Title: Nowhere To Go

Author: Roslyn Drycof

Chapter: Three: Release

Rating: R (for swearing and mentions of rape and child-abuse)

Warnings: non-graphic child abuse, non-graphic rape; future themes of cutting, thoughts of suicide, slash

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Summary: What if you were trapped in a situation from which there was no escape, nowhere to be safe? Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are imprisoned by the memories of the pain they can't run from. Is there any hope of help? HD. Non-graphic child abuse. Slash.

Disclaimer: The usual disclaimer which says I don't own Harry Potter in any way possible in this dimension (or in any dimension, for that matter)

His heart was freezing, his throat was burning. He was crying out inside, and his lungs were constricting. Blindly, madly, he ran from the Potions room as fast as his legs could carry him. The demons of hell were hot on his heels, and his mind was screaming at him to run faster, faster. . .faster.

Harry Potter was a blur as he ran through the corridors of the school, his black robe flowing behind him and his shoes pounding the stone floor with each step. It felt like hours when it was only minutes, until he was outside and hurtling towards the lake.

Panting, he collapsed on the soft grass several feet away from the glittering waters of the lake where the Great Squid dwelled. Tears leaked from his emerald eyes and he dug his fingers into the ground. I hate being so weak! I have to be stronger! he screamed at himself silently, his fingers convulsing in the grass, cording the muscles in his arms.

His fingernails crusted with dirt, he jerked himself to his feet and spread his feet shoulder-length apart. Jade fire burned in his shadowed eyes and he clenched his jaw tightly. Right then and there he made a promise to himself that was heard by the earth herself, a promise she would keep him to. I vow never to submit to anyone ever again. As Merlin is my witness, I will not be a victim any longer!

Pulling out his, wand he created a bubble to surround the twenty feet radius around him. It would keep all sound and happenings in that area invisible to anyone chancing to look over there.

Harry then raised his wand arm again and pointed it at a tree five feet away. He blasted it away with an angry shout. Seconds later, he blasted another one. He yelled spell after spell, pretending every object in the vicinity was Uncle Vernon. Was Voldemort. Was Lucius Malfoy. Was Bellatrix Lestrange. Explosion after explosion rocked the area, light beam after light beam illuminated it. And yet no one saw.

His power level skyrocketed, gaining even more power with each strike. His emotions overran him and he began to blindly attack everything. He didn't care that he was hurting himself by stray debris, didn't care that his clothes were tearing or that he was drawing blood. Scratches and cuts crisscrossed his body, blood dripping to the ground. He barely felt them, instead reveling in the physical pain they brought. The physical pain matched his psychological pain and he wanted it. He wanted to be swallowed by the pain, to make the pain he felt inside real.

Boy. . .you can't escape me. . .

Yes, he could! He would!

You're so pretty, such a shame to mar all that beauty. But you can't stay beautiful forever. . .you're too pretty. . .don't want you being taken away from me. . .

Finally, he dropped to his knees, throwing his wand away from him. His breathing was erratic and shallow, his skin glistening with sweat and blood. He would get away from Vernon forever! He wouldn't be a victim any longer! No more would he submit. . .no more. . .

He raised his eyes to the sky, screaming wordlessly to the heavens. I will be strong! were the words that reverberated in his mind. And he would be strong, there was no doubt about that. . .

Draco ran from the Potions room with one thought on his mind. He had to find release. Tears pricking his eyelids every time he blinked, he ran blindly through the corridors to the dungeon. Awful whispers followed him in the shadows of every alcove, lewd hisses of torture and abuse.

My little Dragon, you're so beautiful. . .

There's only one thing you're good at, and you know what that is. . .only one thing you excell at. . .

Potter and Granger can't beat you at fucking. . .

No! Why couldn't his voice go away? He didn't want to be tormented any longer! He'd already had to suffer enough. Why couldn't the memories just go away? I don't want to remember anymore!

Lucius was supposed to be his father, but this man, this cruel and twisted monster, couldn't be his father. Fathers didn't hurt their children, didn't rape them and whip them. He was supposed to be the one I could depend on. I trusted him! And he. . .broke me. He used me!

When he saw Potter's memory, he'd been paralyzed. Potter was supposed to be the great Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who had a perfect life. And Potter was just as broken as him. Through all the years of punishments and torture, Draco had held onto his hatred for perfect Potter. He'd held onto his jealousy with the knowledge burned inside of him that he'd show Potter one day, show him that he was stronger even though life had been hell. It had kept him sane, especially this last summer when his father had begun raping him.

And now? Now his last link had been broken. Not even Potter was the way he was supposed to be. He couldn't take it. What was living if nothing was the way it was supposed to be? What was it?!

He stumbled into the Head Boys' room, his room this year. Letting the portrait slam shut behind him, he ran into his bedroom on unsteady legs. With fumbling fingers, he unlatched the doors to the antique wooden cabinet he kept by his closet. They swung open to reveal several blank canvases, an easel, and a painting kit.

Draco roughly pulled out the items, setting up the easel and throwing one of the white canvases onto it. He took out a large brush with silky smooth bristles. He mixed the paints furiously, creating numerous colors. Black. Various shades of gray. Creamy ivory. Silver. White-yellow.

Anger thrummed through his veins as he dipped the brush into the black. With long swipes, he slashed the brush across the canvas. With his memories taunting him, he painted furiously.

Slash. More black. Some gray.

You're so much more feminine than I was at your age. . .

Another slash. Creamy ivory. Silver. White-yellow. Must pay attention to details.

You deserve this for being such a pansy. This is what fags do. What? You don't like the pain? But this is how poufs take it, up the ass. . .

He took out his small scraper and scratched it along the canvas, making the lines rougher.

You whimper so prettily, little Dragon. I like it much better than your roar. . .

Red appeared on the canvas. He hadn't mixed any red paint.

You're mine. . .all mine to destroy. All pretty things deserve to be broken, don't you think? You're so pretty with that blood staining your ivory skin. . .

Yes, the blood made everything much better. . .but he decided when his blood was spilled. No more would he let Lucius hurt him. I won't be his toy anymore! I won't!

Mentally and physically drained, he staggered over to his bed and threw himself onto the silk sheets. His clothes were stained with paint and blood, his hair matted and his skin a mosaic of pain. He didn't care. For once. . .this was his doing. No one else's. His.

His last thought before slipping into the darkness of sleep was, I will not submit. . .

And he wouldn't. He would never submit again.

Sunlight streamed in through the window beside Harry's bed in the Gryffindor seventh years' dorm. He awoke with a groan of protest, slinging an arm across his offended eyes. Groggily, he sat up and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

Everyone was still asleep. It was just after dawn, too early for anyone else to be awake. By all rights, Harry should've still been asleep. But he wasn't. He'd crawled into bed after midnight the night before and fallen instantly asleep. Since the summer, he couldn't get more than six hours of sleep at a time. His aching body never let him.

He distractedly brushed a lock jet black hair away from his forehead and stumbled out of bed. All his muscles ached, and the cuts marring his alabaster skin stung furiously. As he gathered up his clothes for the day and made his way to the showers, he winced as the fabric of his pajamas rubbed against his wounds.

Throwing his clothes onto a wooden bench, he walked over to the floor length mirror on the right wall. He pulled off his pajamas and inspected his bruised and bloodied body with disinterest. It looked like he'd gotten into a fight with a hippogriff and lost. Bruises from that last encounter with Uncle Vernon marred his torso. Cuts from the day before criss-crossed his arms, legs, chest, and stomach. Some were pretty shallow, while others were deeper. Ironically, it was the smaller scratches that hurt the worst.

His mind was numb. A part of him was disgusted by the wounds covering his skin. The rest of him instead liked them. They made him less pretty, ruined him. And he didn't want to be pretty. Being pretty only got you pain.

He stepped into a shower stall and turned the water on. Hot water blasted out of the showerhead. It burned his wounds. Good. The remaining blood he'd been too lazy to wipe off the day before trailed down his body and into the drain.

Bracing his hands against the wall, he dropped his head and let the hot water cascade down his back. He closed his emerald eyes and saw Malfoy's face from the day before. The Slytherin's silver eyes held the same look he knew was in his own eyes every time he looked in a mirror.

How could everyone not see it?

But he knew why. They'd never been witness to that kind of pain and didn't know how to spot it. They were innocent and didn't know that it did happen to people they knew. Everyone shied away from the thought of child abuse, thinking it was something that belonged in horror stories. Everyone was blind.

He reached for the soap and scrubbed himself vigorously with it, clenching his teeth at the pain that caused. After washing all the evidence of the day before, except for the actual cuts, he stepped out of the shower stall and toweled off.

It didn't take him long to dress and he magically dried his hair. He also performed a vision-correcting spell on himself since they'd fallen apart when he'd entered the school the night before. He figured they hadn't been up to the beating they'd taken when he'd tried to banish the memories of Uncle Vernon. And actually, he preferred this clearer sight. He didn't have to adjust the thin frames of his glasses all the time anymore.

Everyone was still asleep when he entered the dorm room again. He sat down on his bed and made his mind go blank as he waited through the next couple hours until the others woke up and they went down to breakfast.

At nine o'clock, Ron was up and dressed and they made their way down the stairs to the common room. Hermione was waiting there, a searching look in her brown eyes when her gaze fell on Harry.

He slipped his hands in his pockets and ignored her. He knew it wouldn't discourage her, but he also knew she wouldn't just up and demand to know what had happened.

Sighing, the brunette followed the two boys as they went down to the Great Hall.

Harry slid into his seat with only a slight wince to betray his aches from the day before, a feat he was proud of. He didn't need impertinent questions just yet.

Unfortunately, he was about to get one anyway. He reached over for a glass of apple cider and his robe sleeve moved to show a glimpse of a long scratch starting on his hand and traveling up his forearm.

Hermione immediately noticed the wound and cried out, breathlessly, "Harry! How did you get that?"

He pulled his arm back and shoved the stupid robe sleeve back into place. His answer was short and utterly flippant. "Had a little run-in with the Whomping Willow."

She didn't believe him, and neither did the red-head sitting on the other side of him.. They both knew from first-hand experience that Harry knew how to immobilize the magical tree.

"Harry James Potter, that is a lie," Hermione announced, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

Harry simply raised an eyebrow at her. "My, my, Miss Granger certainly lives up to her sterling reputation as a know-it-all."

His two friends gasped at this. What the hell had he just said?

"What did you call her?" Ron asked, his eyes wide.

"You heard me just fine, although I understand you might have trouble understanding anything but one syllable words."

The redhead's face flushed angrily as he stared at his friend in disbelief. What had gotten into Harry to make him act so out of character? He was acting like Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!

That thought made Ron look over to the Slytherin table where Malfoy was sitting in his usual spot. The blond looked particularly cold this morning, a sneer on his face and a harsh glare in his silver eyes. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but the scratches on his hands were. And when he moved to grab a biscuit, his shirt opened slightly and Ron could see a long cut slashing right below his collarbone.

"You got into a fight with the ferret!" he gasped, glaring at Harry.

Harry looked at his friend for a moment and then turned his gaze to Malfoy. He saw the scratches the blond had and a small smile curved his lips. So, he wasn't the only one to release the pain physically.

"Actually Ronniekins, I believe Buckbeak paid him a visit last night."

Another flippant answer that had both Ron and Hermione fuming. What was going on with him?!

Ron got to his feet, his face red and his eyes flashing. "You are a wretched liar! You didn't have a run in with the Whomping Willow and Buckbeak didn't visit Malfoy! You were in a fight and don't even have the guts to tell me!"

His exclamation was heard by the entire Great Hall and caused everyone to stop what they were doing and stare at the Gryffindor table. What was Ron Weasley talking about? He sounded like was on drugs!

Draco looked up from his breakfast at the Weasel's shout and smirked. So. Potter had released the pain too, and Weasley didn't believe his delightful tales. And they were delightful, really. Potter and the Whomping Willow? And him and that stupid hippogriff from third year? My, Potter sure did have a sense of humor.

He got up from his table and walked over to the Gryffindors. Weasley was glaring at him, and Potter was sitting there with a smirk on his face.

"So Weasley, I hear you don't believe your dear friend about our poor injuries. Really, I thought you had more faith in the Boy Wonder," Draco drawled, stopping right in front of the redhead.

He had the pleasure of seeing the Weasel splutter furiously, obviously shocked that he was backing up Potter's amusing tale.

Harry chose then to speak, "Yeah, Ron, I thought you had more faith in me."

Draco had to suppress a grin at the blatantly false look on Potter's face. And Weasley's reaction was quite amusing as well. He looked like a fish out of water!

"Harry, what has gotten into you?! Yesterday you have a mental breakdown in Potions, and now you're making up stories and being rude. And Malfoy, why in the hell are you supporting Harry's insane behavior?! You're enemies!" Hermione screeched, glaring furiously at the two scratched up boys.

Harry got up and slung an arm across Malfoy's shoulders. "What can I say? After Potions, we realized that we've been madly in love all these years and settled our differences."

Draco almost lost it then. Where had this wit in Potter come from? It certainly hadn't been there before. "We've even decided to get married. You can be the flower girl if you want, Granger."

Up at the staff table, Severus Snape had been watching this little scene with astonishment. Were Potter and Malfoy actually getting along? And creating tall tales together? Had the incident yesterday addled their brains?

"Malfoy, Potter, in my office immediately!" he yelled out to the two rivals.

They both turned to him and bowed mockingly. "I am at your command, oh greasy master." "Your every wish is my command, my stunningly ugly godfather."

With that, the two teenagers strode out of the Great Hall, Potter's arm still slung around Malfoy's shoulder. Professor Snape was at a loss for words as he followed them.

Outside the Great Hall, Harry and Draco burst into laughter. Harry took his arm back and looked Malfoy in the eye. "I wonder if he'll take points off."

Draco shrugged. "Probably." "Where'd those exuses about the Whomping Willow and hippogriff come from?"

"I have no idea. I think I lost a few brain cells yesterday."

Draco smirked. "Potter, you lose brain cells every time you talk."

"And you don't?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't."

"And that's why your shirt is currently turning red from your cuts yesterday," Harry drawled, pointing a finger at Draco's chest.

The blond looked down and saw the slowly spreading stain under his collarbone. Damn. How had that opened up?

"Mr. Malfoy, why in the blazes are you bleeding?" Professor Snape's voice snapped as he strode towards them.

"Oh you know, the hippogriff was a little too enthusiastic."

Snape gritted his teeth together angrily. "Must you continue Potter's idiocy?"

Draco crossed his arms and said, "Why yes, I must. Does it bother you?"

This elicited a snigger from the raven-haired teen standing beside him. Snape turned to him and gave him a dirty look. "You, Potter, are insufferable. Why did you have to go and ruin my godson?"

They'd reached Professor Snape's office by now and entered it. Once inside the cluttered room, Draco turned to his Potions' Professor with an unreadable look in his silvery eyes. "He didn't ruin me. Lucius already managed that feat by the time Potter came along."

Severus narrowed his eyes and tried to see what his godson was thinking, but he could tell nothing. Draco was masking himself very well. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Do I have to spell it out? You know exactly what he did to me."

"I know he punished you unreasonably over the years, but nothing to cause the reaction you had yesterday," he replied, sounding puzzled and not just a little tired.

Both boys had known the older man would turn bring up yesterday. It was something they definitely didn't want to talk about.

Draco's voice held defiance in it when he spoke a few moments later. "Do you know how much his short stay in Azkaban before he was found "innocent" affected him? A lot."

Severus frowned, thinking of the times he'd seen Lucius seen that debacle at the end of the boy's fifth year. The elder Malfoy had been different, harder and more like the Lord Voldemort. . .more insane. But what could he have done to his son that was so terrible?

Harry decided to help the man out, not out of kindness, but out of wanting to shock him. "Think of what a man can do to a woman to completely dominate her."

Bitterness rung in his voice and Professor Snape felt his insides go cold. There was only one way a man could do to completely dominate her, and that was by raping her. But if that was true, and Lucius had raped Draco. . .that meant Potter had been raped as well. The bitterness in his voice and the events of the day before all pointed to it.

Draco opened his mouth to speak softly, "All pretty things. . ."

"Must be broken," Harry continued in the same voice.

Oh. Dear. Merlin. What had they let happen? Both he and Dumbledore had known the boys' home lives had been difficult, but they'd done nothing because they hadn't had any inkling of the depth of their suffering. They'd been so blind.

And now. . .what irreparable damage had they let happen to those two innocent boys?

When am I gonna learn

Life ain't a fairytale

It's hell

And I fell

So hard

Still haven't touched bottom

Still falling

Right through autumn

Winter's still coming

Need to land

Gotta find ground

Be safe and sound

Sick of the screaming

Sick of the lying

Sick of the crying

Gotta get out

Just need to figure out

Where's the life I had

When'd it get so bad

You say it'll be fine

It'll be okay

I won't listen

To anything you say

All you do is screw me

Tell me

Lies and lies and lies

Sick of the screaming

Sick of the lying

Sick of the crying

A/N: This was a very hard chapter to write because of the cutting. I've never done that, so I don't know what it's like. I hope I didn't screw it up too badly.

I know I made Snape more perceptive and a little nicer than in the novels, but it was done on purpose. You'll see the reason why in the next couple chapters. And yes, you're also probably wondering where the hell Harry and Draco's behavior in the Great Hall and afterwards came from, but I assure you, it's there for a very good reason! They are still reacting badly to the day before, and also want to lash out at people because their lives are hell and everyone else has no idea how it feels to hurt so much inside. This is a reaction I will delve into deeper in the coming chapters of the story.

The song at the end of this chapter is also one of mine. It's called Sick Of. Don't steal, though I know you won't.

Thank you for the reviews I've recieved so far. I really like knowing how I'm doing with such an emotionally and psychologically driven story and I'm glad people think I'm doing okay. Thanks again! And please review this chapter, too!

Roslyn Drycof.