Breaking Out - Chapter One
Title: Breaking Out
Author: elleian
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff
Disclaimer: Unless otherwise stated, everything is owned by JK Rowling, Warner Brothers, etc. I do not make any money from this and I have no intent to infringe anyone’s copyright.
Summary: The fighting may be over, but the war inside has not ceased. Once again the Ministry has decided to step in, forcing those they think need it into their rehabilitation programme. It all leads from there.
“It’s for your own good, Harry,” Hermione was saying. Harry didn’t want to listen. He just wanted her to shut up and go away. All he wanted was to be left alone. He felt like screaming at everyone to back off and let him live the way he wanted to. The weight of other people’s expectations was something that he simply wasn’t willing to bear anymore. But, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched, he was constantly inundated with those he wanted to see least. It made him feel sick and he hated it.
Looking at Hermione’s earnest face before him, the anger bubbled up in his chest. “Why won’t you leave me be?” he shouted at her. “It’s my life! You can’t keep trying to force me into things that I don’t want to do!”
Hermione shook her head sadly. Of course she couldn’t have predicted how Harry would react once the war was finally over, but never in her wildest dreams had she expected that he would end up like this. Since the final battle and his defeat of Voldemort, Harry had completely closed up, shutting everyone out. He had become bitter, angry and resentful, lashing out at anyone and everyone. He couldn’t bear all of the joy that was flowing over the world’s new freedom from the Dark Lord, and he had become increasingly more and more depressed. Simply put, he wasn’t coping with the aftermath of war, but he was the only person who couldn’t see it.
It pained Hermione to tell Harry this, but she had no choice. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, placing a hand on Harry’s arm, only to have it roughly shaken off. “The Ministry of Magic have ordered that you be placed in their rehabilitation programme.” She gestured to the letter that she had earlier placed on the table. “You can go of your own free will or they’ll send someone to bring you in. You have no choice.”
Harry looked like he was about to faint, or explode, or both. He opened his mouth, but did not say anything for a minute. Eventually, he spat out, “The bastards!”
There was so much venom in his tone that Hermione physically recoiled. “Harry,” she said, trying to placate him, but he glared at her.
“You!” he accused. “You helped them set this up, didn’t you? You told them that I needed therapy … like I’m some kind of psycho!”
Hermione nodded dumbly. How could she lie?
“I thought you were my friend…” he ran a hand through his messy hair. “Get out,” he said softly, voice strained.
“Harry…”
“GET OUT!” he roared, jumping up from his seat, and Hermione ran from the room. It was only minutes later when she stopped outside of the building, panting and leaning against a cold wall for support, that she noticed the tears sliding down her cheeks. She knew that she had acted to help Harry, but the resentment in his voice, the betrayal … it cut to the very core of her being. Hands to her face, she cried until she could cry no more, the wind carrying away the sounds of her sobs. Once she had let it all out she tried to compose herself, wiping her red eyes on the backs of her hands. Taking a deep breath, she Apparated back to the Ministry to report.
***
Harry felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He couldn’t believe that Hermione had betrayed him like that, and so casually! She had been one of his best friends for nine years and, foolishly perhaps, he had expected her to support him. In the past she had been one of the few people who were willing to stand up for him not matter what, but that had obviously changed. He shook his head. So much for friendship. Why couldn’t she see that he needed to deal with things in his own way? It might not be the way that everyone else did it, but he had never done things in the same way as everyone else. He was the one who the whole war had hinged on, fuck it all! He had every right to feel the way that he did. Why should he try to put on a brave face and try to pretend that he was fine when he so obviously wasn’t?
His thoughts turned to the Wizarding world as a whole. Once the news had spread that he had finally rid them of Voldemort for good, the celebrations were practically non-stop. Nobody had understood when he didn’t want to celebrate with them all. He felt sick inside at the things that he had done to get where he was now. He was a murderer and a monster. Why wouldn’t anyone acknowledge that? He wanted do something - anything - to clear his hands of all the blood that had been shed, but he couldn’t. And all the while he was being congratulated by people who had no idea at all what he had gone through.
Harry turned and saw the letter lying there on the table. Once again, the all controlling Ministry was taking away any chance of him leading his life the way that he wanted to. He wanted to leave behind all of the hypocrites that surrounded him and get away to somewhere that he would never be found. He wanted to exorcise his demons and see, truly see, the damage that he had helped to inflict upon the world. He didn’t want to be coddled by everyone and he certainly did not want to be trapped by the Ministry. He hadn’t even read the letter that Hermione had left, but he knew what it would say. He had seen the one that had been sent to Neville. ‘Dear Mr. Potter,’ he mimicked. ‘You are expected to meet with one of our liaison officers at nine o’clock on Monday the third to be entered into our rehabilitation programme. Failure to arrive will cause an Auror to be sent out to retrieve you.’ Those Aurors … they had once been his friends. Tonks, Lupin, even Moody, they had all respected him and had not tried to glorify what he was doing. But he knew that now they wouldn’t hesitate to drag him back to the Ministry for them to prod and poke like some science experiment gone wrong.
He’d rather be dead. Wouldn’t it all just be easier if he ended it now? Honestly, he had expected to die in the final battle. It would have been payment, in part, for all of the destruction that he had caused. At the end, he had never doubted that he would kill Voldemort, but at the same time he had never doubted that Voldemort would kill him. But now, with Voldemort gone, Harry found himself wishing that he too had been taken out when he blasted Tom Riddle from the face of the earth. He didn’t deserve to live.
***
Draco Malfoy studied the room that he had been shown to. The Ministry had been one place that he had studiously avoided for most of his life, so the nervousness pricking his spine was only to be expected. Of course, he gave no outward sign of any discomfort, but the fact was that he wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.
The small meeting space that he was in was sparse, with drab, beige walls and a hard floor. A couple of chairs were scattered around a small table in the centre of the room, but other than that it was not furnished. It was one of those awful rooms that didn’t have any windows but instead relied on artificial lighting. It made Draco feel like an animal trapped in a cage. Logically he knew that it was ridiculous and he was perfectly safe, but he couldn’t stop the nasty thoughts from lurking in his brain. Despite the fact that he had helped the Light side during the war effort and had proven himself trustworthy many times over, there were still many in the Ministry and the Wizarding world at large who did not like or trust him. His father had tarnished the name of Malfoy irreparably and he suffered for that to this very day, even with Lucius in the ground for over two years.
Turning his thoughts, Draco moved to sit in a chair facing the door. He had not been particularly thrilled when he had been informed that the Ministry had decided to enrol him in their rehabilitation programme, but he had not bothered to argue. Many others he knew had tried and they had been forced to come just the same. At least he had done it with some dignity rather than being dragged kicking and screaming by Aurors the way Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini had done. During the latter part of the war, Draco had learned that sometimes it was best to bow gracefully when under pressure rather than try to stand up to it and end up snapped in half. Coming of his own free will he could at least keep some face.
When the door to the room finally opened, he was slightly startled to see a very angry looking Harry Potter stalk through, followed closely by a slim brunette whom he presumed to by the liaison officer. ‘What the hell is Potter doing here?’ Draco thought to himself. Surely the Ministry hadn’t decided that he needed to undergo rehabilitation, too. But Harry’s attitude made it abundantly clear that rehabilitation was the reason that he was there.
As Harry dropped heavily into a chair, glaring daggers around the room at large, the woman clapped her hands together and smiled brightly at them. Or she tried, at least. With death glares turned on her from both Harry and Draco, the smile faded significantly. “My name is Valerie,” she told them. “I am your rehabilitation officer.” When she didn’t get a response from either man, she continued, “As you know, today is the first day of your rehabilitation programme.”
When Harry started to drum his fingers on the table, she took it as a sign to cut to the chase. “If you come with me, we’ll get this started,” she told them, and motioned for them to follow her out of the room.
Both men shadowed her at a distance, until they came to what looked like a reception area. Rummaging behind the desk, she produced forms for each of them to sign and watched carefully over them as they completed the parchments. That done, she informed them that they needed to be Side-Along Apparated, and grabbed both of their arms before they could argue.
The liaison officer deposited them in what appeared to be a living room. It was quite minimal, but thankfully less clinical and depressing than the rooms of the Ministry. It even had a window. Draco raised an eyebrow at the woman, wanting an answer as to where they were and why.
She looked between the two of them and when it became obvious that they were waiting for her to speak first, she spread her hands. “This flat has been specially commissioned for the Ministry,” she told them.
“Charming,” Draco drawled when she didn’t continue. “What has that got to do with us? I can assure you that I am in no hurry to purchase property from the Ministry of Magic.” He spat the name of the organisation as if it were acid.
The woman carefully ignored his tone. “The rehabilitation programme has been tailored specifically to meet each individual’s needs. It was decided that you two gentlemen should be partnered together for the duration of your rehabilitation. Welcome to your home for the span of the programme.”
Draco felt a chill run up his spine. He glanced at Harry who looked completely unbalanced.
“Yes,” she said, answering their unspoken question. “You are to live here for your rehabilitation. Both of you will be confined to this flat for the foreseeable future. It is spelled against Disapparition and we have taken measures to ensure that you will not be able to simply walk out of here.”
Noting the twin expressions of anger and hostility on their faces, she hurriedly said, “I think that is all. Good day, gentlemen.” With a loud crack, she Disapparated.
Harry was dumbstruck. She had to be kidding! Another loud crack startled him and he jerked his head to where Draco was standing.
“Damnit!” Draco cursed. “She was right about the Anti-Disapparition wards. They must have raised them as soon as she left.”
They looked at each other. “I can’t believe this,” Harry said, eyes narrowing.
Draco didn’t reply, simply pulled out his wand and started casting different combinations of spells. Harry just watched him. Nothing worked. Eventually, Draco dropped his wand in defeat. “Fuck,” he said.
Draco stalked over to the window. “We can’t get out,” he said.
Harry came up behind him. Staring out, he saw that they were extremely high up. Harry guessed that the flat probably wasn’t even part of a building, but was simply held up by magic, judging from their height and the implications the woman had made about not being able to just walk out. The only way in and out would be by Apparition.
“We’re stuck here,” Draco repeated, turning around to look at Harry. “I’m trapped in a flat with Harry bloody Potter.” He gave a short laugh.
Harry glared at him. “I suppose you think this is a walk in the park for me?” he said angrily. “Do you really believe I want to be here?”
Draco shrugged, moving past him to sit on the sofa. “I would have thought you had the Ministry on side, you being the hero of the Light and all.”
“You’d think so,” Harry said, voice bitter. “Apparently they’re not above imprisonment, though.”
“Apparently not.”
Harry sat down on the other end of the sofa and studied Draco. “I don’t understand,” he said.
Draco smirked at him. “What a novel concept. Do tell me another.”
“Shut up,” Harry told him. “I’m serious. How is this meant to be rehabilitation? Sticking us in with our childhood rival doesn’t seem to be the normal way of ‘rehabilitating’ someone.”
Draco didn’t answer Harry’s question, instead said, “Childhood rival? What happened to blind hatred?”
“Gone.” Harry said. “I mean, it’s not like we’re on opposite sides.”
Staring directly at Harry, Draco thought a minute before speaking. “I suppose I don’t hate you any longer, either,” he admitted. “That doesn’t mean that I like you - you’re still an annoying prick - but I don’t have a death wish on you now.”
“That’s reassuring to know,” Harry said, closing his eyes briefly. “For a minute there I was worried.”
Both of Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Sarcasm? I’d never have thought you capable of it. You always seemed too innocent for something like that.”
Harry’s face darkened. “Innocence is easily lost,” he said, turning away.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Draco sounded genuinely apologetic. “Potter - Harry - I didn’t think…”
Harry shook him off, getting up quickly. “I’m going to look around,” he said tersely and left the room.
Draco sank back on the sofa. Why did he have to open his mouth? There was a reason that Harry was here for this ‘rehabilitation’ and he had just completely trampled over the issue, right when it seemed they had made peace. ‘Merlin,’ he thought. ‘How am I going to get through this?’
Next part
*bites nails* So... this isn't as fluffy as my normal stuff. I think it will end up in there, but for now I think its going to be anger and angst. Please let me know what you think!
Author: elleian
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff
Disclaimer: Unless otherwise stated, everything is owned by JK Rowling, Warner Brothers, etc. I do not make any money from this and I have no intent to infringe anyone’s copyright.
Summary: The fighting may be over, but the war inside has not ceased. Once again the Ministry has decided to step in, forcing those they think need it into their rehabilitation programme. It all leads from there.
“It’s for your own good, Harry,” Hermione was saying. Harry didn’t want to listen. He just wanted her to shut up and go away. All he wanted was to be left alone. He felt like screaming at everyone to back off and let him live the way he wanted to. The weight of other people’s expectations was something that he simply wasn’t willing to bear anymore. But, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched, he was constantly inundated with those he wanted to see least. It made him feel sick and he hated it.
Looking at Hermione’s earnest face before him, the anger bubbled up in his chest. “Why won’t you leave me be?” he shouted at her. “It’s my life! You can’t keep trying to force me into things that I don’t want to do!”
Hermione shook her head sadly. Of course she couldn’t have predicted how Harry would react once the war was finally over, but never in her wildest dreams had she expected that he would end up like this. Since the final battle and his defeat of Voldemort, Harry had completely closed up, shutting everyone out. He had become bitter, angry and resentful, lashing out at anyone and everyone. He couldn’t bear all of the joy that was flowing over the world’s new freedom from the Dark Lord, and he had become increasingly more and more depressed. Simply put, he wasn’t coping with the aftermath of war, but he was the only person who couldn’t see it.
It pained Hermione to tell Harry this, but she had no choice. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, placing a hand on Harry’s arm, only to have it roughly shaken off. “The Ministry of Magic have ordered that you be placed in their rehabilitation programme.” She gestured to the letter that she had earlier placed on the table. “You can go of your own free will or they’ll send someone to bring you in. You have no choice.”
Harry looked like he was about to faint, or explode, or both. He opened his mouth, but did not say anything for a minute. Eventually, he spat out, “The bastards!”
There was so much venom in his tone that Hermione physically recoiled. “Harry,” she said, trying to placate him, but he glared at her.
“You!” he accused. “You helped them set this up, didn’t you? You told them that I needed therapy … like I’m some kind of psycho!”
Hermione nodded dumbly. How could she lie?
“I thought you were my friend…” he ran a hand through his messy hair. “Get out,” he said softly, voice strained.
“Harry…”
“GET OUT!” he roared, jumping up from his seat, and Hermione ran from the room. It was only minutes later when she stopped outside of the building, panting and leaning against a cold wall for support, that she noticed the tears sliding down her cheeks. She knew that she had acted to help Harry, but the resentment in his voice, the betrayal … it cut to the very core of her being. Hands to her face, she cried until she could cry no more, the wind carrying away the sounds of her sobs. Once she had let it all out she tried to compose herself, wiping her red eyes on the backs of her hands. Taking a deep breath, she Apparated back to the Ministry to report.
***
Harry felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He couldn’t believe that Hermione had betrayed him like that, and so casually! She had been one of his best friends for nine years and, foolishly perhaps, he had expected her to support him. In the past she had been one of the few people who were willing to stand up for him not matter what, but that had obviously changed. He shook his head. So much for friendship. Why couldn’t she see that he needed to deal with things in his own way? It might not be the way that everyone else did it, but he had never done things in the same way as everyone else. He was the one who the whole war had hinged on, fuck it all! He had every right to feel the way that he did. Why should he try to put on a brave face and try to pretend that he was fine when he so obviously wasn’t?
His thoughts turned to the Wizarding world as a whole. Once the news had spread that he had finally rid them of Voldemort for good, the celebrations were practically non-stop. Nobody had understood when he didn’t want to celebrate with them all. He felt sick inside at the things that he had done to get where he was now. He was a murderer and a monster. Why wouldn’t anyone acknowledge that? He wanted do something - anything - to clear his hands of all the blood that had been shed, but he couldn’t. And all the while he was being congratulated by people who had no idea at all what he had gone through.
Harry turned and saw the letter lying there on the table. Once again, the all controlling Ministry was taking away any chance of him leading his life the way that he wanted to. He wanted to leave behind all of the hypocrites that surrounded him and get away to somewhere that he would never be found. He wanted to exorcise his demons and see, truly see, the damage that he had helped to inflict upon the world. He didn’t want to be coddled by everyone and he certainly did not want to be trapped by the Ministry. He hadn’t even read the letter that Hermione had left, but he knew what it would say. He had seen the one that had been sent to Neville. ‘Dear Mr. Potter,’ he mimicked. ‘You are expected to meet with one of our liaison officers at nine o’clock on Monday the third to be entered into our rehabilitation programme. Failure to arrive will cause an Auror to be sent out to retrieve you.’ Those Aurors … they had once been his friends. Tonks, Lupin, even Moody, they had all respected him and had not tried to glorify what he was doing. But he knew that now they wouldn’t hesitate to drag him back to the Ministry for them to prod and poke like some science experiment gone wrong.
He’d rather be dead. Wouldn’t it all just be easier if he ended it now? Honestly, he had expected to die in the final battle. It would have been payment, in part, for all of the destruction that he had caused. At the end, he had never doubted that he would kill Voldemort, but at the same time he had never doubted that Voldemort would kill him. But now, with Voldemort gone, Harry found himself wishing that he too had been taken out when he blasted Tom Riddle from the face of the earth. He didn’t deserve to live.
***
Draco Malfoy studied the room that he had been shown to. The Ministry had been one place that he had studiously avoided for most of his life, so the nervousness pricking his spine was only to be expected. Of course, he gave no outward sign of any discomfort, but the fact was that he wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.
The small meeting space that he was in was sparse, with drab, beige walls and a hard floor. A couple of chairs were scattered around a small table in the centre of the room, but other than that it was not furnished. It was one of those awful rooms that didn’t have any windows but instead relied on artificial lighting. It made Draco feel like an animal trapped in a cage. Logically he knew that it was ridiculous and he was perfectly safe, but he couldn’t stop the nasty thoughts from lurking in his brain. Despite the fact that he had helped the Light side during the war effort and had proven himself trustworthy many times over, there were still many in the Ministry and the Wizarding world at large who did not like or trust him. His father had tarnished the name of Malfoy irreparably and he suffered for that to this very day, even with Lucius in the ground for over two years.
Turning his thoughts, Draco moved to sit in a chair facing the door. He had not been particularly thrilled when he had been informed that the Ministry had decided to enrol him in their rehabilitation programme, but he had not bothered to argue. Many others he knew had tried and they had been forced to come just the same. At least he had done it with some dignity rather than being dragged kicking and screaming by Aurors the way Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini had done. During the latter part of the war, Draco had learned that sometimes it was best to bow gracefully when under pressure rather than try to stand up to it and end up snapped in half. Coming of his own free will he could at least keep some face.
When the door to the room finally opened, he was slightly startled to see a very angry looking Harry Potter stalk through, followed closely by a slim brunette whom he presumed to by the liaison officer. ‘What the hell is Potter doing here?’ Draco thought to himself. Surely the Ministry hadn’t decided that he needed to undergo rehabilitation, too. But Harry’s attitude made it abundantly clear that rehabilitation was the reason that he was there.
As Harry dropped heavily into a chair, glaring daggers around the room at large, the woman clapped her hands together and smiled brightly at them. Or she tried, at least. With death glares turned on her from both Harry and Draco, the smile faded significantly. “My name is Valerie,” she told them. “I am your rehabilitation officer.” When she didn’t get a response from either man, she continued, “As you know, today is the first day of your rehabilitation programme.”
When Harry started to drum his fingers on the table, she took it as a sign to cut to the chase. “If you come with me, we’ll get this started,” she told them, and motioned for them to follow her out of the room.
Both men shadowed her at a distance, until they came to what looked like a reception area. Rummaging behind the desk, she produced forms for each of them to sign and watched carefully over them as they completed the parchments. That done, she informed them that they needed to be Side-Along Apparated, and grabbed both of their arms before they could argue.
The liaison officer deposited them in what appeared to be a living room. It was quite minimal, but thankfully less clinical and depressing than the rooms of the Ministry. It even had a window. Draco raised an eyebrow at the woman, wanting an answer as to where they were and why.
She looked between the two of them and when it became obvious that they were waiting for her to speak first, she spread her hands. “This flat has been specially commissioned for the Ministry,” she told them.
“Charming,” Draco drawled when she didn’t continue. “What has that got to do with us? I can assure you that I am in no hurry to purchase property from the Ministry of Magic.” He spat the name of the organisation as if it were acid.
The woman carefully ignored his tone. “The rehabilitation programme has been tailored specifically to meet each individual’s needs. It was decided that you two gentlemen should be partnered together for the duration of your rehabilitation. Welcome to your home for the span of the programme.”
Draco felt a chill run up his spine. He glanced at Harry who looked completely unbalanced.
“Yes,” she said, answering their unspoken question. “You are to live here for your rehabilitation. Both of you will be confined to this flat for the foreseeable future. It is spelled against Disapparition and we have taken measures to ensure that you will not be able to simply walk out of here.”
Noting the twin expressions of anger and hostility on their faces, she hurriedly said, “I think that is all. Good day, gentlemen.” With a loud crack, she Disapparated.
Harry was dumbstruck. She had to be kidding! Another loud crack startled him and he jerked his head to where Draco was standing.
“Damnit!” Draco cursed. “She was right about the Anti-Disapparition wards. They must have raised them as soon as she left.”
They looked at each other. “I can’t believe this,” Harry said, eyes narrowing.
Draco didn’t reply, simply pulled out his wand and started casting different combinations of spells. Harry just watched him. Nothing worked. Eventually, Draco dropped his wand in defeat. “Fuck,” he said.
Draco stalked over to the window. “We can’t get out,” he said.
Harry came up behind him. Staring out, he saw that they were extremely high up. Harry guessed that the flat probably wasn’t even part of a building, but was simply held up by magic, judging from their height and the implications the woman had made about not being able to just walk out. The only way in and out would be by Apparition.
“We’re stuck here,” Draco repeated, turning around to look at Harry. “I’m trapped in a flat with Harry bloody Potter.” He gave a short laugh.
Harry glared at him. “I suppose you think this is a walk in the park for me?” he said angrily. “Do you really believe I want to be here?”
Draco shrugged, moving past him to sit on the sofa. “I would have thought you had the Ministry on side, you being the hero of the Light and all.”
“You’d think so,” Harry said, voice bitter. “Apparently they’re not above imprisonment, though.”
“Apparently not.”
Harry sat down on the other end of the sofa and studied Draco. “I don’t understand,” he said.
Draco smirked at him. “What a novel concept. Do tell me another.”
“Shut up,” Harry told him. “I’m serious. How is this meant to be rehabilitation? Sticking us in with our childhood rival doesn’t seem to be the normal way of ‘rehabilitating’ someone.”
Draco didn’t answer Harry’s question, instead said, “Childhood rival? What happened to blind hatred?”
“Gone.” Harry said. “I mean, it’s not like we’re on opposite sides.”
Staring directly at Harry, Draco thought a minute before speaking. “I suppose I don’t hate you any longer, either,” he admitted. “That doesn’t mean that I like you - you’re still an annoying prick - but I don’t have a death wish on you now.”
“That’s reassuring to know,” Harry said, closing his eyes briefly. “For a minute there I was worried.”
Both of Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Sarcasm? I’d never have thought you capable of it. You always seemed too innocent for something like that.”
Harry’s face darkened. “Innocence is easily lost,” he said, turning away.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Draco sounded genuinely apologetic. “Potter - Harry - I didn’t think…”
Harry shook him off, getting up quickly. “I’m going to look around,” he said tersely and left the room.
Draco sank back on the sofa. Why did he have to open his mouth? There was a reason that Harry was here for this ‘rehabilitation’ and he had just completely trampled over the issue, right when it seemed they had made peace. ‘Merlin,’ he thought. ‘How am I going to get through this?’
Next part
*bites nails* So... this isn't as fluffy as my normal stuff. I think it will end up in there, but for now I think its going to be anger and angst. Please let me know what you think!