Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world. No, I don't own Harry Potter or any 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, slight reference to sexual abuse/rape in later chapters.
The troubled young wizard was hurting, that much was evident. His ivory bed sheets were tangled around him in a sweaty mess and the lovely soft, warm blanket was in a crumpled navy pile on the floor. Severus' dark eyes fluttered open to see the bane of his existence shaking uncontrollably on the bed, while apparently unconscious. The potions master lifted his left hand to rub his eyes while reaching down to retrieve the blanket from the floor with his right. Without a word, it was swiftly tucked around the boy and the trembling lessened, if only slightly. A wand was flickered unobtrusively and within moments a potions vial was in the man's slender hand. Thank Merlin for headache reliever potions.
Evidently, at some stage, Harry had fallen asleep but that small mercy was, without doubt, not going to last forever. Sure enough, within a few moments, a pitiful moan was produced from between clenched teeth, yet what happened next was quite unexpected.
The raven-haired teen's bloodshot green eyes flew open and he crawled desperately towards the edge of the bed. Collapsing in a quivering heap with his head hanging over the side of the four-poster, Harry began to retch. Severus stood and immediately conjured a basin, but not before his spotless grey carpet was drenched in lovely yellow bile. It didn't end there though. For the next few minutes, the Golden Boy continued to heave his insides up into the self-cleaning basin. Having not consumed anything for over 24 hours, Harry's vomit was largely nothing, yet the painful dry retching continued.
Anything for a shot. Anything. He'd give his right arm, his wand, his magic. This was awful. Actually, awful didn't touch on what this was. And it seemed to go on forever. Perhaps he'd die like this. That would be bliss. Merciful, even. However, it was not to be. Harry was finally allowed reprieve from the heaving, yet not from the rest of his pain. Salty tears dripped from his cheeks onto the cream sheets, yet Harry couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Any semblance of pride, or self-respect, was shattered. He felt like an empty shell – he'd heaved up his insides. There was nothing left.
As soon as Harry was leaning upright against the headboard, a cool class of water was pushed into his hand. Almost simultaneously, a damp cloth was pressed against his forehead. He felt utterly disorientated, yet he shrank away from the contact, anyway. Who was looking after him? He pushed the helping hands away and blindly groped for his glasses, which were soon placed at his searching fingertips. When the world came into focus, though not entirely, the pain and illness seemed to be clouding his vision, Harry reached for the water. His throat felt as if it was on fire, like he'd swallowed dragon scales.
"Do you need anything?"
This was met with a cold, emerald glare. Did he need anything? Let's see, he could think of plenty of things.
"A shot of smack would be nice."
"I asked you if you need anything, not if you want anything."
"I need drugs."
"No, you don't."
"You weren't the one throwing your guts up for what seemed like an eternity, you don't have a clue what I need, sir."
"I know that you do need to fight this so that you may return to Hogwarts at the end of the summer."
"You know, Professor, returning to Hogwarts is not exactly at the top of my fucking to-do list right now."
"I can imagine."
Without warning, the half-empty water glass was thrust back into the potion master's hand and, this time, he knew what to expect. The basin was in front of Harry's face before he could blink. And so it continues.
Severus was exhausted. Actually, I don't think that quite covers it. He had only slept, or should we say rested, for a handful of hours last night in a chair beside the bed of one boy-who-lived after looking after the damned boy for the entire day beforehand. And it still wasn't over! He had finally managed to convince the stupid child to take a dreamless sleep potion, however it was the only one he could take unless he wanted another addiction. Severus knew that if he wanted to snatch a few hours of sleep he should do it now. In about 8-10 hours, the teenager would be waking and wouldn't have had any drugs for around 60 hours. Hopefully, it would be over shortly after that. Hopefully.
Apparently it was a larger dose of dreamless sleep than usual, or perhaps Harry was simply too weak from pain and exhaustion to fight it. Whatever it was, the potion kept Harry knocked out for almost 12 hours straight. Severus, who had woken after just six hours, had read the latest potions journal for a short while before falling asleep once more. Upon Harry awakening, the Slytherin was still blissfully lost in his dreams. Harry acted quickly - this would surely be his only chance.
Gritting his teeth in determination, the Gryffindor pulled himself off the bed and stood on shaking limbs. He growled in frustration at how pathetic and weak he was, before pulling himself together enough to exit his bedroom. But where would he find something to ease his pain, his desperate need? Surely he could find a potion to take him away from the pain and into the bliss. He didn't want death, no, he had a job to do before he could have that, but he wanted something to take away the pain. Something to help him relax.
Severus woke abruptly and immediately looked at the time. He'd been asleep much longer than he'd anticipated. Suddenly a crash sounded through the heavy stone walls of the manor, followed by clinking glass. This spurred the potions master into action, reminding him of what had awoken him in the first place. Throwing the covers off, the tall man grabbed his outer robe and threw it over the long black trousers and shirt he had worn to bed, hastily buttoning it up as he raced in the direction of the noise, dread growing in his stomach. Slamming the door to his storeroom open, Severus came across a sight he could never have even dreamed up.
Harry was on his knees on the cold stone floor, surrounded by broken glass vials and spilled potions that were hissing and bubbling on the floor. He was wearing only his pyjamas, nothing to protect him against the cold. The idiotic boy seemed completely unaware of the danger he was in and was madly rummaging through cupboards of potions, searching for Merlin know what. Blood soaked the boy's hands and fingers, apparently from accidentally smashing vials in his haste. His blood was dripping into the lethal mixtures of potions, no doubt creating a fatal concoction on the floor. He was clearly trying to find something to ease his pain, yet his shaking hands kept faltering and more potions vials fell to the floor, adding fuel to the fire, so to speak.
Without sparing a second thought for his own bare feet, Severus rushed forwards, his wand drawn, casting cleansing and banishing spells as he rapidly approached the addict. His feet crunched over the broken glass yet his sole being was focused on removing the teenager from this dangerous situation. He reached out and grabbed a thin upper arm with his own slender hand, yet a flinch and uncharacteristic strength from Harry's other hand pushed him backwards a few steps. Not to be dissuaded, Severus grabbed again, this time with a much tighter grip. The boy fought him. They stumbled backwards away from the potions mess, the older wizard holding the child to his chest, practically dragging him from the chaos. Harry sobbed and punched and kicked wildly, thrashing against the strong arms that held him.
After several minutes of fighting the grip of the potions master, the boy fell limp, save for the shaking of his limbs. His entire body hurt and he felt like he was going to vomit again. And he'd failed. He had not found anything that he could safely take to cure his need. He looked around at the potions mess, realising for the first time how much damage he'd done. There were potions everywhere, hissing and steaming on the floor as they mixed together. He hadn't realised he'd broken so many in his mindless search. His hands and fingers were numb, yet he could faintly feel liquid dripping from his fingertips. Was it blood? Potions? Or was he imagining it altogether?
Severus was at a loss. The stupid, idiotic, thoughtless Gryffindor! His wand worked rapidly to remove any potion residue from the teenager's body, particularly his hands, which were bleeding quite profusely. He had no idea what the mixtures of potions could do if they entered the bloodstream and with this thought in mind, he became vaguely aware of his own bleeding feet.
"Brainless child." He muttered under his breath angrily as he worked. After doing all he could to clean the areas, Severus lifted the too-light boy and walked painfully over to a sterile bench where he deposited his burden. A few wand movements over his own feet had them mostly healed so he could sort of the abrasions and glass that the younger wizard had collected.
Almost an hour later and Severus felt as though he had not slept at all, his body was depleted magically and physically as the adrenalin wore off. The foolish stunt that Harry had pulled had endangered them both, and the Slytherin was unsure as to whether any of the potions would have delayed effects on the teen. He'd just have to monitor him and wait and see. In the meantime, he had healed the cuts and removed the glass as best as he could, and had put a locking charm on the door of the boy's bedroom so that no such things would happen again. The boy had not uttered a sound.
July 27th - 3:58pm
The worst of it passed a few hours ago, but I'm still shaking fairly badly and craving a hit. Sorry about the writing, sir. I can't stop my hand from shaking and you won't let me take the bandages off yet, so I can't even hold this quill properly. A pen would be easier. I'm not sick anymore – not vomiting, anyway – and the pain in my bones and muscles has lessened considerably. If I could just have a little bit of heroin… then I would feel great. I don't think I ever want to eat again, though: the mere thought of food makes me want to vomit.
I thought I told you to go to sleep, Mr. Potter.
I'm not tired, sir.
Very well.
1. Will you take heroin again in the future?
2. Do you truly think that you deserved the pain of the withdrawals?
3. How long have you been taking heroin?
Maybe I'll just go to sleep, after all.
Do not test me.
Well, I thought we were done with the questions.
So you do not have any more questions for me?
1. I cannot promise that I won't.
2. I suppose… I mean, I would have preferred to not go through that, but it was my own fault.
3. I've been regularly shooting up for the last few months.
I find it hard to comprehend how, after going through those withdrawals, you would consider continuing to inject the drug into your system.
Well it was not my decision to stop taking it.
Indeed. But it is for the best.
I can decide what's best for me.
Evidently you cannot.
What would you know?
More than you, Mr. Potter.
1. How did your father die?
2. How did your mother die?
3. Why do you teach? You do not seem to enjoy it.
I think you should go to sleep, Harry.
