YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL

By Opopanax

A/N: Finally fixed some of the small problems with this chapter.

Chapter1: After School

1: A Message for Voldemort

28 June, 1996

Lord Voldemort, A.K.A. Tom Riddle was sitting on his stone throne, considering his next moves in the war. He was highly incensed at his followers' failure to procure or hear the prophecy. More importantly, through their incompetence, he had been forced to reveal himself to that idiot Fudge much sooner than he had intended. And, on top of that, he had injured himself severely, both in the duel with Dumbledore and the posession of Potter. He had been forced to take a number of strengthening potions and restorative draughts to recuperate from that. His recovery was aided, however, by the fact that his body wasn't really a body as such; instead, it was a magical construct, rather like a Dementor. Very few people knew the history of the Dementors. They were in fact magical constructs, much like Basilisks. Voldemort's body was nothing more than a few drops of blood, a bone, and a hand, held together and given cohesion by the magic of what was left of his soul and his own followers' Dark Marks.

Leaning back on his throne and idly twirling his wand in his fingers, he reflected on the past year.

It had been very entertaining to watch the Daily Prophet slander and ridicule Dumbledore and Potter over the intervening months since his resurrection. After Potter had escaped, he had been highly angry for a time. Later, though, he realized it held a pattern; Potter had gotten lucky far too many times. After considering things, Voldemort decided that maybe it wasn't entirely luck, that maybe it was the prophecy coming into play. With this new idea in mind, he had instructed Severus to try and dig into the magical connection he and Potter shared to see if there was any way it could be manipulated. It wasn't until this past Christmas that he knew it could. He had been inside Nagini while she scouted out the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, and had felt another presence with him when she had bitten that idiot Arthur Weasley.

After that episode, he had instructed Severus to try and open this connection wider.

It had worked perfectly. Voldemort had planted a vision in Potter's head about his godfather being held captive in the Hall of Prophecy.

Potter had come, but here the plan got derailed slightly, because Potter had brought five of his friends along with him. This had resulted in twelve of his best Death Eaters being captured and the loss of the prophecy.

Voldemort was jerked out of his thoughts when a tapping came at the window of his sanctum. With a lazy flick of his wand, Voldemort opened the window.

A snowy white owl flew in cautiously. Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow. "Potter's owl?" he muttered to himself.

The owl hooted and held out a leg.

Unfurling the scroll of parchment, Voldemort read the letter, a sense of incredulity rising higher with each sentence.

Dear Voldemort,

I bet you are surprised to be hearing from me, your supposed worst enemy. To tell you the truth, I'm rather surprised to be writing to you. But some things have come to light which I feel you must know in order to make an informed decision on this so-called war.

First, about the prophecy. While I don't personally feel that divination is worth anything at all as a discipline, I know both you and Dumbledore set store by the prophecy. As such, and to prove this letter comes with good intentions, I shall now tell you the half that Snape didn't manage to hear. Yes, I know Snape was the one who gave it to you; I saw it in a Pensieve, a memory I wasn't supposed to see.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies." This is the half you know. The part you haven't heard goes like this: "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

There you have it. But, the thing is, I didn't know the prophecy at all, let alone that a prophecy even existed, until just after our little meeting at the Ministry; Dumbledore never told me. And this is the other reason I'm writing this letter.

To be perfectly honest with you, you can have this world. It has done nothing for me. Yes, you killed my parents, but I didn't know them, they were soldiers in this war and knew the risks, or at least I think they did. Do I wish you hadn't, so I could have a family? Yes I do. But I don't entirely blame you for it all. I don't know if Dumbledore told them the prophecy or not, and I don't really care.

Now, I know you want to kill me for what I represent, the fact that I'm the Boy-Who-Lived means you failed and it makes you look weak, but think about it. The only reason you failed was that damn prophecy. I propose that we both ignore the prophecy. You do whatever the hell you want, I don't care. Kill everyone in the Wizarding World for all I care; it doesn't matter to me anymore one way or the other. Leave me alone and I'll do the same. Since we both live, neither can die. The only reason I ever did anything to you was because Dumbledore manipulated me into it. Now, I quit. Do whatever you want. I quit not out of cowardice, but because I have nothing to fight for any longer.

After learning the prophecy, after learning that Dumbledore values me as little more than a tool, after learning that I have no true friends, that everything that has ever happened to me is Dumbledore's fault, I quit. You can have everything. I won't stop you. The only people I would've fought for are either dead or don't want me around anymore, calling me too dangerous.

I am sending a similar letter to the Daily Prophet. It has probably already been delivered, and you should see it tomorrow, where I go into greater detail. You might find it entertaining.

This letter has been signed in blood and magic, so that you know what I'm saying is the truth. I wish you good luck in whatever it is you choose to do.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Voldemort threw his head back and laughed. Looking back at the letter, he chortled, "Excellent, Dumbledore! You have done what I failed to do, you have killed his spirit." Looking at the patiently waiting snowy owl, Voldemort nodded to it and said, "One moment while I draft a reply."

The owl hooted and nodded, as Voldemort quickly and gleefully penned a few lines:

Potter,

My first inclination is to kill you for your temerity, but I suppose a blood signed contract to not oppose me will suffice.

I am not interested in all your childish angst, Potter. Simply sign the contract and return it, and we need never have anything to do with each other. And please, no more whiny letters.

Lord Voldemort

Voldemort wasn't worried about the contract; his Horcruxes would protect him from any fallout should he breach the agreement. He didn't intend to breach it however. Potter had been a thorn in his side far too long, and if he was truly serious about a non-opposition policy, well, who was he to stop him? He'd prefer Potter dead, but out of his nonexistent hair would be good enough.

With a thin lipped smile, Voldemort attached the package to the owl. Now we shall see, he thought. Now we shall see.

2: Conversations

25 June, 1996

Harry Potter left Dumbledore's office in a daze. Not a daze of grief, but rage. Everything that had happened in his life now made sense. It was all purposefully orchestrated by the lying twinkle-eyed master manipulator upstairs so that he could have his perfect weapon.

At least I have my friends, he thought, as he navigated the halls toward the Hospital Wing. No matter what Dumbledore did, I still have friends. I will fight for them, not him.

Thoughts of his friends led naturally to thoughts of his godfather, Sirius Black. There was an aching chasm in his heart where Sirius once resided. Despite having only known the man for two years, Sirius had come to represent something extremely precious to Harry; hope. Hope that there was an outlet from his hellish life, hope that somebody actually cared for him beyond his title of Boy-Who-Lived. Ever since Harry was old enough to think, hope had been something which was foreign to him. From watching the other families at school and on Privet Drive, he knew his life was abnormal, knew that what the Dursleys put him through day after day, year after year was wrong and totally reprehensible.

Then Hagrid came, offering a new world, a new life. He remembered his thoughts on his first ride on the Hogwarts Express; that he didn't know what he was going to, but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind. Unfortunately, it hadn't turned out that way.

Everywhere he went, people pointed at him, talked about him like he wasn't there. They made up stories about him, lied about him, all because they thought he was their personal entertainment or whipping boy. The only constants in his life were Ron and Hermione.

But even then, Harry wondered. With his new understanding of Dumbledore's motives, he wondered if he really did have any friends.

He had initially planned on visiting them in the Hospital Wing, but abruptly changed his mind; he needed to think.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by voices coming from up ahead. Slowing down and peering cautiously around the corner, Harry saw he was just outside the hospital wing, from whence the voices issued.

Inching closer, he listened with a growing sense of betrayal, heartbreak, and rage.

"Hermione, are you going to sign this?" came the unmistakable voice of Ginevra Weasley. "You know this has to be done. Hanging around Potter is going to get us killed."

"Yes, I'll sign it," Hermione replied, sounding weak but determined. "I almost died from that curse Dolohov sent at me."

"I'll sign it too," said Neville. "He caused my father's wand to get broken."

"They tell me these scars won't ever fade," said Ron Weasley angrily. "And it's all bloody Potter's fault."

"I thought he was my friend," said the slightly less dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood. "But he led us all into a trap."

Harry's heart felt like it dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of the Chamber of Secrets. Slowly, he pushed open the doors and advanced into the Hospital Wing, his face a mask of rage and grief.

"So, that's how it is, then?" he asked. "You're blaming me for everything. No matter that I told you all to stay behind and that you came along anyway, it's still my fault?"

"Yes," said Hermione baldly. "It's getting too dangerous for us to hang around you. All these schemes you get tangled up in are going to jeopardize my chances of becoming Head Girl, or worse, killed."

Harry's gaze moved to Ginny, who flinched at the look in his eyes, but held her chin high just the same. "I agree, Harry. It was all right when it was the DA, but I don't want any part of the danger that hangs around you."

"And the fact that I saved your life in your first year means nothing?"

Ginny scoffed. "Dumbledore would've found me in time," she said, sounding utterly confident. "You were just being foolish and reckless as usual."

Harry turned to look at Luna. Her protuberant eyes were much more focused than they usually were as she just met his stare with one of her own. "I thought you were my friend, Harry Potter. But friends don't lead other friends into danger."

"I've put up with a lot from you, Potter, but now I'm physically maimed from following your stupid arse into another dangerous situation. I've had enough," sneered Ron.

"We've all signed a letter," said Hermione, holding out a piece of parchment. "It basically says the same thing."

At that moment, Harry James Potter felt something in him wither up and die. Without a word, he looked each one of his former friends in the eye, turned without a word and left, closing the hospital doors gently behind him.

There was a deathly silence in his wake. Each one of the five people in the Hospital wing had seen the hurt, betrayal and shock their revelations had brought upon him.

"Oh well, we're shot of him," said Ron. "Who wants a game of chess?"

Shrugging, they all settled down, Hermione with a book, Neville with his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, Luna with the Quibbler and Ginny with some end of year homework. Nobody would give a thought to Harry Potter until it was too late to do anything about it.

As Harry walked away from the Hospital Wing, he heard his friends' words playing over and over in his head. "You're dangerous ... hanging around you is going to get us killed." The last link of stability in his life had just been taken away from him. No more, he thought. No more, I can't take anymore of this.

But fate, it seemed, decided that he could take some more of it, after all. As he was walking into the entrance hall, a fist came out of nowhere and struck him in the side of the face, sending him flying across the polished marble, his glasses cracking into pieces as they skittered away.

"It's all your fault!" roared a voice so unlike the usual genial soft tones of Remus Lupin that Harry didn't recognize it at first. "It's all your bloody fault that he's dead! The last of my friends, the only reason I'm even around anymore is dead, and it's all your fault! Your parents would have been ashamed of you!"

Harry lay there, dazed on the floor, blinking up at the enraged face of the werewolf as he towered over him. "If it weren't for you, Sirius would still be safely at home, but no! You have to go rushing off and make him come after you to rescue you!"

"But-"

"No more excuses, Harry. I will never, ever forgive you," said Remus coldly. And, with one final kick to Harry's ribs, Remus J. Lupin stormed out of the castle.

3: Dobby

29 June, 1996

Harry was sitting in his room at Number Four Privet Drive, after a long and boring train ride. All his former friends had avoided him, and he them. He had taken all his meals, including the end of year feast, in the kitchens, much to the delight of Dobby. "Harry Potter, Sir," Dobby had gushed, bouncing on his many layered socks. "How can Dobby be serving you today, Sir?"

Harry had smiled his first true smile since his night at the Ministry. "Just some sandwiches and pumpkin juice, please," he had said. "Oh, And Dobby?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, Sir?"

"Thank you for being my friend," Harry had whispered, tears coming to his eyes.

Dobby had hugged his knee, not saying a word. Harry understood.

He had sat by himself in a locked and warded compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Upon seeing the members of the Order at the train station-minus Remus Lupin, of course-he had ground his teeth and kept silent. Telling off Vernon Dursley was not going to work.

Sure enough, he had been beaten for telling lies and tossed into his room and locked in, only having been let out twice to use the bathroom. No food had yet been slipped into the cat flap. Harry didn't care, however. He didn't care about anything, not Voldemort, not O.W.L. scores, not anything.

He had spent his time writing a letter to Voldemort, and then a very detailed letter to the Daily Prophet. He poured everything he had been thinking about, all his grief and rage, all his torment, into that last letter. He hoped to be long gone by the time Dumbledore could do anything about it, however.

He was just tying the thick scroll addressed to the Prophet closed when Hedwig tapped at his window. His relatives hadn't barred it up, instructing him to send an "I'm fine" letter to the Order every third day or else.

"Hey girl," Harry addressed his only other true friend, allowing her to perch on his arm as he brought her close to his chest. Hedwig, sensing her pet wizard's mood, snuggled her beak into Harry's chest and woofed gently, letting him caress her soft feathers. Hedwig could feel the great mental anguish her wizard was feeling. She ached to be able to tuck him under one of her wide wings and shelter him like a chick, but settled for nuzzling him and making reassuring sounds.

"I know, girl, I appreciate the thought," Harry said to his owl, rubbing her beak with his cheek. "Don't worry, I'll be ok. You and I will be leaving this place of backstabbing hypocrites behind soon."

Hedwig snuffled gently and held out her leg, to which was attached a black envelope.

"I hope he didn't hurt you, girl," Harry said, untying the letter and unfolding it.

Hedwig shook her head and, with one last nip of his fingers, flew over to settle on her perch and sipped some water before tucking her head under one wing and dozing.

Harry read Voldemort's reply and unfolded the contract.

I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, hereby enter into an agreement with Harry James Potter. This agreement is as follows:

That I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, shall not willingly, by action or intent, seek to do harm, physical or mental, to Harry James Potter. That I shall cease any and all attempts to kill or otherwise injure Harry James Potter, either personally or through means of any acting under my jurisdiction.

By signing, Harry James Potter states that he agrees to and will abide by the terms listed above and that Harry James Potter shall not willingly, by any means physical or magical, oppose any actions that I might take, so long as they do not render harm to him.

Should any of the undersigned breach the terms listed above, it shall result in a loss of fifty (50) percent of their magic.

Should a second breach occur, the undersigned shall forfeit the rest of their magic, thus rendering the contract null and void.

This agreement was tendered on the twenty-ninth (29th) day of the sixth month (June) of the year nineteen hundred and ninety six (1996.)

Signed,

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Without hesitation, Harry signed the contract with the included blood quill, sealing his oath to leave Voldemort alone with blood and magic. He winced at his hand was cut into again by one of these vile things, but this time, it was for a good cause.

It was at this point that something totally unanticipated happened.

Magical bonds and oaths work on one basic, overriding principle: intent. If one intends to keep the oath, there is a flare of magic as the person's own inherent magic, which is built into the soul and mind of each witch and wizard, judges their truthfulness or intent to keep that oath. Should they be found duplicitous or that they do not in fact tend to keep to the terms of the oath, the magic will exact a price, usually said price to be listed in the terms of the oath. For instance, "I, Joe Smith, do hereby swear on my life and magic that..."

The terms in the above oath are such that, if Joe Smith is lying or in any way willingly breaks the oath, the cost of breaking the oath will be death and loss of his magic.

Magical contracts work in much the same way as magical oaths. But, while oaths are not legally binding, and instead are used to settle agreements personally, contracts can be entered into legal proceedings as evidence. Depending on the terms, breaching a magically binding contract can result in anything from mild discomfort to the complete loss of life and magic.

All this was well known by Harry; he had researched the topic thoroughly after the Triwizard Tournamet fiasco. But what was not known was the fact that there were, in fact, two souls in his body-that of himself and a piece of Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. Because the inherent magic of the contract works by interacting with the magical core of those who signed it, and because this tiny piece of Voldemort was for the most part isolated and thus viewed as a separate magical core, and further because that piece had no intention of not trying to harm Harry, the contract came into effect.

Harry bit back a scream as he fell to the floor, intense, burning agony filling his scar. He seemed to hear a faint scream inside his head, before everything went black.

Back at Riddle Manor, outside Little Hangleton, Voldemort felt a brief pain spike through his head, but dismissed it as part of his recovery. He would never know that, by signing the contract, he nullified the prophecy. The most crucial lines of which were, "neither can live while the other survives" referred to the Horcrux in Harry's scar, which was just eliminated by the signing of the contract. In short, Voldemort could be killed by anybody now.

# # #

Groaning, Harry sat up. What the hell just happened? he thought blearily, rising unsteadily to his feet and staggering a bit.

Hedwig gave a concerned sounding hoot. "I'm ok, girl. Just something really weird happened in my head," he told his owl, scratching her head feathers, eliciting an avian purr of pleasure.

After the world stopped spinning, Harry took stock. Something felt ... different. It felt as if a veil had been lifted from in front of his eyes. Turning to open the wardrobe door, he looked at the full-length mirror and gaped.

The lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead was almost gone, its outline only faintly visible. Where before it had been inflamed and angry looking, especially after Voldemort's resurrection, it now looked like nothing more than a birthmark. The incessant tingling he had been experiencing was gone, too.

"What the hell happened?" he asked again. "Did signing that contract do something?"

Resolving to think about it later, he looked at his watch to discover he'd been out for almost half an hour. "Damn, that must've been one hell of a contract," he thought wryly.

Turning from the mirror, He rolled both the contract and blood quill back into the envelope and gave it to Hedwig. "Take this back to Tom, girl," he said, stroking her back as he carried her over to the window.

Hedwig nibbled his fingers and launched off into the sky, heading for Little Hangleton.

"Dobby?" Harry called to the empty room.

With a pop, the excitable house-elf appeared in his room. "You is calling Dobby, Harry Potter, sir?"

"Yes, I did," said Harry, kneeling down to be at the elf's level. "How would you like to bond as part of the Potter family?"

Tears came to the large tennis ball sized eyes of the elf. "Dobby would love nothing more, sir. You is surely the greatest wizard ever!"

Harry laughed. "Thanks, Dobby. Now, I, Harry James Potter, do hereby induct the house-elf known as Dobby into the Potter family, until such time as he chooses to depart my service."

"I, Dobby the house-elf, do hereby swear to serve the Potter family to the best of my ability, to keep their secrets, and to always keep the interests of the family above my own," Dobby said, completeing the ritual which had been drilled into all house-elves from birth.

"Sworn and accepted," said Harry, and there was a brief flash of magic as the bond was sealed.

"Now, I need you to do a couple of things for me," Harry said, rising and settling at his desk chair. "First, silence the room, please."

Dobby gestured and a shimmering field surrounded the walls.

"Ok, now. I'm thinking of leaving England," said Harry, cutting straight to the point..

Dobby gaped at Harry. "B-but what about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Master Harry, Sir?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm letting him have it. My friends turned on me, my Headmaster has been grooming me to be some kind of weapon, my only remaining family, Sirius, is dead, and everybody blames me for it. I have nothing to fight for."

Dobby's ears drooped sadly. "Dobby understands, Master Harry, sir. How can Dobby help?"

Harry pulled his vault key and a letter out of his pocket. "First, go to Gringotts and withdraw five hundred Galleons and have half of it converted to Muggle currency. Also, give this letter to the goblin called Griphook. Then, come back here and we'll take the next step."

"Dobby will do it, Master Harry, Sir," Dobby squeaked. "Dobby will be back soon." And, taking the little key and letter, the elf popped out.

# # #

Sometime later, Harry was sitting on his bed, sorting through all his possessions when Dobby popped back in. The elf was clutching a bag and a wallet, both of which bulged with their respective currency. "Dobby did as ordered, sir," he said, bouncing happily. "What can Dobby be doing for you now?"

Harry smiled at the elf. "Can you side-along people when you do your popping?"

"Yes we can, Master Harry. Is you wanting to go somewhere?"

"Tomorrow, yes. But first, take this to the Daily Prophet. I'm sure they have a letter box. Don't let yourself be seen."

Dobby nodded. "I can be doing that, Sir."

Harry handed over the scroll and lay back. He was tired, so tired. He was tired of the persecution, of betrayals and dark lords. Tired of the manipulations and the lies, and in short tired of the magical world. He had had enough.

Fervently praying that tonight he would get a dreamless sleep that didn't involved snake-faced wizards rising out of cauldrons, or his godfather falling through tattered veils, or his friends denouncing him, Harry Potter drifted off to sleep, not caring about the firestorm that was about to be unleashed on Wizarding England by his letter.

4: The Daily Prophet

1 July, 1996

Later that night, the managing editor of the Daily Prophet opened the public mailbox to see if there were any letters to the editor before putting the next issue to bed. They had been doing a boom in business bashing Potter and Dumbledore. They had never seen a circulation so high as this year. And the discrete bags of Galleons handed over by Cornelius Fudge helped as well.

Not expecting much by way of any exciting letters, the editor's eyes widened as he found a thick scroll with Harry Potter written on the outside. Cracking open the seal, his eyes widened and widened until they seemed about to fall out of their sockets as he finished it. Oh Merlin, this is going to be big, he thought gleefully, handing it over to the enchanted printing press to be included in the next issue, due to be delivered in the morning. This is going to be absolutely huge. He never thought of the ramifications of the letter he had just received. What it meant for him, and everyone else, now that the only one prophesised to defeat the darkest Dark Lord in modern times was giving up.

# # #

Hermione Granger prided herself on being a rational, upstanding girl. She prided herself on her academic performance and her intelligence. Until she had discovered she was a witch and was to attend Hogwarts, she had had few friends. She knew that she tended to be rather obsessive about books and learning, and that such attitudes were detrimental to forming lasting relationships at school. At first, she had figured she would be not much different than anyone else at Hogwarts. She had assumed that everyone would be as eager to learn magic as she herself was, and it never crossed her mind that magic users would be the same as their Muggle counterparts, at least inasmuch as their prejudices and intrapersonal relationships.

However, when she arrived at Hogwarts, she faced the very same ostracism from her classmates, even down to the same pejoratives being used against her. "Things like: Buck toothed bushy haired bookworm." Or even more endearing: "Miss Beaver." The term "Mudblood" was added, but she didn't find out what that meant until second year.

The ostracism and letdown had been so bad, in fact, that she had been crying in the girls' toilets on Halloween, contemplating asking her parents to pull her out of Hogwarts. She had been so sure this world would be different, that she would get to make friends as eager to learn as she was, but no. It was all the same, everywhere.

Then Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had barrelled into her life on the back of a mountain troll, and their friendship had cemented with the crack of its club. For the first time, Hermione Granger had friends. Sure, Ron was a bit thick and Harry was a bit hotheaded, but they were her friends. She had helped Harry with that dragon and the Philosopher's Stone, worked out that a basilisk was attacking students, helped him save his godfather and helped him survive in the Triwizard Tournament. He had bellowed at her for not writing him over the summer last year, but Professor Dumbledore had said it wasn't safe and, being the great sorcerer that he was and the only one Voldemort ever feared she believed him. He did, after all, know best. It never occurred to her to think that, as a mere Headmaster, he had no right telling her to whom she could and could not write.

Now, she had nearly gotten killed following Harry into another dangerous situation, a situation of Harry's own making, in which he had lost his godfather. Hermione Granger was a smart, rational girl. She knew that most likely the situations would start getting even more dangerous, and being in Harry's orbit was likely to paint a huge target on her back. And she wanted no part of that. It was all OK when they were doing things at school-the professors were only a call away-but going out to fight Death Eaters? Hermione Granger had no doubt that if she stuck with Harry, their luck would run out and she would die, and in the most painful way possible.

So, she felt it was for the best that they cut ties with him, and all the others agreed with her. Perhaps some time at his relatives' house would give him time to reflect on the rashness of his actions and get him to think before rushing off next time. But, if he did, she didn't want to be there, catching the fallout of his mistakes.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted with the arrival of the Daily Prophet. Absently putting a Knut in the owl's pouch, she sipped some tea and opened the paper. Only to promptly spray it all over the page as she read the letter printed there.

To the editor and readers:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal and either must die at the hand of the other..."

That's right, folks. According to this prophecy, which was housed in the fabled Hall of Prophecies, and for which I and five schoolmates battled a dozen Death Eaters and Voldemort himself for, I'm the one that's marked to defeat him.

I was "graciously" informed of this prophecy's contents by my esteemed headmaster mere moments after the loss of someone close to me. I must add that, personally, I believe the source of this prophecy to be laughable and a fraud. However, it does explain why Voldemort has such an unhealthy interest in me-the reason why he murdered my family while trying to kill me as a baby. Voldemort has known about that prophecy since shortly after it was given to Headmaster Dumbledore by Sibyll Trelawney (1) several months before I was born, while the headmaster deemed it unimportant for me to know. I seriously doubt his ever informing me if it were not for the fact that I had learned the existence of such a prophecy pertaining to me while fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. A prophecy where it appears I am expected to be the wizarding world's sacrifice to protect it from the results of its corruption, complacency, bigotry and wilful ignorance.

His reason, or so he claimed, for withholding this bit of information was a desire to protect my innocence and not spoil my happy childhood. I almost gagged. What happy childhood? I certainly had no hope of a happy childhood; both Voldemort and Dumbledore made certain of that. Furthermore, why was I not better trained? He's known of the threat Voldemort represented, yet I have received no training necessary to face such a monster. As you'll soon understand, this is when I began to see Dumbledore in a much more suspicious manner, and to contemplate his motives towards me, and also to examine my life as a whole in the Wizarding World.

Hmm, where do I start? How about with a short history lesson?

In 1926 a young witch named Merope Gaunt, descendant of a long line of purebloods who could trace their ancestry back to Salazar Slytherin, had fallen in love with, and married a muggle nobleman named Tom Riddle. Several months later, Tom Riddle had abandoned a pregnant young Merope when she had revealed to him that she was a witch. Since her bigoted family cast her out for her relationship with a muggle, she had no one to turn to and was left alone and destitute on the streets.

December 31, 1926 a baby boy was born and this child was named Tom (after his father) Marvolo (after Merope's father, Marvolo Gaunt) Riddle. Unfortunately Merope died within an hour after childbirth and young Tom was left in a muggle orphanage where he was raised in a cruel, abusive and unloving environment. By the time young Tom arrived at Hogwarts, he had become an angry Muggle-hating young boy who sought only vengeance against both sides of his family that had abandoned his mother and him, and the world at large that failed to protect him. An anger and hatred that eventually grew into the Dark Lord Voldemort we have today.

I discovered all this through discrete research after my second year, wherein I faced a memory of Tom Riddle in the chamber of secrets; all this is a matter of public record.

Surely I am also not the only one to see the irony of how easily Voldemort is getting his revenge upon the world. Not only upon the Muggles for his father's abandonment but also from the pureblood bigots like those that banished his mother penniless onto the cold hard streets. I'm certain he finds it greatly amusing to have those bigots grovel before him while he pits them against Muggles. I'm even more certain he finds it most satisfying while he tortures and kills those same pureblood bigots himself for their 'failures'.

Now, how about we start at my beginning?

I was born on 31 July, 1980 to James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans. A little over a year later on Halloween, my parents were murdered by Voldemort as he attempted to kill me because of the prophecy, which was given to him by a young Death Eater by the name of Severus Snape. Shortly afterwards, my godfather, Sirius Black, was arrested for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and several Muggles, as well as the belief that he had betrayed my parents' secret to Voldemort. He was sent to Azkaban for life with no trial or any effort by the ministry or the Wizarding World to learn the truth. The truth was that Peter Pettigrew was my parent's secret-keeper, and was the one who had betrayed them to Voldemort. Pettigrew had killed those Muggles as he successfully faked his death and framed my godfather. The result? By denying my Godfather the justice he was due, an innocent man was condemned to a hellish prison and a one year old child was condemned to an abusive home with the Dursleys-Muggles who despise magic and consider the inhabitants of the wizarding world, and I quote: "FREAKS!"

Despite warnings and objections from Professor McGonagall, I was placed there by Albus Dumbledore who believed that the prophecy and some sort of blood-magic protection (or so he claims) from my mother were more important than my well-being and happiness.

Now let me tell you a little about this oh-so-wonderful 'home' the Headmaster found fit for my childhood...

It wasn't until I started Muggle primary school at age five before I even learned my name was Harry Potter. All of my life I had always been called "boy" or "freak" by my so-called 'family' and reminded daily of how I was an unwanted burden upon them. A burden that frequently meant my going days without food, occasional beatings, living locked in a cupboard (when not cooking, cleaning or otherwise slaving), and receiving the cast-off clothing from my whale of a cousin. To this day I am still treated as such, but I suppose things have improved since rather than being locked in a cupboard, I am now kept locked in a small room with a cat flap in the door. This is the environment a one-year old child was left in by the so-called Leader of the Light. If only it ended there though...

He claims that his sole motive was concern for my safety. But yet there still remain many more questions unanswered. How could such vaunted blood protections truly exist? Something that he claims can supposedly stop even unstoppable killing curses. Are they commonly used by wizarding families to protect their own children? If not, then why aren't these protections used universally? If so, does this mean that every child is immune to the killing curse? For that matter, how does anyone know that it was the killing curse that was cast at me by Voldemort? There are no known witnesses, and it is obvious that Voldemort's wand was never recovered, for he has it now. So how does anyone know that level of detail? Or did everyone merely accept the word of Albus Dumbledore, the man who kidnapped me from my rightful guardian that very night?

I also wonder the wisdom of telling the public of my identity. The instant I walked into the Leaky Cauldron on my eleventh birthday, I was immediately recognized as Harry Potter. If Albus Dumbledore was so concerned with my safety, then why did he tell everybody that Harry Potter vanquished Voldemort and was left with only a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead?

Not more than a week ago, he fully admitted that he was aware of my living conditions in his office: "Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well - not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years." Now my question is, why would he do this? Why would he intentionally place any child in a situation where he knew and obviously intended for them to be hated and abused? Why did he place and keep me in an environment eerily similar to what baby Tom Marvolo Riddle was left to? Am I not deserving of a normal loving home environment? Or was I merely some form of experiment to salve his conscience for perhaps not helping Riddle once he came to Hogwarts? That if he could subject another child to such a cruel environment and he not become a raving Dark Lord then Dumbledore could feel relieved of any responsibility for Riddle's transformation into Voldemort?

Or, perhaps, was it really something much more insidious? Did he perhaps hope and plan for the neglect and abuse to leave me more open to his kind grandfatherly image and thus ensure his control of me as an eventual weapon against Voldemort?

Most importantly, is this what the wizarding world wants and is willing to allow to happen to its children? If so, why would I want to be a part of that world, much less fight and possibly sacrifice my own life for it?

Now, some of you dear readers out there might argue that I am being harsh and the headmaster means well or is just senile or incompetent. However, with the recent information of the prophecy, I've begun to see my past in a new light and I have come to the conclusion that it was his intent to make and keep me dependent upon him so that I would trust him and not notice his subtle manipulations to use me as a weapon against Voldemort. He wanted control over me and until now he has had that control; but no more! He has proven that my trust in him was severely misplaced when it comes to my own personal well-being and I refuse to be his pawn any longer!

Furthermore, I severely doubt the very existence of these so-called blood protections he claims to protect me while at the Dursleys because I find it highly improbable that love-based blood magic can be sustained by residing with a family that despises my very existence. In any case, the protection was rendered ineffective when Voldemort used my blood for his resurrection at the end of my fourth year, and even then was shown to be insufficient to protect me from him or his Death Eaters as the headmaster has claimed. After all, rather than harming him, my blood helped him regain corporeal form. If it were not for the Priori Incantatem effect, which transpired because our wands are brothers sharing the exact same cores, I would be dead regardless of these exalted blood protections. Despite the proof of the ineffectiveness of these blood protections (if they even exist) I continue to be imprisoned and enslaved by the Dursleys for that very reason. Care to explain that, old man? Or was all of it nothing more than a lie to get me to continue to reside here and let them hurt me further? Do you really believe I'll somehow continue to see you as my yearly rescuer from this hell now that I know you fully intend for me to suffer here?

How did I reach such conclusions, some of you might ask? His own admission that he knew he was effectively sentencing me to a life of hatred and abuse to anti-magical bigots was what really made me begin to think through what I've been through since coming under his influence.

To answer that question, we come to my return to the wizarding world from Muggle exile and my first year at Hogwarts. Upon my first entry into Diagon Alley I was taken by Hagrid to see Mr. Ollivander to obtain my wand. Although I was unaware of the true significance at the time, I learned that my wand was the brother to that of Tom Riddle's- containing a phoenix feather for its core. One of only two feathers given willingly by what I later learned to be Fawkes, the headmaster's own phoenix familiar. Most curious that Voldemort would share a brother wand with myself, cored with feathers from the headmaster's own phoenix. I would be willing to bet a great deal that my own wand has been made since sometime after my birth and the headmaster had somehow attuned it to me. Perhaps by use of my blood to ensure its match, since he has stated that he's already been quite free in his use of my blood for his blood wards upon the Dursley residence?

However, that is but the first chapter to this story of lies, betrayal and manipulation. For, little did I know the danger that was in store for me when the headmaster saw fit to bring into the school a powerful artifact that Voldemort was trying to obtain.

First, if Voldemort was after it, why did the headmaster have the Philosopher's Stone brought into a school full of children? Why draw that monster to Hogwarts while it was full of innocent young children? Especially when Dumbledore knew by way of the prophecy that he would be unable to protect us from him?

Second, why have it retrieved and brought by one who he had to have known by now couldn't keep a secret? Something my friends and I discovered within months of meeting him, while the headmaster has known him for more than fifty years. (Sorry, Hagrid, my friend, but its true!) I also find it strangely convenient that Voldemort, having been stuck in an incorporeal state for nearly a decade, now just so happened to suddenly find out about this artifact which has been used by Nicolas Flamel for centuries and it just so happened to be brought into Hogwarts at a time that I had begun attending.

How convenient is it that three first-year students would so easily learn of something that was supposed to be kept secret enough to protect it from someone as experienced and powerful as Voldemort. It is now obvious, with the gift of hindsight, how the circumstances were contrived to make us aware of the stone's presence and its being sought after by Voldemort. All the while, the headmaster and the rest of the staff seemingly remained blissfully unaware of Voldemort's presence in the castle, brought in on the back of the head of Professor Quirrell, our then Defence against the Dark Arts professor, whom curiously, the headmaster himself had hired.

Third, why were the obstacles to protect the stone so relatively simple, clearly designed towards the strengths of, and so easily passed by, a trio of eleven year old students? I find it odd that there were such pathetic obstacles-pathetic in that they were simple enough to be bypassed by three children, two of whom were even Muggle-raised, and yet were supposed to protect the Philosopher's Stone from someone as knowledgeable and powerful as Voldemort. Surely a large cutting of Devil's Snare is not much of an obstacle to a dark lord of Voldemort's power? Or how about a game of chess, one of little enough difficulty to be won by an eleven-year-old boy? Or perhaps a room full of animated flying keys, where, instead of having all false keys, they left the actual key to the door fluttering about?

After the three of us managed to pass through those obstacles, we came upon a room containing a troll of all things. Not only was that troll put there by the very man trying to steal the stone, but it was unconscious as well, a good indication of truly how much of an effort the headmaster had put into protecting the stone.

Next we had a logic puzzle most suited to the talents of the smartest girl I know where a particular potion must be drunk to continue further. Again, a relatively simple puzzle solved by a mere child is supposed to stop a great and powerful dark lord? Why even have the correct potion there at all? Why not make what should be the correct potion indicated by the puzzle actually be some kind of deadly poison while the headmaster keeps the correct potion himself?

All these seeming "coincidences" are far too convenient for it to be anything other than completely contrived. With an objective examination of the facts, it doesn't appear that our headmaster is as innocent as we are commonly led to believe, but rather this was truly his intent. If not, then perhaps he can explain how three children who just happened to have enough tidbits of information dropped by the Headmaster himself, [potions professor and the grounds-keeper, to spark and hold their curiosity, guiding us to my eventual confrontation with Quirrel/Voldemort?

It's actually quite simple. Voldemort was drawn to Hogwarts by Dumbledore, where, despite the fact that I was only eleven and had barely a year's worth of magical knowledge, I was expected to stop Voldemort as the prophecy dictates. There wasn't any true effort to protect such a powerful artifact. Rather, it was used by our headmaster as bait-a means to draw Voldemort and I into a confrontation where it was apparently his hope that I would fulfill the prophecy and destroy the dark lord. He, in fact, even assisted my ability to be "out-of-bounds" and to overhear certain conversations by providing me my father's invisibility cloak. Why else would he give a first year student an invisibility cloak with a wink during the school year but to encourage my presence where I shouldn't otherwise be?

Our headmaster's chillingly reckless endangerment of so many young lives appears based upon an obviously arrogant belief in his own infallibility. That he knows what is best for the world regardless of the price to others and is somehow solely qualified to make such decisions on everyone else's behalf. Who appointed him to this position of god? What gives him the right to act with such impunity in defiance of the law and, more importantly, the safety and well-being of others? Frighteningly, it doesn't end there...

In my second year, the ministry again imprisoned an innocent man in Azkaban without a trial-Professor Hagrid-when the Chamber of Secrets was opened by a first-year student, Ginevra Weasley, releasing a basilisk into the school. A student that was possessed by the diary of Tom Riddle, also known as the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort. Incidentally, "I am Lord Voldemort" is an anagram of Tom Marvolo Riddle's full name. The cursed diary was given to that first-year by none other than Lucius Malfoy, a governor on the Hogwarts Board and political supporter of Minister Fudge. I was forced to face not only a spectre of Voldemort, again, but Slytherin's pet basilisk, which I very nearly died fighting. If it were not for the aid of Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, I would have died from the venom when I was bitten while killing it. My friends and I were but twelve years old and yet not only solved the mystery of the attacks but also a single twelve year old boy was left to fight a thousand year old basilisk.

With something as simple and easily obtainable as a sneakoscope being able to detect the presence of dark magic and items, as well as it being well known that the headmaster possesses dark magic detectors in his office, that diary should have never made it into the school unless he allowed it in. An item that nearly cost the life of young Miss Weasley. Where was the Headmaster? Shouldn't this have been his responsibility and not that of a bunch of twelve year olds? Is it really so easy to bring such dark and deadly items into the school? Or only when it suits his purposes?

However, what makes me suspect this to really be the headmaster's complicity in yet another confrontation between Voldemort and I was the appearance of Fawkes, the headmaster's phoenix, during my fight with Tom Riddle and Slytherin's basilisk. Very convenient that he knew where and when to find me and that he had (thankfully!) brought with him the sorting hat with Gryffindor's sword. The headmaster had led us to believe that he had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the supposedly well-hidden Chamber of Secrets, yet his own phoenix just happens upon it while bringing weapons when I needed them most. Curious indeed. With my newfound understanding I am no longer left wondering why he knew so much, yet did so little.

My third year saw three attempts on my life and soul by the Dementors sent by the Ministry to Hogwarts. Why would the Ministry send such dangerous creatures to guard a school full of children? Why would the headmaster allow such a thing? Surely a hundred hungry, soul devouring creatures are far more dangerous than a single suspected, but non-convicted murderer? In the infinite wisdom of the ministry and Albus Dumbledore, apparently not, I guess. Or did they each have an ulterior motive? The Minister has already shown that he considers me a threat and has tried to kill me with Dementors since then. As for the headmaster, well... How is it that Peter Pettigrew had gone twelve years undetected in Hogwarts (as the Weasley pet Scabbers the rat) by the headmaster when a few students had in their possession a simple item that showed his presence within the school? An item called the Marauder's Map, created by my father and his friends while they were students that showed the names and whereabouts of everyone in Hogwarts Castle. Given how the headmaster always knows right where to find someone when he wants to, I find it hard to believe that he doesn't use something similar. And because of the headmaster's keeping me ignorant of my family's history, the significance of Pettigrew's presence was lost upon me until near the end of the year. It was when we finally met Sirius just after he had captured Pettigrew that things were finally brought to light.

What the rest of the wizarding world took as common knowledge-that Sirius had betrayed my parents, killing Pettigrew and those Muggles in his escape-was denied to me by the headmaster. Denied, despite countless questions by me about my family and also proven to be wrong by Pettigrew's mere presence in Hogwarts and capture by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Why did the headmaster keep such information from me? Was it because he was complicit in Sirius' being blamed and incarcerated for twelve years? It certainly appears obvious now that he needed my godfather and legal guardian out of the way so that he could control my upbringing and thus control me as his weapon. After all, imagine my surprise to have learned that it was actually Dumbledore himself who cast the Fidelius charm hiding our home at Godric's Hollow and would thus have known that Peter Pettigrew was the true secret-keeper rather than my godfather, Sirius Black.

Perhaps even more telling was while Sirius was explaining what had happened, Professor Snape attacked us and allowed Pettigrew to escape. Having been a Death Eater during the same time as the betrayal, surely Snape knew the truth regarding Pettigrew being the true traitor? Because of Pettigrew's escape, my godfather was no longer able to prove his innocence and was again forced into hiding, unable to claim his legal guardianship over me. It was curious how the headmaster made no effort to help prove his innocence, despite his ability as Chief Warlock, to have gotten him a trial with Veritaserum or Pensieve testimony, leading me to wonder at the level of loyalty displayed between the headmaster and Professor Snape. After all the years of abuse that the potions professor has been allowed upon non-Slytherin students by the headmaster, it would not surprise me that Professor Snape returns that loyalty and intentionally allowed Pettigrew's escape and withheld his knowledge of Pettigrew's existence as the true traitor. Add to this the fact that it was Professor Snape who gave the first half of the prophecy to Voldemort, it does make me wonder.

Knowing all of this, I can only believe that the headmaster needed Sirius to remain a fugitive in order to keep me under his thumb.

The one thing I don't understand is how the Weasley twins, Fred and George, who had the Marauder's Map prior to me could have missed Pettigrew's existence as well. They certainly knew of the significance, since everyone seems to know more about my 'famous' history than myself. After all, it can't be everyday news that someone gets sent to prison without a trial like Sirius did for supposedly betraying my family to Voldemort and murdering Pettigrew. Given the number of books written about the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived, the fact that my history is covered in fourth year History of Magic and questioned about on the OWL exams, I can only suggest that they should be tested for the presence of memory charms.

Even worse, with Pettigrew's escape, he was able to resurrect his master into a corporeal form at the end of the Triwizard Tournament in my fourth year. A year where I was yet again in danger and set up for a confrontation with Voldemort, because our illustrious headmaster hired a Polyjuiced Death Eater as our DADA instructor. If the headmaster is truly innocent, then I must wonder at the apparently superb acting skills of that Death Eater, in that he was somehow able to fool the headmaster into believing he was Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. Mr. Moody is a more than twenty year long personal friend and ally of the headmaster's from the first war against Voldemort, yet the headmaster was fooled for an entire year of sharing meals, staff meetings and living within the same castle? The Death Eater was able to not only get my name to come from the Goblet of Fire, despite my not having entered, but the headmaster informed me that I had no choice but to participate despite my protests. I never realized how easy it is to force others unwillingly into binding magical contracts. Or is it really?

In any case, because of my compelled participation, the Death Eater then turned the winner's cup into a portkey and delayed the other participants so that I would reach it first. The portkey took me to Pettigrew, where my blood was used in a ritual to resurrect Voldemort into corporeal form once more. My whole participation and victory in that damned tournament was a sham designed to get me into the hands of Voldemort.

How convenient for the headmaster that the Death Eater he hired as a professor set the stage for yet another confrontation with Voldemort. I was so disgusted with everything that I gave the winnings away, wanting no further part of it. I had never had any need or want of the fame or money.

Of course, when I reported Voldemort's return as well as the identities of several Death Eaters that he had immediately summoned to witness my execution at his hand, Minister Fudge's only response was, "No. He can't be. He just can't be back." In spite of his own statement which I overheard the previous year, where he said something like, "Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled." This suggested to me that he did, in fact, know that Voldemort might return some day.

However, instead of verifying that I was telling the truth, he instructed Dementors to 'kiss' the captured Death Eater cum professor without allowing any questioning, while calling me a lying, attention-seeking brat, and then setting about assassinating my character in the press. Anyone who knows me knows that I loathe the attention and yet the Ministry and the wizarding press all chose to attack me as being crazy rather than face the hard truth and work to stop Voldemort before he could regain his strength and rebuild his group of followers.

If nobody else is willing to fight to stop him, then why should I?

Even worse, in an attempt to prevent the truth from ever getting out, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Umbridge recently gloated to none other than Draco Malfoy, overheard by myself and others, how she was the one who sent two Ministry Dementors after my cousin and I during the summer after the Tournament. If it were not for my ability to cast the Patronus that I learned during my third year, my cousin and I would now be soulless husks. However, because I had the audacity to defend my life and soul along with that of my Muggle relative, the ministry chose to prosecute me for underage use of magic and violation of the statutes of secrecy. An incident that would never have happened had the ministry not just attempted to kill me with its Dementors. Was I really supposed to just let them devour my soul? Fortunately, at least half of the Wizengamot decided that I was justified in defending myself. Though, I am left wondering at the sanity, humanity and motivations of those who didn't.

Having failed at that task, Minister Fudge chose to appoint Umbridge to the once more vacant DADA post, and then as High Inquisitor, where she issued educational decrees to silence dissent and forced the repeated use of a blood quill upon myself and other non-pureblood students who disagreed with her edicts, which has left me with another scar, this time courtesy of the Ministry.

Also in her position as High Inquisitor, Umbridge formed the "Inquisitorial Squad," a group comprised soley of all Slytherin purebloods, several of whom, as it turns out, were the children of the later captured Death Eaters. This squad was led by Draco Malfoy, son of recently captured Death Eater Lucius Malfoy.

Rather than help to protect the school and students, the squad focused on terrorizing and assaulting non-pureblood students and anyone they associated with.

Umbridge even went so far as to illegally use Veritaserum (supplied by Snape) upon me, and later attempted to cast an unforgiveable (the Cruciatus Curse) upon myself, thankfully stopped by Hermione Granger.

On a side note: Anyone taking bets on Lucius Malfoy bribing his way out again with the unverified excuse of being under the Imperius Curse? Why not use Veritaserum and actually learn the truth for once? But then again, Lucius is well known to have Minister Fudge in his pocket and can probably afford to avoid such an inconvenience.

Also, is anyone else sensing a pattern with the DADA professors we are getting at our oh-so-safe and illustrious school?

Getting back to the story. While I was dealing with Umbridge's antics, and despite well knowing of Professor Snape's intense personal hatred of my father and thus by extension me, Headmaster Dumbledore required that I attend private Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape because of the visions that were being forced upon me by Voldemort through his mark-the scar on my forehead. Lessons that Snape used as a further opportunity to exercise his personal hatred of me by inflicting further pain and difficulty rather than teaching me anything useful. In fact, my nightmares and visions only worsened after Professor Snape's so-called attempts at Occlumency lessons, leaving me questioning his motives and if it was by the headmaster's design. After all, near the end of the year, one of those visions was used by Voldemort to lure me to him. I was led to believe that Voldemort had captured my godfather and was torturing him in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, and when I tried going to Professor Snape for help, I was ignored and dismissed. Since it was well-known that I would never leave my godfather to such a fate, again it seems I was set up to face Voldemort more by design than fate.

It wasn't until near the end of the year, after my friends and I battled with Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the Ministry, that everyone was finally able to learn the truth about Voldemort's return. A battle that cost the life of my godfather when he fell through the veil fighting recently escaped Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange.

Sirius Black died a hero and yet remains a mass-murderer in the eyes of an uninformed public because of a corrupt Ministry and Wizengamot that takes every opportunity it can to avoid the truth when it suits their purpose. Combine that with a Chief Warlock with far too many secrets and personal agendas caring little for any kind of justice or truth and this is the result you get.

On top of all that, my so-called friends, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood and Ginny and Ronald Weasley took me aside after we returned from the Ministry and told me that because they feel hanging around me is going to get them killed, they wanted to cut ties with me. They blamed me for their injuries, even though I told them not to come. They blamed me for my godfather's death. They blamed me for leading them to such danger. Hermione even told me that hanging around me would jeopardize her chances of becoming Head Girl.

Remus Lupin told me the same thing, that I was to blame for Sirius's death, that my parents and he would never forgive me, and that he never wanted to see me again.

So now, I have absolutely no reason to stay and fight for you. My friends think I'm dangerous, my parents' last remaining friend hates my guts, and Dumbledore wants to use me as a weapon. Well, I refuse.

This more or less brings us to today. A day where I once again find myself locked in a room in the Dursley household, having been allowed nothing to eat for the past two days. It is during times like these that I understand just what Voldemort so hates about this world.

Now that you know all of this, which I freely offer to verify under Veritaserum and Pensieve memories), I again ask you why you believe I should fight for you? Why should I sacrifice my life for you? As I see it, the wizarding world is largely responsible for my hellish life and in no way deserves my help in fighting Tom Riddle or his followers. A person needs a reason to want to fight -something worth fighting for -and I have none.

So, in closing, perhaps I can put Voldemort's concerns to rest. You see, I have decided that I would like to offer him a truce where I am no longer going to oppose him and his followers. While I have no intention of following him or becoming dark myself, neither do I any longer intend to fight him. The prophecy be damned. So long as he and his followers leave me alone, Voldemort can have the whole lot of you for all I care. May you enjoy the fruits of your manipulative self-serving leaders, your ignorance, your bigotry and your apathy.

I have even signed a contract in blood and sent it to Voldemort stating the same thing: you can have everything, I quit.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry James Potter,

The Boy-Who-Bloody-Doesn't-Care-Anymore