"'Neither can live . . . while the other survives.'"

"So," said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, "so does that mean that . . . that one of us has got to kill the other one . . . in the end?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

"What if, I don't want to be a murderer?"

Dumbledore sighed and opened his hands.

"Is it evil if it is for the greater good?"

Something twisted in his guts at those words, and Harry could barely stop a sneer from coming to his lips.

"Greater good?" Harry swallowed around the fury that was trying to build in him. "What greater good should I care about, exactly? My family is dead. My only chance at a family is dead," His lower lip trembled. "Why should I care about people who don't care about me?"

"I know that you are angry," Dumbledore began.

"No," Harry whispered, tears filling his eyes. "You don't know me at all." He shook his head and knuckled away the tears. "Why should I care for . . . for anything?" He asked helplessly.

"Your 'Greater Good' left me in a household that you knew I'd be miserable in," Harry whispered. "And that was okay for you, because it was . . ." He swallowed, and let his tears drip down his cheeks. "That was okay for you, because it kept me safe-supposedly safe," He bit out around clenched teeth. "Supposedly safe from Voldemort."

He shook his head and ignored the tears that were falling freely now.

"But you left me with people who hated me. Who made certain to know that no one would ever want me. This is your legacy," His lips twisted angrily. "And I wasn't safe from them, but you didn't care." He shook his head and tried to regain control over himself.

"I don't believe in your 'Greater good.' Why should I? Greater good for whom? Yeah? Not for me. And not for Sirius. Or hell, even Snape. He's had a shit time of it too, it seems. Or James and Lily Potter? Yeah?"

He shook his head and stared angrily back at Dumbledore.

"You don't know me at all," He repeated, still speaking in that despair filled whisper. "I don't want to play this game anymore of yours."

"Game, my boy?" Dumbledore's eyes also glistened with tears, but his were still yet unshed.

"I don't want to be your puppet, sir. I don't want to fulfill this prophecy," He shook his head, something breaking deep inside of him.

"I don't understand what you mean, Harry. You've never been anyone's puppet," Dumbledore argued, standing up and reaching beseechingly out to him.

Harry backed away from the man who had been his mentor, crossing his arms over his chest in a self-protecting manner.

"No. You don't know me. I don't know what 'good' is. I've never seen it. I've never had it," He spat, tears slowly drying up. "I've never lived it," He sniffed, suddenly aware of how tired he was. Such a bone deep tiredness he had never felt before.

"You've seen the Weasley family? The Grangers? They are good, I swear it, my boy."

"I'm not your boy!" He suddenly screamed. "I'm no one's boy, and that's your fault! Tell me," He began to pace, nervous energy propelling him back and forth.

"Who is the worst person? The man who murders? Or the man who leaves others to murder? Or," His voice dropped back into a whisper. "Is it the person who shows a child who has just lost everything into a home-a household that will further destroy any hope that was left within him," He pointed savagely at his former mentor.

"You left me with a family that treated me as scum, headmaster. Scum. I am nothing. Whatever I was before tonight, whatever was left after your fucking chosen family beat me down for fourteen fucking years, whatever was left is gone. And you know what's left?" He pursed his lips angrily.

Dumbledore didn't answer him and his magic surged forward, putting a crack down the middle of the massive desk in between them.

"Do you know what's left?" Harry asked again, face rippling in a mix of anger and despair.

"No," Dumbledore whispered.

"The freak is left," Harry said, pounding his chest. "The freak that no one ever wanted, that's who's left. The freak of the Dursleys. The freak of Hogwarts. The freak of the wizarding world. He-who-fucking-belongs-nowhere. That's who's left," His lower lip trembled wildly as the door behind him exploded around him.

"You are not a freak, I swear it," Dumbledore said emphatically.

"You don't know me," He shook his head again and walked backward, nimbly stepping over chunks of the door.

"I don't think anyone does," He added in a whisper, before turning and fleeing down the stairs.

"Oh my boy. What have I done to you?" Dumbledore whispered, tears finally flowing down into his beard.

Dear Mister Dark Lord,

What would you say if I told you that the so-called boy-who-lived was just a freak in a human costume?  That’s what my “family” calls me. A freak. A waste of space. A monster.

I’m not scared of you, because my uncle is much scarier.  His belts are scarier. His fist is scarier. He can rip me into little pieces with just his words.

So, you don’t scare me because I’ve seen worse.  

Sincerely,

The Freak (formerly known as Harry James Potter)

P.S.  Dumbledore says I have to kill you.  I don’t want to. I rather think that anything Dumbledore thinks I should do, I should probably just do the opposite.  You see, he knew what kind of family he was leaving me with and yet he still did it. He made the Freak, at least indirectly.  

P.P.S.  My “family” lives at #4 Privet Drive in Surrey.  I don’t want to go there this summer. I hope that I won’t have to.

. . .

Dear Professor Snakey,

I formally apologise for looking in your pensieve.  It was morally wrong of me and I doubt you’ll ever forgive me, but I have to try.  

You know, my relatives say I’m a freak, but by James Potter’s standard, he probably would have said the same.  

It’s good to know exactly where you stand in the world.  And I can tell you, I don’t belong anywhere.

Why am I telling you?  Maybe because you hate me and can’t think any lower of me?  

That’s okay.  My family hates me too.  I’m used to hate.

I don’t understand goodness.  That’s the headmaster’s schtick.  

Sincerely,

The Freak

. . .

The summer after 5th year, the entity known as "Harry James Potter" disappeared from existence.  

He grimaced at himself in the mirror.  Snape was right. He looked far too much like his bullying menace of a father.  His hair--the permanent mess that it was--was especially reminiscent of the ghastly teenager he had seen in Professor Snape’s pensieve.  

There was nothing for it.  If he wanted to prove himself a different person, a different man, then he would have to find ways to physically distance himself from the bully that was James Potter.

Later, perhaps, he could allow his actions to speak for themselves, but for now . . . for now this change was necessary.

He leveled his wand at his head and muttered the shaving charm.

. . .

It wasn’t as bad a change as he had feared.  He had become fairly adept at the charm that past year, and as such, he was able to control power of the spell to a rather finite level. He cut the sides of his hair down to less than a centimeter, but kept the top slightly longer.  

He supposed that he could have tried to pull an Aunt Petunia, and left his bangs long, but the thought had repulsed him and he avoided that route.

Idly, he wondered if any of the muggleborns would accuse him of planning to join the muggle military.  His haircut seemed very smart to him, and he shuddered to imagine the approval it would like receive from someone like Uncle Vernon.  

Now, all he had to do was get rid of his glasses, and he would be a hair freer.  

A hair.

The laugh that bubbled out of his chest was sour and unfamiliar, and stopped mere seconds after it had started.  

Placing his hands at the sides of the sink, he leaned forward until he could no longer see his reflection and fought against the urge to cry.  

“The boy has disappeared, Albus,” Severus spat.

Shadowed blue eyes stared back at him in shock.

“And what of Voldemort?”  

Severus flinched in pain at the sound of the accursed name.

“The Dark Lord is every bit as flummoxed by this as you are.” 

“Do you think that Harry is responsible for his relatives’ deaths?”  Albus wondered aloud.

Severus scowled.  

“If he is, then I feel certain that he was justified.”

He swirled and made to stride from the room.

“You believe that he was mistreated?”

Severus scowled, but dutifully floated over a copy of the letter he had received at the beginning of the week.

Albus read it and was shocked.  

“He refers to himself as, ‘The Freak,’” Severus stated matter-of-factly.  “I feel certain that he did not come up with the name on his own. So yes,” He snarled.  “I believe he was mistreated.”

“The Order will watch the usual places, my boy.  If you receive further correspondence from him, you will send it to me immediately, understand?”  Albus’ eyes were glinty with resolve.

Severus sneered but then nodded and left.  

. . .

He threw back the glass of firewhiskey and shuddered at the burn.

On his lap lay the latest letter from Potter--the one he had conveniently forgotten to mention to Dumbledore.

Dear Professor Snakey,

Severus rolled his eyes at the idiocy but managed to control the hysterical laugh that threatened to bubble forth.

I’m staying with the goblins for a bit while I get on my feet.

“Only you, Potter.”

They seem to like me.  I think it’s because I treat them like equals.  I can’t imagine why someone would be cruel to the one who holds their money, but apparently the wizarding world is stupider than I thought.

“You have no idea,” Severus whispered, thinking in particular of a certain twinkly eyed bastard.

I’m learning a lot more than I would during a normal summer.  And eating a lot. The goblins seem to think I should be a bit bigger than I am.  They keep pushing nutrition potions at me.

Severus’ stomach clenched at the unspoken meaning of the boy’s words.

I never knew that pomegranates were something to be eaten.  I just thought they were used in potions.

He closed his eyes against a wave of sudden vertigo.  His world view was shifting rapidly, enough that his stomach was rolling against the changes.

Every time I come into a room, the goblins tell me to sit.  To read. To eat. To do all of these things that I’ve never been allowed to do in peace.  

Perhaps he would move in with the goblins as well.  He snorted and returned to the ridiculous letter.

I shaved my head.  And the goblins fixed my eyes.  They also gave me some jewelry that helps with going undetected.  Just thought you should know.

Oh, and I’m going to meet with Mr Dark Lord at his manor tomorrow.  Feel free to come. 10:14, sharp. Haha. No, really.

Severus silently summoned a calming draught and downed it without shuddering.  The vial fell from unfeeling fingers and shattered on the floor with a tiny tinkling sound.  

The letter was signed the same as before.  

Sincerely,

The Freak

“I have reason to believe that Potter is appearing here today, my Lord,” Severus said once he had been given a moment to speak freely.

Voldemort tapped his wand against his chin in a idle way as he thought through what the other man had said.

“I suppose you have surmised who disposed of the ghastly creatures he was related to?” Was all the other man said.

Severus swallowed thickly.  

“I had my suspicions.”

“They were the most . . . cowardly things I have ever had the misfortune to torture,” Voldemort scowled and stood.  “You may rise, Severus.”

He returned to his feet without the groan that tried to eke out of his throat.  

“Where is the boy now?”

Severus couldn’t help but compare the similarities between the dark lord’s and Dumbledore’s conversations.  He thought better of his own hide than to mention them, though.

“With the goblins.”

“Is he really?”  Even Voldemort looked surprised at the knowledge.  

“He has advised me that he has changed his appearance.  I’m not entirely certain why.”

“I have my own suspicions,” His lord answered without elaborating.

A pop announced the arrival of an elf and then they both looked on stunned as the boy formerly known as Harry Potter appeared in front of them.

. . .

“This is a nice place,” He said, looking around the room with interest.

It was.  There were tapestries on every wall, and pottery and paintings filled in the dull spots without becoming too showy.  

“How did you get in here?”  Voldemort demanded, pointing his yew wand at the intruder.

He shrugged.  

“Freaks don’t go the usual routes,” Was all he said.

“Mr Potter,” Severus started.

“Freaks don’t get names.  We’re not worth it,” Potter’s smile was there and gone in a blink.

Severus took a step back and stared at the changes the boy had made.  Potter hadn’t been taking the mickey when he had told him that he had shaved his head.  The boy wasn’t bald, but it was a near thing. Gone were his glasses and also . . . his scar?

“How?”  He pointed at the young man’s forehead.

Potter grinned and pointed to a necklace that he had trouble seeing, despite now knowing it existed.

“Hidden,” Was all he said.

“Tabling the issue of how you got here today,” Voldemort once again stepped back into the fray.  “Why are you here?” His wand was still in his hand.

“Oh.  To surrender, of course.”  Potter’s smile was brilliant.

Severus’ breath caught in his throat, before bearing witness to the rare sight of Voldemort being thrown off guard.  

“And if I killed you?”  Voldemort pushed forward, into Potter’s space.

Finally, the boy’s face became serious, somber.

“You could, I suppose,” He answered, staring resolutely at the floor.  

“But?”  Voldemort pushed.

“I don’t want to die.  I just started to live.”  Potter swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be marked, but I won’t stand against you.”

“You’d let me sweep in and take all that’s yours without so much as an argument?”  

Potter shuddered.  

“Don’t have nothing.  Everything is a lie.”

“Don’t tell me your little friends have abandoned you?”  Severus scoffed.

“Don’t know.  Didn’t tell them.  They’ve not met the Freak.  They met Harry. Someone I wanted to be.”  The boy shook his head slowly. “Someone that I realised recently I can never be.  You have to be who you are in here,” He tapped his chest. “Everything else is just playing pretend.”  

“Very poetic,” Voldemort sneered, covering up his unease with derision.

Potter’s shoulders slumped more.  

“Where will you go now?  Provided you are allowed to live,” Severus asked, glancing at the dark lord.

“Somewhere no one will look at me?  Somewhere they don’t expect me to be a murderer?  Somewhere that everyone who passes by doesn’t automatically hate me?  I don’t want to be something special. I just . . .” Potter sucked in a shuddering breath.  “I just want to be the me that’s inside my head.”

“And if that perssson turnssss out to be againsst Dumbledore?”   Voldemort hissed.

“I’m already againsst Dumbledore.  He’s againsst me.”

“My Lord?” Severus questioned.  

“I think we can accommodate Mister Freak,” Voldemort’s smile was cold and it raised the hackles on the back of his neck.  

“Meaning?”  Potter asked in a wavering tone.

“How would you like to live here?”  

“With you?”  

Potter was trembling.  

“Down the hall," Voldemort amended.

“And I don’t have kill anyone?”  Big green eyes stared out from a far too pale face.  

Severus made a mental note to have the boy checked over by a healer--a human one.

“No.”

The silence in the room was heavy enough that Severus found it difficult to draw in a full breath.

“All right.”