Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings: slash, very mild sexual situations, mentions of child abuse, mild violence

A/N: This story is already completed and ought to be updated regularly. There will be six chapters altogether. Enjoy, review.

Brynn

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See-through

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Chapter 1

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Harry didn't recall having felt so lonely before.

Sirius was dead and, though he didn't spend days and nights wetting his pillow, Harry felt like he was well and truly alone for the first time in his life. The pain of the dashed hope somehow drowned out the knowledge that he was less alone than he had been throughout his entire childhood, that he had friends and teachers he could turn to, that there was a small army of people willing to stand by his side…

Right now none of that seemed to matter. It was late, hours past curfew, and he was walking down the main staircase of the Hogwarts castle because he had found he was unable to fall asleep tonight again. The Invisibility Cloak didn't protect him from his watchers, so he had given up on carrying it with him everywhere and took to sneaking in the shadows.

In less than a week, he would be shipped off to Dursleys. All those people that were supposed to make him feel less alone would disappear in the distance, his wand would be locked up and he would be left to the tender mercies of Vernon Dursley. Not a particularly cheering prospect…

"Do you smell something, my dear?"

Harry flattened himself against the wall, hastily pulled a used handkerchief from his pocket and transfigured it into a mouse. Mrs Norris rounded the corner, looked straight at him for long enough to let him know that she knew perfectly well exactly who he was and exactly where he was standing, and went off chasing after the rodent.

"Mrs Norris?" Filch's raspy voice sounded closer than before. The old cat came back the way she had gone, carrying a little white fluffy dead thing clasped in its teeth. She met the caretaker at the juncture of the corridors and set off in a different direction.

Harry waited until the shuffling steps faded in the distance and crossed the Entrance Hall to the exit. The night hit him with a wave of warm summer air, filled with scents of flowers and faint buzz of magic. It felt like Hogwarts was trying to hug him… and he loved it.

The grounds were empty and seemed to belong exclusively to him. He felt free; he set out running towards the lake and around it, to a place that was too far from the castle to see, shielded by trees, and yet not further than five minutes of jogging. By the time he reached 'his' clearing, his clothes were damp with sweat and the shirt had begun to slide off his shoulder. He pulled it off.

The overwhelming sense of freedom bade him to cancel all glamours, and he did so, not looking at his hideously scarred body as he divested himself off his trousers and, almost naked, jumped into the cool water. The contrast of temperatures hit him harshly.

He quickly lost himself in the movement and let the waves carry him further from the shore, floating above the depths. Creatures he didn't really want to imagine touched his sides and legs as if caressing him for a moment, before they darted into obscurity. He knew that there were mermen and Kappas deep below him, and somewhere the Giant Squid…

…was that it?

Harry fully opened his eyes and took a better look at what had disturbed the water surface. A darker shape darted through a moonlit patch, not so far from him. It headed towards the shore and Harry, being who he was, followed.

The race finished in a draw at a place further up the shore from school than where he had originally started. By the time they climbed out of water, he had already ascertained that the shape was a boy, most likely a student, in a state of undress similar to his own. He had what looked like dark blonde hair but, considering that it was soaked, the original colour was probably somewhat lighter.

Silence, disturbed only by the sounds of the forest, reigned as they measured each other and Harry's eyes with horror traces the scars on the pale body in front of him… so similar to his own.

"M-Malfoy…" he whispered, hugging his chest. The other boy sneered and reached behind a rock for what turned out to be a folded shirt.

"Potter," he growled, but there was something uncertain in his voice. Harry identified it as fear instead of the anger that seemed to mark all of their conversation since the second one (the one on Hogwarts Express).

"If you tell anyone, I'll make you regret it like you've never regretted anything."

Harry very much doubted that something like that was even possible, but that wasn't the interesting part of Malfoy's statement. He didn't really consider telling anyone. Secterts of this sort… like scars, like fear, like someone you trusted (or were supposed to trust) betraying you so badly… it wasn't something to use as a weapon. As much as he disliked Malfoy, he wouldn't tell anyone…

"That goes both ways," he replied, not putting it past the boy to be hateful enough to ignore that basic courtesy Harry was willing to extend. "If you tell, I'll tell." Maybe, maybe if Malfoy sold him out like that, he would do the same. Screw all good intentions and screw all lame attempts at petty revenge for childish grievances…

"Sure, Potter. Like anyone would be interested in your scrawny body."

By this time Malfoy was fully clothed and bundled in his robe. With one last sneer he set out towards the castle, leaving a shivering Harry behind.

x

"Harry? Where are you going?"

Harry looked over at Ron and waved him off to go on.

"Just a run to the loo. Don't wait for me. I'll find you on the train." He didn't stay for long enough to hear a response, walked through the narrow secret passage and almost caught up to Malfoy, whom he had glimpsed disappearing there. He had to see this through before he got cold feet.

Years ago he had found a spell that could protect him from Vernon. There was only one (big) drawback – somebody had to cast it on him. Harry never told anyone what was happening in that house and he didn't know how to ask without divulging too much. He had considered playing it off as fear of Death Eaters, but a wizard strong enough could break the ward – anyone smart enough to cast the protection spell would also have been smart enough to see through his excuses.

He ambushed Malfoy in the bathroom, locked the door (just in case) and disarmed the Slytherin when he attempted to curse him.

"What do you want?!" Malfoy cried, afraid more than what fit the situation, which Harry didn't have time for, even though he understood that sentiment.

"Hold on and stop fidgeting. I swear on my magic that I don't intend to harm you." He felt a tingle as the vow came into effect and ignored Malfoy, who tried to protest quite vehemently.

"Intend and manage are two dif-"

The blonde shut up when Harry slammed a hand over his mouth and pressed him into a wall. The words of the incantation flowed from his mouth without a hitch. His wand traced several vital points of Malfoy's body. He felt the ward take, envelope the boy like a see-through cloak, seconds before he was thrown off and punched into his face.

"Don't touch me ever again, Potter!"

Then Malfoy was gone and Harry have been left to scrape himself off the floor. He hadn't really expected anything different. Certainly he had not dared to hope that Malfoy would return the favour… but he felt a little better for the knowledge that he had helped.

He cast another layer of glamours on his face to stave off uncomfortable questions from Ron and Mione and ran through the hallways to catch the last carriage.

x

Harry let go of his trunk with a loud exhale. If he had to lug it upstairs instead of leaving it in the cupboard it would have been worse, but paradoxically he wished it were so. His wand, Cloak, Map and Album were all inside and it hurt almost physically to be parted from them – as much as it had hurt when Vernon had dragged him out of the station and his friends had vanished from sight.

"Move, boy!" Petunia screeched. Harry quickly got out of the way and didn't even wait to see her lock the cupboard. Slouching, he walked upstairs. He was only half-there as his feet lead him to the smallest bedroom, to the bed… as he sat down. The bars on the window were reinstalled. The cat-flap on the door, which was presently being slammed, locked and bolted, had been boarded up.

He hated himself for locking Hedwig's cage on occasions (even though it was only sometimes, when it was 'necessary'). At least he had had the presence of mind to let her out before he left Hogwarts. This way she could, possibly, come and take his letters without being held a prisoner…

Harry let out a harsh, bitter laugh. The sounds outside reversed, bolts came out and the lock clicked again.

"So you think I am a laughingstock?! Do you, boy?!"

Harry didn't even bother trying to cover. He just sat there on the bed, quivering ever so slightly, waiting for the blow to fall. When it did, he decided that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Vernon was pudgy and all that fat served as a buffer. It never was too bad until he took a weapon to use.

When the interlude was over and Harry was left locked customarily alone in the room, with all bones unbroken and no perspective of permanent damage, there was bitter taste on his tongue. He actually thought about Malfoy and whether he had already found out that nobody can beat him up anymore.

x

It was well into July and Harry lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, mostly because he had neither the option nor the energy to do anything else. He was pretty sure he was dying – it was much more drawn out than it had been in the Chamber of Secrets, but otherwise fairly similar. He wasn't hungry anymore.

He had as many bruises from lying in the same position for too long as he had from the initial encounter with Vernon upon his return from Hogwarts. He was rather glad that he hadn't seen that poor excuse of a relative (or anyone else) since that time – which was most likely because of the smell. Even Vernon wasn't as hardened as to be able to ignore that.

So he lay and contemplated through the haze that was his thought-process just how likely it was that he would die before somebody deigned to come and check on him. He hadn't responded to any letters and it was getting a bit too long a time for it to seem like a funk to anybody who knew him at least a little. He wasn't the kind of person to forget something like that. He took the war seriously…

…pity that nobody took him seriously.

The ring of the doorbell sounded just after dark. It brought him from semi-consciousness closer to consciousness (as close as he could presently get). He felt lightheaded and the room spun, which was a feat, because he really didn't see much more than the ceiling. And he was lying. His back hurt – which was sort of good. It meant he was still alive and he could still feel at least some part of his body…

He was forced to give up on his reverie when shouting sounded from the basement.

"You're one of them freaks?!"

Harry would have smiled, but somehow his facial muscles disregarded that command. Someone came for him. Finally.

A higher voice replied something loud and sharp which he didn't quite understand. Then there was the obligatory Petunia's scream and two loud thuds… and then silence.

"Potter?"

Harry wasn't so sure he wanted to respond to somebody who addressed him as Potter, but the point was moot, because he couldn't respond anyway. The lowest stair creaked really quietly, which suggested that the rescuer was stepping lightly and didn't weigh much, meaning it was neither Snape (for which Harry was glad, although he would have preferred Snape to no one) nor Moody. He tried to remember who else would call him 'Potter' in a male voice. He considered McGonagall, but she didn't sound that masculine most of the time…

He gave up and resigned himself to fate, which he really hated, but had no means of fighting against right now.

"Potter?" Someone gasped just in front of his door. "Shit," the same voice said and it sounded vaguely familiar and not too antagonistic and Harry really couldn't place it.

"Potter, are you there?"

Harry tried to make a sound but managed to only hurt his throat worse and let out a slightly harsher breath. Not helpful.

The person outside the door decided not to wait until the doomsday and started blasting the locks, one by one. Seven tiny confined explosions later the door was open and Harry continued to stare at the ceiling, getting really curious.

"Oh fuck…" his rescuer said in a deadpan voice and came closer to the bed to take a look at him. "You've really done- well, somebody's really done a number on you, Potter."

That was rather stating the obvious, but Harry supposed that he looked (and smelled) really different from what he was normally like and therefore the rescuer needed time to get his head around it.

A series of muttered spells later, he smelled (and felt) somewhat better. He submitted without protests (which weren't any more possible to him now than they were a while ago) to whatever the person in his room was doing to him… which in the end turned out to be letting him drink a bit of water, then something vile, then another bit of water… He felt like puking but it passed quickly and then the world began to right itself.

"Just stay here until the potion kicks in. I'm going to find your things…"

The voice was different now, not so tentative, not nervous anymore… just contemplative and a little bit angry. Strangely enough, Harry was past all fear. The person who came for him wasn't a Death Eater and they probably didn't mean harm to him, and even if they did he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

"I've got your wand."

Harry found he could move now, not much, but enough to look at who was it that was helping him (or threatening him, he wasn't all that certain he understood the meaning of that last statemet). He couldn't see much without his glasses but what little he could see was enough for him to realise that the person in his bedroom at 4 Privet Drive in the house of the notoriously 'normal' Dursley family who was feeding him healing potions was Draco Malfoy.

"Thanks," he wheezed, considering it a fitting response given the situation. He tried to gauge just how probably a contingent of Death Eaters was hidden outside and then decided that, blast all, at least Malfoy wasn't torturing him yet.

The Slytherin Summoned Harry's glasses and handed them to him, totally ignoring the Restriction of Underage Magic.

"You'll get expelled," Harry mentioned neutrally once he could see sharply enough to observe Malfoy's expression. With a little help from cold, dry hands he sat up. His stomach didn't protest this time.

"Better expelled than dead. You'll get the luxury of decision, Golden Boy."

It took Harry a moment to put the hints together.

"Oh." He said. Malfoy seated himself on the (charmed clean) bed, pulled his knees to his chin and hugged his legs. Harry didn't yet feel strong enough to do that, so he simply let himself appreciate the eeriness of the situation. If he had to tell the truth, he didn't mind Malfoy there at all.

"Yeah, oh," Malfoy said with a weak attempt on sarcasm. "Look, Potter, the short story is that the Dark Lord busted out my Father, who in turn found out about the nifty little spell you put on me and I fled for my life. Now I've got nowhere to go, the Death Eaters are sort of after me and…"

"You think I can help you?" Harry inserted.

Malfoy's laugh had a hysterical edge to it.

"I thought I'd say 'thanks' before they kill me." It was, very obviously, a lie, but Harry guessed that anybody in Malfoy's situation needed a bit of normalcy to cling to.

"I don't know if I can," Harry admitted, continuing his line of thought and ignoring Malfoy's statement. "I mean, I don't even know if I can stand up right now."

There was a longer while of silence and then the Slytherin sneered. Harry expected some kind of remark on whether that was because he was stupid or because he was lame…

"I didn't… I… never thought it was this bad. I mean, you were always puny and wore rags on the off days, but… this…"

Harry got the gist of the statement and decided that it was Malfoy's attempt to find a way to excuse his being a prick, with perhaps a tiny hint of apology for something that wasn't worth the bother of forgiving in the first place. The important things always seemed to escape the idiot.

"Look, there's a place in London, but Dumbledore's the secret keeper-"

"Dumbledore left you in this hellhole. I don't want to see the place he would put me in."

While Harry didn't think that the Headmaster ever intended for him to come to harm, the truth was that he didn't care enough to make sure that Harry was alive, not to speak about the conditions he existed in.

"Okay," Harry said, and suddenly felt lighter, as if a weight fell off his shoulders. He didn't need to stay at the Dursleys. He didn't need to be beaten,; he didn't need to let anyone walk over him… if the price for that would be the last two years of magical education at Hogwarts, than that was what he would pay. "Okay. I'll go with you. We'll find a place to stay-"

"I don't have any money," Malfoy inserted and, Merlin, didn't that just sound ironic? Harry didn't care. He didn't think that he would have had enough motivation to run away if he was by himself, but if there were two of them… he wouldn't be alone.

"How do I know you won't sell me out?"

He might have just saved Harry's life, but Harry wasn't about to trust him that easily. Malfoy handed over the wand, which was a pretty good indication that Harry could… but still not good enough.

"I swear on my magic that I don't intend you any harm."

Harry, to his endless shame, went over it in his head to check if there were any loopholes. He could think of a few, but none applicable to Draco Malfoy. He shook the Slytherin's hand, which brought an odd feeling of changing history, and the tingle of energy signified that they were fairly safe in each other's immediate company. Now to think of what they were going to do.

"I've got money." Harry didn't know how much, but there was enough in his trust fund – and that was only the trust fund. Certainly enough to get them started, and in a year and a few weeks he would get the rest of his inheritance… though, to tell the truth, he wasn't quite optimistic enough to believe that he had a reason to worry about what was going to happen in a year.

"Okay," Malfoy replied. Harry thought they were both really out of it right then.

"I don't think I hate you anymore," Harry bestowed upon him the king of all non sequiturs. Malfoy chuckled a little and raised a Snape-like eyebrow. Well, it was pretty obvious that they didn't hate each other. Disliked, perhaps, but in their current situation that seemed very immaterial. "If we get to London, we can go to Gringotts and then find a place to stay…" Getting to London would be the problem. Harry quite pragmatically decided that taking money from the Dursleys wasn't a crime, because they should have spent quite a lot of it on him. The government paid them for taking care of him, after all…

"I can Apparate," Malfoy offered, and another hitch in the plan disappeared. They were going to be alright.

x

They went in and out of Gringotts without being recognised by anyone except the goblins. Harry convinced Malfoy to get a room in Muggle hostel – he was inclined to believe that Tom the keeper of the Leaky Cauldron wouldn't have ratted them out, but it was just safer this way.

Malfoy seemed to in the end decide that he liked the room, despite the fact that they were forced to take one with a double bed. They shared the space without any arguments, mostly because they were too tired and too overwhelmed by the seriousness of the decision they have made to quarrel about something inconsequential.

"We should get you some food," Malfoy said when Harry removed his shirt. The Gryffindor felt better than he had felt in a week, but the fact was that he was operating on artificial energy. He felt too tired to go hunting for food in the middle of the night in a not quite well lit part of London.

"Tomorrow," Harry mumbled, sinking onto his half of the bed – with his back to the wall.

"I have one more potion," Malfoy muttered back, pulling the cover up to his face. Harry considered setting up a ward, but his wand was rigged – must have been, really – and he didn't particularly want to advertise their current location to the Ministry. After he let Malfoy Apparate him, despite knowing that neither of them had a licence, they could even call themselves fugitives. Not that they would incur anything worse than a hefty fine… yet…

"Tomorrow. G'night."