Disclaimer: I wish it was mine, but alas I am not J. K. Rowling and will never be. All rights of these wonderful universe belong to her.
I read a lot of HP fanfiction of the last year, and over the time a plot bunny wouldn't go away. The result is my first try on my own fanfic. English is not my first langue, so be patient with me please, I appreciate the pointing out of every grammar or spelling mistake or odd words etc.
A big thank you to a-bit-of-madness for beta'ing.
Warnings: child abuse, violence, suicide attempt, slash (but it will take some time) and Severus-Harry mentorship/guardianship – if you don't like it, don't read it, you have been warned.
Summary: During a horrible summer after fifth year, Harry has enough, all he wants to be is free. Using the connection between Voldemort and himself, Harry begins to realize what he has to do to end the war. Decision made, Harry writes letters to nearly everybody he knows or has something to say to. Will Harry's action end the war and bring changes to the wizarding world? And will somebody realize his plans and save him?
Have fun reading.
Let's start the story.
Letters to Everybody
Chapter 1: The first letter
It was a rather cold night for the middle of July. A few clouds gathered in the black night sky, but the moonlight shone bright enough to illuminate the smallest bedroom of No 4 Privet Drive. The occupant of this room sat on a small cot, a thin blanket over his legs, his back to the wall. Using a large book as a pad, Harry Potter finished the letter he was writing with a quick Goodbye, Harry. Sighing, he blew on the parchment to dry the ink faster and put the letter on top of the others he had written over the last few hours.
Stretching his legs and trying to get rid of the cramps in his neck, Harry couldn't suppress a wince when the skin around one of the fresh welts on his back was pulled. Uncle Vernon had had a very bad day at work and had drunk on the way back home. It was always worse when he was drunk.
It wasn't the worst beating he had gotten this summer, but together with the injuries from the last one, two days earlier, his back was raw and felt like it was on fire. Gently rolling up the arm of his too big t-shirt, Harry inspected the dark bruises on his left upper arm from being dragged up the stairs. At least nothing was broken, he thought, rubbing his tired eyes. The mass of curls on his head stood up in every direction from the anxious way he'd been pushing his fingers through it while writing.
A cold breeze made his skin break out into goose bumps and he looked out of the open window, where a movement caught his attention. Hedwig, his beautiful snowy owl came flying through the window and landed on the bed beside him.
"Hey Hedwig", Harry said in a whisper and began stroking her. "How was your night? Caught a big fat mouse?" Hedwig hooted and nipped at his finger affectionately.
"I have some letters for you to deliver if you're not too tired." Hedwig looked at him indignantly and nipped his finger harder, making Harry smile. "Yes, yes, I know. You are the best." He shuffled through the pile of letters till he found the one he wanted.
"Here, this one first. Don't wait for a reply, get out of there as fast as possible." Harry carefully secured the letter to Hedwig's leg, then picked her up and carried her to the open window. With one last quiet hoot, Hedwig took off into the night, quickly soaring out of sight.
For a few moments Harry listened to the noises of the house. When only Dudley's snoring reached his ears, he relaxed. Uncle Vernon would kill him if he was woken up in the middle of the night because of Hedwig and, theoretically, he was not allowed to send letters to anybody. Mentally shrugging, Harry grinned. It was more like he was sending letters to everybody not anybody (ok, not the whole population of Wizarding Britain, but to a lot of people nonetheless).
"I am not sure if this was really a good idea, but too late to back down now. In for a knut…"
He picked up the pile of letters and sorted through them. Satisfied that he hadn't forgotten anyone, he put them in the right order and placed them under the loose floor board under the bed. His most prized possessions were in there - his wand, the invisibility cloak, his firebolt, the photo album with pictures of his parents and the food Mrs. Weasley had send him two weeks ago. He still had some left, and with how little he was used to eating now it would last him till the end of the summer.
Taking a piece from a meat pie, Harry sat on the floor savouring every bite. Sipping some water out of the three bottles he also kept under the bed, he planned his next step. In three days, the whole British wizarding world would know what Voldemort and Dumbledore had tried to hide. Both had their reasons, and in Harry's eyes both were wrong.
Three days and he would be free.
Leaving the window open slightly, in case Hedwig came back during the next few hours, Harry climbed into bed, wrapped the blanket around himself and fell into a restless sleep.
The occupants of Malfoy Manor also had a restless night, which had everything to do with their 'honoured' guest in the east wing. Nobody slept well with Lord Voldemort in the same building.
The fire in his personal living room was roaring, but Voldemort could not feel the heat. Since his resurrection one year ago he'd had a kind of foreboding feeling, something was not right. The feeling had only intensified after he managed to possess Harry Potter, the damn boy-who-didn't-die, in the Ministry of Magic only a few weeks before.
A tapping at the window pulled Voldemort from his thoughts. Knowing that nothing harmful could have entered the wards of Malfoy Manor, he walked to the window, carefully stepping over his familiar Nagini who lay curled up beside him. Outside on the window seat sat a snow-white owl with a letter attached to its leg.
Who would send him a letter in the middle of the night?
Opening the window, the owl stretched his leg to him. As soon as Voldemort had removed the letter, it took off again. Frowning, the Dark Lord inspected the letter, finding nothing that could have given a clue who the sender was.
He hissed in surprise and anger as he saw the name at the front. There, in simple letters, a name was written, a name only a few living people would remember and lesser would connect to him:
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Feeling fury rise within him, Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard in the world, opened the letter.
Dear Tom (sorry but I really can't call you Lord Voldemort, it's a ridiculous anagram. Flight from death? Really?)
White hot anger sparked in the Dark Lord, palpable throughout the room- who dared to mock HIM? The darkest and most powerful wizard since Merlin!
Somewhere behind him he heard glass shatter and Nagini shifted uneasily in her sleep. He took a slow deep breath, taking back control of his magic. Whoever the sender was, they would be dead in the next days.
Oops, sorry, I really didn't want to mock you. Back to the matter at hand. I have information that you're going to find important, so before you set this letter on fire, read till the end.
Yes, I know that you, Lord Voldemort, were once known by the name Tom Marvolo Riddle. I know a lot of things about you, but that's neither here nor there. What I want to tell you is that you made a mistake - well, you made more than one and eventually you will come to regret all of them- but one specific mistake, could be your downfall. This isn't meant as a threat, it's simply the truth.
But perhaps I should start at the beginning.
Your first mistake was creating your very first Horcrux at 16 (Yes, I know about them, all of them. Don't get your knickers in a twist). What you ignored- or didn't know or wasn't in your calculations- was the fact that when you murdered Myrtle, your soul wouldn't split a small amount. No, it split in half! Half of your 16-year-old soul was put in the diary.
Do you even know what the consequences were?
At 16 our magic is not completely settled, our magical core is still growing, still developing, and it is closely linked to our soul. A growing magical core needs a whole soul to develop and to give us the ability to reach the top of our magical potential. Without a soul, or with a damaged one, the access to our magic is crippled.
Do you even understand what you did, you bloody fool?
You crippled yourself, hindered your magical development and blocked your access to your own magic. And you lost the ability for some very important human emotions. Do you even feel anything aside from anger, fury and sadistic pleasure?
You paved the way to your own insanity, with every Horcrux you made you destroyed not just your soul, but your mind and you didn't even see it. But you will once you've finished reading.
Your goals before the Horcruxes weren't too bad, I even have to say they were rather right. We must stay hidden from the Muggles, and it is sad how much muggle traditions are brought into our world disregarding the wizarding ones, and every magical child should be put into a good and loving home, never put into a muggle orphanage.
I understand your hatred of muggles, probably better than most, but the way you went about this was wrong – genocide is always wrong.
And then you strayed farther and farther from these original goals. Pure-blood supremacy is not the answer, it leads to inbreeding which leads to magically weak children and squibs (if you have the time read muggle literature about DNA, gene pools, gene mutation and mendelian rules). I mean, look around, Half-bloods and Muggle-borns are so much more powerful than most of the purebloods (Severus Snape, my mother and you are only a few examples).
Okay, but back to the point. Every time you made a Horcrux your soul was split in half, driving you to further insanity, reducing the accessibility of your magical core and crippling your magic in strength and potential. Then, when you went after me on Halloween 1981, because of a self-fulfilling prophecy, your soul was damaged beyond repair.
The murder of two people and the attempted murder of an innocent baby broke it, again, in half. Half of the little soul you had left broke off and it would have vanished, but it found a whole soul to ground it. So, it attached itself to the only soul left – me. You made me your Horcrux that night, ironic if you think about how often you've tried to kill me.
The next mistake you made was using my blood to resurrect yourself. You deepened the connection between us. And yes, you've used it to torture me with these dreams and visions (and isn't it another sign how insane you are that you never thought about this connection, never tried to find out from where it came from, never realized that I am your Horcrux?). But you forgot something: a connection goes both ways. And so, I often went to visit you, especially this summer.
I learned so much about you and our connection. In the next few hours I will use it, to give you back what is yours, and what you should never have split. I will give you back your soul and with it, your brilliant mind, your missing emotions and the ability to understand what you did. And even if you are a homicidal maniac at heart, it will still hurt to see the utter mess you fabricated, how much you strayed from your goals and your path. How many important wizarding bloods you wasted and lost.
I almost wish I could be there when you realize all this, it would be interesting to see what you do next, but my plans will not allow it. After tonight, do what you think is best, I won't care or interfere.
This will be the last time you hear from me. I wish you all the best, Tom Marvolo Riddle, and may the wizarding world be prepared to deal with you in all your powerful, brilliant, sane and hopefully not homicidal glory.
AN: Please review and let me know what you think.
Many thanks to a-bit-of-madness for helping to improve my spelling and grammar.
In the moment my beta is editing the already published 9 chapters, and I will be working to update them when I get them back. So the next new chapter (chapter 10) will take some time.
First published: 4th of March 2018
Last edited: 15th of October 2018