The Unsigned Letter

The room sat in disarray. Though a large black trunk stood open, no obvious attempts had been made to put anything in it. A variety of school books were jumbled by the bedside, including a copy of Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion Making, lying pitifully to the side with a severely burnt and mutilated cover. A pair of dress robes made a crumpled heap at the bottom of his unmade bed. An equally wrinkled pair of scarlet and gold school robes were haphazardly draped over the top of the open trunk. A gleaming polished broom sat propped against the wall behind the door. Quills, ink, and parchment could be found scattered everywhere about the room, except perhaps at the desk. Several empty boxes of Honeydukes chocolate were piled in the trash, each with its own Happy Birthday Harry! scribbled on it.

Harry Potter sat at his desk, his wand emitting a faint glow of light by which he was reading a slightly crumpled letter. He read it once again, as he had been doing at every opportunity since it's arrival the previous Monday. His eyes had become slightly glazed, and while they moved across the paper, anyone studying his expressions would have soon realized his thoughts extended beyond what was written on the scrap of paper. Despite having been folded and unfolded hundreds of times over the past few days, it had managed to remain in one piece and the ink was still clearly visible in the dim light.

We need to talk. There are so many things left unsaid. We can talk privately after you arrive. Please don't avoid me again.

He's face reddened every time his eyes skimmed over the few lines. Her abrupt manner stung him, but he felt it was no more than he deserved. He had achieved his goal- there was now distance between them. She neither addressed nor signed the letter. It was the way she knew he would have wanted it, in case the letter when astray. His heart skipped a beat every time he thought of what had been left unsaid. There was so many things he wanted to tell her. He wished he could say just how much he missed her, and how much he regretted what he had to do. His brow began to furrow as he remembered the last time he saw her. Though he fought to suppress the agony he felt the last time he looked into her eyes, the memory always bubbled to the surface of the mind. Her red hair was down and tangled from the wind, and her eyes were still glistening with tears, partially because of the funeral and partially because of him. He had stood there, paralyzed as he watched her, holding his truck with one hand and Hedwig's cage in the other. When she saw him she froze too, and her back stiffened as she braced herself. His heart felt as if it had been doused in ice water. After an eternity of waiting, she parted her lips as though to speak and hesitantly took a step forward, her arm stretched out.

His panic overwhelmed him. In his violent attempt to escape the horror of having to hurt her twice that day, he accidentally slammed Hedwig's cage against the compartment door, causing her to awake and flap her wings forcefully like an offended parrot. Without daring to look back, he shoved his belongings into the compartment and locked the door. He slid into a chair, shaking and exhausted, only to hear his best mate Ron bellow "HE DID WHAT TO MY SISTER!!!" before the train lurched and began to move. The remainder of the journey was spend staring out the window, refusing to move or open the compartment door, even with Hermione's coaxing.

Now, alone in his room, he shifted in his seat, and his pocket hit the chair with a startling thunk. He reached in to his pocket to touch the heavy locket he carried with him at all times, running his fingers over it's smooth cold surface. He pushed away all thoughts of Ginny. Now is not the time for that.

Jumping up, he paced the room in an attempt to bring his thoughts to the present. There were many things he now had to do. Images flashed across his minds inner eye. RAB… RAB…RAB…The initials pulsed through his mind. There had been no progress on who the mysterious RAB was, and he doubted it was any Quidditch player Hermione had found. With a sickening knot in his stomach, Harry was certain Dumbledore would have recognized the initials. He shuddered in rage as he remembered Snape with his wand above Dumbledore, his face contorted. It had finally set in that Snape was indeed the Half Blood Prince. He felt nauseated each time he remembered how he, blindly, followed the instructions of a book with an unknown author. How could he not have seen that the Half Blood Prince was a dark wizard? The signs were obvious. No one would have written such destructive spells on the margins just for fun. How could he have believed it was his own father?

Scolding himself would get him nowhere. He no longer had the protection of Dumbledore, and once he took his final steeps out of number four Privet Drive, he would no longer have the protection his mother died to give him sixteen years ago. He should have spent the past few weeks planning- where he would go, and most importantly, how to find the remaining Horcruxes.

He should have been planning a way to keep himself alive.

Changes had become evident this past summer on Harry's face. His hair, more then ever, appeared limp and unkempt, and the dark bags under his eyes had become permanent. His pale skin, barely touched by sunlight over the past few weeks, gave him a sickly appearance compared to his black hair. Anxiety and fear were now apparent in his every movement, gesture, and word. His night terrors had become worse than ever, but luckily now allowed to perform magic outside school, he simply silenced his room every night and no Dursley ever heard a thing.

Harry looked at the clock ticking above the desk. Ten past eleven. He had almost an hour until when Hermione said she and Ron would arrive. The prospect of seeing his friends temporarily put his mind at ease. Despite Ron's immediate outburst at Harry, he had quickly calmed down (no doubt with the help of Hermione) with minimal damage to their friendship.

I'll go to the Burrow and decide where to go from there. There was no real reason for him to decide this second. The only things left to do were to sort his belongings and wait for Hermione and Ron.

However, he did not pack quite yet. Instead, he laid down on his bed watching the clock, as if daring time to go faster. As he waited, he fell into the first dreamless sleep that week, only to be awoke, at twelve on the dot, by two loud popping sounds and a shrill scream from Aunt Petunia.