Privileges Chapter Five

[dysonrules]

Whoopsie. Thanks to faithwood for the poke - I nearly forgot to post this. HAHAHAHA! *needs a brain transplant today*

Harry sighed when Draco departed. He was reluctantly impressed with the blond. The prince had weathered the storm far better than he had expected.

The anticipated angry tantrum had not materialized, nor had demands to return home, nor even a storm of letter-writing. Harry could only assume Draco was weighing his options and possibly plotting revenge.

Harry spent the next thirty minutes going over figures—a task he despised. Numbers were not his forte, but he felt it was his duty. He knew Hermione would have to review them later and correct his errors.

The door opened and Draco appeared with a tray. He placed it on the edge of the bed and straightened. “Your breakfast, my lord.”

“Thank you, Draco.”

“The horses have been tended. What would you like me to do now, my lord?” There was barely an edge of sarcasm in Draco’s voice.

“Eat with me?” Harry asked, although he suspected the blond would rather choke than sit through a silent meal with him.

“I ate in the kitchen,” Draco snapped.

Harry suppressed a smile. “Very well. You can polish my armour. Drop the chain mail off with Hermione, first. There are some broken links she needs to repair. I nicked the blade of my sword yesterday, so take that as well. She gets annoyed when I don’t keep an edge on it.”

“Hermione?” Draco asked in puzzlement.

“Did I not introduce you? She is the woman with…” Harry made a motion around his head to indicate Hermione’s mass of brown hair.

“A woman. Your smith is a woman.” Draco’s voice was both disbelieving and amused.

Harry’s lips thinned. “She is a very good smith. I’ll not hear a single word against her, either, is that clear?”

Draco’s grey eyes flashed. “Perfectly, my lord.”

Harry tried to shove his irritation aside. What was it about the prince that always set his blood to boiling?

Without another word, Draco picked up Harry’s armour from where Harry had tossed it the previous day. Harry saw a grimace cross his features, quickly masked. Draco’s welts had not looked horrible, but they were doubtless painful with movement.

The blond took his burden and left.

Draco was a model squire for the next three days, which Harry found disturbing in more ways than he would admit. He rose before dawn, saw to the horses, obtained Harry’s breakfast, and even fetched water for Molly without being asked.

Each day he returned in time to help Harry dress, a process that caused Harry an increasing amount of distress. He decided he had been without a woman for far too long, since the sight of Draco’s face, intent with concentration and a tantalising hint of tongue poking between the corner of his lips, made the blood rush to Harry’s groin.

The worst was when Draco dropped to his knees to lace Harry’s braies each morning. Harry had taken to wanking furiously the moment Draco departed the room in order not to embarrass himself during the dressing procedure.

The rare occasions when Draco lifted his eyes and caught Harry staring at him—well, he hoped the blond did not suspect his growing attraction. It was madness.

Self-recrimination did nothing to alleviate Harry’s desire to touch Draco’s silken blond hair and… what? What did he want?

Harry groaned. He had continued to rub salve on Draco’s healing wounds each day, drawing out the process as long as possible merely to prolong the feel of his hands on Draco’s pale skin. He wanted to touch more.

Draco’s behaviour, however, was alarming. He did not argue, he treated others politely, and he no longer made snide comments. Harry found himself missing the fiery prince in the company of his now-sedate squire.

Sir Davies was no longer a problem. Harry had sent him and most of his men to patrol the borders of the demesne, a process that should keep them away for several days.

In desperation, Harry took Draco out for a ride, ostensibly to resolve a dispute between two peasants over farming rights to a particular plot of ground. Harry listened to both sides and looked hopefully to Draco for assistance, but his silent squire merely shrugged and went to examine Kreacher’s hooves for stray stones.

Harry settled the incident as best he could and mounted Dobby for the ride back to the castle, holding his annoyance in check. He could hardly chastise Draco for behaving the way Harry had demanded. Hating the silence, Harry stopped in a small clearing part way back to the castle and dismounted to stretch the kinks out of his back.

The horses began to crop grass. Draco walked a short distance away, ignoring Harry as he did whenever possible. Harry watched as Draco lifted his arms to the sky. The movement pulled his clothing tight and caused it to cling to certain curves, nearly taking Harry’s breath away.

Harry walked to his saddle and withdrew his sword from the sheath with a sound that made Draco turn curiously.

“En garde!” Harry yelled, striking a pose and brandishing his blade toward Draco, who rolled his eyes.

“Surely, you jest.”

“Of course not. It is my duty as your master to see that you are adequately trained in all forms of combat.”

“You seek to train me?” Draco asked with a hint of his old sneer.

Harry sneered back. “You seem overconfident, Highness.”

“With reason, my lord,” he replied and strode to Kreacher to remove his sword. He turned to Harry with a glare.

Harry grinned and took the offensive. Draco countered his first blow easily and returned an impressive manoeuvre that made Harry dance back in order to avoid a severed arm. He made a mental note that Draco obviously did not intend to hold back.

They were more evenly matched than Harry had expected. After several long minutes, Harry’s arms began to ache and he panted with exertion. Draco’s confident smirk had become a grimace of concentration and sweat trickled from his brow.

Harry circled him warily, ready for the next attack. His thigh stung where Draco had scored a blow, drawing blood and slowing Harry’s steps.

With obvious effort, Draco leaped forward, sword flaming as it moved with lightning swiftness. Harry blocked one blow, then another, then a third, and finally stepped close enough to grapple the blond.

Their swords crossed between them, held tensely as each waited for the other to break. Unless they timed it properly, one of them would end this battle with blood on their blades.

Draco’s grey eyes glared into Harry’s. Their faces were inches apart and their panting breath mingled. Harry’s muscles trembled with effort.

“A lesson for you,” Harry said through clenched teeth.

“What?” Draco gritted.

“Your enemies will seldom play fair,” Harry said and kissed him. Draco’s lips were soft and wet, parted with exertion, and Harry tasted them fully, swiping his tongue across Draco’s lower lip and sucking gently. The blond was frozen for several heart-stopping moments and then he leaped away with a cry.

Harry did not press his advantage; he watched with a forced smile as Draco nearly fell on his arse. His grey eyes were wide. Harry laughed without mirth.

“I claim victory this round. Let us press on. I want to get back before dark.”

Draco said nothing as he mounted Kreacher. They rode in silence until Harry could take it no longer.

“You’re very good with a blade, Draco. The best I’ve seen.”

~~ O ~~

Draco’s eyes shifted to Blackfell’s honest face and then away. Tensbury had kissed him. Kissed him! Draco’s thoughts were awhirl, no matter how he tried to rationalize that it had been nothing but a silly trick on Tensbury’s part.

And yet, why such a kiss? A simple peck of lips to lips would have sufficed. Why kiss Draco as if he meant it? Why a… a… a lover’s kiss?

He realized Tensbury had spoken and tried to focus on the man’s words. The knight had complimented Draco’s skill. Draco located his ability to speak and strove for nonchalance.

“I have two older brothers,” Draco explained. He was pleased when his voice sounded normal to his own ears. “I had to learn or die.”

Tensbury smiled. “I never had siblings, unless they were born after I left home.”

“Where is home?” Draco asked, curious despite himself.

Tensbury shrugged and waved an arm vaguely to encompass the countryside. “Here, now.”

“And before?”

Tensbury frowned and then shook his head, but not before Draco caught a glimpse of ineffable sadness. “It doesn’t matter. What about you? Where do you call home?”

Draco shrugged. “London, I suppose.”

Tensbury nodded. “This is a far cry from the city. You must miss it.”

“It’s not that bad,” Draco admitted and then put heels to Kreacher. “How are your skills on horseback, Sir Blackfell? Try and keep up!”

He heard Tensbury laugh again and then they were racing pell-mell toward Tensbury Keep, urging their mounts faster. For the first time since the battle with the reavers, Draco felt like a comrade instead of an interloper.

Draco served the meal to Tensbury and his friends. He certainly could not call them servants, as they sat at the table with the knight and spoke of things long past with casual familiarity. Draco was almost surprised when Blackfell insisted he join them, but he did so quickly enough. He was famished after the day’s exertions. The talk, thankfully, did not return to reminiscing between Tensbury and his three companions, but instead turned to discussion of the raids.

“We should set a trap for them,” the woman proposed.

To Draco’s surprise, Ron scoffed at the idea. “Where, Hermione? We never know where they are going to strike. They have the whole of the river to make landfall.”

“They go where it is most profitable for them,” she insisted. “Have you not noticed?”

The ginger grumbled and the woman rolled her eyes.

“Go on, Hermione,” Tensbury said quietly.

“I’ve made a chart,” she explained. “Shall I fetch it?”

At that, Ron erupted into peals of laughter. Draco wasn’t certain what he found so hilarious in a simple statement, but it earned him several fists to the arm from the irritated female. Tensbury merely smiled at their antics.

“Do,” the knight said. “If we could set a trap, ‘twould be simpler than rushing out to meet them after the fact.”

Hermione fetched a number of scrolls and spread them out upon the table before explaining her observations by poking at her inked scratchings with a sharp knife. Draco noticed Ron made no scoffing noises while she held naked steel in her fist. He studied the figures with Tensbury and had to admit her findings made sense. She had included a sketched map and Draco pointed to it.

“What is the terrain like in these locations?”

Tensbury answered immediately and Draco was impressed that not only had the man ridden his lands thoroughly, but apparently remembered every detail of it. His respect for the knight went up another notch, even though he would never admit it.

He made several suggestions about posting sentries in certain strategic locations. Tensbury nodded and leaned close to him to study the map. Draco tried to ignore the heat of Tensbury’s shoulder as it pressed against his.

“So we can post sentries, but how will they get word to us quickly? How are we to alert the garrison?”

After nearly an hour of discussion and argument, it was decided that they would equip the sentries with flags after erecting poles in places where the banners would be visible from a distance. Hermione spent some time scribbling on the map while Tensbury and Ron tried to remember the high points of the land. Draco knew there would be much riding and activity in the next few days while they set up the new system.

He could not contribute much to the discussion at that point, especially after the three of them began to argue about trivialities, such as whether or not the northern knoll near Dennet’s Well was higher or lower than the knoll near the old Roman wall remnant. After catching him yawning for the third time, Tensbury sent Draco to bed.