish that Sirius could do it. My love for him knows no bounds, though I am trapped by the idea that he will reject me for being in love with him.

Yes, I am talking about romantic love here.

I do not know when it began, but I realized sometime after the war became the brutal thing that it was that my feelings for Sirius had changed. They had changed from wanting to be his son to wanting to be his lover. I know that it is disgusting to think of such a thing, but it is all I wanted, even up to now. To know that someone loves me.

The only reason I am telling my feelings now is that I will not have to fear his rejection of me.

I do not fear Death. He is my brother now, the other half of me - the part of me that was torn from my soul all those years ago by Voldemort when he tried to kill me the first time. It is with Death at my side that I hope to see my parents once again, who I hope will welcome me with open arms, to love me like I need.

Whoever reads this, thank you,

Harry Potter

PS I would like my invisibility cloak to go to Sirius. It is the last thing I have of my father's, and so will it be for him now that I am gone. I want Remus to have the album Hagrid gave me of my parents, and for Ron to have my Firebolt. The contents of my Gringotts account - please set up as a fund for those who are still suffering from the war, especially children who have been orphaned like I was so many years ago. They are the ones who will suffer the most. I suppose it will be best if the money goes towards scholarships to Hogwarts.

Thanks again,

Harry

Dumbledore bowed his head in grief, the two pieces of parchment that Harry had last written on laying in front of him on a cleared desk. Everything that had been on it before he had sat down reading now lay in haphazard piles after being blasted off the surface in anger as the fairies Flitwick had charmed for Christmas fluttered nervously in the far corners of his office. Anger that the boy - this child, this almost man - had felt that nobody loved him. That no one had ever wanted him as more than a tool, as a means to the end of something horrible. That he believed he was all alone in the world.

He buried his head in his arms and wept.

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