Privileges Chapter Nine

[dysonrules]

A bit late this morning - having issues. *stomps around shouting*

Harry swam back to consciousness, but everything seemed strange. He felt weak and almost… fuzzy.

“Draco?” he called and was surprised to find his voice a mere rasp. His mouth felt bone dry and his throat ached.

“Here, my lord,” Draco said and Harry felt a cool hand touch his forehead.

“My lord Tensbury!” another voice said. “We feared for your life! It’s good to have you back with us.”

A hand clasped his and Harry frowned, turning his head with effort and blinking at the smiling face of Blaise Zabini. Harry wondered what the bard was doing in his room. He looked back at Draco, who stood at the bedside.

“You developed a fever,” Draco said. “You have been unconscious for four days. Molly was nearly at her wit’s end.”

“Yes,” Blaise interrupted. “Poor, dear, Molly. She said to fetch her the moment Harry awakened. Perhaps you should do that, Draco?”

Harry’s gaze shot to Blaise, surprised at the use of his real name. It was true that Ron and Hermione still used it frequently, and he had even requested that Draco use it at one time… but coming from Zabini it sounded odd, too intimate, somehow.

“Of course,” Draco said tightly.

He spun and walked toward the door. Harry watched him, puzzled, until he noticed that Blaise had also closely observed Draco’s exit. The bard grinned at him and raised an eyebrow.

“He is delectable, isn’t he?” Zabini said. “I can’t really blame Davies for his interest, although his methods were far from subtle. It’s no wonder the poor boy fought him.”

Harry was too shocked to respond for a moment. Zabini frowned. “I’m terribly sorry; I did not think you were the type to be offended by such things. Admiration of both male and female beauty is far more permissible where I’m from.”

“I’m not offended,” Harry snapped. “I simply think Draco has been though quite enough. I should like to spare him any further mauling. Why are you here?”

Zabini smirked. “Oh, I hardly think is averse to my ‘mauling’. I am so much more gentle and persuasive than Sir Davies.”

Harry glared as the image of Draco and Zabini locked in an amorous embrace threatened to suffocate him. “Heed my words, Zabini. If you touch one hair on Draco’s head—or any other part of his body—I will have you castrated and shipped off to Morocco.” Harry was a bit shocked at the vehemence of his own words and a stunned silence filled the room.

Zabini gaped at him and then the door burst open to reveal Draco, who panted with exertion. He must have run all the way, for it took Molly another few minutes to hurry through the door after him.

“Sir Blackfell!” she cried happily. “Praise be!”

She bustled around and Harry fixed another measuring gaze on Zabini. The bard frowned, bowed his head, and departed.

Harry obediently took Molly’s medicines and drank the broth she offered, but his mind was on Zabini’s words. I hardly think he is averse to my mauling. What had Draco been doing while Harry had been unavailable? Had he made friends with Zabini? Had they become more than friends?

“How do you feel?” Draco asked solicitously.

“Fine,” Harry snapped.

Draco frowned.

“Lord Tensbury!” Molly cried in a chastising tone and then sniffed. "Far be it from me to rebuke you, my lord, but Draco has been at your side day and night."

"Never mind, Molly," Draco said quietly.

Harry relaxed minutely and allowed Molly to pull at his coverings to expose his bandaged side.

"Day and night. Really?" Harry asked speculatively.

Draco scowled at him and then looked at Molly. "Do you need anything?" he asked her.

"Yes, Draco, dear. Please have Ginny prepare a bowl of broth for Lord Tensbury. You may bring it back here with some of the bread I made this afternoon. And perhaps some wine?"

Draco nodded, shot one more glance at Harry, and went out. To Harry's disappointment, Draco did not return. Instead, Molly's daughter entered with the items and Harry did not see Draco again before exhaustion dragged him back to slumber.

When Harry awakened again, it was to the feel of cool hands on his torso. He opened his eyes to find the room almost fully dark, with Draco perched on the edge of the bed next to him.

Harry's heart gave a lurch, and then again when Draco smiled down at him.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” Draco said softly as he tugged away the bandage from Harry’s side.

“I think I’ve slept enough,” Harry admitted.

“Yes, you gave us a bit of a fright.” Draco gently peeled away the dressing and Harry winced when the dried bits held to his torn flesh, forcing Draco to yank quickly. “Sorry,” Draco continued. “That likely would have awakened you, at any rate.”

Harry nodded and watched as Draco’s long fingers bathed his wound, which looked pink and healthy, albeit still quite ugly and raw.

“At least Molly’s poultice is working. You would be up an about already, if not for the bloody fever.” Draco reached for a nearby earthenware jar and dipped his fingers in to coat them in a muddy-looking substance. He smeared it over Harry’s wound liberally.

Harry watched, fascinated, as Draco worked. When the salve was in place, he took a clean square of linen and pressed it to the wound before binding it tightly with several long strips of cloth. Harry tried not to flinch at the movements and breathed a sigh of relief when Draco finished.

Harry grinned. “You make a very fine nursemaid.”

“Piss off,” Draco retorted as he wiped his hands clean. His gaze shifted to Harry and he added, “My lord.” The amusement in his tone belied his words and Harry laughed.

“You are wickedly cheeky for a squire.”

“I’m certain you understand why that is,” Draco said and leaned forward to press a hand against Harry’s forehead. Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the unexpected gesture, and his heart skipped a beat when Draco smoothed a lock of hair back from his brow.

“The fever is gone, at any rate,” Draco said and Harry reached up to grasp his wrist before he could withdraw it. He impulsively pushed his cheek into Draco’s palm, closing his eyes at the warmth of it and feeling the slow thud of Draco’s pulse beneath his fingers.

Harry turned his head and pressed a kiss into the soft centre of Draco’s palm, knowing the action was foolish beyond reason, but unable to stop himself. Draco’s ministrations had affected him more than expected.

“I don’t feel that my fever has gone at all,” Harry said hoarsely and slid his lips down until they joined his fingers over Draco’s wrist. “Unless this is simply a different sort of fever.” He felt Draco’s pulse jump when he placed a kiss on his wrist and opened his lips to touch the spot with his tongue.

Draco gasped, but did not yank his arm away, as expected. Harry glanced at him through the corner of his eye and watched with fascination as the grey eyes widened in amazement. Harry kissed his wrist again, lingeringly this time.

Harry tugged gently, minutely urging Draco forward as he placed soft kisses over his arm, working his way to the soft flesh where Draco’s elbow curved, and pushing the sleeve of Draco’s tunic upward with his face.

He felt Draco shiver when his tongue lapped out and then Harry turned to look at him. Draco leaned half over him and his lips were close enough to kiss.

“Draco,” he said softly, allowing his voice to convey the depth of his need.

Their eyes locked for a timeless moment and then Draco moved of his own accord, pressing his lips to Harry’s.

Harry stopped breathing, partly in surprise, and partly because Draco’s mouth covered his completely—and there was nothing tentative about it. One moment they were apart and the next they were locked at the lips, kissing madly. Draco’s hands gripped Harry’s face tightly; suddenly he was the aggressor, kissing Harry as though starving for it.

Harry’s arms went tentatively around Draco’s back, not quite believing his own eyes, and lips, and hands. Draco was touching him and kissing him. He wondering if he were hallucinating and prayed it was more than a dream.

When it did not dissolve into mist, but rather moved on to a series of gentle nips and pants and near-growls at they devoured each other, Harry began to believe. His arms tightened and then released in order to slide beneath Draco’s tunic to caress the warm skin found there.

Draco moaned softly and broke their kiss.

“Draco. God, you never said anything,” Harry admonished.

“Me? You are the one wanking by the light of the bloody moon every night, driving me half-mad.”

“You were awake!”

“How can I sleep with you doing that and moaning like a village whore?”

“I was not!” Harry said indignantly. He paused and then asked, “Did you…?”

“Did I what?” Draco asked with a frown.

Harry chuckled and kissed him again, knowing the stubborn prince would never admit to pleasuring himself while watching Harry.

“Did you like it?” he asked instead, whispering the question huskily.

Pale lashes dropped over Harry’s eyes and he thought the blond might have blushed, although it was too dark to see. A single nod was answer enough.

Harry groaned, knowing he was utterly damned now. “I’ve been fighting this so hard. Ever since I kissed you, I’ve wanted to do so again and again.”

“Well,” Draco said pragmatically, “You can hardly be blamed. I am extraordinary.”

Harry laughed aloud and then yelped when the movement pulled his wound sharply. Draco sat back immediately and frowned.

“You need to rest,” he admonished. “Molly would chastise me harshly for disturbing you.”

Harry tightened his grip as Draco tried to leave the bed. “I like the way you disturb me.”

Draco grabbed Harry’s wrists and gently detached them from his waist. “I know you do. But you can’t do anything in your present state without risking the return of your fever.”

“I definitely have a fever now,” Harry murmured, clutching at Draco’s forearms and attempting to pull him back into a kiss.

Draco laughed and let himself be pulled, but only long enough to allow a few gentle kisses before disentangling himself from Harry’s clinging hands.

“Sleep, my lord,” Draco admonished and stepped away from the bed completely. Harry wanted to go after him, but a shard of pain accompanied his attempt to sit up, sending him back to the pillows with a wince. “You see? You are by no means ready for any sort of strenuous activity.”

“What sort of strenuous activity?” Harry purred, still unable to believe his good fortune, and yet he found doubt returning with each hand span of distance between him and Draco. He wanted the prince to return to bed, even if only to lie with him, except that he knew he would be hard-pressed to keep his hands off the man.

“We will discuss that when you are well,” Draco said with finality. “Now, go back to sleep. I need to let Molly know that I’ve changed your poultice, or else she will be up all night fretting. I shall return.”

Harry sighed and watched Draco walk toward the door. “Thank you, Draco,” he said softly and the blond gave him a gentle smile before departing.

~~O~~

Harry was asleep when Draco returned. He lay on his pallet for a long time, wondering at the insanity that had taken them both. He could scarcely believe that Tensbury had kissed his palm, his wrist, and his forearm, working upward in a tantalising caress. Draco had been lost long before their lips met.

He turned on his side to better study the sleeping lord. Draco had been worried. Tensbury had been pale as death for two days, wracked with fever and murmuring snatches of tortured dreams. Draco had bathed his face and neck worriedly, only leaving Tensbury’s side when absolutely necessary.

Draco fell asleep watching the steady rise and fall of Blackfell’s chest, reflecting wryly that the kissing had been brilliant.

Draco woke long before dawn and slipped out without disturbing Tensbury. He had grown accustomed to performing his duties early in order to return to Tensbury’s side. Molly was already waiting for him in the kitchen and she handed him a bowl of porridge with a welcoming smile.

He had nearly finished eating when she asked, “Draco, will you take this kettle out to Hermione on your way to the stable? That weak spot finally gave out and she’s promised to repair it for me.”

Draco nodded and mumbled around his last mouthful. He vowed to say nothing about the ridiculousness of a female smith unless the bushy-haired termagant antagonized him, which she most likely would.

Draco took the kettle and ambled out to the small overhang near the stable which sheltered the smithy and furnace. He heard voices and automatically slowed his steps. It was a natural reflex bestowed by his heritage. One never knew what useful secrets could be learned by a bit of judicious listening around corners.

As Draco neared, he heard Ron’s voice and groaned inwardly. He hoped they weren’t being revoltingly romantic. Tensbury seemed oblivious to the secret love affair the two carried on beneath his nose, but Draco had caught them in a heated embrace more than once, perhaps due to his habit of walking quietly. Not sneaking, he was simply naturally stealthy.

“Well, I’m just glad Harry is all right,” Hermione said. Draco stopped walking, deciding it was his duty to eavesdrop if they planned to discuss Tensbury. Or Harry, as they called him.

“Aye, it was a bit terrifying seeing him on his deathbed like that. What will happen to us if he dies?” Ron asked.

“Ronald! I can’t believe you would even think of that!”

“What? Doesn’t mean I care less about Harry, or wasn’t worried for him. Just means I have a care for us, as well. What if they investigated?”

Hermione sighed loudly. “Why would they investigate if Harry died, for the love of—?”

“I don’t know! But they wouldn’t keep us on here, that’s certain! We’re all bloody fakers… well, except you. I mean, you can smith anywhere, or anywhere that will accept a girl as a smith, that is.”

“Ronald,” she said in a warning tone and Draco smiled despite his curiosity. What did he mean by fakers? Draco heard a loud clang of metal on metal and then Hermione went on. “Besides, you’re doing an excellent job as Marshall and Harry… Well, look what he’s done. This run-down old keep is functional again. The raiders are being dealt with and the local brigands have been driven out. The people are healthy and he genuinely cares about them, including the villagers and the farmers. They all know it, too. I’ve never seen such loyalty.”

Ron muttered something that sounded like, “It’s easy to be loyal to one of your own.”

“Enough of that, Ron. Just because Harry lied about his noble birth does not make him any less of a man. Look at that wretched Davies! Noble blood.” Hermione scoffed. “A fine lineage doesn’t make him any less of an arse.”

Draco fairly reeled at her words. He put out a hand to brace himself against the wall. Lied about his noble birth? Tensbury had lied?

Draco straightened and schooled his features into his best placid mask before walking around the corner. Ron coughed nervously, but Hermione simply glanced at Draco and went on with her task of sorting horseshoes. Draco tossed the kettle to Ron and relayed Molly’s request before escaping. He had much to think about.

~~O~~

Harry was awake when Draco returned. He noticed immediately that the prince seemed subdued. Molly had brought Harry’s breakfast and he nibbled at his food while Draco seated himself at the desk and began to pore over his ledgers.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked. “Has something happened?

“I’m fine,” Draco replied tersely.

Harry felt a stab of anxiety. Did he regret what had happened the night before? He opened his mouth to ask, but a knock sounded on the door and he frowned instead. “Come in,” he called.

Seamus Finnegan, Harry’s bailiff, stood in the doorway, twisting his hat nervously. “Lord Tensbury,” he said. “Sorry to disturb ye, sir. Erm… Draco? Zacharias says ‘e ain’t going ter give Carter no boards as ‘e needs ‘em fer the roof o’ the coop, so Carter says ‘e plans to snatch the ruddy boards from somewhere an’ the men are takin’ wagers on ‘oo ‘its ‘oo first…”

Draco sighed and rubbed his temple. “Tell Zacharias to give Carter the damned boards because he needs to finish the wagon and take Luna to the village today. We’re expecting another lot of wood this afternoon and I’m certain Zacharias can find something to occupy his time until it gets here.”

Harry’s brows lifted in surprise as Finnegan looked at him for confirmation. He nodded, seeing nothing wrong with Draco’s pronouncement. Finnegan started to leave, but then turned back and asked, “Also, ‘ermione won’t make no new nails…”

Draco glared. “I had this discussion with Reggie, yesterday. Scavenge the nails from the old storage shed once the goods have been moved to the new one. Now that I’m thinking about it, Zacharias can scavenge the old boards from there to use on the coop.”

Once again, Finnegan looked to Harry for confirmation. Harry nodded and Finnegan departed after mumbling thanks. Harry shifted his gaze to Draco, who had gone back to the ledgers.

Harry said nothing, but watched carefully throughout the morning as people came and went, deferring to Harry, but asking questions and advice of Draco. The prince appeared to have taken over completely during Harry’s absence. Rather than annoying him, Harry felt strangely proud. Draco might pretend to be a squire, but he was innately a prince.

During that time, Draco said barely ten words to Harry, working in silence and scratching away with the quill, despite his many attempts to draw him into conversation. Finally, frustrated, Harry asked, “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

Draco sighed and set down the quill before pushing his chair back. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m just… out of sorts.”

“Out of sorts. It’s because of last night, isn’t it?”

Draco said nothing and Harry felt a moment of panic, even though he had known it was too good to be true.

“No,” Draco said finally and then added, “Yes. I don’t know. Look, I just need to sort out some things.”

Harry’s fists clenched in the blankets. “All right,” he said softly. Something in his tone must have caused Draco to turn and glare at him. Harry found himself babbling, trying to conjure excuses for his behaviour, willing to say anything to keep Draco from treating him like someone unworthy because of a stupid, impulsive kiss. “I’m sorry for last night; I know it was ridiculous and I’d love to blame it on the fever, or one of Molly’s concoctions or, hell, stark raving madness, if you will, but the truth is…” Harry’s voice broke and he looked away, down at his hands bunching the fabric together over his chest. “The truth is I would do it again.”

He lifted his eyes to Draco’s and jutted his chin stubbornly. To his surprise, a smile curved Draco’s lips. The blond left the chair and moved over to seat himself on the edge of Harry’s bed. “You are ludicrously bold, aren’t you?” Draco asked softly.

Harry snorted. “Some people call it impulsive stupidity.”

“Hermione?” Draco ventured.

Harry nodded with a wry smile.

Draco leaned forward and then reached out and cupped Harry’s cheek with one warm hand. Harry forgot to breathe as he leaned into Draco’s touch, hating himself for wanting it so badly, but unable to resist.

“I don’t find you stupid at all, Harry,” Draco said. He leaned forward even farther and Harry’s eyes slipped closed in anticipation of a kiss. His heart felt like it would pound free of his chest.

The door opened suddenly and Harry’s eyes snapped open as Draco’s head jerked round. Blaise Zabini stood in the doorway. His dark eyes appraised them and a smirk curled his lips even as Draco dropped his hand and moved away.

“Don’t mind me,” Zabini purred. “I just came to bring Lord Tensbury a potion and a flagon of wine. Molly's orders.”

Draco left the bed and then the room, snatching up his cloak in passing.

“I need to make certain the horses have been properly fed,” he snapped.

Zabini watched him go.