Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world. No, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters, surprising though that may be. JK Rowling owns the characters – I'm simply expanding on what she provides.

Summary: Harry is given a diary by Dumbledore and, when he writes in it, he receives an unexpected response. His correspondent learns of Harry's less-than-suitable living conditions and an unlikely bond is formed. Abused!Harry, DrugAddict!Harry.

Warnings: Swearing, drug abuse, reference to child abuse, reference to sexual abuse/rape in later chapters.

When Harry finally spoke, his broken voice was barely above a whisper.

"I don't want to be like Him."

Harry had fled, after that little revelation, as he always did when things got too much for him. Severus let him go. And he sat, staring at the door, the echo of the boy's words reverberating through his skull, for a long time. He was shocked, but also not shocked, at the Gryffindor's admission. Of course Harry didn't want to be like the Dark Lord. Of course Harry would think that summoning the Death Eaters would be one step away from turning evil. Of course. It made no sense, but it made perfect sense.

Eventually, the former spy stood and waved his hand absently to banish the broken glass from his floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the headache that was blooming behind his forehead.

Severus had no doubt that the teen had gone to tear himself apart some more. The self-harm had reached alarming levels. He was almost wishing they were back at his manor where he could keep a close eye on the boy and prevent this destructive behaviour. Here at Hogwarts, it was simply not possible for the Slytherin Head of House to do much without breaking the child's trust. But what would that trust be worth if the boy killed himself?

December 21st – 10:37pm

Please at least apply healing salve. You shall find some at your bedside. As well as a dreamless sleep, should you need it.

December 21st – 11:44pm

1) What are you going to do after I kill Tom?
2) Are you staying at Hogwarts over Christmas?
3) Do you have any siblings?

It is late, Mr. Potter, have you taken your scar potion?

It's not your turn.

I will answer your questions, but you need to eat and sleep to get through this.

There's no "getting through this" unless I can break the connection, or kill Him. He's not just gonna stop on His own. He's enjoying this, I'm sure.

1) I intend to enjoy my freedom, perhaps spend more time doing my own potions research and less time watching miscreants blow up cauldrons.
2) I am. I am required to provide security on the Express. I will then return to the castle for the break.
3) None.

Why don't you go home for Christmas?

Partially because the Headmaster has requested that I supervise students, knowing that I do not partake in any family Christmas celebrations. And partially because I wish to keep an eye on the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

You don't have to look after me! I'm not a little kid.

What are you intending to do with your future after the war?

I don't have a future. I'm probably gonna go down with Tom.

And if you do not?

I dunno. I'd probably disappear somewhere far away and start a new life.

Whatever would the media do with themselves, then?

Ha. Ha. Get fucked.

Go to sleep.

"Alright, Potter, what's your plan?"

Draco eyed the smaller wizard doubtfully, he was leaning casually over the back of an armchair that the room of requirement had created. His Gryffindor friend sat comfortably in another armchair, close to the lightly burning fire. Evidently, the room thought they needed somewhere homely for this discussion. Serious green eyes were staring thoughtfully into the flames, yet the blonde knew that the other boy was listening to him. He waited patiently for Harry to speak.

Harry wasn't sure how much he wanted to reveal to the Malfoy heir. He didn't really think he had much left to lose, at this point, but he also didn't want him telling Snape about the plan. He didn't turn away from the fire as he spoke.

"Are you going to help me?"

Draco smirked, "That depends on how idiotic your plan is."

The green eyed boy kept his gaze on the licking flames as he spoke again. His voice was quiet, tired, resigned.

"All I need you to do is get me to your manor. I'll wear my invisibility cloak, nobody else has to know. I don't know if you floo there, or if your father apparates you, or if you portkey or what. I just need you to get me there."

"And then what?"

"And then nothing. That's all you need to know."

"No deal."

"What the fuck, Draco? It's not that fucking hard. Why won't you do this for me?"

Draco stepped gracefully around the armchair now and leant casually against the mantelpiece, blocking Harry's line of sight. He arched one eyebrow and sneered down at the seated wizard.

"What's in it for me?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Uh, I'm planning to kill Voldie. Isn't that enough?"

The Slytherin chuckled darkly and shook his head, his grey eyes glinting with amusement in the low light.

"Not even close to enough – not when Sev kills me."

Harry stood, not amused. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest and glared, though being a few inches shorter than the aristocratic pureblood, his glare didn't have quite the desired effect.

"Look, if you won't help me, fine, I'll just wander out into Diagon Alley and some lowlife death eating motherfucker will find me soon enough and take me to Him." He bit out.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, "Go on, then. I'll hardly stand in your way."

Harry clenched his jaw but said nothing, staring stonily at the other teen. He silently weighed his options. He could easily get caught and taken to the Dark Lord, but there was no guarantee that he'd still be conscious or able to stand by the time he got there – if Bellatrix or someone like that caught him, he might not even be sane by the time he got to face the snake-faced bastard. The elder Malfoy was not necessarily going to get him there unscatched, either, but it seemed like a safer bet. Unfortunately, the fucking stubborn Slytherin knew this, too.

It was a long moment before the blonde spoke again, "Tell me what your plan is."

Severus watched as most of the student body filed obediently onto the Hogwarts Express. His dark gaze washed over two-thirds of the golden trio. They were hand in hand, obviously enjoying one another's company, and he had heard whispers that the muggleborn witch was spending Christmas at The Burrow. He sneered in disgust at their apparent joy, and at their obliviousness regarding the other third of their little trio – the boy who lived, who was, in reality, barely surviving.

He glared briefly at the Longbottom boy, who tripped inelegantly as he stepped into a carriage, and barely held back a snort of derision.

His black eyes came to rest on his godson, who was flanked by Parkinson and Zabini. He knew that every time the boy went back to Malfoy Manor, he was forced into the dangerous position of attempting to evade joining the Dark Lord's ranks, without giving his true alliances away. The boy was cunning and wise beyond his years, but even that would not protect him from the Dark Lord's clutches forever. He was walking a very fine line. Hopefully he would be safe for this break. Hopefully he would not have to show his hand just yet.

The tall man sighed and entered the train himself as soon as the last student disappeared from the platform. Only a few more hours until he could have some peace and quiet. Only a few more hours until he only had to worry about one volatile teenager, rather than an entire school of them.

Harry darted onto the train as the whistle blew, squeezing between the doors just as they began to slide shut. Actually avoiding the mass of excited students, whilst hiding under his invisibility cloak, and without getting left behind, was more difficult than he'd expected it to be. He took a hasty backwards step as a third year Hufflepuff girl unexpectedly exited a carriage right in front of him. She headed to the toilets and he released a shaky breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He just had to get to the station without anyone realising he'd left the school grounds. That would be so much easier if someone like Professor Sprout or McGonagall was escorting the students, rather than bloody Snape. It was almost as difficult as trying to hide from Moody's magical eye.

Now that he was on the train, he just needed to find himself a spot where he wouldn't get accidently noticed. There would only be a couple of vacant carriages, if he were lucky. He walked past numerous carriages, not pausing to listen to the chatter that flowed out from most of them, before finding an empty one where he could sit and relax for a few hours. It was uncomfortable under the cloak, but he didn't dare take it off, even in his empty carriage. He couldn't risk it. Not when he was getting so close.

The lonely boy carried nothing with him, aside from his wand and his diary, which was shrunk down into one of his pockets with a never-out quill hidden in the pages. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt under his school robes, and a Gryffindor scarf was wrapped snuggly around his neck to fight off some of the cold.

His heart hammered wildly in his chest as he thought about the next steps. He didn't have much of a plan, but he hoped it was enough. He could only plan his own steps, of course, and who knew how the Death Eaters and Voldemort would react?

He sat in silence, hidden from the world, staring down at his half-healed forearms, somewhat glad that Snape had given him the healing salve to apply. He'd taken a double-dose of the scar potion that morning, which made his vision a little cloudy and his mind felt like cotton wool, but his head was blissfully pain free. His thoughts returned then, to Snape, who continued to care no matter how much he tried to push him away.

He hadn't expected such a strange relationship to blossom with the cold, unforgiving man. He wasn't even sure what their relationship really was. He wasn't a friend, that would be weird. He wasn't really a father figure, though perhaps he came close. He was a mentor, the young boy supposed. Who would have thought? The Gryffindor Golden Boy finding mentorship in the Head of Slytherin?

He quickly withdrew the shrunken diary and quill and penned a short note to the man, knowing that, by the time the professor returned to Hogwarts and read it, his plan would be too far in action for him to do anything except watch it play out.

It was late when the potions master was finally about to return to the castle. He strode elegantly into the Great Hall and took his customary seat at the head table. There were only a dozen or so students remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas – and, as such, the arrangements in the Great Hall had been changed. Instead of the four large house tables, one smaller, round table remained only a few metres from the head table. It housed six Slytherin students, three Ravenclaws and the rest were Gryffindors, and one notable absence.

Slytherin always made up the most students remaining over breaks – it was not uncommon that the snakes might have less than ideal home scenarios that they sought solace at the school. Twelve in total was perhaps more students than usual, but the war was probably making some home scenarios unsafe. His thoughts flittered briefly back to the young Malfoy and he hoped, quietly to himself, that the child was safe.

The head table comprised of the Headmaster, Professor Vector, Hagrid and himself. Minerva often remained for the break, but this time was in Scotland visiting cousins.

He wondered briefly about the absence of the Boy Who Lived but, realistically, he was not required to attend meals in the Great Hall if he preferred not to over the break. The boy was painfully introverted, but that was not technically against any school rules.

As soon as it was appropriate to do so, Severus stood and took his leave. He nodded politely to the Headmaster as he swept from the hall and strode towards the dungeons, his mind already on the scar potion and possible improvements. It was a delicate potion and any changes were likely to destroy the fragile balance. But, he had to try. Perhaps if he decreased the wormwood and added additional fairy wings? Though that might cause an imbalance when the kneazle tears were added… Perhaps a copper cauldron would be preferable to pewter, but then he would have to take out the nightshade sap. His mind reeled with possibilities as he murmured the password to his quarters.

As the ex-spy strode into his bedroom to remove his outer robe, his eyes flickered to the innocent diary resting at his bedside. Though it was under a silencing charm when he left the rooms, it was chiming lightly now and flashing, awaiting his attention. He considered leaving it until after he'd spent a few hours exploring changes to the potion, but the child's absence at dinner made him curious enough to flick the thing open and scan the recent entry.

It was only one line. One line that made his heart drop and his skin tingle with fear. His mouth was instantly dry and his palms felt sweaty. He dropped the book, still open, onto the floor and stared at the messy handwriting.

December 22nd - 2:43pm

Enjoy your freedom, sir.