Harry Potter sighed as he lowered his head to his pillow. He wasn't particularly tired but the day was over and the normal thing to do now was to sleep. It was the same every night. Just as each day was the same as the one before.

He would awaken to a knock on the door and the stilted voice of Aunt Petunia informing him that breakfast would be ready shortly. The boy would rise and perform his morning ablutions before joining his only remaining family members for eggs, bacon, toast, juice and milk. Once he was done eating, Harry would clean up the kitchen before he was told and then return to his room to study.

Thanks to the threat from Mad Eye Moody, Uncle Vernon no longer forbid the raven-haired boy from completing his summer assignments. In fact, the portly man had apparently decided that the best solution would be to ignore his wife's nephew altogether. It was an arrangement that allowed a semblance of peace to fall over number four Privet Drive.

The other big change that summer was Dudley Dursley's attitude toward Harry. In the past, their relationship had shifted between antagonistic and fearful. First Dudley being the bully and Harry fearing him every day. Then, after Harry began to attend Hogwarts, their roles had almost completely reversed. Although the young wizard never physically attacked his cousin, he often teased him and pretended to cast spells at the bigger boy.

Now, however, Dudley looked at his cousin with nothing less than awe in his eyes. It seemed as though his experience with the Dementors the previous summer had vastly changed his opinion of Harry and magic. This fact, of course, irked his parents to no end but they had never reprimanded the boy before and they weren't likely to start now.

Not that any of these changes fazed the bespectacled youth much. Harry would spend each morning working on his homework and each afternoon tending his Aunt's garden. It was another task that was not requested of him but he'd found that the mindless effort was perfect for letting him drift away from the memories of the battle in the Department of Mysteries.

After supper, Harry would shower before returning to his bedroom once again. His evenings were when he would relive every moment he'd spent with his godfather. . . including the moment of Sirius Black's death. He missed the escaped convict more than ever knowing that, in the past, he could write to Sirius and seek advice for his worries and woes. Now that the man was dead, and consequently the source of Harry's thoughts, that option was no longer available to him.

The last Potter's thoughts would range from wishing he had followed Sirius through the veil (even knowing that it would have meant his own death) to sheer rage at himself and the one other 'light' wizard he held personally responsible for the demise of his godfather. Of course, no one would fault him for placing blame on Severus Snape but the boy's hatred and anger toward the spy had all but disappeared after a mere week of solitude.

No, his anger was directed at one Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. In Harry's mind, the ancient wizard had become as heinous as Voldemort himself. Not only had he withheld the prophesy from Harry, but he had also failed to explain the importance of the enforced Occlumency lessons. The old man had shifted quite suddenly from the kind and wise grandfather figure The Boy Who Lived looked up to for five years into a lying, manipulative coward who was willing to use anyone to achieve his goals. Quite frankly, Harry was convinced that he was not the first boy to convince the Sorting Hat away from its original choice.

It was these thoughts that filled Harry's mind for hours every night. It was only when he heard his Aunt and Uncle close their bedroom door for the night that he'd rouse himself enough to climb into bed and force his mind to clear before drifting off to sleep. Although he was no longer receiving Occlumency lessons from Snape, the boy diligently recalled what he had learned the previous year and practiced every night.

*******************

Harry opened his window to admit the owls waiting to enter. Try as he might, he could not call up the happiness he knew he should feel that his friends had sent him gifts for his birthday. It wasn't that he had grown so used to it that he no longer appreciated their kindness. The problem was more that it was becoming increasingly difficult to feel anything positive at all.

Half the summer was gone and Harry had spoken fewer than five words to anyone at any given time. In fact, it had been more than a week since he'd spoken at all. With the depression and rage flowing freely through him, he rarely felt he'd be able to control his words if he did speak. So he remained silent. Of course, that didn't mean that he wasn't still sending the obligatory letters to the Order to ensure that he was okay. But if they were concerned that those letters contained little more than 'All is well here', they never mentioned it.

After relieving the owls of their burdens, Harry offered each of them food and water before sending them on their way. Sitting down at his dilapidated desk, he opened the gifts and made sure to write out thank you notes to send when Hedwig returned from her recent excursion. She'd been gone for several days already and Harry was mildly surprised that she had not returned yet. He'd figured the snowy owl had gone out to find Hermione so she'd be able to get her birthday present to Harry but Pig had delivered that along with Ron's gift. Apparently they were spending the summer together again.

Turning off the table lamp, Harry made his way to bed once more already beginning the process of clearing his thoughts. He figured this was either finally working or Voldemort had decided to lay off torturing the boy until a later time.

Moments before The Boy Who Lived actually drifted off to sleep, there came an insistent tapping on the windowpane. Immediately all efforts to blank his mind were destroyed and Harry swore under his breath at the interruption. He stumbled across the room and peered through his shabby curtains to see Hedwig awaiting him. Quickly opening the window, he stood aside as the owl swooped into the room and dropped a tattered envelope on the desk on her way to her food and water dishes.

Harry gaped as he watched the bird eat and drink as if she hadn't in the last week. Ignoring the letter for the moment, he walked quietly to Hedwig's perch and checked her over for injuries.

"He-Hedwig, where have you been?" His voice was low and scratchy from lack of use. Harry hadn't been worried until then. He wasn't sure what to think. Had she been attacked? Hadn't she stopped once to even catch her meal and have a drink? "Are you okay, girl?"

The search for injuries produced nothing. It appeared she was just exhausted and undernourished. A soft, affectionate hoot and a light nip on his finger informed Harry that his pet was indeed alright. He smoothed her feathers with a gentle touch one more time before looking at the curiously mangled letter on his desk. He flipped his light on once more and sat down to find out what had been so important that Hedwig had rushed it to him.

Unsurprisingly, there was a half-destroyed letter inside.

To My Dear Son,

You are a week old as I write this letter to you, Harry. I can see you sleeping soundly across the room in your cradle. You, my son, are the dearest thing that has ever happened to me and I shall cherish you always. No father could be prouder.

At this, Harry felt tears well up in his eyes. 'How?'

I am sure you are wondering why I am writing this letter and why I have waited until your sixteenth birthday to give it to you. My reasoning is quite simple, really. All my thoughts and feelings are currently fresh and I feel the need to express them before it all fades away. If I were to wait for you to reach the age you are now, I'd likely forget the intensity of my own emotions. I also have a reason that this is delivered to you before you sleep tonight. If I cast the charm right, this letter has reached you after midnight on the morning of your sixteenth birthday. You'll have to let me know in the morning if I was successful. Of course, I suppose I'll know of my success or failure upon your reactions tomorrow.

I cannot even begin to imagine how our lives have turned out. I figure we are still living at Godric's Hollow as it is my family home. You will be starting your sixth year at Hogwarts and hopefully a Gryffindor prefect. Of course, if you're not a prefect, I'll understand perfectly. You may be too much like your old man and the Marauders to have even been considered for such a position. I still can't figure out how Moony managed to achieve it!

But I digress. These are not the things I so wanted to share with you tonight, Harry. Perhaps, though, you will allow me to read this in the morning so I can have a laugh at my sixteen-year-old letter.

Harry wiped the tears from his eyes. He so wished he could share this with his father.

When you wake up in the morning, you will find that your appearance will have changed somewhat dramatically. The reason for this, I am sure I have already explained a bit, is that the glamour we have placed on you will have completely vanished and you will finally regain the features with which you were born.

'What?!'

I imagine that I have told you a bit about your birth but, because of the war and my position in it, I have been advised not to give you all the details until you are older and, hopefully, Voldemort is dead.

You should know by now that Lily Potter is not your mother and that we wed more out of necessity than anything else.

'Oh, Merlin! This can't be right!' Harry was nearly hyperventilating as he read the words that had supposedly been written by his father. This couldn't be true! He had his mother's eyes! It was her love that saved him that night at Godric's Hollow! Harry was forced to live with relatives that hated him because he was connected to them by his mother's blood! The blood that was supposed to be protecting him from Voldemort!

Harry was convinced, now, that this was a farce. Unfortunately, his curiosity won out as usual and he knew he had to continue reading.

Now, however, it is time for you to learn the details. In truth, my dear Harry, you do not actually have a mother. As I am sure we (the Marauders and I) explained to you when you were younger, it is possible for two wizards to conceive a child when they are truly in love and at least one of them wants to have a baby. Now, keep in mind that the desire for a wizard to have a baby is not always a conscious desire. So, while you do not have a mother, you do have two fathers who once loved each other more than life itself.

The green-eyed boy was amazed that he was able to keep his laughter quiet enough that he didn't wake his relatives. He'd never heard such a crazy thing. Whoever had written this letter, he was sure, had quite a comedic imagination. Surely they didn't think he'd actually believe all this!

It was with a smirk on his face that Harry decided to finish reading what was still legible on the parchment.

Your other father and I met while at Hogwarts. He was, and probably still is, a beautiful man. Outwardly, he was a cold-hearted bastard whom most could not stand to be near. Behind closed doors, however, he was warm and loving. Truly the gentlest human being I have ever met.

We were together for four years before you were conceived. I would have stopped the spinning of the earth for your father if he'd asked me to. He felt the same toward me. We found, unfortunately, that there was one thing that could tear us apart.

We found out that upon his birth, he was betrothed to a woman from a family close to his own. His parents had apparently decided to not risk the possibility of him falling in love with someone of impure blood. The contract they created between the two families was unbreakable. He was forced to marry another during the Christmas season of 1979.

Neither of us was aware of this contract prior to that time. We had been meeting in secret for years and had intentions of informing our families that Christmas. We wanted to be married. We wanted to be together forever. It was Christmas Eve that I received an owl from him telling me that we were through. He did tell me why and that he was truly miserable about it. And as much as I hated it, I understood. When you've been raised in a pureblood family, as you are fully aware, there are some requirements of the heirs. This, most unfortunately, was one of his requirements.

Because he was away on his honeymoon when I learned that I was pregnant, I was unable to tell him the news. In my heart, though he is wed to another and expected to produce an heir with her, I know that he would love you.

However, since he was not around, I went to a man I trust as if he were my own father and asked for guidance. It was decided that I would marry Lily. We were both in the Order at that point and worked well together. I do love her and I know that she loves me. It is, though, the love a brother and a sister might share. Believe me when I tell you, Harry, that that was an accomplishment! The rows we had while at Hogwarts were legendary.

Anyway, glamours were placed on us both. One to hide my growing belly and one to give Lily the appearance of a developing pregnancy. I was told we should hide the truth from everyone because your father was from and had married into a dark family. He'd had no intentions of following Voldemort but I fear I have pushed him in that direction.

You see, son, when he returned from his honeymoon, he learned that I had wed during his absence. He also learned Lily and I were expecting a baby by the beginning of August 1980. Anyone could figure out easily that the baby had been conceived no later than November of the previous year.

I still mourn that he thinks I betrayed him by sleeping with Lily while he and I were still together. My wife is kind and allows me to weep on her shoulder at night. I have gone to my advisor many times in the past few months to beg him to allow me to tell your father the truth. Until this summer it seemed as though he would finally concede. Although he will not tell me why, Albus has insisted that I must not, under any circumstances allow the truth of your parentage to come out before the war is over.

Harry glared at the rest of the parchment. Not another word could be read. While he still didn't believe what had been written, he did wish that he could read the rest. He still didn't know where the letter came from or why it was so mangled. And he was extremely curious who would have been named as his father.

With a chuckle at that last thought, Harry turned the light off again and climbed back into bed.

********************

Harry opened his eyes at the sound of his Aunt Petunia knocking on his bedroom door. His eyes watered when the bright sun pouring into the room hit his face as he sat up. Groaning inwardly, Harry cursed himself for staying up so late. Then he cursed the idiot that had sent that wretched letter.

The boy stood up and stretched his aching joints wishing that he could use some of his own funds to buy a new mattress for his bed. He knew, though, that if he admitted to having that kind of money the tentative peace between him and his relatives would fly out the window. Shrugging off the thought and grabbing his clothes and glasses, Harry made his way to the bathroom.

Knowing he must look a fright after so little sleep, the boy splashed cold water onto his face and scrubbed the sleep from his eyes before brushing his teeth. When he finally stood up straight and put his glasses on, the sight that greeted him in the mirror was not what should have been there.

Gone were his black hair and bright green eyes. In their place were characteristics he had seen too many times before on two people he hated almost as much as Voldemort. In fact, they were physical traits he would have been grateful to never see again. And now they were his.

Shaking his head in denial, Harry watched familiar silver-blue eyes well up with tears and white blonde hair frame his face as he recalled, again, the letter containing his father's words.

'. . . the glamour we have placed on you will have completely vanished and you will finally regain the features with which you were born.'

He, of course, had no doubt now that his father had indeed written the letter. The letter he'd been laughing about a few short hours ago. Tears streaked his face at the loss of Lily Potter as his mother. A sob caught in his throat at the thought of having a living family that were not the Dursleys. He dropped to his knees and nearly retched at the hatred that family felt toward him knowing that it was beyond how even the Dursleys despised him.

And then he remembered more that his father had written.

'. . . Albus has insisted that I must not, under any circumstances allow the truth of your parentage to come out before the war is over.'

Abruptly, the tears stopped and the shaking subsided. They were simultaneously replaced with a burning rage like he had never felt before. Only one thought lived in his mind at that moment.

'Albus Dumbledore will die!'

TBC