Disclaimer: Anything actually recognizable from Harry Potter is obviously not mine. I am simply borrowing the characters to do unspeakable things with them.

Summary: After a devastating end to his 5th year, Harry finds himself feeling apathetic about life in general and starts on a path that could eventually lead to dire consequences. Luckily, an oft absent acquaintance makes an appearance and steps in where no one else will.

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction ever and I have not written anything in years so do not expect an epic novella. I love constructive criticism and encourage readers to point out spelling and grammar mistakes. As a reader, spelling and grammar mistakes make my head implode so I do not want to be guilty of the same errors. Also, this story is slash, will likely contain some kinky naughtiness, and will have MPREG toward the end. If that is an issue, stop now!

Prologue

Mornings in Little Whinging were never pleasant. There was always breakfast to be made, windows to wash, floors to scrub, and other acts of random drudgery to accomplish. This morning, though, the first morning after returning to Little Whinging after the events at the Ministry, was by far the worst yet.

After a bleak train ride back to London and the usual inane yet biting insults from his uncle, Harry fell into bed with no intention of falling asleep. Exhaustion eventually won out, and Harry was treated to a continuous loop of his godfather, Sirius Black, falling through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. Mingled with that visual was the oily, permeating, scratching feeling of Voldemort's possession.

When morning came, Harry was far from rested; he felt as though he had been burnt raw, inside and out, and was left with an overwhelming feeling of heaviness and grief. Combined with the splitting headache and burning scar, Harry simply did not have the will to care that his whale of cousin was not going have his typical morning fry-up as he had come to expect with the return of the 'freak'.

Oddly enough, it was a burdgeoning sense of apathy that drove Harry from his bed.

'I slept in my clothes, I should change' was Harry's first thought, followed closely by 'why bother?'

Reaching into the space under the loose floorboard in his room, Harry sighed with relief when his rummaging produced forty pounds. After making his way downstairs and out the front door, to the tune of his Aunt Petunia's shrieking voice, Harry proceeded to make his way toward the small downtown area three kilometers, give or take, from Privet Drive.

Thinking about the reasons that drove him out the front door of his relative's house allowed the vestiges of his nightmare to creep back into his mind so he decided to avoid really thinking and continued his apathetic musings.

'Why bother staying cooped up with the Dursley's and be even more miserable when I can occupy myself with walking. It is not as if they can threaten me with anything worse than what I have experienced in the past two years unless Vernon is a now a psychotic murderer and Petunia has perfected demon possession of some sort.'

Coming to a corner market, Harry watched as a teenager a bit older than himself lit up a cigarette and happily sauntered away.

'What the hell, why not?' was Harry's initial and uncharacteristic first thought. After a quite embarrassing exchange with the clerk, Harry left the market with his own pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

'Now to find somewhere out of the way so that I can look like a complete fool without any witnesses'. Stepping off the sidewalk into an alley, Harry opened his cigarettes, clumsily lit the end of a cigarette, and took his first inhale.

'Bloody buggering hell, that is disgusting!' Deciding to persevere, though, Harry finished the cigarette and was rewarded with a pleasant nicotine induced head rush.

After going back to the market for a cold drink, Harry continued his trek through town. He had yet to figure out what it was that he was looking for, but he at least found that smoking gave his hands something to do and helped his mind to feel sharp without actually having to focus on anything.

He soon decided that he really did not give a damn about the free labor his relative's expected, veils, snake-faced demons, or any Boy–Who-Lived related nonsense. Simply walking and smoking was plenty to think about at the moment.

Now that he understood the appeal of smoking grossly carcinogenic sticks of dried plant matter, chemicals, and paper, he found himself wondering what else there was to experience.

'Well, London may have just what I am looking for' was Harry's last thought before setting off to find a bus schedule.