Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters therein belong to JKR. I am using them for non-profit purposes. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warnings: slash (male-male relationship), AU (alternate universe).

Silver Lake was a beautiful area. Greenery abounded, with the accompanying woodland creatures, and the lake always sparkled in the sunlight. The town had a rustic, homey feel to it, the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else and nobody stood on formality. Harry hated it. He missed the city, the hustle and bustle, the convenience, and the sheer anonymity of it all. And more than that, he missed his family, his friends. Hell, he even missed Malfoy, though he told himself it was only for the sex.

When he'd first come here, he'd just felt numb. The sudden death of his parents had shocked him to the core, so much so that he'd had trouble even believing it at first. Then there had been the funeral arrangements, and the relatives, and the condolences from everyone—"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!"—which somehow felt so hollow to him. And, the worst blow, the issue of his guardianship. The Dursleys, his next of kin, were expected to take him in, but they'd kicked up such a fuss over it—"Look at the boy, Vernon, he's a mess. You can't expect me to let that anywhere near my Dudders, can you?"—that all the relatives had argued for a few days over who would be stuck with him, the proverbial hot potato. It would have been rather humiliating, even angering, if he'd been able to care.

Eventually, the Dursleys had agreed to take him in, with much grumbling and complaining (and, most likely, a not-so-secret desire to pilfer some of Harry's inheritance), and he had been packed up and taken back with them shortly after the funeral. Before Harry'd realized it, he'd been squished into the backseat of the Dursley station wagon with Dudley, whose massive bulk extended well into Harry's side of the backseat, on his way to Silver Lake.

---

"Mom, my Game Boy is out of batteries," Dudley whined.

"Mommy's sorry, Dudders," Petunia cooed. "We should have packed more batteries for you. Is there something else you can play with for a few minutes? We're nearly there."

"But I want my Game Boy." Dudley was getting agitated.

Harry just stared out the window, ignoring them all as the Dursleys tried unsuccessfully to calm their son down. They'd been going through forest for a good while now, and he was staring at the pattern of trees passing by, looking at them without really seeing them. It was oddly hypnotic.

Suddenly a hand came down on his shoulder, and shook him. He turned, absently, to see Petunia and Dudley staring at him, looking angry, as Vernon glared at him through the rearview mirror.

"What?" He said dumbly.

"Your aunt asked you if you had any batteries, boy," Vernon said, sounding cross. "And while you're living under our roof, you'll give us the respect we deserve, got that? Your parents," he managed to convey a world of disdain in those two words, "may have put up with your cheek, but we won't. You'll fall in line, or you'll be sorry."

If Harry had been feeling more himself, he might have been tempted to point out that he wasn't literally under their roof quite yet, but as things were, he just muttered, "Sorry," and looked down.

"Well?" Petunia asked impatiently.

Harry looked at her blankly, and she sighed in exasperation. "A slow one, are you? I should have known. Batteries. Do. You. Have. Any. Batteries?" She spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable as though speaking to a small child, or someone who didn't understand English very well.

"Oh." Harry blinked. "No." The truth was, he did have some almost-new batteries in his Discman, but there was no way in hell he was going to have them pull the car over and search through all his stuff for it just so Dudley could play some video game.

Petunia frowned and turned away, muttering, "Useless."

The arguing and pleading began again, but Harry tuned them out.

---

Barely a quarter of an hour later, Harry dimly registered the "Welcome to Silver Lake" sign they were passing. This was it, then. They were here.

It wasn't much to look at—the trees were a bit sparser, and there were some quaint-looking buildings around, houses and what looked like a few shops, a school, and a church.

Within minutes they were pulling into the driveway of an average-looking two-story house, and Vernon was shutting off the car. They got out and stretched their legs; Harry's had both fallen asleep during the long car ride, and he sat for a minute, waiting for the feeling to come back before he'd feel confident enough to try walking on them.

"Stop dawdling and unload your things, boy," Vernon called from the door of the house. He, Petunia, and Dudley were already heading inside.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said dully, and stood up, stumbling a bit as he made his way to the trunk. He opened it, pulled out a likely-looking bag, and brought it to the house.

Vernon was waiting for him in the foyer. "We're giving you Dudley's second bedroom," he said, looking much put-upon by the imposition. "It's up the stairs, first door on the left. Lock the car when you're done."

He walked off before Harry could reply.

Hoisting the bag higher on his shoulder, Harry went up the stairs and pushed upon the first door on the left, which stood slightly ajar.

The room was small, and broken toys littered the floor. There was a small bed, though it wasn't made up, a dresser with some nasty scratches across the top, and a rickety-looking desk in the corner, with what looked like a laptop computer on it. A thin layer of dust covered nearly everything in the room, and it smelled faintly musty.

Harry set the bag down on the floor, and went back for the rest. He'd clean later, if he felt like it, and ask Petunia for some sheets for the bed.

He thought briefly of his old room back home, not much bigger than this one but much nicer, the furniture almost new-looking and a soft rug underfoot and his own computer. And his soccer trophies set out on the dresser, next to the knick-knacks his father always brought back for him from his business trips-

He cut the thought off before it could go any farther. Carefully thinking of nothing at all, he finished bringing his things up. He had to cram all the junk into one corner of the room to fit all his stuff inside, and his arms were aching by the time he finished carrying it all up.

Tired from the trip and the unloading and the Dursleys and the sheer dull greyness of his life, he collapsed on the mattress and dozed off.