Disclaimer: Still nothing in the Harry Potter universe is mine, everything belongs to the wonderful magician J.K. Rowling and the only thing I gain is getting the plot bunnies out of my head.

AN: Wow, thank you all for those wonderful reviews and to everyone who followed and favoured. You guys are the best.

This chapter is now beta'ed by the wonderful a-bit-of-madness.

Have fun reading.

On with the story

Chapter 3: The second letter

Harry woke with a groan, a severe headache, pounding in his skull. It took him several minutes to realise that the pounding was not only happening in his head. Someone was banging on his door.

The loud and shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia cut through the haze of his splitting headache and the ringing in is ears. It took Harry some time to make sense of the words.

"Get up! You have 10 minutes in the bathroom and then make breakfast." The sound of a dozen different locks opening followed and then Harry heard footsteps retreating down the stairs.

Harry opened his eyes, blinking away the tears which threatened to gather as the early morning light caused another ripple pain behind his forehead. Concentrating on his breathing for a moment Harry opened his eyes again…slowly. Only then did he realize that he was laying on the floor, which was quite uncomfortable.

Fucking fantastic, what a wonderful way to begin the day.

Harry gritted his teeth and got up, fighting off a wave of nausea and dizziness as he did. His whole body ached and cried out in pain with every movement as he made his way to the bathroom across the hallway.

After using the loo and splashing his face with cold water, the world slowly started coming into focus. He sighed as he glanced into the mirror. He looked horrible and tired and sick. His naturally messy raven hair looked greasy and limp. His skin had a grey shine to it and his normally vibrant and intense green eyes were dull, glazed and weary. His cheeks were hollowed. He looked like he had one foot already in the grave.

Without another glance at the mirror, Harry shuffled into his bedroom, grabbed a clean tee and hurried down the stairs into the kitchen. His 10 minutes were already up and Aunt Petunia made her disapproval quite clear when she looked at him.

"Hurry up, Vernon will be down in 20 minutes and you better hope breakfast is on the table then or your Uncle will deal with you." Then she shooed him to the oven. Harry gave her a sneer. He knew that his Uncle would deal with him regardless of getting breakfast ready in time or not.

Since coming home after fifth year and the scene at Kings Cross, Uncle Vernon had been harsh and vindictive with his treatment of Harry. He really didn't like to be threatened and he had punished Harry the moment they crossed the threshold of number four Privet Drive. The bruises from this first beating had only just begun fading.

In the summers before, Harry would have tried to be out of their way as often as possible and to not react to their taunting, putting a mask of indifference on. Vernon hated it when he couldn't get a reaction out of Harry.

He snorted. If the people at school knew that he put aside his Gryffindor persona and brought out his inner Slytherin to survive the summers, they would have a heart attack. But since developing his plan to use the connection with Voldemort to deal with the prophecy (and from there, all the rest of the shit going on in his life), he had found that he couldn't suppress his amusement anymore.

And it was amusing, how Vernon went from red to purple in seconds if he thought something was not "normal"- or what he perceived as normal, because how the Dursleys treated him was definitely not normal. Harry had realized this the first week of primary school. The crude remarks, the insults, the taunts and hateful words were now dripping off Harry. He had thought before that he had quite a thick skin, but he realized the words had still hurt somewhere deep inside. Now he found them funny and had a hard time not reacting amused all the time.

He was a little afraid he might transform into Draco Malfoy with all the sneering going on, but he couldn't help himself.

And why should he? He had a cruel, homicidal madman after his life, the wizarding world loved him in one moment only to throw him away the moment he did something they didn't like and labelled him an attention seeking lunatic. But still, the people expected him to kill one of the most powerful wizard of their time- a wizard who had far more experience and was proficient in the Dark Arts- while Harry was a teenager, not yet sixteen! Compared to this, the treatment from his relatives- as painful and horrendous as it was- was endurable.

Harry put a frying pan on the stove, took up a spatula and started to make breakfast, a mountain of bacon and eggs, buttered toast and lots of coffee. As an afterthought, he included some porridge with fruits for Dudley. He had come home, with a lot more muscles and less fat than the year before, and a new diet plan from his boxing trainer and the school nurse. Petunia had pursed her thin lips and complained about how her little Duddykins was still growing and growing boys needed their bacon, but for the first time Dudley had been stubborn concerning healthy food.

The diet plan was stuck to the fridge and Dudley refused to eat anything that wasn't on it. Vernon punished Harry every time he adhered to the diet plan because he thought he knew better than a nurse and was sure that Dudley needed his fatty food, but Dudley was grateful to Harry and tried to help him behind his parents back, bringing him food Petunia wouldn't miss and water. He even let him out of his room when Vernon and Petunia were not at home.

Harry heard the tell-tale stomping of Vernon coming down the stairs and hurried to put everything on the table. Petunia shooed him to the kitchen sink to start cleaning the pans. Harry only needed a short glance to Vernon to see that he was not in a good mood, which only got worse as Dudley came into the kitchen, sat down and happily started eating his porridge. He shot a murderous glance in Harry's direction, who couldn't completely suppress a sigh.

"Dudley, pack your stuff after breakfast, we will visit Aunt Marge over the next days. She is looking forward to see her favourite nephew for weeks now." Petunia smiled sweetly at her son, who didn't look pleased at the prospect of visiting Marge.

As Harry started to clean the table Dudley looked up.

"And Harry?"

Both his parents froze.

"What about the Freak?" Vernon grunted, his face colour changing to red. Petunia beamed at her son, he was such an angel to think of the freak, even if he shouldn't.

"We can't take him with us, you know this. Marge would never allow it. He will be staying here, in his room. So, you don't have to be afraid that he will go into your room and destroy it or steal something." Dudley looked horrified at his mother.

"But Mum…." Harry caught Dudley's eyes and shook his head. Dudley closed his mouth but didn't looked happy.

"Don't worry son, go now and pack your stuff." The moment Dudley was out of the kitchen, , Vernon grabbed Harry by his arm and shoved him into the wall.

"You heard us, we will be going to Marge's place for a few days. You will be staying in your room. No funny business, do you hear me?" He spat at Harry and squeezed his already bruised arm.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry drawled, not entirely sure if Vernon heard the sarcasm dripping. Perhaps he should check if Draco Malfoy was still alive and his ghost was not possessing him. Vernon narrowed his eyes and shoved him in the direction of the stairs.

"Go to your room and stay there."

.

Half an hour later, Harry heard the car leaving the driveway as he slouched in his bed. Petunia had given him a few bottles of water and a loaf of bread with some cheese. She hadn't looked happy to give him even this much. Vernon had come in, bellowed a few more threats, gave him an empty bucket with a mean grin and had looked the door behind him, every single lock on his door had been shut. Harry sighed., Really? A bucket? Prisoners had nicer facilities. But it didn't matter, or wouldn't matter in two days, if everything would go accordingly.

But it was fortunate that his relatives had left. He could send some of the letters now, instead of tonight. Getting up from the bed, Harry walked to Hedwig's cage and gently stroke her.

"Hey girl. I know you prefer to sleep during the day and you already flew a lot in the night, but are you up to delivering some more letters for me?" Hedwig opened her eyes and looked at him. Then she playfully nipped his finger and ruffled her feathers.

"Ok, I understand, let me get them." Harry kneeled on the floor and got the stack of letters out from under the floorboard. He took the first three and bound them to Hedwig's leg, in the order of delivery. Hedwig hooted in affirmation and hopped onto his arm.

"You are the best." Harry carried her to the window. He was not sure if Uncle Vernon even knew that the bars he had put there before Harry was home from Hogwarts were wide enough, that Hedwig could squeeze through them. Nevertheless, Harry was quite happy about it, he always felt guilty when Hedwig couldn't go flying during the summer, and now it was a huge advantage.

"Have a safe trip." With a final hoot, Hedwig took flight. Harry watched her for a few seconds, then he went back to bed and settled down for a nap. Before he closed his eyes, he checked the soul connection, but Voldemort was still quiet at the other end, which could mean anything, from unconsciousness to occlumency shields. Deciding that he couldn't do anything in the moment, Harry let himself drift to sleep.

Severus Snape, youngest Potions Master in Britain, Professor at Hogwarts school for Witchcraft and Wizardry and Head of Slytherin House was in a fabulous mood. The small smile which had settled itself on his features would have sent most of his students screaming, but nobody was there to see this, albeit crooked, but happy smile and it was because of this absence Severus allowed himself a smile- he wouldn't have to see any of the dunderheads till September.

He had a wonderful morning, drinking his favourite black coffee while reading the newest issue of Potions Progress, studying an article about the newest improvements of the wound-closing Potion, a Potion used for healing self-inflicted wounds which couldn't be closed by medical charms because the inherent magic was preventing it. But the potion was far from perfect, most of the time the self-inflicted wounds would close only for a short time, depending on the magical power and the intent of the patient.

Severus hummed while checking the formula of the Potion and comparing it with the changes the author of the article suggested. It could work, but there were several alternative ingredients and brewing procedures coming to his mind which could improve the potions beyond what the author suggested. Yes, after breakfast he would check his ingredients cupboard to be sure he had what he needed and then try each alternative.

Severus could already feel his excitement building up. There was nothing as stimulating as potions research. He had no real passion for teaching, only the upper years were really worth it, research would always be his favourite. It was no surprise, therefore, that he preferred the summer holidays over every other time of the year. The thrill of advancing into territories only a select few gifted individuals in the world could go, the satisfaction of finding a solution to an especially hard puzzle and the feeling of immersing oneself completely into a subject, this was what Severus lived for.

A hoot distracted him from his reading. While his mind had been occupied by the article and his possible brewing session, an owl had entered his kitchen through the open window. A beautiful snowy owl he recognized, he had seen her many times snatching bacon from her owner.

Severus' good mood dimmed slightly, what could his least favourite student want from him during the summer holidays? He narrowed his eyes. Had the ungrateful, spoiled little whelp found trouble only a few weeks after the mess he had produced in the Ministry of Magic? And why would he write to him? For a few seconds Severus thought of ignoring the letter, but the owl hooted once more, took flight and landed on his shoulder. Severus sighed and untied the letter the animal was impatiently holding out to him. Before he could read the names on the other letters tied to the owl's leg, she took flight and left through the same window she had entered through.

Sighing again Severus looked at the letter. It was simply addressed to

Professor Severus Snape

in the familiar chicken-scrawl of Harry Potter. Shoving his unease aside, Severus opened the letter and began to read.

Dear Professor Snape

I know I have never written to you, but current circumstances call for it. I gained some important knowledge and initiated plans you need to be made aware of. And no, I couldn't have told Dumbledore, because he is not the right man for it.

But first, I really want to apologize for my juvenile and unjust behaviour. It was immature of me to breach your privacy in the way I did. There is no reasonable explanation for my behaviour, especially after you cut short on your free time to teach me. And I want to apologize for the behaviour of my father. He was a bully and that is something I never could agree with. I had a talk with Sirius about their behaviour and was outraged to see that he didn't think they were in the wrong.

So now that that is out of my system… Snape you are no better!

You belittled an eleven-year-old boy, who only learned a month before that he was a wizard, because he couldn't answer your questions. Nobody else could answer them, only Hermione, but that doesn't count. Over the years you, who knew what it's like to be bullied, made my life at Hogwarts even harder than it already was.

You went from being bullied, to being the bully.

You are a cruel, resentful and bitter man, and because I look like one of your tormentors and you couldn't separate me from him, you used me to get your petty revenge. You acted under the prejudice that I was just like my father, and how could I be different if I LOOK like him. Did you never realize that I didn't even know the man? How could I behave like him if I never knew him, never heard of him before my eleventh birthday?

You are the adult, and yet you never behaved like one. You took great pleasure in telling me over and over again that I was as arrogant, spoiled, stupid and awful as my father. It hurt, a lot…

As a child I always hoped that my parents were perhaps not dead and would be coming for me. I dreamed of them, but I never had a clear picture because I knew nothing of them, not even their names, till I started Hogwarts. There I met people who could tell me about my parents, they always told me how beautiful and fierce my mother was and how brave and fun and intelligent my father.

So, he became something like a hero for me, especially because I never knew him, and I was so proud.

But you, you destroyed that.

I could live with the taunts and belittlement (Merlin knows I have enough practice) but you managed to make me doubt him, and after the pensieve incident I started to feel ashamed of being James Potter's son. You made me feel disgusted by his behaviour. I hope that makes you happy at least…I hope it was worth it, the greatest revenge you could inflict on a dead man who can't fight back anymore.

And it is quite funny, that all your insults were based on false facts, because nobody would consider me spoilt if they knew of my home life.

Phew, I really needed to get that out of my system.

Now back to why I wrote this letter.

Professor, do you know what a Horcrux is? I will summarize it, just in case. A Horcrux is Dark Magic of the evilest kind, in which a fragment of a soul is embedded by a witch or a wizard into an object, therefore granting immortality. They are created by committing murder, followed by a ritual and a spell, during which the soul is split in half. There are horrendous consequences to splitting one's soul, insanity, reduced accessibility of the magical core and crippling of the magical strength are some of them. Go to Grimmauld place and use the Black library, there are some books which are quite informative on the subject.

Voldemort created a Horcrux when he was sixteen.

The anger which had been built while reading evaporated instantly. Severus paled. How could someone do something so repulsive as splitting his own soul? He felt a wave of nausea pass over him. Taking a gulp of his now cold coffee, he read on.

But that wasn't enough for him. He was on his way to insanity, which made him even more paranoid and afraid of death. Someone could destroy his Horcrux, so why not make a second one? But he didn't stop with two. By 1981 he had made five, and that's the reason he didn't die when the death curse rebounded of me and hit him. With every Horcrux, he split the soul he had left in half, and eventually went insane, we can only be happy that in this condition he also couldn't utilize his complete magical strength.

Why am I telling you this? Because I gave them back. I found a way to merge the five horcruxes and send them to him. In this moment the soul fragments should merge with the one in his body, making him sane again, at least I hope so.

But he is still not mortal. Sometime during the Summer of the Quidditch world cup he made another Horcrux: Nagini. I don't know how this effected the snake, but I couldn't remove the soul piece in her. First, because she is always at his side, it would have been too obvious what I was doing and second, because she is a living being with her own soul, therefore the soul fragment is more tightly anchored/intertwined than the ones in the inanimate objects. To get rid of this Horcrux, Nagini must be killed, because to destroy a Horcrux the object containing the soul fragment must be damaged to a point beyond any and all physical or magical repair. Then, and only then, will Voldemort be mortal again.

But I recommend checking on Voldemort first. I know you are a dark wizard and I know that dark doesn't equal evil.

Yes, I know, shocking, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor doesn't equate dark with evil.

I even approve of some of the points in his agenda. So, if he is sane again, and back on track with his original goals, one of them the fight for the use of Dark Arts, I am sure you would be on his side, if you have the opportunity to choose and that's the reason I am writing this to you. Dumbledore would either send you to kill Nagini and me to kill Voldemort outright, or he will try to manipulate a confrontation. He may be one of the greatest wizards alive, and I respect him, but I am not blind to his manipulations.

So please, go to Voldemort. Check if the merging was successful, at least. If he is sane again, he can be reasoned with. I really don't want to be a murderer because of a prophecy. If you need a bargaining chip, here is the whole thing:

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...

and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...

the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...

I don't think I have to fulfil it, because I already vanquished him as a baby. I already sent him a letter. Could be that he is in a piss poor mood because of it, but hey, I never said I would play nice….

Now, you will ask yourself how I know all of this. It is actually quite simple. On Halloween 1981, when Voldemort murdered my parents and tried to murder me, his already damaged soul split again and the soul piece attached itself to the only living being it could find – me, making me a Horcrux. Because he couldn't perform the ritual and the spell afterwards, though, I'm not a complete one, and the soul piece in me is more a parasitic fragment.

Over the last months, I used the soul connection between us and the other Horcruxes to find out everything I could (having easy access to his mind helped, I only had to be sneaky). I used the connection to gather the pieces of his soul and send them to him.

In the next days I will attempt to destroy the fragment in me so that he only has Nagini left as a security net. I will tell Dumbledore in a letter what I did, but not all the details I told you, and not my position concerning some points in Voldemort's agenda. And I will tell one more person, no one too obvious, everything, even some stuff I didn't tell you. Use this and the prophecy to get Voldemort to hear you out.

I wish you all the best, Professor.

Goodbye,

Harry Potter.

AN: Please review and let me know what you think.

Thanks to a-bit-of-madness for helping to improve my spelling and grammar.

First published: 19th of March 2018

Last edited: 23th of October