A/N: This is a multi-chapter fic and will not be abandoned, I promise. I will take any comments, even if they are one word or mean. Just tell me how I did! It would mean the world to me.

Oh, and this takes place the summer after his 5th year and contains (River Song pops up) Spoilers. I haven't read the books in a while so my timeline might be a little wonky but, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters.

Chapter One

Harry stared at the letters sprawled out before him, all with varying types of handwriting. Hermione's neat cursive. Ron's messy scrawl. Hagrid's even messier scrawl. They all bore messages of greeting, or at least the firsts of the summer did. Hermione told him of vacation plans. She told him of homework schedules and how he better be doing his. Ron told of quidditch points and magical things. He told of his father's work and Charlie's dragons. He told of the pranks his brothers played and the harping of his mother. Hagrid told him of new creatures and how Harry would love them. Harry liked reading these letters, they were comforting. But, when he didn't reply, the greetings turned to concern.

More and more concerned letters came through until Hermione finally said that she would tell Dumbledore if she did not receive a reply. So, reluctantly, Harry had taken out a piece of parchment and a pen (his quills were all locked up upstairs, and he only had time to grab important books during his nightly raids of the cupboard upstairs.) And he wrote. It was only a short letter. Just enough to sound believable and dispel any concerns. He told Hermione that he was fine and sorry for not writing back sooner. He told some lie of Hedwig being put away when in all reality, this was one of the first years Hedwig was allowed to be out of his cage. He told Hermione how the Muggles were only being a little mean, and how he thinks their afraid of him. This couldn't have been more of a lie. His Aunt, Uncle, and cousin all seemed to feel fine now that his wand was taken away, and was the meanest they've ever been. He told her he was okay, to tell the others, and that he probably could not write back after this, but he was still receiving letters.

Her reply was held in his hands. She wrote that she was relieved and would tell the others. Harry couldn't help but feel disappointed. He had half-hoped that she wouldn't believe him and would send Dumbledore to knock politely on Number 4's door, as he does. He had hoped that Dumbledore would tell off the Muggles and retrieve Harry. He wanted him to open the cupboard door and smile that brilliant of his. He wanted him to save Harry from this hellhole that was Number 4 Pivet Drive. The other half of him, however, was immensely glad that no one was here. No one here to witness his shameful life. No one here to see him curled up in his too small cupboard. No one here to see the bags under his eyes, or the way his ribs were visible even under the baggy clothes he wore. He couldn't even remember the last time he ate.

Oh, wait. Yes, he could. It was a bit of egg he had stolen from breakfast a few days ago. He was caught and was beaten mercilessly for it and was not allowed any food since, not even the infinitesimal table scraps.

So there he sat now. Well, he was half sitting, half laying, mostly just curled with his feet rested on the wall. He lay there on his cot, which was creaking from old age, reading letters in the small amount of light provided by the slits in the door. The air was musty and reeked of mildew and just, dust.

Though, to be completely honest, Harry would much rather be in the cupboard then outside with the Dursleys. When he had come distraught with the guilt and grief brought by Sirius's death, the Dursleys must have seen this as a sign of weakness and submission. They tested him at first, only being slightly meaner than usual, but soon gained confidence. They had moved him back into the cupboard about a week after he returned, and have been horrible since. Though, he had to say it was quite nice not to do chores anymore since the Dursleys apparently couldn't trust him with the responsibility. He only really emerged from his cupboard to cook meals and do little tasks.

So, Harry spent most of his time rereading the letters and petting Hedwig. It was quite depressing, stuck in his thoughts of guilt about Sirius's death. All of the what-ifs and I-could'ves ran through his mind. If only he had listened to Hermione. If only he had worked harder at Occlumency. If only he had listened to everyone and stayed put, Sirius would still be alive.

Harry fell asleep quietly sobbing with his head tilted back on the wall behind him.

Many tears were shed in the cupboard under the stairs.

Just as they were tonight.