Disclaimer: Not mine.

Harry Potter was not a happy wizard. He had spent the last four years of his life attending Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry for nine months of the year and he had been in some form of danger for all of them.

His first year he had almost been killed by his defence teacher, who was being possessed by the evil wizard who killed his parents.

His second year several students had been attacked and petrified and most of the school believed him to be the culprit. In order to stop these attacks and save the life of his best friend's younger sister, he'd had to enter a secret chamber which most wizards considered mythical and kill a giant poisonous snake without looking into the snakes eyes, which could kill with a direct glance. In doing so he was poisoned himself, and it was only the quick actions of Fawkes, the Headmaster's phoenix, that saved his life. He'd also had to face down the younger version of the wizard who killed his parents - again.

Third year was even closer to his heart. Sirius Black, escaped convict and mass-murderer, had escaped from Azkaban, the Wizarding prison. Of course, Sirius was innocent of all charges, but Harry hadn't known that at the time and had believed that one of the main reasons his parents were dead was free - and coming to kill him. Matters were complicated further by the presence of Dementors at the school, all of whom had a particularly strong effect on Harry. He made an effort to learn how to repel them, but it took time and practice, and each time he'd failed, the presence of the soul-sucking creature had forced him to remember the worst moments of his life - the night his parents died.

But perhaps the biggest blow of them all was when he had believed, for a precious few hours, that he would never have to go back to the Dursleys. They'd been a blight on his life for a long time, and while he'd never complain to anyone of their treatment of him - Dumbledore had impressed the importance of the blood wards on him - that didn't mean he'd not take the opportunity to live with someone who actually wanted him. The Dursleys had made their feelings on the matter abundantly clear.

Perhaps part of his reluctance to complain was caused by his independent nature - the Dursleys had certainly not encouraged that he come to them for help - and perhaps part of it was that the Dursleys had always treated him as a burden, so he didn't tell anyone what was troubling him for fear that they think the same as his Aunt and Uncle and leave him, but a large part of it was how the Wizarding World as a whole regarded Albus Dumbledore.

One might find it difficult to connect the two, but when the answer came, it was rather simple.

The Wizarding World regarded Albus Dumbledore as an insanely powerful light wizard, the only one Voldemort ever feared. They didn't believe he could make mistakes, and as a result, Harry emotionally speaking shared that view, even if logically he knew that everyone did things they regretted. Harry didn't believe Albus Dumbledore could make mistakes, so he must not have made a mistake regarding Harry's placement with the Dursleys.

Put simply, Harry couldn't comprehend the possibility that Dumbledore did not know of his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys, so assumed he did know, and it wasn't bad enough to move him and forsake the protections of the blood wards.

Then came his fourth year. Slipping a few threats to the Dursleys had done wonders for his treatment the summer he turned fourteen, so he had been able to complete his homework properly. For the first time ever, he had a parental figure that he trusted completely to be on his side, no matter what, and even if he wasn't allowed to live with Sirius, he could still confide in him, rely on him, which was more than he'd ever had before. He'd briefly hoped that this year would be different.

Then his name came out of the Goblet of Fire.

Harry had been afraid when he heard about the deaths of previous champions, and the fact that three-fourths of the school were back to hating him - among them his ex-best friend Ron - didn't help. But after he'd succeeded at the first two tasks and prepared extensively for the third, he'd begun to hope that whoever had placed his name in the Goblet was hoping he'd die in the tasks, and for the first time, he felt a ray of hope that he might prove them wrong.

That hope was quickly extinguished. Events spiralled quickly out of control, and before he knew it, Cedric Diggory was dead and Voldemort had returned. He had barely managed to escape with his life, Cedric's body in tow. And now here he was, his godfather off on a dangerous mission, while he was stuck at the Dursleys.

Harry Potter was not happy. He was tired.

Tired of worrying weather people loved him for defeating Voldemort or hated him for being a parselmouth, or announcing Voldemort's return. Tired of worrying about weather his friends stuck by him because he was Harry, or the boy-who-lived. (Ron's jealous reaction to his name being pulled out of the Goblet of Fire gave him an inkling of the answer to that question, too.) Tired of fighting for his life, or his soul, every year, saving innocent people in the process and yet never being believed, packed off to his relatives as if his sole purpose was to save them and once he'd done that, they could safely bury their heads in the sand about the whole thing and sentence him back to hell.

Harry Potter was breaking.

His mistrust in his friends, caused primarily by Ron's betrayal of him before the first task, prevented him from even contemplating talking to them about the events of the third task - not to mention that there was no way they'd understand.

For all that they'd been caught up in the misadventures surrounding him, they hadn't yet grown up. The still believed that good always won in the end, and being honourable always meant you'd win against the bad guy. Harry no longer had it in him to harbour such hope.

For a start, they'd insist that Cedric's death wasn't his fault. And while he could admit that largely it wasn't - Cedric had chosen to accept the cup, and he hadn't been the one to kill the older boy, nor had he wished for the loyal Hufflepuff's death - he would readily admit that he was stupid. If someone was going to take the time to put his name in the Goblet in the hope that he would die, then it was unlikely that they'd leave the final outcome to chance. No, they would try to ensure that he was going to die, and the Triwizard cup was an obvious target. Despite all those readily available facts, he'd still done the honourable thing - which resulted in the pointless death of a kind and loyal student.

Needless to say, that was the source of Harry's newfound realization that being honourable didn't mean you were going to live longer.

Another point that his friends would drastically fail to understand was what it felt like to be trapped by your enemy, to know that there was no way to escape. Outnumbered as he was in that graveyard, in the presence of an enemy who caused him pain simply by being in close proximity to him, Harry was far more familiar than he'd like with the dread of knowing that you could be tortured, and killed, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The pain of the Cruciatus Curse was indescribable. Ron and Hermione trying to sympathize with him about that would be hypocritical in the extreme. They simply couldn't imagine that kind of pain. The Imperious Curse required a tremendous effort to fight against, and neither of his friends had been tested like that.

No, they could not understand.

His godfather was off on a mission for Dumbledore, and it wasn't safe to owl him. If it weren't for that Harry might have confided in his godfather - Sirius would certainly understand his feelings on the Dursleys after being raised a Gryffindor in a House of Blacks and his time in Azkaban had given him a unique understanding of emotional pain, his status as innocent preserving his sanity. The fact remained, however, that Padfoot was not an option.

He briefly considered writing to Remus, as another of his father's friends, but he had never really talked to the man about anything other than school when he was a professor and he felt uncomfortable only doing so now, when he needed someone, as opposed to after his third year when Remus quit. It didn't sit well with Harry to only contact him because he wanted something. After a number of people being friendly with Harry simply because of his name, he was wary of treating others the same way.

Professor McGonagall, as his head of house, might be a good idea, but there was nothing she could really do anyway. Dumbledore wanted him at the Dursleys and his stern Transfiguration Professor was not the person to go to when you wanted to talk about anything even remotely personal. He didn't feel comfortable spilling all his thoughts and feelings to her, even though he had no doubt that she wanted what was best for all her Gryffindors.

The only other person Harry could think of to contact was Professor Dumbledore, but Harry decided against it for several reasons. Dumbledore had already made it clear that he was to return to the Dursleys every summer, for at least a month. Dumbledore already had enough on his plate trying to convince that idiot Fudge that Voldemort was really back. And Harry didn't want to sound like a whiny child complaining about every little thing to the important wizard when the reasons behind everything that has happened lately are abundantly clear, and it was obvious that he had to stay with the Dursleys for his own safety.

So Harry had resolved not to write to anyone by the time the second day of the summer holidays was over.

His relatives, still aware of the threat of Harry's godfather hanging over them, had put Harry into his room and locked the door without so much as a hello. Then again, a hello from the Dursleys was probably hoping for a bit much, Harry mused bitterly.

Harry was let out twice a day and allowed half an hour in the bathroom. He cooked the evening meal before going back up to his room. Once the family had finished eating, Aunt Petunia pushed a can of cold soup, a bottle of water, a piece of fruit (usually on the verge of going off - obviously parts of Dudley's diet that he wasn't as keen on) and a dry slice of toast through the cat flap that had been installed on the door. It was an improvement on last summer, for which Harry was thankful - this summer Hedwig would not be as starved as last. He himself had no appetite, so he gave most of it to Hedwig, and left the rest.

The next week passed like that. Harry gave Hedwig the toast and the softer fruit, left the rest without eating anything himself and sharing the water with Hedwig, though the clever owl refused point-blank to drink more than a third of the bottle. Harry had no idea how an owl could bully him into drinking most of the water, but Hedwig managed.

Harry became steadily weaker due to the lack of food, and was soon running a fever. His hands shook and he gave up most of his homework as hopeless, not being able to hold a quill steady enough to write without the whole thing coming out as complete mess.

Once Harry was not working on his summer assignments, he had little reason to move at all, except to feed Hedwig, go to the bathroom and cook the evening meal. As a result he spent all of his time on his bed, dozing fitfully amidst half-formed nightmares of Cedric's death. The lack of movement caused his muscles to disappear even faster than they were already due to the lack of food. This showed when he was required to do his only remaining chore.

He accidently dropped the second pan of bacon because of the shaking in his hands caused the grease to slop over the edge and burn his arm. Uncle Vernon quickly purpled and dragged him to his room, propelling him inside with a single blow to his ribs, yelling all the while about worthless freaks and how they couldn't be trusted.

Once inside the room, Harry collapsed on his bed, one hand pressed against his aching ribs, and for the first time since the third task, he cried. He cried for the necessity of his staying with people who hated him, but most of all he cried for what he felt he could never have. A family. Because no matter where he went, or who he became, Voldemort would always find him, and the Dark wizard would always take any family he might gain from him.

After that, Harry was not doing any chores for the Dursleys. He was only allowed out to go to the bathroom. He still refused to eat. And the nightmares were getting worse.

Harry had been having nightmares since he returned from school and no longer had access to Madam Pomfrey's supply of Dreamless Sleep potion, but now that he was running a fever, he could add delusions into the mix.

Sometimes it was not Cedric who died in the graveyard, but Ron and Hermione. After that it was Remus and Sirius. Soon everyone he cared about had played a role in his personal little horror show, including the entire Weasley family. If his friends weren't dying in front of him, they were accusing him of being thoughtless and stupid. Ungrateful of all that they had given him.

Two weeks and six days after returning to the Dursleys for the summer holidays, Harry knew that he needed help if he ever wanted to see Hogwarts again. The thing was, it would be so much easier to just stay here and slip away.

But Harry had been able to resist Voldemort's Imperious curse with strength of will; and even in his weakened state, his will had not deserted him. He could not get better at the Dursleys, so he would just have to write to Dumbledore and ask for help.

It was not a decision he made lightly. He chose to write to Dumbledore because no one else would remove him without Dumbledore's permission, so it only made sense to go to the source, so to speak. As for asking to leave the Dursleys, Harry was hesitant to suggest such a thing, regardless of his own health, with the blood wards at play, but he understood that if he did not get better care - three solid meals a day and decent sleep - then he would die, and he knew that Dumbledore would want to know before that happened.

So it was with great effort that he pulled himself up and staggered over to his desk. Hedwig hooted softly in encouragement and he collapsed heavily in his chair. Shakily he pulled a quill and parchment out and began to write, the words barely legible. His head hit the desk unconscious before he even finished, but it was enough for Hedwig. She pulled the parchment out from under her master's hand and flew out of the open window, to the man she hoped would help her master in a way her master's friends couldn't now.

Exactly three weeks after Harry returned to the Dursleys for the summer, Albus Dumbledore was pulling on his cloak for an unexpected visit to number four, Privet Drive.

Three weeks and three days after Harry had returned to the Dursleys for the summer, Albus Dumbledore was loudly cursing his reputation for being all-knowing.