Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling.
Harry Potter was not happy. This day had turned out to be one of the worst days in his 15 years long life. At the moment he sat on the bed in his little bedroom, locked in by his uncle, and tried to read a potions book. Anything to distract his mind from the situation earlier this day. It had happened when they ate breakfast, he and the Dursleys. They allowed him to eat now, but only after sever threats from Sirius and Remus. A brief smile touched his face and for a moment his eyes sparkled. Then the sparkle faded away when he remembered how the butter had turned into strawberry jam.
Lately his magic had acted weird and for the last days it had only became worse. It was like a wild animal inside him, fighting for freedom and even when it was quiet he couldn't be sure that it would stay that way for long. It had grown capricious and was totally unpredictable. His knuckles whitened when his grip tightened around the book. Fear coiled around his heart, fear for this new development of his so far strange life. Slowly he curled up and let his head fall down on his knees. All he wanted was to be normal, a normal boy, but no he had to be the blasted boy-who-lived and everyone knew that fate loved to kick him in the teeth. Harry could feel how tears burned behind his eyelids, but he refused to cry. It didn't solve anything, anything at all.
He had reached the point of when he no longer knew what to do. There was no idea to send a letter to Dumbles. He lifted his head and there was a fire in his eye, making them glow killing-curse green. Oh yes, Dumbles or Dumbledork. The man who loved to play a grandfatherly attitude while manipulating you to do what he wanted. 'No more. I won't fall for him again. Go to hell Dumbledore and take your Order of the Frying Chicken with you!' it was his fault that Sirius had been hurt. ' Sure I played a part in it, but if the bastard only had told me… but no… better keep poor Potter humble and in the dark' Harry thought and nearly growled. His attempted rescue-mission at the ministry of magic had ended up in chaos and a failure. It had been a trap all along and he had walked straight into it. 'Thank Merlin, no one was seriously hurt or ended up dead. Sirius almost did though…' He had nearly lost Sirius to a mysterious veil, but Remus had managed to save him before he fell through. 'Never more… I will never act so reckless again' he promised himself and gripped his knees tighter.
Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a pop and then a single envelope floated down through the air and landed in front of him on the bed. Moving away quickly he looked at the envelope suspiciously. Then he saw the crest. He had only seen it once and that had been down in his vault. It was the Potter-family crest, a large black P in front of a roaring lion resting against a crimson background. Carefully he poked the envelope. Nothing happened. With a sigh he scoped it up and carefully opened it, expecting anything. It was a letter and when he read it he paled drastically.
if you are reading this letter it means that you are alive and that we are dead and that we can't explain this in person, which was our intention from the beginning. This saddens us greatly, since we obviously want to spend more time with you, our beloved son. If we could we would come to you in this coming time of great hardships. But now it's up to you, and you alone and we're truly sorry for that. What we are about to tell you, even Albus Dumbledore, doesn't know. No one does. But, remember that regardless of what you are going to read, you are our beloved son no matter what.
There isn't any easy way to say this, so we'll make it straight to the point. You weren't born as Harry Potter. You came to us as someone else. In fact magic herself came with you and gave you to us instead of our stillborn son. But when we saw you the first time you were a man in your twenties. Magic herself made you into a baby once again so that you would have a chance at a new life. Before she left she told us your true name. You are the legendary Salazar Slytherin, one of Hogwarts founders. We sealed your memories, personality and around eighty percent of your magic for your own safety. Then we blood-adopted you to give you the look of James and me combined. If anyone had found out your true identity before you were strong enough to protect yourself it could have put your life in jeopardy. The magic, your personality and your memories are supposed to stay bound until your sixteenth birthday. Precisely at midnight when the 31st of July begins, the spells containing your true self will disappear and you will regain your true identity. This letter is supposed to arrive two weeks before your birthday.
We know you probably don't believe us, but we swear on our magic and on our love for you that everything written in this letter is true. We love you no matter who you are, Salazar Slytherin, or Harry James Potter. It doesn't matter. You are our beloved son and we will always love and be proud of you. We hope that you someday will forgive us for abandoning you in this time of hardships, but know that we will still watch over you. Live your life as you want it and to the fullest. Leave no regrets. We'll watch over you and our love will always protect you.
Take care and live, beloved son.
Lily and James Potter
Harry stared at the letter in his hands. Salazar Slytherin? Him, a founder? Suddenly the room felt unbearable hot. He dropped the letter, jumped of the bed and ran to the window. Throwing it open he then greedily took several deep breaths of the cold night air. No, he couldn't be a founder, and definitely not Salazar Slytherin. No… once again it seemed as fate enjoyed turning his life upside down. Closing his eyes he felt tears running down his cheeks. This time he didn't stop them. It was over. Falling down on his knees Harry Potter buried his head on his arms and cried silently for everything he was going to loose. Left on his bed was his shabby watch and while Harry cried the minute hand moved to join the small hand on the twelve. Midnight had arrived.