Full Summary: The Order hides Harry away while they try to figure out the best course of action. But in keeping Harry in the dark they only cause him to be tormented by his own suspicion, annoyance, and worst of all- boredom. When he breaks out to seek Voldermort out with no one's knowledge- he finds that the months spent in almost complete isolation have had more of an affect than anyone realizes. Harry is captured by Voldermort, but in a very different state of mind from their last visit, and Voldermort takes full advantage of it- but he isn't the only one. Draco/ Harry
A.N- Haven't written in a long time, so feedback and constructive criticism is extremely appreciated. I have looked this over for any errors but I am not perfect so please let me know if I've missed anything horribly big.
Disclaimer- I do not own these characters, they belong to J.K Rowling and I am only using them for some fun.
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Harry sits in a gray room, in a gray house, in drab, gray little neighborhood full of weary people who shuffle out each morning for work and return in the same manner, just looking a bit more haggard. Being the hero used to mean constant paranoia, agitation, preparing and training, but now it's become a game of hide-and-go-seek gone stagnant. It's like he's trapped on a chessboard in checkmate and no one's making the next move.
The order refuses to let him seek Voldermort out, and Voldermort is hiding away thinking Harry is actively seeking him out- due to aurors in disguise that make carefully planned appearances now and then. The world follows along, believing their dashing hero is plotting and planning and chasing and that at any moment he will find Voldermort and vanquish the evil wizard so they can celebrate. Harry can practically see them all eying their champagne eagerly.
Instead, the most action Harry gets is from pacing holes into the carpet. He can't peer our the windows, covered by heavy drapes. He isn't allowed to know what's going on outside- just in case Voldermort finds him and captures him- which ISN'T going to happen because Voldermort is probably living in a FUCKING cave right now- in Harry's opinion anyways.
The Order doesn't even bustle around, they are all back at Grimmauld place. They just come in to check on him now and then, try to cheer him up and tell him they'll figure something out soon. But Harry knows they won't, they can't because the only thing that is going to end this war is HIM and he is stuck sitting on his arse. And that is not going to get anything done any time soon.
He's ranted and raved and paced and scribbled in journals and screamed at the walls but it's all been no use. He raged for the first four months, but by the last two the fire had died...and so had Harry. He lived the life of an old man at only eighteen. His friends were starting careers and families, and he didn't even get to die- his only job in life. No, he got to sit...and sit...in a dull, silent house. He brushes thoughts of his friends away, he can't see them as he used to, now his perception of everyone on the 'outside' as he's come to call it, is tainted with bitterness and jealousy.
He's imagined himself running off and doing things his way. He's imagined them getting all upset and chasing after him in vain as he searches out Voldermort (these scenarios always end in victory, proving him right of course). Even if he died it would be a better existence than this. He's all but given up, or at least that's what it looks like in his own mind. He has a sneaking suspicion the Order plans to keep up the facade so Voldermort stays in hiding. This way there are no attacks, and the people feel safer. But Harry knows it can't last forever. He almost hopes for Voldermort to see through the disguise, then the order would HAVE to let him do something, there would be no point in hiding him away anymore.
He knows that this scenario probably involves innocent people dying, and for that he feels guilty, but he can't help but wish the Order would admit that they are wrong. This stupid plan of theirs is hardly practical and is a temporary solution at best, never mind that it horribly underestimates Voldermort. The fact that Harry believes him to be hiding in a bloody cave does as well, but Harry ignores that- he's got to amuse himself with SOMETHING. And the idea of an evil wizard reduced to hiding in a cave is the best Harry is going to get around here.
Harry eyes the clock. Four-oh-nine. Not yet time to start making dinner. He sighs. Meal times are the only highlight of his day. 'What a sad existence' he thinks to himself. He pondered getting a pet but had no way of getting out of the heavily warded house- wards that everyone claimed where to keep others from getting in, and yet just as sufficiently kept him in. He was too embarrassed to ask any of the Order members, afraid they'd think he was going insane from the confinement, which he was, but really no one likes to admit to insanity. It's hardly flattering. Though if it got him into St. Mungos, the change of scenery would be nice...
Harry glanced around the room, still half lost in thoughts about his predicament. He dwelled on it a lot, going over the same problems again and again, until his mind was filled with why everything was so horribly wrong. All day he reminded himself how utterly stupid this was, and how separated he had become from the world and how this would only end in something, something completely and throughly horrible. Horrible in the worst kind of sense, a catastrophe of destruction. While the Order members were giving a sigh of relief at not having to duel and defend and spy, all harry could see were the battles he had convinced himself were inevitable.
He refused to give up his position of tragic hero- he WOULD kill Voldermort or die trying. Since he was eleven the idea had been lodged in his brain, and now he found himself adamantly against any other outcome. Peace? Peace was for the people who survived. Besides, this was a false mockery of peace, this was a prolonged eye of the storm. This was a building of pressure, and he was sure something was going to explode, and when it did something would splatter.
Harry quickly retraced his last few seconds worth of thoughts. They had been turning increasingly violent. The splattering in particular had brought a visual plentiful with blood and gore- blood and gore that he had often imagined in order to steel himself for when he was faced with the real thing. And he WOULD be faced with it. For some reason he almost wanted to be- it was his destiny, it was also his worst fear... but lately- it had become his only hope. That was all his life consisted of. Why were they taking it away from him? It was as if they had gotten him all worked up and then had said 'nevermind we decided we want to try this another way, have a nice day'.
Harry checked the clock again, surprised at how time passed while he stewed in his own on his own thoughts. five-oh-three. Wonderful now he got to start dinner. Finally, something to do! Harry jumped off the couch and headed to the kitchen. When he realized how much the prospect of just making dinner had cheered him his stomach sank. Something here was very, very wrong.