Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter, surprising though that may be. JK Rowling owns the characters; I'm just 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, references to child abuse, references to sexual abuse/rape.
A/N: Yes, it has been over eight months since I last updated, however I said I would not abandon this story, and I have kept that promise. It is almost finished. Sorry about the long wait, I will not bother to offer my excuses. I wrote this chapter 4 times before I was happy with it, and I'm still not convinced about it. I had a different one written but the computer crashed, this one is nothing like what I had. I may use the one I had for the next chapter if I can get the other computer working. This doesn't have a lot of talking, that will come next time. Sorry again for the massive delay.
Abuse of any kind is a very serious issue and should never be ignored, condoned or otherwise. By law, it must be reported to the appropriate authorities. Nobody deserves to be abused.
Harry ran. He didn't know to where he was headed, and he didn't care. It seemed that in the short time that they had been back at Hogwarts, nothing had gone right. He wanted to be back in the relative safety of Snape Manor, away from the memories, and the past. He allowed the dungeons to lead him away from these things and into the comfort of the silence, the cold, the darkness, the solace. Things he'd never really appreciated before, but now held a certain anonymity that he'd come to welcome. In the depths of the dungeons, he could be alone, away from the angry professor that seemed always able to get under his skin, and away from the hauntings of his past.
When his lungs were bursting and his legs shook with exertion, Harry slowed to stop. The adrenaline that had fuelled the desperate sprint dissipated and he suddenly felt drained. Bile rose in his throat and his head spun. Glancing around at the cold stone walls, the Gryffindor knew immediately that he was lost. He leant against a wall and slid down to the icy floor; exhausted. His chest heaved and his clothes were damp with sweat, yet he felt better. He felt freer, if a little concerned as to how he was going to find his way home.
If there were anyone around, they would have heard the angry footsteps of a frustrated and perhaps slightly worried potions professor as he stalked down yet another dead-end corridor. He held back a growl of annoyance and spun elegantly on his heel, retracing his steps to find different route back to his rooms. He'd been wandering around for almost half an hour now and was almost at his wits end. His current course curved left before forking again. Severus immediately took the left corridor and after half a dozen twists and turns began to feel a little surer about his surroundings. The hall was on a slight incline and the air seemed less frigid, not so deep underground perhaps? Passing a familiar portrait on his right, the man knew he would be back at his rooms within a few minutes. His young Gryffindor charge on the other hand...
The green-eyed wizard was freezing. His damp clothes chilled him to the bone as the glacial air touched his sweaty skin. The cold seeped through the stones he leant against, causing goose bumps to rise all over his thin arms as he began to shiver. Harry stood now, he needed to keep moving despite how drained he felt, he would freeze to death otherwise. He knew he was a long way from Snape's quarters. He was deep in the dungeons, deeper than he'd ever been before. And though he would never admit it, Harry was a little scared. The older wizard had commented on the dangers of the dungeons and the Gryffindor knew that Snape's warnings were not to be taken lightly.
After glancing both ways down the empty corridor, Harry began to walk back the way he was sure he had come. He walked briskly despite how tired he was. He wasn't sure if it was the cold that was making him sleepy or if he truly was exhausted. The dungeons were not well-lit, with lamps casting just enough light for one to see where he was placing his feet and no further. Eerie shadows licking at every corner, every enclave. The halls twisted and turned and after what felt like hours of walking, though it could have been just a handful of minutes, Harry was ready to panic. He was still far too deep underground and every corridor looked identical to the last. Occasionally a door decorated one of the endless stone walls, yet these too were indistinguishable from one another and did not help at all in assisting with one's direction. Harry was convinced he was going around in circles.
The boy quickened his stride, almost breaking into a run as fear bubbled up inside of him. His breath was so cold it appeared in puffs in front of him; it must be nightfall. What had happened to Snape? Harry didn't have time to ponder that one; he was more concerned about finding his way back before the dungeon inhabitants came alive with the darkness. A single charmed window showed a starless night time scene, yet the wayward boy knew they were too far under the castle for the image to be real. The air was always getting cooler, though Harry was too disorientated to know whether this was due to him going in the wrong direction, or the heat of the day leaving the stones as night fell. Rounding the next corner, the wizard's breath caught in his throat. He stopped so quickly he almost fell before spinning around to find another course.
Severus paced rapidly in front of the hearth, just about lighting the carpet on fire with his hasty stride. He paused for a second to run one hand through his lank hair before resuming his agitated gait. It had been almost two hours since he had returned to the dungeons and the younger wizard was yet to make an appearance. He had gone out into the dungeons as deep as he dared for fear of getting lost again yet had seen neither sight nor sound of the boy. Night was falling and the temperature was drapping rapidly; the dungeons were no place for a young wizard to be in the dead of the night. The Slytherin summoned a heavy cloak from his wardrobe before exiting through the portrait once again in search of the young Gryffindor.
When his potions professor had first suggested that the dungeons were dangerous, Harry had shrugged it off, but now he knew that the man was entirely correct. Fear pulsed through his veins as Harry fled, choosing a different path this time yet keeping an ear out for that thing that he had almost ran into. He didn't know what it was, and he had no intention of hanging around to find out. After racing down several more corridors, Harry slowed to a brisk walk to listen for a pursuer. He wasn't scared; he just took slight issue with being followed by an overgrown bird of prey. To him, it looked like a hawk, but it happened to be around six times the size of a normal one. He hadn't hung around to get a decent look at it, but it was surely a good foot or two taller than Harry himself and though it probably couldn't spread its massive wings in the narrow hall, it still looked like it could do some serious damage with those talons.
After walking for a few minutes to catch his breath, the not so brave Gryffindor was feeling a little better. Sure, he was still lost and freezing and exhausted, but at least he hadn't come across a basilisk, or an acromantula. Things weren't exactly great, but it could have been worse, right?
Speaking of worse... as he rounded the next corner Harry heard a soft, mocking voice echoing in the shadows near the stone roof of his corridor. He immediately stopped dead, dread filling his bones. What the fuck could he come across down here that could speak English? The voice seemed to be taunting him.
"Harry Potter, all alone in the dungeons, whatever would the Slytherins say?"
The voice was quiet, yet just loud enough to Harry to make out the words.
"Doesn't the boy know that this is a dangerous place to be at night?"
A loud crashing sound followed this sentence and the Gryffindor began to step backwards away from the voice. A sudden wave of coldness swept over the boy making him shudder, and this time to the voice was closer, just to his left.
"Careful now, you should look where you're going."
Harry jumped before backing himself away from the voice, against the cold wall on the other side of the corridor. His head snapped to the left, green eyes searching out the source of the voice, to no avail.
Another surge of cold passed through the boy and before he could react, a wave of water crashed over him, soaking him to the bone. Mocking, high-pitched laughter followed before a deeper, darker voice rang out, coming from behind Harry now.
"Get out of here Peeves! This part of the castle belongs to me."
At this Harry spun around, and a wave of relief rushed over him. It was just Peeves the Poltergeist, being a menace, as usual. The voice of the Bloody Baron was easily recognisable once he realised he was dealing with the ghosts of Hogwarts and Harry turned towards the sound, trying to seek out the pale figure with his eyes.
The ghost came into view and slowly approached Harry.
"Alone in the dungeons, at night time, before school has even begun. Do you wish to die, Mr Potter?"
The Baron's voice was low, silky, and most akin to that of the potion's professor. Was it a Slytherin thing? Harry had hoped the ghost would help him, but now he was not so sure.
"Are you aware of the creatures that lurk beneath the school and come alive as the light fades? Peeves should be the least of your worries."
The Bloody Baron floated closer and Harry nodded hurriedly, backing away as he did so.
"So what would the headmaster's Golden Boy be doing down here if not risking his life, again?"
The Baron sounded so much like Snape, that Harry almost laughed out loud. The irony of the situation struck him and Harry stopped backing up; he knew better than to be afraid of a ghost! Still, the Baron was likely his only way out of the cold darkness, so Harry tried to be courteous.
"Sorry for disturbing you sir, but I am lost. I did not mean to cause any trouble with Peeves, sir."
Harry dipped his head slightly in respect to the bloodied old ghost, feeling a little doubtful of the proper way to address a ghost. He began to shiver again, this time due to the cold that torn through his wet clothing.
"I'm staying with Professor Snape, Mr Baron, and he will be most anxious for me to return."
Harry hoped against hope that mentioning the Professor's name would encourage the Baron to help him. The young wizard knew that the heads of house had much control over their house ghosts afterall.
"Professor Snape you say? Very well, follow me."
The ghost moved quickly and silently, so much so that Harry had to rush to keep up, afraid of letting the pale figure out of his sight for even a moment as he knew he would not be given a second chance.
Corridors flashed by and it seemed like hours before Harry began to feel the temperature rising, a sure sign that they were not so deep under the castle. The Gryffindor was nearing exhaustion, fighting to keep his emerald eyes open, when the welcome frame of the potion's professor darkened the hallway. Harry felt relief rush over him before his vision began to tunnel. The stress of the day took its toll on the still too-thin teenager as he succumbed to the welcome darkness of unconsciousness.