Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim title to, any of JK Rowlings works.

Trigger Warning: Suicide

The owlery is quiet in the middle of the day; all of the birds sleeping, waiting for night. All except one. Curled against the outside wall, in the deepest shadow, are a small teen and his snowy white owl. The boy stares into the owl's eyes as he gently strokes her feathers.

"Hedwig, take the letter to the Daily Prophet first and then deliver the letter to Professor Snape at dinner. It's important, Hedwig." The boy closes his eyes and tears roll down his cheeks. His eyes open and the emerald orbs seem to glow. "I love you, Hedwig. " The boy raises his arm and launches the bird from the owlery with a whispered, "Be safe." He sits for a moment more before rising and exiting.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

EVENING EDITION: DAILY PROPHETThe Boy Who Didn't Live

To all of the Daily Prophet's loyal readers, we here at your favorite newspaper received a letter from Harry Potter. The-Boy-Who-Lived asked that his letter to the public be printed in this evening's edition.

Dear Wizarding World:

I have been called "The Boy Who Lived" since I was fifteen months old. That has been a lie. I have not lived; Harry Potter has barely existed. This body has simply survived. Albus Dumbledore took me from my home in Godric's Hollow and placed me with my muggle relatives, where I was shoved into a cupboard under the stairs and mostly forgotten. At the age of four I was deemed old enough to cook and clean for the family. Every day I was given a long list of chores to do. If the meals were not cooked perfectly, I was beaten; if my chores were not done to my aunt and uncle's standard, I was beaten. My cousin, who is one month older than me, was actively encouraged to beat me whenever he saw me. He was also taught to foul what food he didn't eat, since the only food I was given were the scraps.

When it was time to go to school, my aunt and uncle had to relent and tell me my name; until then I had only ever been referred to as "Boy" or "Freak". To make up for telling me my name, my list of chores was increased and my cousin's friends were taught a new game: HARRY HUNTING. If I was found and they caught me, they were to beat me into unconsciousness. The few times I evaded them my reward was to be woken in the middle of the night by my uncle and beaten.

I was not allowed to have friends. Anybody who approached me was either beaten by my cousin and his friends, or told by my aunt and uncle that I was a psychopath.

On my eleventh birthday, Rubeus Hagrid brought my letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I learned the magic was real and that I was a wizard. He also told me about Voldemort and that I was "The Boy Who Lived". My life at Hogwarts is better than with my relatives, but it isn't real. People see the scar and look at "The Boy Who Lived", or they want to talk at Harry Potter. Never me. Harry isn't enough.

I apologize to all of you. Everyone has such high expectations of Harry Potter, and I was never good enough to meet them.

Harry {just Harry}

Ps: I'm sorry I didn't allow the Sorting Hat to place me in Slytherin, and I'm sorry I didn't take Draco Malfoy's hand.

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The Great Hall seemed especially loud to Severus Snape, and it seemed everyone was reading the Daily Prophet. Not that he took much notice. For once, he was not glaring around at the students. In fact, he sat motionless; his glazed eyes staring at nothing. He took no notice of an owl landing on the table in front of him until the owl hooted to get his attention.

Professor Snape knew who the owl belonged to; everyone in the Great Hall did. With great reluctance, Severus Snape removed the scroll of parchment from the owl's leg and began to read it. Those watching were shocked when the cold Professor blanched white, rose from the table, and began running from the hall while shouting, "Minerva, come with me!"

Professor McGonagell catches up with Professor Snape as they are ascending the Grand Staircase. "Severus, what is it."

"A note from Potter. I believe he means to do himself harm." Professor Snape huffs out as the two race down corridors and up staircases until they reach the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Courage" Professor McGonagell whispers as she tries to catch her breath. As the portrait swings open she leads the way across the common room and up the stairs to the third year boys dorm. Both know they are too late before they even open the door. The red rivulet creeping beneath the door shouts out the answer. Harry Potter is dead.

"Nooooo!" Moans Severus Snape as he drops to his knees. Harry Potter lies face up on his bed, his wand still touching his ruined throat. His eyes are closed; his face peaceful.

Professor McGonagell turns away, sobbing and choking. "I'll get Albus", she says.

Snape labors to his feet, crosses the room and sits on the edge of Harry Potter's bed. He notices the parchment still crumpled in his hand. He lays it down on the bedside cabinet and attempts to smooth it as best he can. He turns, places one hand on Harry's unmoving chest, draws his wand, and places the tip against his own heart. Severus Snape closes his eyes and misses the red flash that engulfs him.

"Severus!" Screams Minerva McGonagell just as the headmaster is ascending the stairs. Both professors rush into the room, McGonagell to check on Severus Snape; but
Dumbledore sees the parchment, takes it, and begins to read.

Professor Snape,

I apologize that you were forced to deal with my presence. If I had known sooner how ill I made you, we could have dealt with it. Thank you for putting your repugnance aside and saving my life during first year. Although, in the end, you simply delayed the inevitable.

Goodbye,

Harry