A/N: I actually have a prologue written for this fic... but it's not finished... so expect for this whole dealie to get rearranged at some point...

Rated M for rape and abuse and all that good stuff... It's slash– don't complain. (HarryxDraco)

I'm assuming a couple of things for this chapter that I'm not absolutely sure of– feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, though I probably won't change it even if it is:

1) They get 2 months for summer vacation, and 2) Both Harry and Draco live somewhere South of where Hogwarts is, with Draco's Mansion being a bit further South than the Dursley's house... so, yeah.

Enjoy!

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Somebody Save Me

CHAPTER 1

Four weeks into the summer holiday, Number Four Privet Drive

'Happy Birthday to me...' Harry Potter thought sardonically as he stared into the darkness. Cautiously, so as not to jostle his battered body, he curled deeper into the pathetic rag that he used as a blanket. He let out a slow hiss of pain as his broken arm bumped painfully against the wall of his cupboard; he actually wasn't sure that it was broken, but it might as well have been for all the pain he was in. Sighing shakily with physical hurt and frustration, he fought the telltale stinging at the corners of his eyes.

The past year or so had been rather uneventful. He'd spent the summer before sixth year with the Weasleys, and if he hadn't been mourning the death of his Godfather, he would have been happier about it. After a summer of attempts at comfort and support by his friends and surrogate family, Harry returned to Hogwarts as glum as ever. To his disappointment, not even going back to his real home could help lift the bitter emotions that weighed down his heart. The ancient castle seemed to have lost most of its awing magical glow, although if this was from his depression or from simply getting older, he didn't know, nor did he care enough to think about it.

In the beginning, he continued to talk to Ron and Hermione, but generally ignored everyone else, and eventually even them. When he wasn't in class, he was isolating himself in Gryffindor tower, and was seldom seen in the Great Hall during meals. He didn't even bother to go down to the kitchens, and it was a few days before it was noticed that he wasn't eating. From that point forward, he had frequent visits from food-bearing house elves; though he did eat some of what excitable creatures brought him, the weight loss had been obvious.

He spent his time drowning himself in his studies, and as a result found his abilities and knowledge in all areas increasing, even those that he was previously hopeless in. He improved so much, in fact, that he left hardly anything for even Professor Snape to criticize (although the bitter potions master managed just as many biting comments and lost points as ever).

When he wasn't studying, he was contemplating Sirius' death, wishing for some way to bring his Godfather back. God, how he missed him. He'd been so happy at the thought of living with Sirius, away from the Dursleys, with the closest tie to his parents that he'd ever had– and it had been gone almost as soon as it had come. All because of him. If Sirius hadn't been protecting Harry, he might still be alive. Alternating between extreme self hatred and loathing, deep depression, and murderous conviction for the death of Voldemort and his followers, Harry wallowed in inner turmoil and allowed himself to pull further away from his friends, while distracting himself with schoolwork.

Had he been in any decent state of mind, he would have noticed the lack of recent Death Eater activity that signified the classic calm before the storm. He also would have noticed the lack of harassment from a certain blonde Slytherin, who also seemed to be pulling away from those around him to immerse himself in schoolwork, although without the ill physical or emotional side affects.

He didn't, however, and it wasn't until the last few months of the school year that he began to finally pull out of his emotional pit with renewed vigor and determination. Ron and Hermione were relieved, of course, and they, along with most of the Griffyndors (and many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well), welcomed him back with open arms.

And so, he ended his sixth year with many O.W.L.'s (much to Hermione's delight), and a partially restored emotional and physical state. He went home with the Dursleys (much to his chagrin and confusion– he'd been with the Weasleys the summer before, why not this summer?), and for awhile the unspoken truce he had with them (he did chores, they let him eat) seemed to hold up just fine.

That is, until about two weeks ago.

He'd been sitting (quietly and unobtrusively, he might add) up in his padlocked bedroom, murmuring softly to Hedwig. Harry was just about to send her on her way (with letters to Ron and Hermione, of course) when he became aware of the familiar clinking sound of someone un-barricading his door. In stomped a whale of a man, demanding at the top of his lungs that the "freak get downstairs this instant" to some odd chore or whatnot. Upon seeing the "ruddy owl", however, Vernon Dursley had stopped mid tirade and turned a rather lovely shade of purple. He immediately stomped over to where bird and boy sat, promptly snatched the startled owl, and had thrown her back out the open window before the equally startled young wizard could do anything.

After an un-strategic "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!" from Harry, and a "Don't you talk to me like that, Boy!" from Uncle Vernon, Harry was dragged unceremoniously downstairs where he was then thrown roughly into his cupboard; the cupboard that he hadn't been in for six years. Needless to say, it didn't quite fit him anymore, and was extremely cramped and stifling.

After that, his treatment had been even worse than usual. And, even though the Dursleys had always been far from loving, they had never before done anything of potential real harm or lasting damage. A few smacks upside the head, a few days in a row without food, and a few scathing comments about his lineage and freakish inheritance, just to keep him in line. So, naturally, Harry was completely perplexed as to the sudden change in attitude. He also wasn't sure if he'd survive till the end of summer.

The chores he had to do had increased in number, intensity, and obscurity. He often found himself working past dark just to get everything done that was required of him. His meals were diminished from what now seemed a generous 3 a day, to one a day. Worst, and probably the most angering and unprovoked of all, were the beatings. Uncle Vernon would pull Harry aside from his tasks to bludgeon him for no reason, something that Dudley found quite amusing, and often joined in on; the raven-haired adolescent had fought back as much as he could, of course, but one can only do so much against someone five times one's size and girth. After a week and a half, Harry stopped fighting back.

His most recent encounter with his uncle and cousin had left him with a freshly bruised jaw, black eye, broken arm, bruised ribs, and cut on the back of the head from where it had hit the corner of the living room table. That didn't even include the older (although still relatively recent) bruises and scrapes everywhere else. Uncle Vernon had harbored a malicious glint in his beady eyes as he had said, "Maybe a few days in your cupboard will teach you a lesson, Boy.", and Dudley had been sneering triumphantly as the door was slammed shut and locked.

That had been four days ago.

He'd been isolated in an incredibly small space with no food, no water, and no light, for four days. Granted, he was no stranger to the lack of these things, but dammit, he'd just started liking the taste of food again...

Harry's stomach grumbled and he felt as if it were trying him from the inside out. He clenched his eyes shut against the pain and tried to ignore how chapped his lips were from dehydration. His breathing was shallow and even though the cut on the back of his head had finally stopped bleeding, it was giving him a headache worthy of the Cruciatus curse. 'I'm going to die in here...' He thought miserably. He knew he wasn't going to live a long life, what with him being #1 on Volemort's list of people-who-need-to-die, but bloody hell, this was not how he had expected to go.

Into the infinite darkness Harry stared, struggling without success to keep his bearings after the prolonged isolation. The pain from hunger and injury were constant, and he almost couldn't stifle a whimper. The blackness around him suddenly seemed more threatening, and with it came deep dark thoughts to match.

Why shouldn't he just die? What was keeping him here... what did he really have to live for?

He recalled muddled images of his friends, and professors, and Hogwarts... memories that should have filled his heart with feelings of joy, familiarity, and warmth. But they didn't. Nothing he could think of brought him any remnant of those feelings. A sob escaped Harry as he realized he couldn't remember what it was like to be happy, or even content... or warm.

He felt cold, a freezing numbing sensation that reached deep down to the bone. He felt extreme loneliness. He'd isolated himself from all of them for the past year, and now felt like a literal representation of that had been imposed upon him. He felt the coilings of fear of the evils that surely lurked in the shadows. He felt anger at those people, who were supposed to care about him, love him, but weren't here now to save him from the darkness... or from himself. Where are they now? His mind screamed at him, and he sobbed again because he couldn't answer.

He felt powerless and worthless; he couldn't even stand up to his muggle uncle, and he obviously wasn't worth his friends care or attention. He felt guilty; faces came out of the darkness; his parents, who died protecting him, Cedric, who died because of him, Sirius who died protecting him, Harry, The-Boy-Who-Lived... because other people died... and by now the tears were flowing freely, because he knew his friends would be better off without him anyway. And now he was going to die, alone, broken, and deservingly so.

It was then that a tiny voice in the back of his mind decided to speak out. It reminded him that his parents and friends and professors would never want him to give up like this. It told him that his friends did care, and that he should have more faith. It showed him memories that he'd overlooked, and emotions he'd forgotten. It screamed at him that maybe his parents and Sirius had died for a reason, and that dying like this would be no way to honour their deaths, and the trust that they had put in him. It finished with telling him to get his arse into gear, and pull himself together.

"I'm not going to die like this..." He croaked aloud, though there was no one to here him. He supposed he was answering that tiny brave voice that had given him a light in the darkness.

Harry focused his mind and started trying to come up with a solution. Step one: Get out of the cupboard. How to do that? Not a clue. All he knew was that he had to get out of there somehow– if only he had his wand, he could just use a simple unlocking charm...

But then what? A fat lot of good that would do him... escape the Dursleys' only to get expelled from Hogwarts and left with no place to go. He'd already been there, done that. And then again, that had turned out okay... of course that had been before Fudge had deemed him unstable and insane. The moronic minister would probably proclaim 'Alohomora' an Unforgivable, just to get Harry thrown in Azkaban.

He gave a shaky sigh, mental reserves starting to crumble already. Sitting up slowly but decisively, he (literally) inched his way over till he was kneeling, hunched over, directly in front of the cupboard door. He rested his aching head against the door, and his hand ended up pressed right where the lock was on the other side. He tried to think. There had to be some way to get out. There had to be... Harry found himself wishing more and more for his wand.

'Screw Fudge,' he thought. He could run from the ministry, and surely Dumbledoor would help him... like he's helping you now? He ground his teeth together and ignored the doubts that swirled threateningly in mind. If he only had his wand– alohomora, that's all it would take. He had to get out, the shadows seemed to be coming closer, and it was getting harder to breath. He closed his eyes– alohomora– damn the Dursleys for not locking his school stuff with him... he could see the lock clearly– alohomora– he had to get out– alohomora– if only he had his wand!

"Alohomora," He whispered pleadingly with a hoarse voice, picturing the unlocking of the bolt, wishing it with all his being to be so.

Click.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sound of the bolt being unlocked, and he froze, eyes fixed staring wide into the darkness where the cupboard door must have been. His heart beat furiously inside his chest, and he held his breath listening for the tiniest of sounds, expecting a purple or pudgy face to emerge out of the shadows. Why Vernon or Dudley would want to give up precious hours of sleep to give him a midnight beating, he didn't know, and after a few soundless moments, he realized this. He let out a shaky breath, lowering his head in relief, laughing nervously and humorlessly at himself. Taking deep, calming breaths despite the pain from his ribs, the young Griffyndor tried to fully comprehend what he'd just done.

Hesitating for only a moment, he tentatively reached forward and turned the knob, pushing the door open. He blinked, taking in the dimly lit familiar surroundings. Lamp light from the street filtered through the window, acting as a welcome change to the complete darkness of the cupboard. Heart still beating furtively, he stepped cautiously out and stood up carefully, glancing about nervously as he stretched as far as his injuries would allow, and wincing when they wouldn't. Taking another deep breath, he sought to gather his thoughts once more.

'I'll worry about how I did that later...' he thought tiredly. He'd never heard of anyone doing wandless magic, but he supposed it was just one more thing that he didn't know about the wizarding world.

Realizing that he couldn't go anywhere without first getting his trunk and broom (and wand, he supposed, although it appeared as thought he didn't need it), he padded softly over to the staircase. Limping slightly, he made his way up and through the second story hallway, stopping in front of his goal door– the one riddled with myriad locks keeping it closed... and him out.

"What now genius?" Harry whispered to himself, eyeing the locks with disdain. He then blinked with realization, and gave a hollow laugh at himself inside his head. He'd done it once, why couldn't he do it again? Lifting his good hand up to hover in front to the most prominent of the locks, he whispered, "Alohomora."

Instantly, all the locks sprung obediently open, and he let out a small breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Suddenly, an unexpected wave of dizziness washed over him, and he had to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling over. Adrenaline took a back seat, and more pain, exhaustion and weakness swept over him.

"Bloody hell..." he murmured in a shaky whisper. He felt like a dozen hippogryffs were tap-dancing in his head, and with an experimental reach backward, discovered that it was also bleeding again. Forcing himself to focus through the pain, he entered through the newly unlocked entry-way, and shakily proceeded over to his trunk. After first making sure all his belongings (save his invisibility cloak and broom) were safely in his trunk, he shrunk it and stowed it in his pocket. His wand was there in his pocket as well, of course, but for some odd reason he felt it would be better not to use it. It was the strangest thing, really, and even if he had been thinking clearly he wouldn't have been able to explain it.

Wrapping his cloak around him as he headed back downstairs, he glanced back behind him one last time, mentally saying his last (or at least what he hoped to be his last) farewells to his relatives. Walking outside, stumbling slightly, he mounted his broom, and tucked injured arm against him before kicking off, soaring up into the cloudy sky. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling of flight, of being in his element. For a moment, he forgot everything, going higher and breaking through the above the cloud cover.

The moon shone brightly and the stars twinkled merrily, adding to the beauty of the night sky. A never-ending expanse of illuminated clouds spread out like the ocean beneath him, completely hiding the world bellow from sight.

The moment was short lived, however, and he had to grip the handle tighter to keep from falling off. Dizziness and nausea swept over him, and it was difficult to keep balance with only one good arm. His head pounded from the altitude change, and he was starting to shake with hunger and cold.

"Bugger," he murmured softly, realizing that it was time for step 3: find someplace safe to stay for the remainder of the summer. And he had no idea where to go. Ideally, he would just go straight to Hogwarts– but there were several flaws with that plan. The first being that Dumbledoor had placed him with the Dursleys in the first place, and he'd probably end up back there again.

Part of him knew that it wasn't the Headmasters fault, and that if the old wizard knew how he was really being treated, he wouldn't have left Harry with his abusive relatives. Besides, they hadn't been that bad until just recently... the other part of him said screw the Dursleys, and screw Dumbledoor, because the old fool knew everything– at least, he always acted like he did. And he had lied and kept things from Harry, things that he should have been told. Could he ever really trust him? During the past year it hadn't been an issue, but now...

Secondly, was the more immediate problem of not having any idea where exactly Hogwarts was. Maybe he could just take the knight bus to the Leaky Cauldron? He could just rent a room and stay there till September... somehow though, he didn't think that was such a good idea– he really didn't want to deal with that, and there was always the chance that Fudge would be waiting for him like he was last time... he had been doing magic outside of school, after all.

"So what now?" he asked aloud with a strained and bordering on panicked voice. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead, and his grip on the broom handle was slippery– he was sure he had a fever, and the shaking was getting worse. His vision blurred as his eyelids drooped, and he knew his strength was fading fast– he had to find someplace to stay, and soon.

It was getting harder to think through the vice-like pain in his head, and suddenly he decided his best bet was to head North. Why that was, he couldn't say, but at that point he didn't really care. Taking a deep breath, he held his good hand, palm up, in front of him, balancing precariously on his broom. His surface thoughts were focused on getting a cardinal bearing, on finding the way North; hidden underneath was the need and desire to find someplace safe, where he wouldn't be sent back to the Dursleys', and where he would be able to get back to Hogwarts come September.

With a shaky voice he murmured, "Point me," and was both surprised and relieved to see a small sphere of green magic appear just above his hand. It quickly materialized into a bright shining arrow, which then spun around a bit before stopping, apparently pointing out the path he ought to take. He steered his firebolt carefully with his legs in the specified direction, before quickly dropping his hand to hold onto the handle once again. Consequently the glowing arrow vanished, and he hoped that he wouldn't need to conjure it again, seeing as how he didn't feel like falling of his broom because he couldn't keep his balance in his current state; a mental and physical state that was getting worse by the minute.

Left with nothing else to do, the raven-haired Griffyndor sped shakily off in the appointed direction. He flew for long time. He didn't have any idea how long, and despite his best efforts, he was quickly losing focus. Numb with cold from the biting wind and weighed down with fatigue, his head began to droop as the night clouds whipped by around him. His arms were shaking with the effort of keeping balance... his head felt like it was being squeezed by a giants fist, and his vision was getting blurry...

'Gotta keep going...' he thought groggily, even though he couldn't quite remember why. He could barely see, and everything hurt... he was so tired... maybe he could just rest for a little bit...

The world around him faded to black as his body drooped forward along the broom, bringing it into a slowly accelerating dive toward the ground. His eyes were closed while the wind whistled past, and the earth below loomed closer. He was unconscious by the time he hit the ground; his firebolt continued to fly in lazy circles a few meters above him as the horizon lightened with impending dawn.

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A/N: How's the pacing? Too slow? Too fast? Should we here more about what Harry is thinking? Should he never talk at all? I need feed back! So, please review... if you don't, I'll get paranoid and think you don't like me... ha, ha. I'm just being silly. Yeah.

Was this a good sized chapter? Would you rather have a few long chapters, or several shorter ones?

Thanks for reading! coughreviewcough

;-;Adrian Winter;-;