Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world. No, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the 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, reference to sexual abuse/rape in later chapters.

"I have to do this, Draco. And you are the only person who can help me get to Him. Checkmate."

This Christmas break couldn't come quickly enough. The Boy Who Lived was trapped somewhere between a numb, depressive fog that filled his mind with darkness, and a world of pain that made his breath catch and his vision blur. He didn't know which was worse.

The scar potion's efficacy to oppress the pain was definitely decreasing with every dose. And with it, Harry's grip on reality was slipping. They had tried changing the dosage to half a dose morning and night, but the mental fog it created meant that the Gryffindor Golden Boy could not get through his morning classes, nor could he stomach any food. They switched back to evening doses only, and the Slytherin Head of House locked himself into his potions lab each evening in an attempt to solve the problems. Potions had never let him down in the past.

Sleep deprivation made him even harsher in his classes. Even the slytherins were no longer spared from his cutting remarks and cold, furious glare.

It was Wednesday before he had any news for Harry, and it wasn't going to fix the pain in the child's scar. He had smashed more glass in his lab in frustration over the last few months than he had in the preceding decade. His iron grip on his self-control was slipping as he watched the young Gryffindor suffer. He had seen the tell-tale marks on the child's forearms. This couldn't go on. He needed to fix this.

December 20th – 10:37pm

We need to talk.

We sure do. You need to stop living off potions and start sleeping, before you kill a student.

There is no time. You are suffering too much.

I can handle it. I'm not a fucking child.

Your methods of handling it are inappropriate.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Your history of "handling it" has included drug abuse and self harm. I am assuming that you are not so daft as to take heroin whilst also taking the scar potion, which only leaves harming yourself as an option.

You don't know what you're talking about.

Do not take me for a fool! I have seen your arms.

We don't have another option. I'm not going to kill myself.

This cannot go on.

You can't fix it! We don't have another option. I have to take the scar potion or I can't fucking walk.

I have made some progress with the dark mark potion.

We don't need that potion. We need to get the bastard out of my head.

I believe we do need this potion.

You fucking take it then!

I cannot, for obvious reasons. Why are you so against this, Harry?

It won't kill Voldemort. It won't get Him out of my head. I don't have time to take down the Death Eaters. He'll kill me through this fucking scar before I get to him. It's a waste of time.

And you believe you can fight the Dark Lord and his army? And survive?

I have survived every other time, sir.

The dark mark potion is our best option.

There is no 'our'! It's not your fucking fight! I'm not taking it.

Why not?

I don't have time! The fucking bastard is killing me. Don't you see? I can't fight like this. I have to do something.

We will get some aurors together and you can summon a few of his followers at a time. We could detain most of the inner circle in less than a day. We have time for that.

I'm not taking it.

Why not?

It will just reveal our hand. I can't summon Voldemort. He'll know what we're doing and he'll make the pain worse. He'll go into hiding until I'm too weak to fight back. I have to fight before it gets to that.

You cannot fight him while he is surrounded by an army. Removing the inner circle is our best option.

I'm not taking it.

Why not?

Fuck off.

You agreed with this course of action when we discovered the existence of such a potion. What has caused your change of heart?

I never agreed.

Perhaps not directly, but you never voiced your objections, either.

Why couldn't you focus on a better scar potion? That's what I need. I don't want to take the dark mark potion.

Why not?

I've told you! It won't help. I still can't fight the bastard like this.

And shall we try the truth, this time?

Fuck off.

I would not have wasted my time obtaining such ingredients and brewing this potion if I knew you had no intentions of utilising it.

Well maybe you should have asked me.

I'm asking you now. Why will you not take it?

Because I don't fucking want to! Why is that so fucking hard to understand?

That answer is not good enough, Mr. Potter. Why do you not want to?

Anyone else can take it. Give it to an auror if it's so important.

And also highly illegal.

Well, you were all for getting the aurors involved before!

It is far less suspicious to fabricate the idea that you have found a way to summon the Death Eaters, rather than brewing a dark potion.

I'm not taking it.

Why not?

Leave me the fuck alone.

"Detention, Mr. Potter, tonight after dinner." Severus drawled as he slowly passed the workstation of two Gryffindor students. It was almost the end of class, and only one day left before Christmas break would commence. They had been brewing antidotes to doxy bites, however, the students were impatient and distracted, many had exploded their cauldrons already.

"What? My potion is perfect, sir!" The teenager erupted, green eyes flashing angrily, meeting his cold black gaze before darting away.

The potions master arched an eyebrow and smirked, "And you would be qualified to make that assessment would you, Potter?"

Harry scowled and the Weasley boy beside him looked fit to explode with anger at the unfair treatment. They had just decanted their potion and were clearing up their workstation. The rest of the class watched the altercation silently.

"Perhaps, when you become a potions master, Mr. Potter, you may be able to differentiate perfection from imperfection. Until that day comes, we will have to rely on my assessment."

The boy gritted his teeth in anger and gripped the side of the bench he stood at, knuckles turning white. He spoke quietly, his rage simmering just beneath the surface, without raising his eyes.

"There is nothing wrong with my potion, sir."

"Are you quite certain? Antidotes can be sensitive things." The tall professor was sneering smugly down at the teenager as he spoke, as if he were enjoying Harry's rage at the injustice.

The entire class watched as the Gryffindor rolled the vial in his fingers, eying the colour and consistency of the pale pink potion before meeting his professor's sombre gaze.

"I'm certain, sir." He spat back, jaw still clenched.

Severus smirked. He turned his dark eyes on the rest of the class, a glint of amusement could have been seen in their shining depths to those who knew him well.

"Mr. Zabini, tell me, what is it about antidotes that makes them so expensive and difficult to obtain?"

They had been learning about antidotes since the start of the school term, it was not a difficult question.

"They have to go through the most stringent testing of all healing potions, sir."

Severus nodded before shifting his eyes to the next student.

"Ten points to Slytherin. And why, Mr. Malfoy, is that the case?"

The blonde met his gaze without hesitation.

"Because if an antidote is not perfect, it could be more poisonous than that which it is trying to counteract."

Severus nodded again, before turning back to the seething Gryffindor.

"Ten points to Slytherin."

His black eyes met emerald green once again, a challenge in their depths.

"Drink the potion, Potter."

It was Harry's turn to smirk now. Without a moment of hesitation, he removed the stopper from the vial and brought the pink liquid to his lips.

Severus heard a strangled gasp to his left, probably from Granger. Before she could screech at the boy to stop, he twitched his fingers, silently and wandlessly removing the vial from the student's hand and catching it deftly in his own. He turned and stalked back to the front of the classroom, putting a stopper back in the vial as he walked.

"The detention remains, Mr. Potter, for blind stupidity. Class dismissed."

Harry slipped into the potions classroom that evening, really not in the mood for this. His head was throbbing and had been for the last few hours, slowing escalating in intensity.

His professor gestured to the door to his office behind them, without looking up from the marking he was doing. Harry walked quickly through the office and murmured the password to the man's private quarters, slipping through the portrait and into the familiar sitting room. There was a plate of sandwiches on the low table between the armchairs. His stomach churned.

"If your mental stability wasn't in question before, it certainly is now."

Harry turned his head and shrank backwards at the sudden presence in the room. He caught himself and shook his head lightly, he didn't need to cower from Snape.

"Oh come on, sir. You wouldn't have let me drink it if it were going to kill me."

The taller wizard sat in the opposite armchair, looking intently at the teenager.

"Allow me to heal your arms."

The boy sighed, there was no point in arguing, this was a fight he would not win. He removed his outer robe and held his arms out, palms up, refusing to meet the man's steady gaze.

Severus held back a gasp as he eyed the boy's forearms. He knew things were bad, but this? The pale skin was a tapestry of hurt. Deep cuts marred his arms from wrist to elbow, in various stages of healing. The oldest ones were almost a distant memory, the newest were still weeping. He twirled his wand lightly, murmuring healing spells at the deeper cuts.

Not trusting himself to speak to the boy yet, he accio'd a jar of healing salve and began gently applying it to the torn skin. He watched the cuts knitting together before his eyes and he suddenly felt very old. Once he had done all he could for now, he stood and poured them both a heavy tumbler of firewhiskey. The risk of mixing the effects of the scar potion with alcohol seemed unimportant right now.

"Harry, this cannot go on."

The boy took a long mouthful before speaking, seemingly drawing strength from the warm liquid.

"I know, sir."

They looked at one other for a long time before Severus broke the silence once again.

"I think we should move forward with the dark mark potion, and start taking down the inner circle over the weekend."

"No, I'm not taking it."

"You are."

"You cannot make me!"

The torches on the stone walls flickered in the presence of the Gryffindor's angry magic. It swirled around the room and danced across the skin of the potions master. He sat back into the armchair and took another mouthful of amber liquid, not shifting his eyes from the volatile teen before him.

"Rein it in, Potter, before you do any damage."

The boy took a slow breath and began actively managing his magic again. He didn't often allow it to get the better of him like that, but when his defences were down, it was more difficult to contain. He took another sip from his glass and looked down at his freshly healed forearms. Such a fucking freak.

He rubbed absently at one of the fresher cuts, relaxing at the pain that it brought. He spoke with a calm that he definitely did not feel.

"You'll have to find someone else to take the potion. I can't take it."

"Why not?"

Severus knew there was more to it. The boy was vehemently against it, despite them both knowing it was a sure-fire way to bring down the most dangerous Death Eaters.

"Get an auror to take it. Or Dumbledore."

He rubbed harder at his arm as the pain in his head throbbed violently.

"I am not certain that it will work on anyone else. It needs your link to the Dark Lord."

The Slytherin watched worriedly as the young wizard tore open a newly healed cut without flinching.

"I'm not taking it."

A trickle of blood ran down the pale forearm.

"You must. There is no other way to do this." He pushed harder.

The boy shook his head, scratching at his arm now, seeming to have lost awareness of where he was and what he was doing.

"I'm not taking it."

Another trickle of blood joined the first.

"Why not? What are you afraid of?" He pushed again, dark gaze never leaving the red fluid that was running more freely down Harry's left forearm.

The boy shook his head harder, biting his lip. His scar throbbed. He shut his eyes against the unrelenting agony his is head and sunk his fingernails harshly into the bleeding cut on his arm, grounding himself as pain shot down to his fingertips and up his arm.

"Harry, stop."

When he opened his green eyes, the potions master had leant forward and reached out to grab his arm. He startled away, flinching violently and knocking his tumbler of whiskey to the floor. It shattered loudly against the stone. He clenched his jaw and finally met the piercing black eyes that searched his for the truth. He looked at the older wizard for a long moment. The man that made him face his fears time and time again, the man that continued to protect him without hesitation, the man that, despite how much he pushed him away, remained there, ready to catch him every time he fell.

When Harry finally spoke, his broken voice was barely above a whisper.

"I don't want to be like Him."