Undelivered

Undelivered

Struggling to deal with the events of his fifth year, Harry is at a loss to explain why his friends haven't written. An isolated Harry wrestles with guilt and depression, unaware that a more sinister plot is playing itself out. An AU one-shot following the events of OotP. Heavy Angst.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, etc. in this story. They all belong to J.K. Rowling.

And a special thanks to my beta, GryffindorAngel.

---

Undelivered

By Tinuviel_36

July 1, 1996

Everything's fine here. The Dursleys are avoiding me, as usual.

I haven't heard from anyone for a while. Hope to hear from you soon.

-Harry

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he read over his note. He honestly had nothing interesting to report; most of his time was spent in bed making pictures out of the spots on the ceiling and trying to avoid thinking about anything. He almost wished that Aunt Petunia would give him a list of chores to do, just to break up the monotony.

More than anything, though, he wanted a letter from his friends.

He understood the dangers. Owls could be intercepted and codes could be broken. Yet, he had hoped his friends could drop him a line or two. He would welcome anything from a note from Ron detailing the twins' latest escapades to a letter from Hermione admonishing him to get him homework done.

With this thought, Harry glanced over at his trunk lying open in the middle of the room. Most of his belongings still remained inside and his homework was untouched. No matter how much he tried, he could find the energy to unpack or even open a book right now.

Sighing once again, Harry folded up his note and tied it to the leg of the bird the Order used to communicate with him, ignoring the concerned hoot of Hedwig in her cage. The Order had told Harry to use their brown owl because it would attract less attention, therefore decreasing the likelihood that the letter would be intercepted. After opening the window to let the owl out, Harry collapsed back on his bed, wondering if this time, he'd get a response.

Harry Potter hadn't received a note from his friends all summer.

---

Ron sat at the breakfast table, concentrating on the stack of pancakes before him and oblivious to everything else in the room. His family was back at the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione would be joining him on Friday and he hoped that Harry would soon follow. Dumbledore, however, showed no indication of allowing Harry to spend the rest of the summer with his surrogate family anytime soon reasoning that leaving Harry with the Dursleys was the safest solution for his friend.

Ron was startled from his pancakes as the now-familiar brown owl flew into the room. The owl that routinely delivered Harry's letters looked frazzled and gave Ron a look of indignation before allowing him to remove Harry's letter. Ron opened it, desperately hoping that Harry's mood would have improved.

July 1, 1996

Everything's fine here. The Dursleys are avoiding me, as usual.

Hope to hear from you soon.

-Harry

Ron reread Harry's unsatisfactory note. What did it mean, "Hope to hear from you soon?" Having discussed Harry's obvious depression with Hermione, Ron had been very consistent in his letters, knowing that Harry thrived on any connection with the Wizarding World during his stay with the Dursleys. He sent a letter at least once a day, hoping that perhaps Harry might be able to work himself out of the depression he seemed to be in. Setting Harry's letter in the pile of very similar letters that they received dutifully every three days, Ron grabbed a spare quill and parchment off the counter and began writing another letter to Harry.

July 2, 1996

Well, I reckon this is soon enough for another letter, even if I sent you one yesterday. You'll never believe what happened last night. The twins stopped by headquarters with one of their newest products and tested it on Professor Lupin. Unfortunately for them, they did not realize they were pranking the Moony of their beloved Marauder's Map...

---

"The boy's friends are quite persistent, are they not?"

"Pimsy is sorry, sir. She is being unable to stop them from writing, sir."

Focusing his attention back on the letter, Lord Voldemort ignored the chatter of the Malfoys' newest house elf. He doubted the creature had anything of importance to say anyway. Opening up the most recent letter, he recognized the writing of the youngest Weasley boy who had been writing a letter to Harry at least once a day. Skimming through the letter, he realized there was nothing of importance, just the usual mindless drivel about the antics of the blood-traitor twins and empty promises to convince Dumbledore to release the boy soon. He knew Dumbledore was hesitant to remove Potter from wards on his muggle relatives' home and was using that to his advantage. Having learned from the Malfoy boy the Potter was desolate after the death of his godfather, Voldemort had decided to isolate the boy as much as possible. Hexes and curses were not the only way to destroy the boy. Folding the letter back up, he set it neatly on top of a pile of letters, all addressed to the so-called Boy-Who-Lived in several different hands. No, he could break the boy in other ways.

---

Harry paused, trying to think of something to write. Without news from his friends, he didn't have much to say. There were three points he always covered. First, he was fine. Second, the Dursleys hadn't kicked him out of the house. Finally came the plea, carefully disguised as a request, for some contact or tidbit of news from his world.

Unable to think of anything new, he dipped his quill in his ink and wrote,

July 7, 1996

I'm fine and the Dursleys are normal. I haven't received any news for a while. Hoping everything is ok.

-Harry

Slightly frustrated, Harry folded up the newest note and sent it off with the Order's owl. He couldn't understand why his friends hadn't written to him. Were they angry with him? Had something gone horribly wrong? Or worse, did they blame him for everything that had happened at the Department of Mysteries?

He wouldn't be surprised if they did. He blamed himself. Every time he relived the fiasco at the Ministry (which he did quite often, whether while awake or in his dreams), he was horrified with the amount of damage he had caused. His friends were hurt, the Hall of Prophecies was demolished, and Sirius--

Unable to push away that thought, Harry was soon overwhelmed with regrets.

If only I given Occlumency a bit more effort. Hermione warned me.

If only I had stopped to think instead of rushing off and pulling my friends into danger.

If only I hadn't been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trap, then Sirius--

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew that he was the reason Sirius was dead. In fact, thanks to the prophecy and himself, not only was Sirius dead, but also his parents who had been unfortunate enough to give birth to a child who was an immediate target.

With no tears left to cry, Harry sank down against the wall, trapped by his guilt, remorse, and self-hatred.

---

Carefully prying open Potter's latest letter, he was pleased to see that the boy obviously was still caught up in his depression. Waving his wand over the letter, he removed an offending sentence before sealing the letter back up and sending it on to the Order. He wouldn't want to arouse suspicion.

---

July 7, 1996

I'm fine and the Dursleys are normal. Hoping everything is ok.

-Harry

Hermione looked up at Ron. "All his notes are like this?"

Ron nodded.

"And he never says anything about what you've written?" she asked as she sorted through all of Harry's letters. The answer was obvious.

Sighing, Hermione looked out the window. "Why won't Dumbledore get him out?"

"Says Harry is safest there. He said something about Lily's blood protecting him..."

Hermione picked up a couple of Harry's letters, reading them as though hoping to find another sign of her friend's wellbeing.

"Well, do you want to write to him, or should I?"

Ron smiled at her. "Let's write it together."

--

Two more weeks had passed, and Harry still hadn't received one letter from his friends. He had even clearly asked in one letter why he hadn't heard anything.

No one cared enough to write back.

His hair was limp with dirt and grease. Logically he knew he needed a shower, just as he knew he probably should eat some of the food Aunt Petunia had shoved through the flap on his door. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Why bother? He couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Clenching his fists together, he shut his eyes as the usual feelings of hopelessness washed over him. He was fated to be either murdered or a murderer and he didn't want either fate for himself. Though if he really thought about it, he already was a murderer. Cedric, his parents, Sirius--he was the reason all of them were dead.

The sun was setting and Harry knew he should get up and write to the Order again. Not that his letters seemed to be doing anything, but the last thing he wanted to do was to cause more trouble. He had already done most of that already.

July 22, 1996

Everything is fine here.

Pausing, Harry wondered if he should add any more. Feeling his frustration and guilt build up in him, he tightened his grip on his quill and began scribbling down everything that came to him mind without a second thought.

Actually, that's a lie. I'm NOT fine. Why isn't anyone writing? Why does everyone seem to think cutting me off from the world is the best option? Do you consider me a threat? Have you realized what a burden and a hazard I am to everyone else?

Congratulations, I realized that a long time ago.

I know that all I do is cause problems. My parents died because I was Voldemort's target. Cedric died because Voldemort want to get to me, and Cedric was in the way. Sirius died because I was too immature and stupid not to make an effort to learn what I needed to fight Voldemort and the visions and, to top it all off, led other students into a trap. You're lucky that they survived. But they still got hurt.

Do you see the pattern? I'm at the middle. All I bring is pain and death to others. I wouldn't want to be near me anymore either.

I am completely alone. No one cares, and no one should. I'm just the Boy-Who-Lived to hurt others. I don't want to be the reason anyone else is hurt or killed.

It's probably good you haven't sent me any letters. The less connection you have to me, the greater chance you'll live.

-Harry

Ignoring the tears running down his face, Harry reread his letter before crumpling it up, throwing it in the corner and starting again.

July 22, 1996

Everything is fine here.

-Harry

---

Turning one of the most unsatisfactory letters from Harry yet over in hands and finding nothing on the back, Hermione looked up at Ron. "We have to do something, Ron."

Looking up from his eggs, Ron raised his eyebrows. "Like what? We've talked to Mum and Dad, Lupin, and even Dumbledore. They always say the same thing. Be patient."

"I know, but this is ridiculous. Protecting Harry doesn't do much good if he falls apart..."

Hermione fell silent as Professor Lupin entered the kitchen, but sent Ron a look. The professor poured himself a cup of tea with shaking hands. "Good morning Ron, Hermione," he acknowledged. "Letter from Harry?"

Hermione nodded and handed the letter to her former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Lupin closed his eyes and sighed after glancing at the letter.

"Professor--" Hermione began.

"I know, Hermione," Lupin said sharply. "We're trying. Dumbledore thinks we should be able to get him here on his birthday."

Hermione's shoulders fell in relief. "Oh that's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "And on his birthday will make it even better. Even though his letters don't say, I know he wants out of there."

Lupin sent her a small smile. "Yes, that was Molly's response too. I believe she's upstairs right now getting a room ready for Harry."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance. Harry might not be responding to his letters, but now they had something to do get ready to finally see their friend again.

"Thanks professor!" Ron yelled over his shoulder and Hermione pulled him upstairs to help his mother.

--

July 25, 1996

It's me again. Everything's fine.

-Harry

Harry sighed. Two months had passed since the end of term. Two months since he had heard from anyone in the wizarding world. Two months since--

Harry stood up; he wasn't going to think about that. Pacing around the room, Harry desperately tried to avoid the thoughts and nightmares that had been plaguing him. He couldn't sleep; he didn't want to see Sirius fall through the Veil anymore. He didn't care about his homework. He didn't really care about anything anymore.

Why weren't his friends writing to him? He knew now that they blamed him, but he had hoped maybe someone could spare a bit of parchment to say, "Yes, everyone's alive."

Desperate to distract himself, Harry pulled out his homework. He didn't want to work on Potions, and Transfiguration was too hard. As for the Charms assignment he could do the night before class began if he wanted. Shuffling through his parchment, he came across one that Hermione had handed him the day before they left Hogwarts on the train. It was her muggle phone number and home address. Well, he wasn't going to face the humiliation of calling her (or perhaps he didn't want to hear the unavoidable blame he knew he would find in her voice), but a small letter sent by muggle post wouldn't hurt. He would do anything to hear from someone in the magical world.

Dear Hermione,

I'm sorry to bother you. I realize you probably want nothing to do with me after I almost killed you all in the Department of Mysteries. But I can't stand the isolation anymore. I know I'm the reason that Sirius and Cedric and my parents died and I'm sorry. I'd do anything to go back and make it all right.

I don't need a long letter from you. I just need to know that everything is ok in the magical world. I haven't received a letter from anyone all summer.

The loneliness is suffocating me. Just a little note, please? I don't know how much longer I can stand this.

-Harry

After sneaking an envelope and a stamp while his aunt wasn't looking and hastily scribbling down Hermione's address on the envelope, Harry left the house for the first time all summer to drop it in the box on the corner before going back inside.

--

"I saw Harry today," Tonks announced, interrupting Ron and Hermione's game of chess.

Hermione scrambled up, knocking the chessboard on the floor. Ignoring the complaints of the pieces, she hastily asked, "How is he? Did you talk to him? Was he alright?" Ron stood up next to Hermione, the same questions reflected in her eyes.

"Well..." Tonks paused, not wanting to destroy the hope in their eyes. "He left the house. Just for a bit mind you, but that's progress."

"But how was he?" Ron asked, ignoring her attempts to gloss over the question.

"He--he's lost a bit of weight and, well, he looked a bit depressed, but--"

Hermione sighed and sat back down on her chair. "But he's coming back next week. He'll be back where he belongs soon."

--

Voldemort laughed, opening up Harry's latest letter.

July 25, 1996

Still alive.

-H

The boy obviously had given up hope on receiving mail from his friends. 'Stupid boy,' he thought to himself. Sending off the letter to its intended destination, Voldemort felt a thrill of satisfaction as he looked at the large pile of envelopes sitting on the table next to him. Most of them were from his pathetic friends, Weasley and Granger, but there were also a few from the werewolf, the half-giant, and even one from the headmaster. Potter had no idea that these letters even existed.

---

On July 29, Harry came to a decision. He brought all the uneaten bowls of soup and soggy cereal down to the kitchen, washed them, and put them away. There was no need to make Petunia mad at him after all.

He took a shower, one of the few he had taken during the summer. He cleaned up his room and organized his trunk.

He didn't want to leave a mess for the others after all.

And on the night of July 30, on the eve of his sixteenth birthday, Harry sat down to write his last letter.

---

Voldemort frowned. His plan wasn't working as well as he wanted it to. Yes, the boy was severely depressed, but he hadn't broken yet. Dumbledore, the fool, would most likely be removing the boy from his home soon and his isolation would end. What could he do?

Fingering one of the letters, he considered forging a letter to Potter from one of his friends. It would be horrible, blaming him for everything that had happened. Perhaps that letter would be the one that finally broke Harry Potter.

But as pulled out parchment and considered which handwriting to forge, he suddenly felt a rush of dark emotions followed by immense pain coming from Potter.

Voldemort smiled. Perhaps his plan wasn't a failure after all.

---

Three important pieces of mail were delivered on the morning of July 31.

Hermione Granger opened up her weekly letter from her parents and was surprised when muggle letter addressed to her in Harry's hand fell out. Opening Harry's letter first, she paled as she read a desperate note from her friend.

Dear Hermione,

I'm sorry to bother you. I realize you probably want nothing to do with me after I almost killed you all in the Department of Mysteries. But I can't stand the isolation anymore. I know I'm the reason that everyone has died and I'm sorry. I'd do anything to go back and make it all right...

A black owl flew into the kitchen at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, startling Mrs. Weasley and Remus Lupin, with a large bundle of letters, all addressed to Harry Potter. The two adults exchanged a look, flipping through the letters Harry never received, as Hermione ran down the stairs. "Something is wrong," she gasped, shoving Harry's letter in their faces. The two adults read the letter very quickly, and without a word, ran outside an apparated, hoping it was not too late.

At the same time, an owl from the Ministry of Magic flew through the open window in Harry Potters room and dropped an official warning from the Ministry of Magic regarding a curse performed by an underage wizard shortly after midnight on top of a slowly dying Harry Potter his wand in his right hand and his final letter in his left.