Truly Loved

Nothing in the life of Harry Potter could have prepared him for this. He was one of the most famous people in the wizarding world and yet here he lay; beaten, bloodied, and broken. He struggled to breathe in the room he was given, a small cupboard under the stairs, usually used to store brooms and dustpans. But once again his abusive uncle blamed him for his own problems. So here he lay, in pain, an occurring factor in Harry's life.

The battle that took place in Hogwarts; the only place he felt safe, was brutal and bloody. Many loved ones died. Too many. Remus, Tonks, Severus... The stern man that everyone had once hated had quickly and easily become som eone that he looked up to and cherished. His death was a hard blow to Harry.

Harry was trying to distract himself from the physical pain, but this caused deeper, emotional pain. It hurt, and he couldn't stop this hurt, even when asleep, his dreams were filled with screams of pain and loss.

Suddenly, Harry heard a soft rattling sound outside the cupboard, he curled into himself thinking that his uncle was coming back for some more 'fun'. But when nothing happened after a minute or so, he picked his head up out of his arms and looked towards the door. Nothing had changed. But then.. there was a letter, obviously it had been slid under his door, the outside of the letter is blank. Harry picked up the letter and held it carefully. He was slightly suspicious of what it might contain. Having fought in a war and being on the run for a year assured that the boy would become cautious of random letters. Ever since 4th year when Hermione received hate-mail, he had been wary of opening unmarked letters. But slowly, his curiosity got away with him and he opened the envelope, still wary, but eager. He slid the parchment out of the envelope and read.

Dearest Hadrian,

I have charmed this letter specifically for this purpose. I sincerely hope though that you don't receive this letter for many decades but know this, if you are reading this letter that means without a shadow of a doubt that you are dying. Don't be afraid. Death comes for everyone.

Let me explain. Your father and I are not humans. Not completely. We both share elven heritage. The reason you won't already know is that elves don't gain their inheritance at the age of 17 like most other creatures they receive their full inheritance when they die. So you have nothing to fear. Once you have re-awoken from the 'mortis statum' you will be fully turned into a hybrid, this is because your father and I are different types of elves. You shall be a full blooded High Blood Elf.

There isn't much more time for me to tell you anything and I wish I could do more my child, but I shall you leave you with this. The Fae and Elves have a system of laws and such all of their own that I suggest that you look up if you wish to survive in the world, but there is also that the ministry will now be wary of you and will try and get you classified as a creature. While the Fae Queen would never let that happen I suggest that you leave London and the reach of the ministry for a while so that you can get better acquainted with what you now will be.

There is nothing more that I can do to help you, but know that I will always love you.

Love Mum

When Harry read the last line, he new his life was finally at it's end. It had finally happened after nearly 17 years in the Dursley household his uncle Vernon had finally killed him. A smile spread across his face at the thought that a pathetic powerless muggle had done what the powerful and mighty Lord Voldemort couldn't. He had killed Harry Potter. Harry felt himself become separated from his body when his final breath had escaped from his broken body. He could almost feel the tingling sensation that he knew would have accompanied the healing of lacerations and broken bones through out his body as the tissue mended as well as it could. Obvious scarring is visible over his torso and arms, and some on his legs. Usually the boy would have them covered by glamours but they must have fallen when he died.

Harry watched fascinated while his body changed before his eyes. He could feel the Earth magic caressing his spectral form as it curled his hair, pointed his ears, strengthened his skin and nails making them almost claw like, and sharpened his teeth, making them almost fang-like on his canines. One problem, it made him shorter.

The whole process to Harry had felt like it mere minutes, but in reality it had taken many hours. The morning light seeped through the cracks in his cupboard door. Feeling the pulling to return to his body once the changes were complete he sees the light seeping through just enough for a vague smile to brush his lips before being claimed by the darkness.

Opening his eyes he smelt a horrible stench in the room. The light is very bright which brought him to the conclusion that he was no longer anywhere near the place he had fallen asleep. Next was the white roof indicating without a doubt that he was no longer in the cupboard. Stiffly sitting up he looked around the sitting room of number 4 Private Drive and at first nothing looks out of place. That is until he noticed how the setting sun shining through the window made the walls shine with a peculiar red. Peering closer at the walls, the red wasn't light, it was something... liquid. Blood.

Instantly snapping out of his trance he looked down at his hands and surely enough they were coated in the same substance which coated the walls, making his hands sticky as it congeals.

Looking around for the source of the blood he saw that the bodies of this so-called family littered the room. That would explain the smell. Clutching the locket that he wore everywhere since the final battle, he couldn't truly feel bad about having killed his relatives after all that they had done to him. The manner in which they had treated him for the majority of his life as well as the fact that theyhad technically killed him first calmed his conscience.

Gathering the few things that he owned; mainly just school supplies and clothes which Dudley had once owned. He shrunk them and placed them in his pocket before departing the house. Feeling free for one of the first times in his life he apparated to the Weasley house with a small smile on his face. Probably one of the first since the war.

Hermione lived at the burrow now, or as close to it as anyone could get. When she went to Australia to collect her parents and remove the memory charm, they wouldn't even let her in the house. She forced her way in using magic but nothing seemed to work, her parent's memories couldn't be restored. So she left in tears and returned back to the Burrow. Her parents continued living in Australia, as it was their so-called life ambition. They were blissfully unaware that they have a daughter, but Molly wouldn't have it any other way than having the young girl stay in her house.

The Weasleys treated everyone as family anyway so it was hardly a challenge to think that they would take her in when she was practically orphaned. Looking on the Burrow was also a little bitter sweet. The house reminds Harry of summers escaping the nasty Dursleys, but it also brings up memories of the too recent death and betrayal of Ronald Weasley. While the trio was on the run before the war the boy had left them and was captured. He willingly told Voldemort of their location and any other information that they had in an attempt of them sparing him his life. It didn't work, he died, but was relatively painless. He sold Harry out, not to mention Hermione whom Ron had loved since fourth year.

Walking into the strange and wonderful house that he had always loved he heard voices coming from the Kitchen. Angry voices. So being as he was naturally he stood in front of the door and pressed and ear against it, trying to get an idea of what was going on.

"He's dangerous!" Yelled a voice.

"But dear, that's no reason to send anyone to Azkaban." Mrs. Weasley reply sounding strangely forced.

"He's killed before, I can't believe you'd trust him out in the world after all he has done!" He recognised the voice this time, it was Hermione.

"So have we all, it was a war,"

"And yet Dumbledore is backing the proposal,"

"He is?" the disgusted voice of Author Weasley added.

"Voldemort possessed Potter more than twice just in his years at Hogwarts and he hosted a fragment of his tainted soul for more than 16 years. How could he not be affected by something like that? It would be safer for the Wizarding world if we just put him in Azkaban. He could turn on us any day now and I don't believe we could survive another war right now." she was obviously determined to get her way, but Harry wasn't listening anymore. He couldn't do anything. His best friend and sister for the past 7 years has convincing his only family that Harry would be safer to them in Azkaban.

The light side, if you can even call them that now, are attempting to place him, their 'saviour' in prison. The very prison that is rumoured to make you go mad, the prison that hosts creatures that were driven from Hell itself. A single tear fell from Harry's eye. They know how much dementors scare him, frighten him. How could they think of doing this to anyone, let alone someone they consider family?

Stumbling away from the door, probably making too much noise, though finally finding feeling in his legs and too overwhelmed by emotions Harry ran from the house and as soon as he crossed the wards he apparated mid step. Not even thinking of a location, just wanting to get away from the Burrow. Wanting somewhere people would understand.

Logically, it was not a smart move and Harry was lucky that he didn't end up splinched, but he couldn't bring himself to care. As he landed in a garden he instantly collapsed to his knees, his vision blurred from the unshed tears. He hadn't cried in years. Not really cried, and not for something as selfish as his own pain since he was an infant. His Uncle had made sure to beat it out of him whenever he had the audacity to cry like a normal human, Harry wasn't normal, he was a freak and therefore should not cry. So he had never been comforted, at least not since he was an infant and his mother died. So when he felt arms wrap around him he buried his head into the shoulder of the unknown person and cried for the pain that he had suffered. He cried for the deaths that he had faced. He cried for the betrayals that have been thrust upon him, the trials he fought and even his own death. He mourned the child that died alone in a cupboard that never new a mothers true love.

He cried into his lovers arms until the tears would no longer run, and strong arms picked him up out of the garden and carried him into the house, up the stairs and into the bedroom. He was laid down and fell asleep, clinging onto the one thing he knew he had left, and the one person he knew who loved him. At least one Weasley still loved him, his Charlie. Charlie who would not care about what he had done in the war. Charlie who would not care about what he had become.

A/N: Please review if you liked it, thank you for reading. I enjoyed writing this, there might be a couple of errors due to the fact that I decided to change from 1st person to 3rd person.