Harry Potter and the Year he Broke Free

Chapter Twenty-Six: Control

Sunday. Finally, after tossing and turning for weeks, Harry awoke to find the sun streaming through the huge windows and onto his face. He had been woken up by the brightness of the rising sun, instead of screams and nightmares. He felt like jumping for joy.

At half-past eleven, Harry had put out the fire and closed his aching eyelids, praying for sleep. It seems they were finally answered. After suffering through nightmares laced with Voldemort and his death eaters, he had dreamt of nothing. It was perfect. Idyllic silence and peaceful nothingness all night long. Harry felt well-rested, and glanced at the clock to find it read roughly half-six. Seven hours? Seven whole hours of undisturbed slumber, a feat he had not achieved for months.

Why he had finally slept Harry didn't care - he was just glad that he did. Maybe he was exhausted from yesterday's events. Harry leapt out of bed, slipping his glasses off the bedside table and placing them on his nose along the way. He changed and brushed his teeth, pleased to see his complexion looking healthier, eyes less sunken and bloodshot. The green of his irises looked more vibrant, too.

All that Harry wanted to do today was relax, try and ease the tension inside of him that kept causing his magic to behave wildly. That couldn't keep happening if he wanted to ever live around people. Part of him wondered what Sirius, Dumbledore and McGonagall were thinking. Yesterday they had gotten a glimpse of what happened when he lost control. Harry was completely terrified of what they would do to him now. Would Dumbledore try and arrest him? Or would everyone be so afraid of him they never wanted to see him again?

He tried to push it all down and just focus on the words in front of him. Harry had flopped onto his bed with a good book, and was reading it at a gentle pace. Descriptions of the sugar-toothed eels of South Asia sat limp on the page in stark black ink pasted onto the yellowing pages. As... educational as this book was, it was boring him nearly half to death. How could the strangest species of eels contend with the madness in his head? There must be something better to do around here.

Three bottles of ink sat innocently on his bedside table. All of them were the standard black that Hogwarts demanded they use; fairly cheap and easy to get out of clothes. He focused on them, shutting the book and placing it on the pillow beside him. It was a deep, inky colour - like the night sky. He squinted at it, staring so hard that he felt like he was seeing double.

"Kazam!" he yelled, throwing his arms out emphatically. Nothing happened. Okay, now he felt just felt stupid. "Boom! Explode!" he shouted again, focusing all of his efforts into making something happen to those ink bottles. Still, they lay immobile and uninteresting. Not even a rattle.

Harry groaned in frustration and threw a pillow across the room. Why did things never go his way? When he wanted to blow shit up, it wouldn't, and when he especially didn't, guess what happened? Kaboom. Ugh, why was this happening to him? All he wanted to be was normal, just Harry. Maybe if Dumbledore hadn't been so bloody secretive he might have gotten a chance at a normal life. Merlin, even the thought of that meddling bastard made his blood boil...

A shattering noise, and a wet splatter. Harry turned around, slightly afraid but mostly confused. There lay the remains of an ink bottle, contents smeared all over its neighbouring bottles. Hang on, did he just do that? Explode a bottle of ink? He hadn't exactly been intending it to, it just sort of... did. Harry needed to test his theories. Next, he focused on the one to the right; at the same time thinking of how pissed off Dumbledore made him.

But it was hard simulating anger. Harry had never tried to get riled up on purpose before, especially when he was under pressure. Finally, when beads of sweat were beginning to form on his forehead, he gave up, blowing out a gust of breath. He fell back onto his pillows and stared up at his ceiling, contemplating leaving the safety of his room. Maybe he would find something to make him angry out there. Better angry than bored.

After summoning his wand and casting a quick 'tempus' he was informed that it was twelve. Just around lunchtime, then. Harry was halfway out the door when he remembered that... people might not be too happy seeing him. Specifically most of Gryffindor, and therefore Hufflepuff too. Slytherin was a guarantee as always, and Ravenclaw was probably not too fond of him either since he beat them at quidditch the previous day. The rumour mill would be busy as always, with the latest fuel being his outburst at Ron in the common room. Hopefully Cho would still want to go to the ball with him.

Invisibility cloak in hand, he went to brave the outside world.


Mad-eye and Remus turned the corner.

"Smell any guards or enchantments, Remus?" muttered Mad-eye from the corner of his mouth.

Remus huffed. "I can't smell enchantments, you know." he paused. "But now that you mention it, there's someone round the next corner who absolutely reeks of coffee..."

The corridor they were striding down turned sharply, revealing a young woman in standard ministry robes with tightly curled ginger hair and deep red lipstick. Her eyes were a deep blue, and Remus bet she could pass for a Weasley. Her face was almost familiar.

"Wotcher, Remus," she smiled at him mischievously, a twinkle in her eye. "You said I reeked of coffee?"

He laughed nervously. "Um... I, er, didn't mean to be rude."

"No, it's alright. I have to get through the overnight shifts somehow. By the way, pretty good nose you got there."

They both chuckled again, causing Mad-eye to grumble and roll his eyes. "Now is not the time for mucking around! Auror Tonks, don't you have a post to get to?"

She flashed them both another grin, and then strolled off down the opposite way, winking once at Remus before disappearing into the darkness. The Department of Mysteries was not very well-lit, good considering him and Mad-eye's disguises were a little patchy tonight. But nobody was around anyway.

It was the Order of the Phoenix's top priority to guard the prophecy, or whatever it was that Voldemort wanted that was in the Department of Mysteries. Remus had joined immediately, as soon as Dumbledore proposed setting it up again. The last time they hadn't had too much success against You-Know-Who, but this time round they were much better prepared. If only they could scrounge some more members - then it would be even better.

Him and Mad-eye settled into place, Remus leaning slightly on the wall and Moody as straight as a rod, ready to spring into action at the first hint of danger.

"You should tell her, Remus," Mad-eye said to him with a knowing look in his eye.

"Tell who what? And why should I inform her of certain... things?" said Remus, flustered.

Mad-eye sighed. "You've gone bright red. And I've seen the way you talk to each other, the way you're forever glancing her way. It's quite easy to see."

Dammit. Was it really that obvious? Remus didn't think things were that serious. If winking at someone was considered serious. Oh, now he was confusing himself. Remus hadn't had too much experience with a 'serious' relationship, really only hookups and dates to the latest school ball. James and Sirius were always pushing him to pursue someone properly, but being a werewolf could be very damaging to one's romantic life. Being a poor outcast, he had never wanted to condemn anyone else to that life. After James and Lily died, Sirius was locked up in Azkaban and Peter was believed to be dead, Remus had been completely lost.

He had no life anymore. His days were spent looking for jobs, most of which he was fired from after they discovered he was a werewolf. On his application forms he was required to state what species he was, and many times regardless of how many OWLs and NEWTs he received he would be chucked out anyway after they read the word 'werewolf'. It was such a shame - he had worked hard, and come out top of his year in Charms and History of Magic, one of the best and brightest in his year. But all he would ever be was a werewolf.

Nymphadora Tonks was smart, funny, and ridiculously pretty, not to mention a good few years younger than him. She had a fabulous career ahead of her. What could she see in him?

Remus scoffed. "I don't have a clue what you mean, Mad-eye," he replied, his tone much colder. "We should get back to work."

He stared at him, magical eye going hay-wire. "I suppose you're right."

Lupin didn't reply.

"West corridor is clear, so is east, and the north is being covered by Tonks as we speak." Mad-eye told him crisply.

"Good. Any idea what happened to Podmore?"

"No. Sturgis was always a good bloke, pretty clever one too - can't imagine what addled his brains like that without even leaving a trace."

Remus was quiet for a while. Sturgis Podmore had recently been carted off to St Mungo's after his shift one night, caught trying to get through a high-security door. That wasn't part of the mission: guard the DoM, not break into it. They had no interest on what was going on behind those doors, but since Voldemort did it became their business too.

Mad-eye let out a breath. "It seems quiet tonight. Maybe there's a death-eater rally somewhere?"

"Calm down, Mad-eye. It's quiet every night." Remus rolled his eyes. "Do you know if I need to do any more missions this week?"

"Albus gave me a quick run-down of the schedule. You should be alright for a week or so, but then we need you to try and infiltrate Godwin's pack. There's rumours that him and Greyback have teamed up again, so we need an inside source. Are you up for it?"

"Seeing as I'm the only werewolf around here, not like I have much choice. At least I can spend some time with Harry, and Sirius always got lonely over Christmas. Do you know how Harry's doing?"

"Not well I'm afraid. Came to headquarters the other day and found Molly and Sirius talking about him. They seemed quite worried."

"What's wrong with him?" asked Remus, his insides freezing. He hadn't been around for Harry when he was younger, and regretted it. He had been too worried that the whole werewolf thing would freak him out, and Lupin wasn't really supposed to be around children anyway. Apparently it was a hazard; he was a danger to society. It was unfair really, because he was only dangerous on the full moon, and sometimes not even then thanks to the wolfsbane potion.

"Well, he's ended up in the hospital wing for performing impossible magic and then passing out. He also restrained a teacher, got into a few fights and is refusing to turn up to most lessons. And that's just what I got from snippets of conversation," said Mad-eye, counting the incidents on his fingers.

Remus stared at the other man wide-eyed. "He's only been back for a week, right?"

Mad-eye laughed gruffly. "Sure doesn't seem like it."

Just then, Remus' wand vibrated. "Time's up, Mad-eye. We can head home now. Want to go and tell Tonks?"

"Tell her what you are?" he replied hopefully.

Remus scowled. "No, and get that idea out of your head. I don't think she'd be interested anyway."

"Don't be so sure, Lupin. I've seen the way she acts around you. You should give her a chance; I managed to understand, and she's a lot more relaxed than I am."

When they began working around each other, Remus had been very wary of Mad-eye. An ex-Auror famous for hunting dark creatures and wizards, working with him, a werewolf? But gradually, when Moody realised he was not as vicious as the laws might make out, and Remus when he found out that the other didn't go blowing up everyone who looked at him funny, the two had an... understanding. Remus didn't know if he could call it a friendship per-say, but it made the long hours of shifts go by that much quicker.

"I don't know; my kind aren't supposed to mingle with humans. I'm not even supposed to have friends, well, unless they're like me." said Remus as they began to make their way up the winding corridors that led to the lifts.

Mad-eye sniffed. "I don't get what the fuss is about. You're really no different from everyone else."

"I think it's the whole, 'turning into an animal once every month' that freaks people out." He replied dryly.

Mad-eye wheezed, and they turned the corner to find Tonks dithering about by the lifts.

"There you are! I was staring to get a bit worried." She smiled at them both, then turned round to press one of the buttons. Whilst her back was turned, Moody whispered: "See? I told you." he pulled back, glancing at the ceiling casually before turning his eyes back to Remus. "You should at least give it a go. Who knows, maybe it could work out."

All three of them stepped into the lifts, Tonks and Remus striking up a conversation. Mad-eye smiled.


It was weird to think that he owned one of the deathly hallows. The deathly hallows, like the ones from death himself. Or so the legends said. Harry wasn't sure what to believe.

He walked through the corridors; passing students completely oblivious that someone else was there. It was quite refreshing to see what people did when they though no-one was looking, like those two Hufflepuffs snogging each others faces off in the middle of a corridor. Being Sunday lunchtime, the hallways were relatively empty with almost everyone at lunch. Although he had skipped breakfast, Harry wasn't feeling too hungry and decided to take a walk round the grounds.

As he emerged out of the castle and round to the greenhouses, cold sunlight poured out from behind a cloud and onto his face. Harry saw some second-years speeding past, hurriedly shrieking to each other about missing lunch. He remembered when he was a second-year - the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and everyone thought he was the heir of Slytherin. Weird year, that.

A nearby tree was slick with morning dew, branches hanging down low enough to touch the ground. One leaf was just hanging on by a thread; a strong gust of wind would be all it took to send it spiraling down to the ground. He focused on it, thinking about the way everyone had deserted him and literally went the other direction when they saw him approaching, summoning up all of the rage he felt over being abandoned in his time of need.

The stem snapped, and the leaf twisted off and fell onto the grass in a soggy heap. Harry stared at it. Did he do that, or was it just nature taking its course? It was December, so leaves falling off trees would be perfectly acceptable. In fact, any time of the year is expected to bring leaf shedding with it. Heavy wind, a raging storm: this was nothing.

Harry shook his head and turned away. He had been staring at the leaf so long he could see it when he closed his eyes. He did just that; feeling the sun's cool rays on his face and the cold nipping at his nose. The cloak lay in a heap on the floor, forgotten temporarily so Harry could enjoy the cool weather.

But what if him pulling the leaf off the tree was something? Had he learnt to control his magic? Slow down, he told himself. It's only been a day - no, half of one at that. Things wouldn't happen that fast. But they needed to, really. The sooner he got his temper under control, the sooner he would stop blowing things up. And if one more thing happened, Sirius would probably try and stick him in the hospital wing for good.

It was annoying how much everyone fussed. Couldn't they all just leave him alone? Harry had been alone for a long time, and that wasn't about to change, especially when his emotions were a bit precarious at the moment. Harry needed to separate his emotions. That was the only way things ever got done. When you had Voldemort at the other end of your wand, you couldn't be thinking about how scared you are, how close to death you might be, all of the people who'll miss you if you die. No - you have to think tactics, survival skills, anything that could get you out of there. Emotions could screw things up, so it was better to not feel anything in a stressful situation.

But Harry just couldn't keep it in anymore, whether he wanted to or not. His magic was going to destroy him otherwise.


Monday morning he entered the Great Hall, bag in hand and slid into an empty seat at the Gryffindor table. The collar of his uniform was itching the hell out his neck, so he pulled up a hand to undo the top-button. Although they were fainter than the previous day, the scars lining his knuckles were still stark against his skin, a painful reminder of his temper erupting on Saturday.

"I'd do that back up if I were you, Mr Potter," someone said to him in a sickly-sweet falsetto. Harry turned around to see none other than Dolores Umbridge, outfit a vivid pink as usual. Her customary bright bow sat atop her mousy hair-do, and her smile reminded him of a frog that had caught a particularly juicy fly. He looked at her, unimpressed, and went back to his breakfast.

"Hem hem," she coughed, causing a shiver to run up his spine. It was something about that stupid cough of hers that really got on his nerves. He sighed and turned back around. This was not a good time to get angry; half the hall was watching him, as well as McGonagall and Dumbledore. Those two were observing him extremely closely.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I think, I asked you to tidy up your uniform. Do it, or face the consequences." Again, her voice dipped an octave higher, doing nothing to stop Harry's patience wearing thinner and thinner.

"What consequences would those be, Dolores?" He smiled at her sweetly, mimicking her own tone. She scowled, and undid a button on her pastel woollen cardigan to pull out a scroll of parchment. She unfurled it slowly, stubby fingers stroking the sides of it.

"Due to recent events, should Mr Harry James Potter cross any rules set in place by Hogwarts and any of its staff, or refuse to follow directions, it is the wish of the Minister of Magic for the highly-dangerous and unhinged individual to be placed in Azkaban Prison. Signed by Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, etc, etc." She rolled up the scroll with a satisfied smile on her face.

Harry sat there completely blown away. What the fuck?! Azkaban? But- but he was fifteen? They couldn't do that! A million thoughts raced through his mind, and all Harry could do was sit there and wonder which of his queries he should voice first. The entire hall was facing them now; no doubt waiting to see him explode and rage at Umbridge. But he wouldn't let them see him crumble. His face was blank; a well-practised expression. He had actually gotten the idea of creating a mask from the Malfoys.

Harry chuckled. "No, you can't."

"I assure you, I am perfectly within-"

"No, you can't. It's illegal. You can't send minors to Azkaban, and if you haven't noticed, I'm fifteen." Of course, they had probably made some new law around this too, but Harry was just... lost for words. Who the fuck would want to go to Azkaban, especially for something like chucking a pencil at someone? According to that frog-faced manky bitch, that would be all it took to get him shipped off to that place.

She smiled widely, showing off her hideously pointy teeth. "Me and the Minister have come up with a solution to that. You see, if we deem it necessary, anyone of any age can be sentenced to Azkaban." She emphasised the 'we' with great pleasure.

"It's the Minister and I," he said absent-mindedly. Her eyes bulged.

"Do not disrespect me, Mr Potter, or you will leave the school this instant!" she demanded hotly, voice now shrill. Umbitch took a deep breath, and blew it out in a frustrated hiss. Harry grinned. Now she was losing it. He took deep satisfaction in this, and tried to use it to subdue his own rising temper. Harry wanted - no, needed - to go and break something before he broke her.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, holding up his hands in earnest. "Just trying to make constructive criticism. Anyway, are you quite done? My tea's getting cold."

Her nostrils quivered. "Just a moment longer. Will you comply with these... terms?"

NO, NO, NO, NO, I FUCKING WON'T, YOU FUCKING-"Well, if nobody else has a problem, then I suppose so?" his statement was more of a question directed at the teachers. A small part of him still hoped one of them would speak up and defend him, announce that these new rules were too ridiculous. But nothing happened. Nobody said anything. All of the staff stared uncomfortably at their plates, apart from that git Snape who stared right at him unabashedly. Harry broke eye contact and looked back at the devil's spawn dressed in pink in front of him, and replied, "Yes. I will, if you insist."

HOW FUCKING DARE THEY? THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS, OH FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. DUMBLEDORE PROBABLY AGREED TO THIS FLIPPING SHIT, DIDN'T HE? REALLY ENJOYING YOURSELF THERE DUMBLES, AREN'T YOU? Harry watched Umbridge trotting away, stupidly smug. There was a pounding building up in his head, and he needed to get out of there, now, before he killed them all. he had kept a lid on his temper so far, but Harry knew he didn't have long left.

The rest of the hall descended into hushed whispers, obviously discussing Harry's new condemnation to the rules. Luckily, that was enough to muffle the sound of a plate shattering to his left. Harry pulled his bag onto his shoulder, and walked swiftly out of the hall, fists clenched so tightly he though he might break his hand. The bathroom! He ran inside, feeling his fingers crunching tightly. Blinding pain for a second, and then it was over.

Wandlessly, he cast a few hurried silencing charms and locked the door tightly. His bag lay at his feet forgotten as he tried to see through the fog of anger. He growled, grabbing a nearby portrait and throwing it against the wall. It exploded; strings of the canvas ripping apart and falling to the floor. The frame was nothing more than a pile of splinters on the ground. The sinks were thrust away from the wall by seemingly nothing, spouts of water shooting out of the open, cracked pipes.

How could this have happened? Why would anyone in their right mind agree to sentence a fifteen-year-old to Azkaban?! Harry picked up his bag and threw it, watching as it collided hard with a cubicle door. He heard the shatters as his bottles of ink and various potions were destroyed. But he didn't care.

Harry choked, his body heaving with dry sobs. How could this happen? Sure, he'd broken a few rules, but they weren't sending Fred and George to Azkaban. He cowered, pressing his hands over his ears, useless, broken fingers aching in protest. If only it would all stop.

He straightened up and dived over to his bag and scrambled around in it until his fingers slipped on a particularly large shard of glass. Wrenching it out, he didn't hesitate for a second until he plunged it into his palm. Harry screamed, pain ripping through his hand. But it was enough to make it all manageable. Memories of the previous night drifted to the forefront of his mind; any impression that things would be better now, that after one good night things would be better had been torn away after the first nightmare. The second, third, and fourth came all within a few hours. The entire night was a tangle of dreams, screams, blood and murder. He remembered vividly from around four that he had sat in the corner of his room just holding himself, shaking despite the amount of blankets he draped around his shoulders.

Letting the glass fall from his hand, Harry's eyes drifted up to the mirror where he saw himself, pale, clammy, shaking terribly, eyes bloodshot and sunken, deep lines of fear etched into his face. The blood streaming from the wound on his palm. It was sickening.

His stomach turned upside down, and Harry had to throw himself over the nearest toilet. Afterwards, he collapsed, completely drained, against the stall door, sinking down into a crouching position. His cheeks were dripping with tears, tear-tracks feeling like they would be there forever. His hands ached from pounding the wall, fingers crumpled and bent in odd directions, and although the blood flow had slowed, his palm still hurt like hell.

Bloody hell. He'd done it again. No point dwelling on it - he'd probably be back in here the next day. At least he'd managed to contain it in front of the public, proving to everyone that he could keep his temper. Or at least contain it enough to unleash it where nobody could see but him.

Thank god he'd come down to breakfast early: this would take a while to clean up. Harry got up, muscles aching in protest and pulled out his schedule with difficulty. Aha, potions first. What a wonderful start to the week.


*I don't own any characters, all rights to J.K. Rowling.

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