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Some Kind of Release	By : Monddame Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 5201 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Some Kind of Release
- 1
Just a little idea that’s been rolling around inside my head for awhile. What if it all happened in Harry’s head? I ended up going in a different direction (a largely un-Harry direction), but I’d still like to know what you think! Hope you enjoy it!

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I’ve never met an odder person in my life. And that’s fucking saying something. You meet all manner of strange persons when locked up in a nut house. Oh, mental health facility, excuse me. The constabulary dislikes us using such vulgar and crass terms as ‘nut house,’ ‘loony bin,’ ‘psycho ward,’ and the like to describe our oh, so luxurious accommodations. Honestly, if us crazies want to call ourselves nuts who are they to say otherwise?

We prisoners, I mean patients, are divided between two main wards. I only know this because I’ve been ‘downgraded’ since I arrived. Most people who are brought into the Observation Wing of the hospital are eventually released upon the unsuspecting populace. These are mainly low-level personality disorders, obsessive compulsives, and less severe mood disorders. Apparently, my particular psychogenic cocktail of malaise renders me unfit to gallivant freely among the general society at this time. It seems I could be considered a danger to myself and could quite possibly suffer from a psychotic break if faced with certain stimuli and become a danger to others.

Hence the reason I’ve been moved to the Advanced Treatment Wing, a.k.a. the majorly crazy, locked up for your own good, you’ll probably never get out, there’s cameras in your room to keep you from offing yourself with your standard issue shoelaces even though you’d be better off, land of the truly fucked up. I will say one thing for us: our group therapy sessions are certainly more entertaining than the kumbayah campfire sessions of the O.W. There are some very interesting characters on our side of the hospital.

But none more interesting than our newest arrival. He came in with Ruben Hagar, one of the ward attendants, a giant of a man with a big bushy beard. For some reason he kept calling him ‘Hagrid’. He was dressed in the standard issue hospital garb; tall and lanky, he looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. His hair was jet black and rumpled-looking, like he didn’t know how to use a comb, which he probably didn’t. He wore round, wire-frame glasses which reminded me of John Lennon, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Behind those absurd glasses were the brightest, most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen. All in all, he was rather good looking, but when I saw him brandish a twig with all the bark peeled off and mutter something about ‘Hogwarts’ I knew there’d be no new intelligent conversation coming from this nutter.

At first, he pretty much ignored me, and most of the rest of the inmates, I mean patients, in favor of a nearly catatonic ginger boy named Ron Wesley. Even though he was clearly not all there, I couldn’t help but be a little miffed that he would pick a near-vegetable over me for conversation. Ah well, the head nurse for our ward, Miranda McGonagall, whom he calls ‘Professor’ for some inexplicable reason, sorted him into my session group, so I got to hear all about his particular neurosis, nonetheless. He believes he is a wizard, apparently. A wizard! Seriously, where do these types of delusions even come from?!

It wasn’t until his second week that he even seemed to really notice me. I’d holed myself up in the communal bathroom on the floor, hiding under one of the sinks, giving in to my need for an unsupervised crying jag and wishing with all my might that I had a cigarette when he barreled in, trailed by a drooling Wesley shouting some nonsense about a ‘troll’ or something. Honestly, it was a little frightening. He was waving that stick around and shouting nonsensical words that I couldn’t understand, but he seemed to be battling something, like a little Don Quixote. He apparently got nabbed by the unseen monster, and when he shouted for Ron’s help, I noticed that the other boy was brandishing his own peeled stick. That did the trick, and Harry, that’s what he called himself anyway, pulled me out from under the sink just in time to be caught by McGonagall as she came rushing in with several other staff members in response to the ruckus all that troll battling had caused.

“What’s going on here? Mr. Potter, you aren’t supposed to leave the common area without permission.”

“It’s my fault, ma’am. I just wanted to be alone for awhile, and Harry apparently thought I was in danger or something and he came in dragging Ron behind him to save me.” She pinched her lips together and frowned at me.

“Well, you certainly know better Miss Granger, but I’ll let it slide this time. And I suppose a point each to Mr. Potter and Mr. Wesley for coming to your perceived aid.” She smiled at him benignly as she ushered us all back to where we were supposed to be, according to the schedule.

I’ve gotten used to the weird, inconsistent point system here. We have to have a certain amount of points to be allowed things like time outdoors or art class. If we act up, we get points taken away which is fairly easy to understand…and circumvent if one is particularly devious and brilliant, like me. But the way they add points makes no perceivable sense to me. Like that thing in the bathroom. Why should Harry get points for being crazier than me? Or Ron, the incapable of independent thought drool factory for being pulled around by said crazy? And they think I’ve got issues, honestly.

After that, Harry attached himself to me, unfortunately bringing Ron along with him, and there wasn’t much I could do to shake him. After a while, I started to get sort of attached to him myself. He was fairly innocuous, running around with his ‘wand’ talking about being a ‘wizard’. I got my own ‘wand’ from him shortly after the incident with the invisible troll, which was sort of sweet of him and I made sure to carry it around, just in case he wanted to see it.

He is delightfully amiable, and there are only two people in the ward he seems to have a genuine animosity toward: one of the ward attendants in charge of afternoon meds, Steven Snapper who is pretty surly in general, and one of the other captives, I mean patients, Drake O’Malley, who is in the green group (Harry, Ron and I are in the red group). I never really took notice of the blond myself, since he’s in another session group and I keep mostly to myself, or I did until Harry showed up. But since Harry has shown such an interest, or should I say disinterest, in him I’ve taken to watching him.

He is so clearly suffering from Narcissistic Personality Disorder and delusions of grandeur that it’s not even funny. Except, it kind of is funny. He keeps a comb in his pocket and is constantly combing his blond hair and muttering to himself about being a ‘sex god’. Word in the ranks is that he’s been caught several times sneaking into girls’ rooms. Since I can’t have cigarettes in this prison, I mean hospital, the idea of a different kind of release intrigues me.

I think he might be a little bit of a sociopath too, if there can be such a thing as someone ‘slightly’ sociopathic. He’s certainly a manipulative little bugger at any rate. He’s realized that I watch him. At the funny farm there’s no need to keep one’s eyes to themselves since most of the fruits in this place simply can’t. So he does little things like flex his back muscles when he feels my eyes on him. If I didn’t find it so amusing I’d be constantly rolling my eyes at him. Does shit like that seriously work on other people?

Harry isn’t as oblivious as he seems either. Anytime he catches Drake looking at me he glares at him and calls him a ‘ferret,’ which makes me laugh. Where does he come up with this stuff? Priceless, I tell you. Of course, laughing at a narcissist isn’t the smartest plan if you’re trying to coax him to follow you into the showers or something. He usually ignores me for a day or two after I ‘insult’ him like that. Stupid wanker.

It’s difficult to get yourself alone with another hostage, sorry, patient; more so when they’re not in your color group and thus on a different schedule; and especially when that person is the opposite gender. It’s sort of stupid, really. Like there aren’t people here who prefer their own gender. Hell, there’s a redhead girl named Jenny that Harry seems to like who won’t fucking leave me alone. So it took me a couple of weeks to even engage the blond in conversation.

He’s in the corner of the common room dedicated to the books, a place where I usually sit, during one of our rare combined free hours, so I know he’s waiting for me. Not having anything to lose, I really want to just crawl into his lap and wiggle around until he gives in. But I don’t want to alert the staff to my intentions if I can help it, so I have to play it cool instead. Standing next to his chair, I reach across him to grab a book, brushing my breasts against his arm as I do so.

“You want me.” He is so insufferably smug; I want to deny it just to be contrary. But I do want him. And I’d rather be fucking him than fucking with him, at any rate. Besides, I’m not his bloody therapist, and I have no problem using his own particular brand of insane to get what I want.

“Who wouldn’t want you Drake? The real question is what are you going to do about it?” I run my tongue along my lower lip and bat my eyes sickeningly at him. I’m not sure which part of it works, maybe it’s the rather spectacular view of my cleavage that he’s currently partaking in, but he leans in and stage whispers in my ear.

“Supply closet. Down the blue corridor, third door on the left past the laundry room. Ten minutes.”

With that, he gets up and swaggers away, sneering at another victim, excuse me, patient, as he passes, not having bothered to wait for a reply. I try desperately to contain the wicked grin that threatens to break out across my face. It always seems to draw the attention of the staff to me. Ten minutes doesn’t give me much time and I can’t afford to bullshit my way out of a scrape now.

I rush to my room, once more lamenting the horribly unflattering, standard issue clothes and undergarments issued by the keepers, I mean staff, and the prohibition of cigarettes as I run a brush through my crazy hair, pop a mint in my mouth, and dab on a little of the perfume that my conservative dentist parents brought, which I had considered a silly luxury of no use to me in this internment camp, sorry, hospital, when they brought it. Guess I was wrong. Of course, I don’t think they’d appreciate a thank you card detailing how I’d used it in my nefarious plan of seduction of a fellow refugee, oops, patient.

I slip off my ugly, worn, grey Keds and my socks in favor of my shower sandals, easier to get off, you know, before I head out, doing my best to look like a harmless, nonchalant wanderer. I’m certainly not alone in the hallway, at any rate.

I make it to the blue corridor without any incident. But as I’m passing the laundry room, my goal in sight, a voice calls my name. I want to curse every deity I can think of at the sound of Harry’s voice. I can’t ignore him; he’ll just follow me, and I certainly can’t have that.

After promising to help him ‘brew a potion’ so that we can infiltrate the green group in disguise – what a riot! – I make my escape, walking backwards down the hall to make sure that the disturbed duo stay in the laundry room. One, two, three doors and I’m there. I press my ear against the cold metal and hear a faint mumbling. Cue wicked grin, my quarry awaits. With one final glance up and down the corridor I slip inside the dark closet and close the door behind me.

It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but when they do I am utterly undone by the sight. Drake hasn’t bothered to wait for me to begin, it seems. He’s completely naked and leaning against a bare section of wall, stroking his rather impressive cock as he watches me through hooded grey eyes. At this moment, I couldn’t be happier that he’s a narcissist; my mouth waters at the sight of his absolutely gorgeous body, toned to perfection. Taking his state of undress as my cue, I waste no time in pulling my nondescript, baggy shirt and pants from my body and leaving them in a heap on the floor with my sandals, followed by my plain undergarments.

His hot eyes hungrily devour my body making my skin prickle in awareness.

“You’re not bad looking, you know, underneath all that cloth. Except your hair; it’s awful.” I smirk at him. What an arse.

“Well thanks. You’re not so bad yourself except for your bloody mouth. Try and keep it shut while you’re fucking me, won’t you?”

His eyes narrow and he opens his great gob to reply, but before he can get anything out I shut him up by sticking my tongue in his mouth. Works like a charm. And then, oh sweet mother of mercy, he’s kissing me like no man has ever kissed me before. Maybe he has a bit of a basis for all that arrogance of his. His long fingers run trails of fire up and down my body as he touches me.

Suddenly, our positions are reversed and he has me pressed against the cool wall. But the temperature of the cinderblocks doesn’t matter, because I am aflame. He whispers against my neck as he suckles the skin above a spot where my pulse thuds below the surface. He demands that I tell him how much I want him, how hot he makes me, and I do so eagerly, because it’s nothing more than the truth. He circles my nipples with his thumbs, pressing a leg between my thighs making me moan at the contact. I can’t help myself, I begin rubbing against him and riding his thigh like there’s no tomorrow, his coarse leg hair causing the most delicious sensation as it drags against my clit.

I groan in disappointment when he pulls his leg back; but his fingers soon find their way into my dripping core. Unfortunately they don’t stay long either. It’s been so long, and I need a release so badly, I’m already at fever pitch and I grit my teeth against the impulse to cry in frustration. Thankfully, he doesn’t leave me wanting for long. One strong hand grips the back of my left thigh, pulling my leg up to circle his hip. My head is thrown back in ecstasy as he grinds himself against me intimately while fondling my breasts and kissing and sucking on the sensitive spots on my throat.

“Please, please…” I don’t care that I’ve been reduced to begging. I think I might literally implode if he doesn’t make me come soon.

In response he reaches around to grip my arse, lifting and encouraging me to wrap my other leg around his hips as he presses me into the wall.

“Guide me in.” He growls into my ear.

I waste no time in obliging, reaching down between us to take hold of his pulsing cock and directing it into my needy pussy. He sinks in with a mutual sigh of pleasure. I’m suddenly wondering just how sane this boy is, because I could probably be convinced to agree with him that he’s a sex god. He pummels me mercilessly with his thick erection, rhythmically thumping me into the wall as I writhe in ecstasy. I can feel the build up toward my climax coming quickly, that delicious weighty feeling low in my pelvis, and my fingers curl reflexively, digging into his shoulders.

Without warning, he spins away from the wall, gracefully lowering us to the floor and fluidly changes pace, slowing his strokes now that he’s already got me panting. Grinning manically at me, he presses his surprisingly soft lips to mine again coaxing that fire he’s started inside me into a slow, hot burn. His steady rhythm is driving me crazy – metaphorically, since I’m already literally crazy – and I’m whimpering with need. My legs are still wrapped around his hips, and I dig my heels into his firm arse trying to get him to speed up. He chuckles darkly at my attempt; he is much stronger than me and easily resists my insistence.

So, I tunnel my fingers into the hair at the back of his skull and tug him down to me instead. I attack his mouth, nipping at his lips and sucking on his tongue with fervor. This time my effort is rewarded with a shiver-inducing growl from the thrusting blond. Gradually, his tempo increases bringing me tantalizingly closer to my release. I am really hoping that there is no one in the hallway nearby, because I can’t hold back the loud moans issuing from my throat. I can tell from his low grunts and his ever more erratic movements that he’s close too. Finally, with a feral sound rumbling in the back of his throat, he bites down on my nipple and I shriek as my inner muscles clamp down on him as I crest the peak of my pleasure.

My mouth drops open and my eyes fall closed as the delicious waves of ecstasy roll through my body. My whole body twitches lazily as he continues pushing through my undulating muscles for several more thrusts before he goes rigid, his own release jetting from his body. He slumps down on top of me in weary satiation.

Fan-fucking-tastic. I feel incredible. For the first time in months I don’t feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. I want to just lay there in my boneless afterglow all afternoon. Unfortunately the sweaty narcissist on top of me ruins the moment with the need to hear his own voice.

“This doesn’t make you my girlfriend, you know.” I can’t help but roll my eyes and huff in irritation.

“Well, that’s a bloody relief. Otherwise I was going to have to feel bad about using you for sex.” He gives me a funny look for a moment before pushing himself off the floor and giving me a hand up. He gives me that oh, so sexy smirk again and re-offers me his hand.

“Fuck buddies, then?” There is no way I’m not taking that offer.

Cracking the door open after we’ve dressed I scope out the corridor. Luckily, no one’s about, so I give him a hasty wave and power-walk to the next hallway (since there’s no good excuse for why I’d be in the blue hall in the first place), only realizing as I’m rounding the last corner toward the common area and catching a glimpse of the clock in the nurses’ station that my group session is starting…now!

I slide into my seat just as Dr. Goode – her parents must have been hippies, who else would name their daughter Luna Love? – is doing her introductions. Casting me a suspicious glance she leans in and whispers conspiratorially.

“I see your cheeks are flushed, Hermione. I hope you haven’t been subject to…” she coughs delicately, her own cheeks tinged with pink, “the horizontal mamba.” She’s too embarrassed to do more than acquiesce to my quick head shake of denial. “Good, because it can be quite dangerous, you know.”

When she begins speaking to the group as a whole again, Harry leans over and whispers loudly in my ear.

“What’s she talking about? Is that some kind of mythical snake or something?” He shakes his head slowly with an indulgent look of melancholy amusement for the good doctor. “She’s a bit…touched in the head, isn’t she?”

I lose two points for laughing out loud while someone else is talking, but I don’t care. What a gem.

*

A/N: I hope the crazy, all over the place verb tenses didn’t bother you too much. I think they…kind of make sense, I hope. Cheers!
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Some Kind of Release