Privileges Chapter Ten

[dysonrules]

Sorry this is late today! *smooches*

Draco marched out to the stable angrily. Bloody Zabini. The bard had been a thorn in Draco's side for days, lurking around Harry's beside under the guise of helping him heal with soothing music. And gentle caresses. And whatever else he got up to whenever Draco left the room. Bastard.

The thought of Zabini tugging away Tensbury's blankets to look his fill of Harry's prone form made his fists clench in rage. He had little doubt Zabini had done so at the first opportunity. He had made his intentions more than clear regarding Sir Blackfell.

"I will have him, Draco," Zabini had said. "Mark my words. There are worse things than being the chosen consort of a noble lord. He has a fine castle, ample servants, an excellent plot of land and willing peasants to provide all the amenities. I believe I will stay."

"You are a fool," Draco had snarled. "He has no interest in you!"

Blaise had only smirked. "No? How long do you think it will take me to change that? I know what men like and I am not afraid to show it. Unlike you."

"What do you mean by that?"

Blaise had shrugged. "It's obvious you are attracted to him. And it's equally obvious you will do nothing about it. Therefore, I suggest you step aside and leave him to me."

Draco realized his footsteps had slowed as he relived the memory. He cursed and resumed his walk to the stables. Why did his life have to be so bloody complicated? First he was threatened with the priesthood, and then he had to pretend to be a squire, and then he was unjustly beaten, and then he discovered he had feelings for his damned pretender-knight master...

Muted giggling drew his attention the minute he stepped into the stable. The Weasley twins were perched on a crate with their heads together—never a comforting sight.

"What are you up to?" Draco asked warily.

One of them snickered. For the life of him, Draco still could not tell them apart. "We pulled a prank," the other admitted.

Draco nearly groaned. "I'm terrified to ask."

"Oh no, you'll like it!"

"It's that Zabini character. We know you two don't get along."

Draco's day suddenly looked quite a lot brighter. He sat down and listened to the wicked twins as they explained their latest plot.

~~O~~

Harry watched Zabini warily as he set the wine on his bedside table and uncorked the vial.

"Do you prefer this mixed with the wine, or would you rather drink it down?" Zabini asked blandly.

Harry took it and gulped the foul-tasting liquid all at once. He nearly gagged, but Zabini held out the goblet, likely anticipating Harry's reaction.

"I see your affection for your squire is growing," Zabini commented when Harry had finished drinking.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked carefully.

Zabini smiled. “It’s obvious to anyone with eyes. You two are smitten with one another. It’s almost a pity it can’t last.”

Harry’s hand clenched around the goblet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said lamely.

Zabini sank down on one corner of the bed. “Of course you do, Harry. It would be one thing if you were a true knight. But the fact is, you could be exposed any day as the wicked little charlatan you are.” As he spoke, he leaned close to Harry and tapped his chest with each of his final three words.

Harry’s heart clenched. “What do you mean?” he asked again, feeling stupidly out of his element.

Zabini’s dark fingers walked up Harry’s sternum to rest in the hollow of his throat. “I recognized you, Sir Blackfell. It took me some time to work it out, but I knew I had seen you before.”

Harry swallowed hard as dread crept over him.

Zabini went on, “I kept thinking I’d seen you at a tournament, which was true, but not in a knightly capacity. Finally it came to me when I saw you carrying a bucket of water across the courtyard. You should not have done that, by the way. Overlords do not carry water. You should have had your pretty squire do it.”

Zabini’s fingers stroked over Harry’s collarbone and his voice deepened. “Speaking of your pretty squire, I’m sure it would devastate him to learn of your duplicity. Tell me, what happened to your master, Harry?”

Harry felt smothered. “He died in a fall.”

“So you thought it would be a brilliant idea to assume his identity?”

“It seemed a viable option at the time.” Harry’s voice was rough and he fought to steady it. “What do you plan to do?”

“Well, that depends entirely on you, Harry.”

“What do you want?” Harry asked, feeling a rush of anger break through his cold stasis.

“I want many things. To start with, I want you, Harry.”

Blaise leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Harry resisted the urge to push him away, barely.

“And if I say no?”

Zabini shrugged. “Then I send a message to the king. I would hate to see you lose your lands and title out of stubbornness. You obviously made many difficult decisions to get where you are now. What difference can a few more make?”

He nibbled at Harry’s lips. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll protest for long. I’ll make it very good for you.”

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have told him what to do with his blackmail. The threat to expose him to King Lucius was very real, however, and Harry would likely lose more than simply his lands and title. Depending on the level of rage Draco felt regarding Harry’s lies, he would be lucky to escape with his life. Commoners did not dare to touch those of royal blood, and they especially did not dare to kiss them.

Zabini pulled back, probably wondering why Harry had not responded.

“I… I need to think about this,” Harry said. “I don’t feel well.”

Zabini smirked. He patted Harry’s cheek lightly with one hand. “All right, Harry. I’ll let you rest a while. And fear not; I would much rather have you as Lord of the Manor than not have you at all when they drag you off to the donjon. I hope you will feel the same.”

With that, Zabini rose and went out.

~~O~~

Draco returned to the Great Hall in remarkably good spirits. Planting an assortment of snakes in Blaise Zabini’s belongings had been cathartic. He also had new respect for the Weasley twins. Those two demons had been extraordinary when it came to hiding places. Draco particularly enjoyed the one slipped into Zabini’s wine skin.

He grinned wickedly as he imagined Zabini raising it to take a drink—and getting a mouthful of serpent.

His smile froze and then died as he stumbled to a halt, staring in disbelief at the sight that met his eyes.

Tensbury was up, looking pale and shaken, but seated in his usual place, holding a goblet in one hand. His expression was strange. He looked almost… defeated. The thought was barely a whisper across Draco’s mind before it was eradicated when Tensbury’s companion leaned toward and fairly cuddled against him.

Draco thought he saw Harry flinch. He could have sworn it, until the green eyes rose and locked with his. And then Tensbury draped an arm around Zabini’s shoulders and pulled him closer. The dark skinned man leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder with a satisfied smile.

Harry looked away from Draco and lifted his flagon to take a long, slow drink.

Draco felt like he’d been kicked. The air fairly fled his lungs and left him gasping. How could it be? Was Tensbury mad? What sort of bloody fickle bastard was he? Had Zabini climbed willingly into his bed the moment Draco’s back was turned?

Draco found himself shaking with rage. His fists were clenched so tightly he thought his bones might snap.

All day he had been wrestling with his conscience, agonizing over the fact that he’d fallen in love with a man, and not only a man, but a commoner! He had made himself observe Tensbury’s handiwork and found a remarkable pride in what Tensbury had accomplished. Hermione had been right—if nobility could be measured in deeds, then Tensbury was worth a dozen lesser knights.

And now this!

A hand on Draco’s arm startled him into a half-gasp and he turned to stare at Neville Longbottom, who quailed away as though expecting a blow.

“I’m sorry!” Neville cried. “You looked… Are you ill?”

Draco realized his features were twisted into a mask of fury and he forced them into a more normal expression. He took several deep, calming breaths.

“I believe I am,” he said. “Please inform Lord Tensbury that I am going to partake of some cleaner air. I will return shortly.” He tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice as he uttered the title and stressed the word cleaner, but he doubted Longbottom was wise enough to notice. Draco spun on a heel and fled.

~~O~~

Harry’s heart felt like a fistful of dust as he watched Draco leave the hall. He had half a mind to shove Zabini away from him, but he simply didn’t have the energy. His wound throbbed from his short trip down the steps, even though Ron and Zabini had assisted him.

He had rationalized that it was for the best. He and Draco were doomed, regardless. Draco would have to leave and go back to London, eventually. They were destined to part. Better to do it now, before it had begun. Harry had more than himself to think of, there was also the welfare of Ron, Hermione, and Neville to consider. Exposing himself meant exposing them, as well.

But Draco’s face. Lord, he had looked so betrayed and so… hurt. It had taken every iota of Harry’s willpower to meet his gaze and then casually raise his glass to gulp his wine. He wished it were poison.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Zabini said conversationally and toyed with Harry’s eating knife. He poked at the untouched meat on Harry’s plate and speared a slice. “You should eat, my lord. You’ll need your strength for later.”

Harry got to his feet, not caring that a protesting twinge shot through his side. Zabini nearly fell off the bench in surprise.

“I might have behaved dishonourably in the past,” Harry snarled at him, “But I never felt dishonourable. Until now.”

With that, he got up and stormed out of the hall. He needed to find Draco and explain. Better to die than let Draco believe himself betrayed.

Harry entered the courtyard just in time to see Draco gallop through the gates mounted on Kreacher, riding like demons were on his heels.

With an oath, Harry bolted for the stable, shouting for the Weasley twins.

~~O~~

Draco let the horse have his head, riding as fast as possible in the growing darkness. He knew he could not ride far at this pace without risking a broken limb on his horse, but he needed to get away as quickly as possible. If not, he might actually kill the pretender lord and his dark-skinned consort.

Draco slapped his hand against his thigh angrily, causing Kreacher to leap sideways, nearly unseating him. Draco barely noticed.

The bastard! Had Tensbury been toying with him all along? Was Draco simply another conquest?

Draco wished he could close off his thoughts and cling to the anger alone, but as the distance grew between him and Tensbury Keep, he found his rage dissipating. He slowed Kreacher to a walk and began to look for a place to spend the night. Bandits still lurked in outlying areas, waiting for the unwary. He had wisely grabbed a sword and dagger before leaving, but bandits seldom travelled alone.

He tried to orient himself and, thankfully, recalled a woodsman’s hut a mere hour’s ride farther on.

Draco spent a miserable night on a hard cot, tossing, turning, and brooding. How could he have been such a miserable judge of character? How could he have been so unutterably foolish? And how the hell was he supposed to return to his father and let him know he had failed?

Even worse, how could he regret losing Harry before he had even begun to know him?

In the morning, Draco woke, shivering and angry. Rage had returned with the dawn and he wanted nothing more than revenge on Tensbury. For everything. Why was he running? Tensbury was the one at fault. He was the bloody liar and charlatan and cock teasing bastard.

Besides, it was a long way back to London and he had stupidly brought no provisions. He decided to return to Tensbury Keep, give the false Sir Blackfell a piece of his mind, prepare more adequately for a journey, and return to his father. He would most likely be sent to some other lord as squire—hopefully someone more worthy.

So deciding, Draco ignored his growling stomach, saddled Kreacher, and headed back toward Tensbury Keep.

~~O~~

By the time Dobby was saddled, Draco was long gone. Harry ignored those who shouted at him to wait and take a proper escort—namely Ron and Neville—and bolted through the gates in the direction Draco had gone.

There was no sign of the blond, so Harry could only assume that he was headed for London and his father.

He rode long and hard, but finally realized the fruitlessness of trying to follow his quarry in the dark. He would have better luck in the morning when he could at least search for some sign of Draco’s passing.

His wound his had reopened and was beginning to soak through his bandage. He mentally thanked Molly for shoving a packet of food at him before he left. That and the sleeping pallet George had attached to his saddle made sleeping in the wilderness a more bearable prospect.

He rolled the woollen blankets out on the ground after locating a relatively soft patch of grass, and then nibbled on a hard piece of white cheese and some bread. It sated his hunger enough to lie down and try to rest. His wound plagued him, but he dared not check it in the dark without access to fresh water and the ability to change the dressing.

He sent up a prayer for Draco's safety, rolled himself in his blankets, and tried to sleep.