This is the Way I Break

Author's note--HERE IT IS!!!! The first chapter of the next installment of the "This is the Way I" series!!! For those who have been waiting, THANK YOU for your patience! For newbies, you might want to check out "Pray", "Dance", and "Fall" (in that order) but this can also be read as an independent story.

Okay, first let me say that this will probably be updated once a week...I'm still working on the later chapters, so I'm going to try really hard not to let my updates catch up to my writing.

So then you ask, why today? (if I'm not finished with the story, why am I publishing it today and starting it?)

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!! So Happy Birthday to me (lol) but I decided to give YOU guys a present, faithful readers, so I really, really hope you enjoy it!! (*cough* Roo *cough*)

The title of this chapter comes directly from the movie "A Knight's Tale", when Heath Ledger and his men are in the boat and they spot London. The song "The Boys Are Back in Town" starts playing, and I was hearing it in my head while I was writing this entire chapter. It picks up directly where Chapter 15 of "Fall" left off...

Harry and Draco (and Ron) have just saved the Muggle plane from crashing ("fall"ing...get it? haha) and they've just landed in London.

Also, there is some French in this chapter. I tried to explain it in the dialogue, but more explanation at the end of the chapter, so keep scrolling. Also, Roozette, your little surprise comes in Chapter 2 (for you to look forward to)!

EDIT: I FORGOT!!! I had one more surprise for you guys! But I remembered now, so here it is. One of my good friends is a great artist, and he consented to draw a couple of the scenes from the "This is the Way I" series. (YAY FOR VISUALS!!!) And he also joined AFF and posted links to them. His name is buffyboy, and here is the link to his page: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php?showtopic=5314&st=0&p=173405&#entry173405 Please check out the drawings he did for me and leave a comment (on his page)! (I don't ask for reviews for me...but I will ask you to review for him because he put a lot of time and effort into these!) Thanks!

http://heaven-28.deviantart.com/art/harry-and-draco-81432962 This is a link to his drawing of Harry and Draco dancing the tango from "This is the Way I Dance" (Chapters 5 and 6). Check out the junk in Harry's trunk! *giggle* Also, Draco's face is my fault. The description I gave to him was, "Think Draco in drag..." and so he was thinking "ugly man in women's clothing"...but as we all know, Draco couldn't be ugly if he tried.

http://heaven-28.deviantart.com/art/draco-and-his-quot-Magic-Wand-quot-82858249 This is a link to his black and white drawing of Draco using the dildo as a wand from "This is the Way I Fall" (Chapter 13). I think we'll all agree that Draco's face is much better here, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

http://heaven-28.deviantart.com/art/draco-and-harry-colored-84179534 This is a link to his colored drawing of Draco using the dildo as a wand from "This is the Way I Fall" (Chapter 13). I don't remember if I specified the colors of the shirts Harry and Draco were wearing in the chapter, so that's a little bit of artistic liberty there (with permission, of course!) SO GOOD!!!

Okay, enough yak! Enjoy the chapter (for my birthday)!

This is the Way I Break by Graballz

Chapter 1

The Boys are Back in Town

Draco Malfoy realized that he was holding his breath as he simultaneously paused next to his boyfriend, Harry Potter, just as they were about to step from the tunnel into Heathrow Airport in London, England. Nervous and a bit anxious about being back in town, the boys glanced at each other. Harry placed his hand at the small of Draco’s back for reassurance and support as he pushed open the glass door, allowing Draco to step through first, following Ron Weasley.

The blonde swallowed hard, shifting the backpack a bit as he walked into the airport, the familiar sounds and smells of his home country hitting him instantly. His brow furrowed as he watched several official-looking Muggles directing all of the passengers from their plane along a specific path, separate from the usual path to Customs.

“Please step this way, sir,” one of the officials said brusquely to Draco, and in the next second, his mouth had fallen open. “Harry Potter? THE Harry Potter?”

Both Harry and Draco tensed.

“How do you know who I am?” Harry asked in a surprised whisper, his eyes darting around to see if anyone else had heard.

“I’m a wizard, not a Muggle,” the man replied, his eyes flicking back to Draco. “And this is the ex-Death Eater you’ve been associating with, I assume?”

“This is my lover, Draco Malfoy,” Harry’s nostrils flared as Draco’s back went ramrod straight at the insult.

“Hero or not, it’s still not normal,” the man spat. “Though what you want with the likes of HIM—”

“Hold your tongue or lose it,” Harry interrupted, glaring ferociously as he grabbed the man’s collar. Several of the other officials who Harry and Draco realized were not Muggles at all but wizards in plainclothes yelled, hurrying over just as Draco jumped in between the other wizard and Harry, breaking the Gryffindor’s grip.

“He’s not worth it, love,” Draco hissed, pulling Harry away just as the others came to their co-worker’s defense. They followed the path that the other passengers had taken; Draco glanced back just before they rounded the corner to see the man huffily straightening his tie and jacket, muttering with the other officials, presumably informing them that Harry Potter was back in England.

They walked around the corner where Ron was waiting for them impatiently, and the redhead hustled them into a large room. The Muggle passengers, who all seemed weary and exhausted due to the stressful flight combined with the fact that it was ten o’clock at night, were being divided into groups by more official-looking people who Draco now assumed were from the Ministry, but Ron led them through the crowd towards a corner at the back of the room. He stopped short as soon as he caught sight of who was waiting for them in that particular corner: Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic Office (who Draco had had the misfortune of having to make small chitchat with at Ministry functions before his father’s name had been disgraced), a tall redhead with glasses who Draco surmised to be an older brother of Ron Weasley, another wizard, and…Arthur Weasley.

Draco’s throat tightened instinctively, and his heart leapt as he glared at the redheaded man. Arthur, however, had caught sight of his son and looked rather surprised. Ron shook hands with his father and then turned to his brother while Arthur glanced past his youngest son, and his blue eyes widened considerably. Draco prepared himself for a confrontation, setting his jaw and steeling his nerves, but Arthur brushed right past him.

“Harry, m’boy!” Arthur cried jovially, opening his arms and enfolding Harry in a hug before Harry (or Draco) could protest. Draco spun around, open-mouthed at being ignored, and they communicated wordlessly for a few seconds while Harry watched him over Arthur’s shoulder, shrugging a little and tilting his head a bit as if to indicate that he had no idea what was going on either.

“Arthur,” Harry replied neutrally, giving a polite smile as the man pulled back, his hands still on Harry’s shoulders as he perused his former nearly-adopted son at arm’s length. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same question,” he said. “But first, how have you been?”

“We’ve been fine,” Harry lifted his chin, indicating Draco as well. “No one has tried to hex us since we started over.” Arthur’s cheeks grew pink, knowing that Harry was referring to Ginny and how he had originally sided with his daughter before taking her wand temporarily after Harry had begged him for the umpteenth time. It was only because Arthur was present and horrified to hear his ‘little girl’ cast the Cruciatus Curse at the blonde Slytherin that he finally realized that she was out of control. Though she had meant it with all her heart, luckily Harry had countered it quickly before it landed.

“Ah, well, Harry, you should know that I never wanted you to leave in the first place,” Arthur looked faintly ashamed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that before you up and left, but things have changed quite a bit since you were here last.”

“Ron told us about Molly,” Harry said quietly, his face sad. “Arthur, I’m so sorry.” The two Gryffindors hugged once again, and Draco could read the forgiveness that Harry had offered to the patriarch of his former surrogate family for not intervening as plain as day.

“Thank you, Harry,” Arthur suddenly sounded several hundred years older. “We’re glad you could make it. You as well, Draco.” Arthur unexpectedly turned to the blonde, who jumped out of his skin but made no move to shake the hand that Arthur extended. “You are both welcome to stay at the Burrow, of course. Ginny is no longer an issue.”

“Thanks, Arthur,” Harry hastily stepped over to Draco’s side and fumbled for his boyfriend’s hand, taking Arthur’s in his other and squeezing it briefly before letting go to cover Draco’s refusal. “But it’s rather late as it is, and it’ll only be later by the time we get out of here. I think we’ll find other accommodations. Grimmauld, perhaps.”

“Ah, that might be a bit of a problem,” Percy spoke up from behind his father.

“Why?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“You entrusted it to the Order of the Phoenix when you left, you see,” Percy nudged his glasses up farther on his nose. “And because the was is over, the Order is no more, really, and since Minister Shacklebolt was one of the more influential members of the Order, he assumed control of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix and merged it into the Ministry.”

“So you’re telling me that the Ministry owns my house now?” Harry repeated doubtfully, questioning whether it had really been a good idea to return.

“Essentially, yes,” Percy bobbed his head, apparently relieved that Harry didn’t seem angrier.

“So what have they done with it?” Harry let some of his frustration out, causing Percy’s smile to disappear. “Is it completely uninhabitable?”

“It’s been turned into a sort of…museum,” Percy said. “Dedicated to educating visitors about the dangers of pureblood superiority as well as a bit of history about the war against evil. Besides, it’s only open during the day; it’s closed now.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry nodded, running his free hand through his hair. “Well, we’ll figure something out.”

“Please consider returning to the Burrow, Harry,” Arthur said again quietly.

“Considered and again refused with thanks,” Harry replied, squeezing Draco’s hand again.

“But why, Harry?” Arthur’s eyes flicked to Draco, as if he suspected the blonde of motivating Harry’s refusal.

“We have our reasons,” Harry said vaguely. He could feel the animosity building in his boyfriend and knew that they should make a hasty retreat now. “I’ll be in touch to let you know where we are. Take care.”

Ron had been speaking quietly to Mafalda Hopkirk, explaining the situation on the plane and how Harry and Draco had worked with him to get the Muggle passengers to safety. The two of them walked over to Arthur while Percy faded into the background again, supervising.

“Harry, wait,” Arthur said, holding up his hand to stop the black haired Gryffindor from leaving. Harry turned back with a frown. “I was so happy about seeing you that I plum forgot to ask; what happened on the plane? We were registering sporadic bursts of magic over the ocean, and we knew it had to be a wizard or several on a Muggle plane.”

“The plane was going down, Dad,” Ron jumped in. “Harry, Malfoy, and I stopped it. I don’t think any of the Muggles saw us doing magic, so there shouldn’t be too much backlash. I mean, they felt the effects of our spells, but they didn’t see or hear us casting them. We were careful.”

“That’s right,” Harry affirmed Ron’s story, and Arthur, satisfied, let them go, turning to attend to his people and make sure that they knew this last bit of information.

“Talk to you later, mate,” Ron said to Harry in a low voice. “Hermione and I have our own flat. It’s called Teaspoon Tower. But luckily, my emotional range has gotten larger!” The redhead smirked, and Harry couldn’t help laughing at the reference. Draco looked at them curiously, but Harry had already bid Ron goodbye and was herding the Slytherin towards Immigration.

“In fifth year, Hermione tried to explain to Ron and me how Cho was feeling and why she cried after we kissed under the mistletoe,” Draco wrinkled his nose. “And Ron said something that was apparently insensitive because Hermione said he had the ‘emotional range of a teaspoon’.”

“Clever girl,” Draco mused. They had their British passports ready, so getting through the border patrol even that late at night was not a problem, and they made their way down to baggage. Harry took the American notes they brought with them and went to the exchange counter. The tired-looking witch behind the glass barely noticed who he was, giving him half of the amount in pounds and the other half in Galleons, as Harry requested.

They sat and debated where to go while they waited on their suitcases (Draco went and bought a cheap visitor’s guidebook from the all-night airport gift shop that gave the locations of both wizarding and Muggle accommodations), and once they had gone through Customs, they took the Underground to Knightsbridge.

London in March wasn’t exactly cold during the day, but the temperature dropped at night, and they were glad they had brought jackets. Draco had fished their scarves out of his bag while they were on the Tube, and the wind blew at their fronts as they trekked towards the discreet wizarding hotel situated in this section of Muggle London. They each pulled a rolling suitcase, and it was Draco’s turn to wear the backpack.

“You know, Mother would never admit it, but she was rather fascinated when she heard about this store,” Draco said conversationally as they walked down the sidewalk. He indicated the building on their left, Harrod’s department store.

“Is it a store or a suburb of London?” Harry joked, admiring the many display windows along the street front that were lit, even though the store was closed.

“Both, I reckon,” Draco replied. “It’s an entire block long, after all.” Harry let out a low whistle in response. He didn’t dare say much more, especially since the subject of Draco’s mum was rather touchy, but Harry hoped it was a good sign that his boyfriend had brought her up first in a lighthearted, conversational way.

“So did she ever shop here?” He asked tentatively, sneaking a sideways glance at the blonde. Draco smiled, shaking his head.

“No,” he readjusted the shoulder straps on the backpack. “It’s,” his voice dropped low, even though they were the only ones out and about, “Muggle, after all. She was just fascinated, that’s all. Shopping was probably one of her favorite hobbies, after ‘attending snooty, do-nothing social functions’ of course.”

Harry laughed at the way Draco stuck his nose in the air, doing a spot-on impression of his mother with the exact expression she had been wearing when Harry first met her: as if she smelled something foul.

“You mean, her favorite hobbies AFTER sending you presents and letters almost every day?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the Gryffindor cringed, wondering if he’d made an error, reminding Draco of his mother’s love for him. He held his breath, waiting for a response.

Draco was silent for a moment, contemplating. He gave himself a mental shake, sternly ordering himself to keep the conversation light, though a bit heavier sadness had stolen over his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly, accidentally bumping into Draco as he tried to walk a little bit closer, reaching for the blonde’s hand. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s okay,” Draco sighed, pausing for a brief instant at the intersection and then tugged Harry to the left, catching the Gryffindor off-balance. “Oops. Sorry.”

“I deserved that,” Harry gave him a small, roguish grin, and in spite of himself, Draco’s lips turned up. The blonde pulled the accommodations guide out of his pocket, double checking the number of the hotel.

“It’s this one,” he said, stopping in front of one of the many lookalike houses on the street a block away from Harrod’s. Harry was confused for a split second before he realized that some of the narrow, three-story houses were, in fact, houses, but others—like the one they were looking at—used to be houses that had been converted into hotels.

“Lee in-taller-ee?” Harry asked as they walked up the steps. Draco’s grin was heartfelt, shaking his head as they pushed open the door. The small sign in the window proclaimed that the front door was not locked until midnight.

“L’Intolére,” Draco corrected. “It’s pronounced in a French way, though it’s not exactly a French word. You should know that from your Spanish class,” he chided gently as they approached the front desk in a cozy lobby that could have easily doubled as a sweet, elderly grandmother’s parlor.

“What’s it mean?” Harry asked.

“It’s from the French word intolérant or intolerable, which mean, surprisingly, ‘intolerant’ or ‘intolerable’,” Draco explained, switching from a flawless French accent back to his British one almost without thinking. The blonde had learned the ‘language of love’ from an early age as part of a well-rounded, pureblood upbringing, but several years of disuse (plus added stress of the Dark Lord and all) had rendered him less than fluent. Harry still envied his ability to sound native, and Draco’s vocabulary, grammar, and fluency were returning due to his French class at college.

“Bonjour, messieurs. Bienvenue a L’Intolére,” the night clerk suddenly appeared in front of them, busily sorting several papers into their proper stacks as he spoke. “How may I asseest you—Putain!” The native French wizard finally looked up and swore accidentally upon seeing who stood before him.

“Oui? Y a-t-il un problème?” Draco asked, frowning. The clerk’s eyes narrowed as his gaze switched to the blonde. Harry suddenly got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“C’est Harry Potter,” the wizard replied with a sneer towards the black-haired boy. “Et toi, tu es ce Mangemort!”

Draco’s nostrils flared at being called ‘that Death Eater’. Harry looked back and forth between the two as if it was a tennis match, touching Draco’s arm uneasily. He thought he heard his name, and Draco’s reaction wasn’t good.

“We’d like a room, please,” Harry broke in, hoping that if they could just get behind closed doors, things might calm down.

“Je regrette,” the man replied, not sounding sorry at all. “We are full tonight. Pour ta sorte,” he added under his breath.

“Quelle sorte?” Draco asked angrily, though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what ‘sort’ to which the man was referring.

“Les pédé!” The man exclaimed, horrified, and Draco balled his hands into fists. Harry’s eyes went wide.

“Vous n’avez pas le droit,” the blonde spat furiously, turning on his heel and stomping out. Harry glowered at the desk clerk and then followed his lover.

Draco was halfway down the block before he acknowledged the tapping on his arm. He stopped so suddenly, executing a perfect half-turn to face Harry, that the Gryffindor went an extra step and halted, having to backtrack.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked in concern, reaching out to Draco. The blonde jerked away, still agitated, but then Draco moved closer so that Harry could rub his hand over Draco’s arm.

“He refused to rent us a room because of who we are,” Draco said, glancing up, down, and side to side, anywhere but the boy standing in front of him, comforting him. Harry slowly placed his palm against Draco’s flushed cheek and made the blonde look at him.

“Because I’m Harry Potter and you’re Draco Malfoy?” He asked deliberately.

“Because you’re Harry Potter; I’m ‘that Death Eater’; and we’re gay,” Draco replied bitterly, and Harry’s mouth tightened in anger, though not at Draco.

“I wondered,” he said, understanding Draco’s outrage. “Well, it WAS named ‘The Intolerant’, was it not?”

“Aye,” Draco replied softly, accepting Harry’s quick embrace. “I guess that’ll teach us.”

“No, love,” Harry kissed Draco’s forehead, hoping to make him feel better. “That’s HIS problem, not ours. We didn’t want to stay in that dump of a hotel anyway. Where to now?”

“I don’t know,” Draco moaned, pulling out the accommodations guide. “I hate this.”

“Here, baby, let me,” Harry gently took the book from his boyfriend, keeping his arm around the blonde as they walked to the street corner and stood under the lamp for light. Harry located the hotel on the map, looking for something close by.

They ended up having to get back on the Underground, which was rather dodgy at night. Draco followed Harry obediently, refraining from making a stinging comment when the Gryffindor took a wrong turn. They eventually ended up at another wizarding hotel, where they were refused service as well, though that time, Harry argued with the girl in English, to no avail.

They tried a Muggle establishment next, but apparently they were in the ‘wrong’ part of London because the fat old proprietor rudely informed them that Old Compton Street was on the OTHER side of the city and threatened to call the bobbies if they didn’t leave immediately, even though they weren’t causing trouble. At that point, Harry was quite glad that Draco didn’t have access to a wand because the blonde looked ready to curse someone with a Dark and nasty spell.

It was after midnight by the time they finally found space at a Muggle hostel. The night desk person gave them each a flat, worn pillow and pilly blanket, explaining that they were in the male dormitory. They could only spend the one night, which Harry assured the man would be fine since they only needed a place to sleep for that night.

The television was on but the volume was turned down. A movie was playing, and there were a couple of people lying on various couches or chairs in the ‘living room’. On the way to the dormitory, the night manager pointed out the kitchen and toilets, citing the rules in a bored voice. They trekked through the courtyard, which was a concrete slab with several picnic tables. A crowd of young Muggles about their age were gathered, loudly talking and singing, passing around bottles of alcohol.

The night manager frowned and yelled at them to keep it down after the group greeted the two strangers with not-quite-sober but quite friendly yells of salutations. Taken slightly aback, Harry smiled and nodded, raising his hand in a small wave, while Draco merely stared at them before following Harry.

“Here is your room,” the night manager said, opening the door. The room was dark, and the sounds of other men snoring could be heard. “There are several empty beds, so take your pick. You must be checked out by noon, and if you decide to go to the courtyard, for god’s sakes, keep it down!”

With that, the manager turned and walked out the door, leaving the two boys to exchange glances. His nose wrinkling in distaste, Draco located two available beds in a far corner. There were ten sets of bunk beds, and there weren’t any side-by-side bottoms that were free. The blonde glanced around, making sure that all of the Muggles were asleep, and he waved his hand, wandlessly levitating his bag onto the top bunk.

“But love, where am I going to sleep?” Harry whispered, brow furrowing.

“There,” Draco pointed, groaning when he realized that he had to climb the metal bars to reach his luggage in order to get his pajamas out. The bed squeaked loudly; Draco froze, but nothing happened. None of the Muggles appeared to have even noticed, since they were asleep.

“So…where are you sleeping?” Tiredness was beginning to envelop Harry’s brain like a fog.

“There,” Draco pointed to the same spot. “Harry, after a night like tonight, did you honestly think I was going to sleep BY MYSELF?”

“Guess not,” the Gryffindor opened his bag and found his own pajamas. They changed quickly, heading to the loo together to take care of business before bed. On the way back, the Muggles tried to engage them in conversation and get them to stay a while, but Harry smiled and apologized while Draco once again ignored them, dragging Harry back to their room.

Harry put his bag and the backpack on the top bunk with Draco’s while the Slytherin made their bed. The metal shrieked and squealed in protest as both boys lay down, sighing contentedly as they wrapped their arms around each other. Draco snuggled his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, kissing him softly and barely feeling his lover’s lips brush the top of his head before they were both out.

**********

Author's note--Well? Satisfactory? Good enough to be part of the series? LOL Alright, so a word on the French in the chapter. I have several French dictionaries and "French for Dummies" books and such, which is where I got a lot of the wording. Also, some of the English words are spelled wrong on purpose because the clerk speaks with a French accent. Just like JKR phonetically wrote Fleur's accent, I tried to incorporate the clerk's pronunciation as well. Here it is, word for word translated:

L’Intolére The Intolerant (name of the hotel)
intolérant/intolerable intolerant/intolerable
“Bonjour, messieurs. Bienvenue a L’Intolére. How may I asseest you—Putain!” Good evening, gentlemen (or "Hello, gentlemen"). Welcome to (the hotel). How may I assist you--Fuck! (He looked up and saw who it was, which made him swear.)
“Oui? Y a-t-il un problème?” Yes? Is there a problem? (I hear Draco with a disapproving/slightly snotty tone)
“C’est Harry Potter. Et toi, tu es ce Mangemort!” That is Harry Potter. And you, you're that Death Eater! (I very specifically wanted "that" Death Eater because everyone in Britain knows Harry's name, and after Harry and Draco came out--and were crucified for it--people don't necessarily remember Draco's name...just that he was "that Death Eater" who turned Harry Potter gay or whatever.
“Je regrette. We are full tonight. Pour ta sorte.” I'm sorry. We are full tonight. For your sort. (The last part is derogatory, under his breath and meant to be insulting)
“Quelle sorte?” What sort? (Draco has an inkling; he just wants to see if the man will say it)
“Les pédé!” Gays! (This is meant to be extremely condescending and insulting and derogatory. According to online French insults, this is slang, and I hope I'm using it correctly in a France-French context as opposed to a Canadian-French one.)
“Vous n’avez pas le droit.” You don't have the right [to insult us] (Draco is really furious at the blatant discrimination, and because he's SO furious, he doesn't have a good insult/comeback ready. He's so disgusted that they came back that he just wants to get out of there, so he responds, but it's not an insult, and then he and Harry leave.)

If any French people have any suggestions, I'm totally open. I hope my explanation makes sense and everything as to why things were worded the way they were, and the only thing I'm not completely confident about was the French derogatory slang for gay people. I wanted something short and to-the-point and VERY insulting...

And last comment, I've stayed in hostels in Europe before. My most recent experience was one in New Orleans, Louisiana, so I'm drawing on that for the inspiration for this particular portion, even though I have stayed at hostels in Europe before as well.

Okay, thank you for reading! *hugs* I hope you liked! Review if you want, and tune in in a few days (or next week) for the next chapter!