It was nearing the end of June 1995, and one Albus Dumbledore had finally given permission for the Order of the Phoenix to go and pick Harry up. He wasn't very concerned by various members' statements that Harry hadn't been seen outside in days. Maybe the boy was just inside, spending time with his family. It wasn't too concerning, not at that moment.
Remus looked around the house in concern. "Harry's scent is stale, faded. As if he hasn't been here in days or weeks."
"What do you mean? Surely, he must be here?" Kingsley was starting to get an odd feeling.
"Are you suggesting my nose is lying?" Remus sighed, looking at the Auror.
"Of course not, Remus."
"It wouldn't hurt to check, would it?" Tonks shrugged and started walking up the stairs.
A feeling of foreboding crept up Remus' spine as Tonks pushed open the door. There were too many locks on the outside, and he didn't know what purpose the cat flap served, because the Dursleys certainly didn't have a cat. The room was rather bare, and full of clutter. Even though Harry's scent was stronger here, it was also stale. Hedwig's cage was off to the side, open. There was also a desk underneath the window. The only thing out of place on the desk was a note, addressed to no one.
Remus opened the note, and felt the blood drain from his face.
"I'm sorry for running away, but I can't stay here. I'm fearing for my life, and I don't know how much longer I can live like this.
The Dursleys are horrible and the nightmares are just getting worse. The beatings are too. Maybe if I run, I can survive."
Kingsley was just barely able to catch Remus as he fell.
The Order spread out over the UK to look for the Boy-Who-Lived, and it was a dark day for the entire magical world when they found what was left of their boy hero.
It was Remus and Tonks who found him, still and lifeless on the floor of a cabin on the rocks, out at sea. There were deep cuts on his forearms, and a pool of dried blood. And there was another letter on the old sofa.
"My name is Harry James Potter. You most likely know me as the Boy-Who-Lived, or the friend of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, or the son of James and Lily Potter. What you don't know is that other people know me as Freak.
Almost as soon as I lost my parents, I was left in a basket on the doorstep of my relatives' house, like a bottle of milk. And this started 10 years of being a burden, of being treated worse than a house-elf. My relatives didn't want me, you see, and made their displeasure at my presence clear. I was starved, beaten, and locked in the cupboard under the stairs.
When I found out the Wizarding World existed, I was excited. Maybe I could finally get away, maybe someone could help. But that didn't happen. I got sent back year after year. The public was also quick to change their opinions of me: I was adored one moment and loathed the next.
In my second year, it came out that I was a Parselmouth. The entire school loathed me, and I had to dodge hexes and curses in the hallway. None of the professors helped. Last I was entered into a tournament I wanted nothing to do with. And the school as a whole turned against me. I was labelled a cheater, and had to dodge hexes and curses again. The professors, again, did nothing. Then the Third Task happened.
Cedric and I, we decided to take the Triwizard Cup as a Hogwarts victory. We didn't know that the Cup was a Portkey. We landed in a graveyard, and I heard a voice say,"Kill the spare." And like that, the noble Hufflepuff champion, the one that should have won instead of me, was dead. I wish I died instead, so that his parents didn't have to live with the pain of losing their child.
My relatives were worse over the summer, because of the nightmares I had. They beat me for disrupting their sleep. So I finally decided to run away, because I didn't want to die like that. I don't know how I got here, but I realised I was going to die anyway. I don't know where any of the hospitals - Wizarding or Muggle - are. So I decided to end it all. Maybe I'll see my parents again on the other side.
To Ron and Hermione, I'm very sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you like this, but I can't take it anymore. Take care of Hedwig for me, please. She was my first friend, and I don't trust anyone except you to care for her. You can have my invisibility cloak and Firebolt.
To Ginny, you can have the Marauder's Map. You deserve it.
To Remus, Sirius and the Weasleys, I leave you everything else. Split it however you want to, it's yours now. Thanks for all that you've done for me, and I hope to see you again, in another life, maybe.
To Professor Snape, I forgive you. I realise it must've been hard to look at me and not see someone you hated. I hope your life gets better.
Goodbye."
With the publication of this letter in The Daily Prophet, the British Wizarding World was abruptly plunged into mourning, and one Albus Dumbledore - the one that ignored concerns in the first place - abruptly had to find a new Potions professor as well as a Defence professor, because Severus Snape retired upon its publication.
The Daily Prophet deemed Harry a tormented hero that was failed by everyone around him, but it was far too late.
And in the shadows, Harry's friends and chosen family wept, wept because they ignored the signs that he was hurt, and because they followed the word of a leader that did not actually know what he was talking about.