Breaking Free

The Love Story of Draco Malfoy & Astoria Greengrass

Preface — The Sentencing of Draco Malfoy

"Order! Order!"

He called the word over and over and yet Percy Weasley could not bring the court to order. Draco watched as he tried— and failed— gavel flailing and pounding against the wooden podium with no one to see or hear. The faces in that court room were contorted with rage that only the loss of a thousand loved ones could inspire. Draco Malfoy's heart pounded in his throat.

"Please! Everyone! If we could all just—" but Percy Weasley's words were drowned.

"Chuck him away! Send him to Azkaban!"

"Lock him in and throw away the key, the pureblood scum!"

"No, please, we have to have order! We can't lose control!" Granger cried, sitting to the left of Percy Weasley, her hands shaking as she held the papers that contained evidence condemning Draco.

"We have very strong reason to believe," spoke the only voice that could bring the vicious crowd down to a rumble, "that Draco Malfoy only committed these acts under direct threat of violence towards him and his family—"

But a ruddy faced man interrupted Potter.

"What's this strong reason then?" he demanded. "Is it more bloody Malfoy gold?"

"Pureblood scum," someone repeated.

The man spat on the floor.

"My son is DEAD," he bellowed, and it echoed off the court walls. "And it's his father that done it. My wife is dead and it's his aunt who murdered her! NO MORE!"

Draco heard the crowds erupted again, but it was like hearing something from underwater, as he watched Granger, Potter, and Weasley exchange a look that he knew meant his doom.

Chapter 1 — St. Mungo's

Not for the first time, nor for the last, Draco Malfoy woke up screaming, sweat pouring down his pale, pointed face. Astoria Greengrass often worked the nightshift at St. Mungo's as she was a single woman with no children to tuck into bed at night and, after all, it gave her more time to read. Still, it wasn't all easy work, and she had soon become used to the sounds of Draco Malfoy's screams.

She knew what he was and who he was. He had been released from Azkaban after a six month sentence and quickly deemed unfit for society. He wandered the streets, unsure of where he was, sometimes screaming and cursing at various people and objects, other times just huddling in a dark alleyway, hiding his head in his arms. Either way, he was a danger to himself, as well as others. The other nurses didn't understand why she took pity on him. His name, after all, was drowning in Death Eater scandal. Except, the other nurses didn't see him at night. He was so vulnerable, so childlike, she wanted to rock him in her arms until he fell back to sleep. But, of course, that would be unprofessional. So she usually offered him a Sleeping Draught and talked softly to him about pleasant things until he drifted back into a still, dreamless sleep.

Sometimes, however, Draco didn't want to go back to sleep. The other nurses advised her to force-feed him the potion when he behaved like this, but she found that talking to him helped more than traumatizing him into sleep again. So, when she approached the panting form of Draco Malfoy, a goblet clutched in her hands, she was unsurprised by what he said.

"No, no. Not tonight, please," he'd shake his head. "I can't sleep. Not now."

Astoria nodded and smiled, putting the goblet down on his bedside table.

"Well then, what story should we read tonight?" asked Astoria, grasping the book under her arm.

He looked at her, all shadows and lines on a paper-white face, too young to look the way he did.

This is what You-Know-Who did, Astoria thought, bitterly. He destroyed children.

Her heart broke all over again at the sight of him.

"Don't you ever tire of it?" he asked through cracked lips, his voice strained. "Of me?"

"Of course not, Draco," Astoria smiled. "You know, we're not supposed to have favorites, as nurses, but you know you're mine."

And it was true, as much as Astoria would never admit it to her colleagues, Draco held a special place in her heart.

"You must think me such a fool," he said, staring at the ceiling. "A weak fool."

"Of course not—"

"I was always weak," he said, his voice harsher now. "Never brave enough to be right and just, never bold enough to take power. Always weak."

Astoria didn't know what to say to this and was quiet for a long time.

"I think," she said, finally, "that we are born into a certain life and made a certain way. And it's hard. It's hard to break free of that. But I also believe that at some point we get a choice. We have a moment of clarity where we know who we are and the direction we want to go. I think you'll have that moment, Draco. But for now, you need to focus on getting better—"

"You sound—" his voice cracked, he swallowed and started again. "You sound as if you speak from experience. Astoria."

It was the first time he had said her name. His coherence was usually spotty and it was unclear whether he knew who he was talking to. But at some point in all of their nighttime talks, it must have seeped in. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly.

"Well, I do, I suppose," said Astoria, uncertainly, sitting down in the cold, metal chair beside Draco's bed. "I was sick often as a little girl. I was well enough to go to Hogwarts some years, other years I was not. I can't complain, though, because it's what drove me to become a nurse. I hope that one day I could even become a Healer."

There was a pause at which Astoria became nervous she had said too much, overwhelming the poor, young man and embarrassing herself.

"What House?" asked Draco abruptly, when he finally spoke.

"What?" said Astoria, surprised by the question. "Oh, you mean Hogwarts House? I was a Ravenclaw. I really did love learning. If I could go back and do it again…. Well, as I said, I can't complain. My adult life has been very kind to me."

Again there was a pause. Astoria watched as her words sunk into his hollow eyes.

"And your family?" he asked.

"What about them?"

"Pureblood?"

Astoria stared him. She liked Draco, despite how all of the other nurses and Healers regarded him. Yet, as he asked this question, she began to see how he struck the wrong chord with all the others. Even she could feel her jaw clenching at the question.

"Can I give you some advice, Draco?" she said, drawing a deep breath and even a bit of courage. "Perhaps the world has done wrong by you. I'd believe it, because I can't believe a 17 year old boy would do the things they convicted you of—"

At this Astoria saw Draco flinch.

"—yes, I know what your convictions were," she continued. "Torture and imprisonment of innocent people, discrimination and violence against muggles and muggle-borns, all in the name of You-Know-Who. Yet, I do not believe that a 17 year old boy could have done this under his own instruction. Some people call me naive for that belief, but that is how I feel. And, therefore I pity you, Draco, I really do. Because I firmly believe you are a product of your wrenched environment. However," Astoria's voice grew more stern, "I will pity you less and less as these nights go on unless you reform yourself. You know what you did, what you witnessed. Everything that happened was wrong. That's why you're tortured by nightmares every night and see shadows lurking behind every corner in the day. But only you have the power to change your future, Draco. Only you have the power to change what you've become."

Draco sat, staring at the wall with a blank and yet terrible expression on his face. He remained this way for so long that Astoria thought he must not have heard a word she'd said. Finally, she stood and was about to leave, when Draco grabbed her arm. She stared at the long pale fingers, whiter even against her own skin. They were cold, and yet she felt a rush of heat at the touch.

"What if it's impossible?" he whispered, panicked. "Because the bad's inside of me and there's no way to get it out?"

Astoria stared at him. Her lips pressed together to keep them from trembling, for her pity for Draco was insurmountable.

"I don't believe that for one second," she said finally. "No one is inherently good or evil. Everyone has a choice. Make the right one."

With that, Astoria pulled gently away and walked from the ward, blinking back tears.

Most of the Healers and nurses in the Psychiatric Ward of St. Mungo's Hospital hated Draco. Most of them simply did their duty by giving him his potion and food and then walked away without a word. The worst of them wouldn't bring food or potion and would taunt him, calling him the Death Eater brat and the Dark Lord's lapdog. The very, very worst blamed him for the death of their children, husbands, and wives. There was nothing Draco could do to dispel their claims. He was everything they said he was.

Then there was her. Astoria.

He waited for her every night. She was so kind and her voice was so soft and soothing. She was more of a tonic to Draco's nerves than any potion could be. For a while, it was enough to just lie there and listen to the beauty of her voice. He could sink into the black abyss and forget he was Draco Malfoy— even if it was just for a little while. Yet, over time, her voice began to do more than pacify him. It began to awaken him from the dense, impenetrable fog that he had been caught in since he was first sent to Azkaban.

It had been two years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Two years since the Dark Lord had been killed. For the first six months after, Draco had tried to live a normal life. His father was arrested almost immediately. He was still in jail to this day, as far as Draco knew.

Then the summons to the Ministry of Magic came. He and his mother were to be submitted for "questioning." That questioning was actually a trial in which both he and his mother were found guilty and convicted. He had gotten six months for "supporting the Dark Lord" and for "bearing the Dark Mark." His mother had received a full year for both of these reasons as well. The only reason Draco didn't warrant a longer sentence was because he had been underage during many of his "crimes."

They had no idea. None of them did.

How was he to escape what he had become? What they had made him to be?

His mother came to visit him, once she was released from Azkaban. Every afternoon at 4pm, without fail, she would come and have tea. But she brought a darkness with her that Draco could scarcely bare. Her gaunt face was a grim reminder of the horrors they had been forced to endure because of his wretched father and his knack of choosing the wrong side. Draco did not join her in her tea drinking. She used to try to get him to speak, she used to speak to him. But now, she just drank her tea in silence. All sips and slurps and the delicate tinkling of China she'd brought from what was left of their measly estate— the Ministry had confiscated most of it.

The only one who brought Draco any reprieve from his pain was Astoria. He had decided that if there was a spell or a potion that could be placed on a person to make them entirely different— not just on the outside, but on the inside too— then he would do the incantation and drink the remedy and profess his love immediately. But he was Draco Malfoy and there was no escaping that. He would not inflict himself upon this innocent young woman.

"Hello Mrs. Malfoy!" Astoria greeted his mother with her usual cheeriness.

It had been a few days since that night where they had finally spoken. Draco wearied of the days where he didn't get to see her, yet he shudder at the cold nod his mother gave her and wished she wasn't working this shift.

Draco expected that usual cold, silent tea time, but after a few sips, his mother put her cup down with delicate precision. Then, she looked at Draco. Draco did not look back, but he could fee her eyes upon him.

"Your inheritance has finally been awarded to you," she said, her voice stiff as old parchment. "I suppose it will all go straight to paying your hospital bills seeing as the Malfoy name and all of our charitable donations apparently have no meaning in St. Mungos anymore."

His mother paused before continuing, taking another few sips of her tea.

"However, it is quite a large sum. The Ministry wasn't in favor of granting it to you, originally. But, I suppose" she pursed her lips as if someone had squeezed a whole lemon into her tea, "Harry Potter had something to do with wrangling your inheritance out of the Ministry's grasp. Apparently our hero still pities the Malfoys and he has quite a lot of influence over the Ministry these days."

Draco no longer hated Potter as he had in school. He remembered how Potter had tried to reduce his prison sentence and he was grateful. So, instead, he felt a great swell of shame at hearing his name. Harry Potter was everything Draco wished he could be, but he never could have paid the price to be him.

Chapter 2 — The Offer

Astoria watched as Narcissa Malfoy came in, talked to Draco in her curt, cold voice and then left. Astoria didn't enjoy disliking anyone, but she couldn't deny her feelings of dislike that woman evoked in her. Her visits with Draco always seemed to do more harm than good.

A couple nights later, Astoria was on night-duty again and she saw that Draco was up.

"A Sleeping Draught, Mr. Malfoy?" she suggested, but he shook his head.

Astoria bit her lip, steeling herself as she recalled her and Draco's last conversation.

"Won't you sit down?" said Draco, as though reading the thoughts behind her eyes.

"I suppose so." She smiled and sat beside him on the little wooden stool his mother usually occupied.

"I have been allowed my inheritance," he told her in a monotonous drawl. "It took so long because the Ministry… didn't see me fit to have it. But, they've had a change of heart, and I'm a rich man once again."

"I'm glad to hear they changed their minds," Astoria said sincerely.

"Yes," he nodded curtly and Astoria watched the light play on the bones of his face. "So, now, I think I will leave this place and purchase a manor. Somewhere far away from London. Scotland, maybe."

"That sounds lovely," said Astoria, still smiling, but she could feel her heart sinking. Draco would be leaving. She should be glad, for this surely meant he was feeling better. But part of her would miss this boy and their nighttime conversations.

"The problem is," said Draco, and though his tone was still cool and polite, Astoria noticed he was fidgeting with his hands, "I can't live alone. Not yet. I still need someone to make the appropriate potions for me. While I'm beginning to feel a bit— that is to say— not everything still is as it should be."

His brow was furrowed as he stared down at his hands now.

"I'm sure you could hire a private nurse," said Astoria. "These potions aren't so complex that they need to be made by a trained Healer—"

"That's just it," Draco interrupted in a rush. "I want you to be my nurse."

Astoria's eyes widened and her heart began beating faster than ever.

"Oh, I— Draco, I'm not sure how appropriate that would be," she said, her voice somewhere between a gasp and a whisper.

"Why not?" he cocked an eyebrow. "You are my nurse here. Why can't you be my nurse somewhere else. It will require less duties and you will paid handsomely, I assure you."

Astoria could hear the Malfoy charm working in his voice. She fidgeted in her chair.

"I don't care about the money," she said, feebly.

"Then what is it? What makes you hesitate?"

"I— I'm not sure," she admitted. "For one, it would be a big change— moving away from London. I— I'll really have to think about it."

Astoria rose from her chair, smoothing her robes nervously as she did. Suddenly Draco reached from his bed and took her hand in his.

"Please," he said, his voice softer now. "Please promise me you will think about it."

Astoria smiled and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"I promise."

Chapter 3 — Tension

"It's enormous," said Astoria, the clicking of her heels echoing off the cathedral ceiling.

Draco watched her round, brown eyes— now enlarged with awe— as she walked around the entrance hall.

"I don't know if I have made clear," Draco began, and he could feel a steady heat rising on his cheeks, "how grateful I am that you have decided to accompany me on this journey."

She smiled at him— a beautiful, full, pink-lipped smile— and Draco felt his heart skip a beat. She was pure grace in every step that she took. He had only ever seen Astoria in a nurse's uniform before. Today, however, she wore a knee-length, black dress that hugged her delicate frame beneath an emerald green traveling cloak. Her long, dark brown hair— usually smoothed back into a practical bun— hung loose and fell midway down her back in gentle waves.

The more Draco stared at Astoria, the more intense the hunger inside him became. It wasn't a hunger he was accustomed to. In the past he had desired power and prestige, and then, later, he desired a life free from torture and pain. It had been so long since he desired anything, he had almost forgotten the sensation. Now, it fell over him in hot waves and it took a great deal of restraint not to embrace her right there in that very moment.

Yet, Draco felt villainous for wanting such things from such a sweet girl. Especially after he had lured her here under false pretenses. He needed no nurse— only company. And she was the sweetest company he could possibly imagine. But how, he thought with utter self-loathing, could she want him back when his only redeeming quality was his money? Once, Draco would have used his wealth to his advantage in a situation such as this, but he knew it wouldn't work on her. She wasn't vain. Astoria was good and kind, unlike himself.

"As a matter of curiosity," Draco spoke finally, trying to distract himself from the tension that gnawed his insides. "Why did you decided to come with me?"

Draco watched her body as she turned, her curves moving with sensual grace. But that was not what struck him. It was the burning look in her beautiful, dark eyes that for a moment swept him away in a fantasy where she was lying beneath him, that look in her eyes while she moaned with the pleasure he was giving her. Draco felt himself stiffen against his leg and he was forced to turn away from her. It had been years since he had been physically aroused and it shocked him.

I have to calm down, he thought, sweat pooling on the nape of his neck. He was glad that thick, black coat was knee-length, at least.

"I figured I should travel, you know, while I'm still young," she said and her voice was high.

When Draco regained some composure, he turned back to her to see that her cheeks were red— as if she had been caught in a lie.

Or is that just what you want to believe? he asked himself, savagely.

"Well I'm afraid there won't be much excitement in the Highlands," said Draco, his voice measured, restrained.

"That's all right," she said, smiling warmly. "I find fun in the little things."

"Well I must leave you to get unpacked," said Draco. "Your maid will show you to your room."

A wispy servant girl came forward and guided Astoria up the stairs. Draco watched her go, his heart pounding in his throat.

Eventually he climbed the stairs as well to find his room on the opposite side of the gallery as hers. Maybe if he put enough distance between them during the sleeping hours he could forget his ridiculous fantasy. But as he crashed on his handsome, mahogany bed and tried to think of nothing but the rich velvet bedspread beneath him, he felt himself stiffen again— no, he was throbbing. Without thought, he hastily unbuttoned his coat and threw it on the floor. Then, he unzipped his pants and found what he needed. He stroked himself harder and faster as he imaged Astoria on top of him, her body writhing against his while his hands explored every inch of her soft curves—

He pressed his lips together to suppress a moan that felt as though it was coming from his very soul. Then, it was over. He cleaned himself up as he dealt with the guilt of what he had just imagined. She was here to be his nurse, not his prostitute. And Draco was convinced that he would never, not in a million years, deserve to have her that way. She was kind, caring, and innocent and he, Draco, was a murderer.

Astoria unpacked her things with the help of her maid whose name she learned was Gwen. She had orange hair as thick as her Scottish accent and while Astoria had said she could manage her things herself, the maid was insistent. She expected Draco had put her up to it. Although she couldn't complain. Gwen was nice company. She was very chatty and had all the gossip about village life. When she left, Astoria didn't really know what to do with herself. She sat on the edge of her magnificent four poster bed and thought for awhile.

She had been looking forward to this ever since she had agreed to come with Draco to the Highlands. Really, she had been looking forward to being alone with Draco for a long time— longer than she cared to admit, even to herself. The way he looked at her just now in the entrance hall made her wonder if he felt the same. But she shook the thought from her head. Her whole life she had been the sickly freak. Soon, she was sure, Draco would see it too.

A sudden knock at the door made her jump. Gwen was back again.

"Ma'am, Mr. Malfoy requests your attendance at dinner," she said.

"Oh," replied Astoria, for she was shocked by the formality of it all. It had only been a few months before that Astoria was bringing Draco his food courtesy of the St. Mungos dining hall. In the beginning, when she was still a volunteer nurse, they used to have to force feed him for he would not eat of his own accord. She remembered the aching sadness that filled her during that time. He was so young to be so desperately helpless. Now look how far he'd come.

"Yes, I'll be down in a moment," said Astoria, standing quickly and looking around. "I just need to find something to wear—"

"Mr. Malfoy thought of that," said Gwen, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. Astoria noticed that she carried a white bag in her arms. "He thought you might like to wear this."

Astoria took the bag from Gwen and unzipped it. It was an elegant, plum-colored dress that was floor length and covered in a layer of finely embroidered matching lace.

"This is—" she shook her head, unable to find the words. "This is too much. How did he even know my size?"

"He guessed, I assume. But don't worry, ma'am," said Gwen, pulling out a long, willowy wand. "I'm an excellent seamstress."

Somehow the dress looked even better on. The lace became sheer just above her breast line and came up to her collar bone. The sleeves, too, were sheer, purple lace and the bodice hugged the curves of her body with a sensuality that made her stomach tense. For the first time in Astoria's simple, little life she looked sexy.

Sexy for him, Astoria thought, her heart pounding excitedly. She shook herself, mentally, as Gwen fixed her hair into a neat, braided bun behind her head. She couldn't think of it that way. She was here to help and she shouldn't get distracted. But as she walked down the wide, dark, carpeted staircase and saw Draco standing at the bottom of it, hands behind his back, his gaunt yet darkly handsome face looking up at him— she lost a bit of her reserve. The closer she came to him, the more she felt as if there was something magnetic pulling her towards him. Tension rippled across her skin. Her body was on fire.

"You look lovely," said Draco, his voice maintaining his usual hollow quality.

"Thanks to you, of course," replied Astoria with a smile. "Really, this is dress is too much. You're already over-paying me—"

Draco shook his head and waved her down

"I do not wish to discuss money with you. Come, our dinner is ready."

Together, they crossed the entrance hall. Two men in long, handsome cloaks opened the double mahogany doors for them to reveal a splendid dining room with a long table laden with delicious-smelling food. Astoria couldn't help but to laugh as she compared this new world to the life she had left behind.

"What's funny?" said Draco, his cheeks flushing in concern and his eyes narrowing.

"Oh— nothing," Astoria said, waving her hand dismissively. "I suppose I just can't believe that I went from eating dinners alone in my little flat to this magnificent feast."

Draco looked as though he wanted to say something, but didn't. Instead, he motioned her to sit.

They consumed their dinner in almost total silence. Astoria supposed she should have expected this. What could they possibly have to talk about? There was plenty she wanted to ask him, of course, but none of which would have been very appropriate— at least, not in her position as a nurse. Though this brought up its own questions.

"Draco— can I call you that?"

He looked at her, alarmed.

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "Never find yourself too embarrassed to speak to me like… like…"

"Friends?" Astoria suggested, smiling slightly.

"I suppose so, yes," he said, nodding.

"Well, Draco, it's just that, I assumed I'd be eating with the servants or in my room at least. I am hired help. Yet, you treat me as an equal."

"You are wrong. I do not treat you as equal to myself," he said, staring coldly at his plate of food.

Astoria's heart dropped. Of course, she had been stupid to think she was his equal or more than the hired help. He was just being kind—

"You are far better than I could ever be and if I can treat you with at least half the kindness you have shown me, I will be happy."

She was taken aback by this.

"You're too generous with your compliments," she said, blushing profusely.

"I'm sorry— have I offended you?" Draco asked, anxiously.

"No, no, on the contrary. I'm just a bit embarrassed that's all," she said, cutting her meat delicately. "Anyway, I was going to ask you why you've given me a room— a real room— rather than a room in the servants' hall? But then, I suppose you've already answered the question since you seem to consider me so mysteriously high and mighty."

She smiled playfully at him, putting a piece of meat in her mouth and, for the first time since they traveled to the highlands, they made eye contact. Her dark eyes met his icy blue eyes and she felt her heart skip a beat. Suddenly she couldn't even taste the meat in her mouth. All there was in the world were Draco's eyes. She swallowed, hard.

"You are to me," he said in a hoarse whisper.

At that moment their dinner was cleared away, breaking off bits of the tension, but too slowly for it to be relieved as they stood up. In a moment of clumsiness, Astoria walked right into Draco as he tried to exit the room, causing her to almost fall in an effort to correct her posture.

"I'm sorry—" she spluttered, and then felt Draco's hands upon her waist as he attempted to steady her. She looked into his eyes again and suddenly felt the grip of his hands tighten against the fabric of her dress. A shiver went down her body and, as if in a grip of madness, Draco pulled her body against his and kissed her. The kiss was immaculate. She could feel his tongue parting her lips and his hips moving against her, slowly at first, then with increasing speed as she responded with the same intensity, her hands intertwined in his hair, her tongue interlacing with his. His mouth began to move down her neck.

"Please," she whispered.

All at once he let go off her. His face had gone from flushed passion to a blotchy white. He looked as though he had seen a ghost.

"What—" Astoria was about to say, but he was already exiting the room, leaving her feeling alone and ashamed.