Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Freedom Bound in Chains	By : TaintedSensibly Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 58477 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Harry Potter characters. I did not make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 106
- 107
- 108
Choosing Love
In a dark, dirty warehouse, two figures slowly circled each other. One was small and fast, but the taller moved with such control and strength there was no question to who would win the fight. Sure enough, the woman with long dark hair slashed a whip forward. The young boy dodged, but it was right in the path of the woman’s kick. The blow landed on his stomach and sent him flying backward.
Draco lay gasping, trying to get his diaphragm working again. He stared up at the wooden beams two stories above him. Bright sunlight broke through in a few places, casting dusty sunbeams to the floor. It was why this place was empty. The leaking got so bad that the goods stored here got damaged.
“You missed another opening.” Drey’s booted feet came to stand a few inches from his side. She looked down at him with a predatory look. “You have to overcome those instincts of yours.”
Draco’s wheezing eased as he was able to finally take in one full breath. “I’m trying,” he protested, glaring.
“You only attack when you see a kill shot. Yes, that’s worked out for you in the past, but not every time. Kill shots are risky, with a low chance of actually working. Often times it’s more strategic to flee or harry your opponent, get them exhausted or careless, and then strike for the kill.”
“I know,” Draco growled, sitting up. She had only lectured him a dozen times about this by now. His body hurt, throbbing and stiff. She was doing exactly what she was telling him to do: wearing him out, getting him stupid tired, so that it would be easy to finish him off. “I only won in the past because they underestimated me. That won’t be the case in the magical world. People are used to thinking of even children as dangerous because of magic.”
“Exactly.” Drey gave him a nod and offered him her hand.
Draco accept it and let her pull him to his feet. Before he was completely stable, she swung her free arm in a hard backhanded slap that Draco only just leaned back enough to dodge. Her nails, filed to a sharp, hard point, scraped along his cheek. This wasn’t some elegant martial arts training. Drey was teaching him how to fight dirty; this was street fighting using the environment and anything else he had at hand as a weapon. More than that, she was trying to reprogram his instincts.
Being a slave had shaped Draco’s psychology more than he would ever really understand, but one of those instincts was to be still, to move as little as possible, conserve energy, hold back and wait for the moment to KILL! But that left him open in a fight like this. It put him on the defense. Sure, he could land a devastating blow with his toxic bite or use his blood to poison the opponent, but a wizard might be ready to counter those things or defend against it.
Draco had to get better at fighting, at finding those openings and taking them even if it wasn’t a kill-shot. He had to switch from an assassin to a brawler. The memory of cowering against that wall, waiting for a chance, as a possessed Quirrell completely overpowered him, tortured him brutally, and eventually twisted his mind while Draco was completely unable to fight back fucking haunted him. That could never happen again.
…
Harry stood in the living room of their apartment holding throwing knives that looked like sharply-pointed, lengthened arrow heads with a straight handle and a loop at the end. They were only a few inches longer than Liam’s hand, but Harry was smaller, so they were nearly the length of his forearm.
Liam had set up a thick wooden target on the far wall. The enormous sheet of wood blocked the two small, living room windows, making the room feel smaller and darker, and took up almost the entire wall, but the target, an outline of a man, was drawn in the center in white and red. In fact, it was Liam’s outline. All the points that would kill if Harry landed a knife there were painted red. That meant the entirety of the throat, the eyes, the heart, and the much smaller targets of the arteries on the inside of the thighs and the inside of the armpits were red. It took almost all Harry’s strength to get the throwing knives that far with enough force that they’d stick in the wood. Less than half thunked into the plank and stayed there. Only three had hit inside Liam’s outline, none in the red zones. Harry, dripping sweat and growing tired, didn’t even pause. He kept collecting the knives and throwing, alternating arms, again and again.
Liam watched from the kitchen counter, head resting on his folded arms. He was really impressed even though he knew to expect something like this. Harry didn’t get discouraged. He didn’t complain or slack off. He put his all into every throw, diligently, almost like a machine. This was only the third day and already there was some progress. It was really impressive, actually. Boring, too. Harry didn’t need a coach or encouragement. He just worked away at it on his own until he got it right. Liam sighed and straightened. It was almost time for lunch. He might as well get started on that.
Harry was growing sloppy with exhaustion. He knew he should stop, but he was driven to get better, to get stronger. For Draco. The blond came home battered every night and as much as Harry loved kissing and licking those wounds better, wrapped in each other’s heat and making the air humid until they both reached completion, he also understood that Draco was pulling ahead of him, was growing and changing, and Harry would be left behind if he didn’t keep up.
Sweat stung his eyes and his throw went way wide of the target, the knife clattering to the floor. One more, he told himself. Just one more throw with his dominate hand. That had been his left. He was weaker with his left.
Harry took up a knife with his right hand and held it in front of him, aiming the tip. His arm shook, the tip wavered. He bit his lip and pulled his arm back to throw. Just as he was whipping his arm down, a knock sounded on the door behind him. It startled him. His hand slipped. The knife, sharp as hell, sliced along his fingers just above the second joint.
Liam hadn’t realized what had happened, was opening the door after looking out the peephole. Harry stood there, clasping his hands together, blood splattering the floor. It still didn’t hurt and Harry knew that was a bad sign.
Liam knew who was at the door without having ever seen him before. Sirius Black, the man Draco had wanted freed in order to escape Andromeda’s homophobia. He had black hair that was streaked with grey. It was left to hang free around his face, resting on his shoulders. It was curly, almost forming rings. His face and frame were skeletally thin. His features sharp and angular as a fox, similar enough to Draco’s own pointy features to be related somehow. His eyes were a rare ice blue, much lighter than Liam’s own darker blue eyes. His skin was starkly white, but it wasn’t a natural pale color. It was the white of years of captivity.
Sirius wasn’t as tall as Liam, standing a few inches shorter than Liam’s six foot, and he was terribly thin and generally unhealthy, but there was an intensity about his eyes that put Liam on edge. Remus, the scar-faced man, stood at his side, in the background, almost invisible next to his friend.
“I’m Sirius Black,” the man introduced, voice lilting with a high-class British accent. He was not a baritone. He almost sounded like what Liam would think an elf from fantasy stories would sound like. Almost musical. “I’d like to see Harry.”
Liam frowned, not happy with the fact that Sirius made no mention of Draco. No one got to see Harry without the blond’s permission first. He opened his mouth to say just that when the scar-faced man’s hand lashed out, pushing at the door, trying to open it. Liam reflexively braced his weight to keep the door form moving inward. Furious, he was about to say some choice words when Remus spoke.
“I smell blood.”
Liam released the door and turned instantly to see Harry standing at the edge of the living room, staring at them with wide green eyes behind his glasses. Blood had slicked his forearm and dripped steadily to the floor from where Harry had his hands clamped together.
“I’m sorry,” he said, contrite.
Liam was already tugging him to the kitchen sink, holding his hand over the drain, trying to see the wound and hissed as blood fountained up without the compression. He saw the white of bone. Shit!
Sirius shouldered the Muggle away from Harry and grabbed Harry’s wrist. Remus had already taken position on Harry’s other side. Both of them had their wands ready. They chanted together, in sync as if the ten years apart had never happened. Harry’s flesh began to knit back together. Sirius had less to offer than Remus, his magical reserves low from his captivity, but it was enough to heal the terrible cut. It left him feeling shaky and proud when Harry washed the blood from his hand to reveal smooth skin with only a thin white line across the palm-side of his fingers.
“Thank you,” Harry said, looking up at Sirius.
His face was achingly familiar, the messy hair, the glasses even though the frames were a different shape and black instead of gold. The bright green of his eyes made Sirius ache for a different reason and he tried not to look directly into them. “You’re welcome,” he said, voice faint.
Remus guided them to the living room, swishing his wand to clean the blood. He shook his head at the nicked and slashed wood pinned on the far wall, the outline of a man and the knives on the ground making its purpose clear.
Sirius sat next to Harry on the couch. Remus chose an armchair. Liam, arms crossed, expression forbidding, planted himself at the kitchen divider, leaning his shoulder against it, so that he had a clear view of the room and could draw his gun easily if he needed to.
“Remus has told me the basics,” Sirius said, breaking the silence. Harry looked back at him politely. Tension grew in the room. Sirius’s hands fidgeted in his lap. Suddenly, he burst out, “I just want you to know.” Tear stung his eyes. “How sorry I am. That I couldn’t save your father.” His voice broke on his friend’s name. “James.” He cleared his throat. “I had a lot of time. To think. I left him vulnerable. Because I was weak. Because it hurt. And it got him killed.” He said it agin in a whisper. “I got him killed.” He looked over at Harry and saw James’s features a little thinner but there. He reached out trembling fingers to stroke along a messy lock of Harry’s black hair. “I would understand if you hate me, but I wanted you to know how sorry I am.”
Harry thought about it. First, he knew that Draco wanted Sirius to take guardianship rights, so Harry couldn’t alienate the man. Second, it would benefit them if Sirius felt sorry and was therefore inclined to please them. Third, it was clear that Sirius felt very strongly about James, his biological father and it would not be a good idea to tell him that Harry didn’t really feel one way or another about his birth family. For one, it could upset Sirius and set him against them or it could negate Sirius’s feelings of being sorry and make him less likely to do stuff for them.
This needed diplomacy, so Harry drew on Narcissa’s teachings. She taught him how to be sensitive to double meanings and consequences. Taught him how to smooth a business relationship for Draco. To support and persuade, to bolster their allies, but also how to threaten and politically or socially demolish their enemies as well. Sirius, with tears in his eyes and hands trembling, needed more smoothing, less threatening.
He gave Sirius a practiced, soft smile, titling his body toward the man, gently touching the back of one hand to indicate sympathy or approval. “We have lost much,” he said gently. ‘We’ to indicate a united front with Draco. An acknowledgment of the loss, not forgiveness; they may still call that debt due. “However, we have been reunited. I’d like to focus on that for now.” Indicate value of the relationship, make the other feel worthy, important. “I assume Remus is taking care of you? Do you have a place to stay? Food? Clothes?” Magnanimous offer both to flaunt their resources, but also to put the other further into their debt.
Sirius reacted just as he should. His head bowed forward in gratitude. Tears streaked his face, but he also sat straighter, preening under the attention, the subtle acknowledgment of his worth to Harry. Harry took back his hand and Sirius wiped at his face.
“Yes. Remus has taken care of me. Thank you. I’ll be fine.” He barked a laugh. “Besides I should be the one trying to take care of you.”
Harry tilted his head, listening carefully to Sirius’s tone of voice. It wasn’t that Sirius was trying to assert control over them by stating their proper roles where Sirius was the authority and Harry the child under his control. There was a resigned edge to his voice, a rueful recognition that he was not in a position to care for a dependent.
“We will take care of each other,” Harry answered diplomatically, allowing Sirius at least an illusion of partial control.
Sirius smiled. “I’d like that.”
Harry smiled back, pleased with himself.
That was when Draco came home. He’d felt Harry’s shock, so he had cut his training short.
Liam practically came to attention as the blond walked through the door, Drey at his back. Draco was limping slightly. His lip was split but was no longer bleeding. He had a bruise already forming along his jaw and his his hair and clothes looked hastily straightened. In short, he looked exactly like a person who had been brawling.
Sirius stared at the little Malfoy, reflectively wanting to sneer, but too off balance to do so. The boy looked so much like Lucius had, but at the same time, he looked completely different. This kid was a tough little bugger. He wasn’t a prissy snob like Lucius. Even his body language and walk were completely different from Lucius. It left Sirius frozen, unsure how to react. This was and this wasn’t what he expected from Remus’s story.
Harry immediately left the couch to greet the blond. Draco reached his hands out and Harry accepted them without hesitation. Sirius stared, mouth dropping open, as Draco pulled Harry into a kiss, arms sliding around Harry’s back, holding him close. One hand ran up Harry’s spine to tangle in the wild, black hair. Their heads tilted as the kiss deepened. Harry was putty in his hands, completely open and pliant. Sirius even saw a flash of tongue, and his whole body flushed red-hot. His heart pounded in his throat like a terrified rabbit's.
As his physical reaction vibrated through his being, Sirius’s emotions went nova. Years of pent up love and lust, desire brutally repressed, the madness of it all, and FOR WHAT?! He’d fucking loved James more than he would ever love anything in the whole goddamned world! His whole fucking soul had BURNED with it! And here these two boys were, kissing, their love and passion undeniable, and the world hadn’t bloody ended! No one had bloody imploded! Harry was a sweet fucking kid! He wasn’t some corrupted, depraved thing! SO WHAT WAS THE GODDAMNED POINT OF DENYING HIS FEELINGS?! WHY HAD HE TORTURED HIMSELF SO BLOODY MUCH?! He’d thought he was protecting James, but James had died terribly anyway! Would it truly have been so bad to have been HONEST?
Draco practically purred as Harry gave himself sweetly to the kiss. He didn’t hesitate or question. He followed Draco’s lead perfectly, his pleasure and love wrapping around Draco like warm syrup. He felt his injuries heal a bit. His lips smoothed over. The twinge in his ankle quieting. The hot throbbing of his jaw cooling. He could feel his own power bolster Harry’s, otherwise the cost of such magic would leave Harry weak and burn through his reserves. Draco gently broke the kiss, staring into pupil-blown, green eyes for a second before tugging Harry against his side, facing the room once again.
He wasn’t prepared for the look of utter devastation on Sirius’s face. The man burst into heart breaking sobs, curling in on himself, folding over the arm of the couch. Harry went tense next to him, - worry - strumming through their bond.
Remus crouched and wrapped the broken man into his arms. Tears streaked his face as he looked up at a visibly worried Draco and Harry. “I didn’t know it when we were kids…” Remus bit his lip. “Maybe I should have noticed, but I didn’t.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Sirius hair. The man was still sobbing, the sound broken. Remus’s voice could barely be heard of the terrible sound. “He’s gay. Hid it all our lives. He fell in love with James. Right before Lily was changed, he confessed, begged for forgiveness. James gave it to him, of course. Wormtail overheard. Was afraid James would actually give Sirius a chance romantically, so he potioned Lily and participated in a ritual that warped her heart and soul. After that, James vowed to take care of her. As atonement. And Sirius didn’t press him. Practically exiled himself to protect James from what he thought were evil desires. You know how it ended.”
Draco had known parts of that story, of course, but he hadn’t realized Sirius had felt quite so deeply or bore wounds quite that raw however. He had just wanted to make it clear where they stood. He wouldn’t have another Andromeda.
Draco sighed and released Harry. A look made it clear he wanted Harry to stay back. He approached the still sobbing man. With each step he took, he tried to internalize the story Remus had just shared. Tried to comprehend the pain, the need, the motivation of the man breaking in front of them. Tried to anticipate what Sirius needed.
A hard gesture at Remus had the man reluctantly giving Draco space. Draco reached forward and firmly took hold of Sirius’s hair. There was no resistance. He crouched and lifted Sirius’s head simultaneously. The man stared at him, blind with emotional pain, face a mess. Draco sighed and leaned forward, slotting his mouth over Sirius’s.
He gave it his all. Sensual, overpowering, letting his tongue dominate Sirius’s mouth, he moved their lips in a passionate kiss. Sirius gasped into Draco’s mouth, hands coming up to push the boy away. Draco let himself be pushed and smiled. Sirius wasn’t crying anymore. He could hear him.
“That boy you once were,” Draco said, voice low and intense. “That boy who was always afraid, always fighting to do the right thing and only getting hurt… That boy is gone, Sirius. He’s gone and he’s never coming back unless you let him.”
Sirius was gasping, heart thundering, hands almost painfully tight on Draco’s slender shoulders. He could hardly comprehend what the boy was saying. His lips were on fire! That had been his first kiss, and it had been more than he could put into words… Shock, pleasure, desire, rejection, grief, love for James, denial - sparked and swirled and churned through his head.
“You have Harry and me now,” Draco’s voice pressed on, growing clearer with every word. Those grey eyes almost forcibly grounded him. “You get to start over, Sirius. And James. James loved you. Otherwise he wouldn’t have forgiven you. Otherwise Peter wouldn’t have been afraid James would actually give you a chance.”
Sirius gasped again, fresh tears welling, but Draco reached up to clasp his damp cheeks between his hands, commanding his attention.
“He loved you as much as you loved him. Even if it wasn’t sexual for him. And now you have a choice, Sirius. You can choose to either take that love with you into your second life. Or you can carry his pain forward and collapse.”
“James…” Sirius whimpered, sobs rising again.
Draco pressed his forehead against Sirius’s. “Listen,” he implored, mouth only a bare inch from Sirius’s, their breath mingling. “No one can choose what part of James to keep alive but you. Only you get to make that choice. Because of the undeniable bond you had together. He even gave you his only son. Sirius, he gave you Harry!”
Draco’s voice hardened, became more of a command, and he pulled away and stood, looking down at the wide-eyed man. “Accept James’s last wish. Let his love live on through you.” He flung his arm back, gesturing at Harry. “Through Harry! Stand tall, Sirius! Stand and let love win for once!”
Sirius felt his heart beating in his throat. He felt hot and cold at the same time, but he felt compelled to stand. He wavered, almost falling back onto his butt until Remus’s steady hand braced him.
He closed his eyes and, as always, James was there, but not the exhausted expression, the grieved face that Sirius saw so often at the end. Or the pared down, determined expression of a man who was burning his own soul up on a hopeless quest. No, Sirius began to see the face he had lost while under the care of Dementors. James young and happy and full of life. So generous and kind and full of humor. Truly gifted with magic. Brilliant at Quiddich. A shining star. He saw the face of true love. And it burned away the grief, the regret and the guilt just as Draco said. It filled him with strength. This was the James he wanted to live on; this was his choice!
Sirius opened his eyes. Fresh tears bathed his face, but this time they felt cleansing instead of like they would drown him. He reached forward and Draco reached for him in return. They clasped hands, their grip strong, tight, real. He gave a nod, his throat too tight, his heart still pounding. It was enough. Draco smiled, and the smile lit up his face, changed it even further from Lucius’s reflection. Then Harry stepped up to Draco’s side. He reached forward and put his hand above theirs, holding them together. His face shone with the same joy that Sirius remembered now in James, and he couldn’t help choking out a tearful laugh.
“Let’s do this,” he rasped, voice hoarse but clear.
The boys nodded in unison and they bounced their hands once, like a cheer, before releasing Sirius and stepping back.
“Why don’t you wash up while I help Liam get lunch on the table,” Harry offered kindly.
Sirius found himself being led away by Remus. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, wondering if he was dreaming all this. His hand lifted to touch his lips. “Did that just happen?”
“I have no idea what just happened, but it happened,” Remus answered dryly, his golden-brown eyes rueful. “I hope they didn’t overwhelm you.”
Sirius caught his friend’s eyes in the mirror and said almost numbly, “I think they saved me.” Then heart nearly bursting, he closed his eyes and clung to the newly regained memories of James. Voice a hushed, reverent whisper, he confessed, “Saved James.”
Slowly the euphoria dissipated as he felt Remus wash his face with a damp cloth and something stood out among the rest. He caught Remus’s hand and squeezed, forcing his friend to meet his eyes. “How did you know all that?” he asked, voice tight with anxiety.
Remus stood in his friend’s grip, voice low with confession. “I left it out before. I didn’t want to upset you. But Severus and I performed a ritual.”
Very reluctantly he explained what truths had spilled from Peter’s hateful corpse. Sirius’s grip grew painfully tight, but Remus was used to pain and didn’t even wince. He deserved any pain Sirius wanted to inflect. Remus had been a terrible friend. To James. To Sirius. Even to Peter. Back then, he’d been so caught up in his curse that he hadn’t even noticed his friends struggling with their own burdens.
“And… it doesn’t bother you? You aren’t disgusted?” Sirius demanded, shaking the arm he held so tightly in his grasp.
Remus faced Sirius squarely. “I don’t give a shit, Siri. Truly I don’t. Who you sleep with is your own business. You have the right to privacy. You have the right to your own body. I don’t understand why it matters to everybody. Honestly, I don’t. It has nothing to do with anyone else but you and your partner. It’s not like they even have an excuse like they do with lycanthropy. Because it’s not a danger to them; it’s not like it’s contagious like the bite! Besides… I’ve seen horrible things, Sirius. Experienced horrible things. So have you. We’ve seen true evil and sadism. Love… The world needs all the love it can get, and I don’t see how you thinking someone is beautiful or desirable can be anything offending.”
Sirius stared at Remus in absolute shock. He had never in a million years thought ANYONE would accept him, and in the space of fifteen minutes, he’d seen two boys kiss the living daylights out of each other, been kissed, and had his closest friend tell him it was okay. He stood there completely shocked.
Remus felt tears burn his eyes. He wrapped Sirius in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Sirius. I had no idea back then. I wish you had told me. I would have told you this then. They’re wrong, Sirius. Dead wrong! They can believe what they want, that’s their right, but they have no right to tell you what you can and can’t do with your own heart and body. It’s none of their bloody business!”
Sirius clutched Remus to him hard as he cried for the millionth time that day.
…
Liam set a salad on the table and looked at Draco with a cocked eyebrow. “Was that really necessary?” Drey had excused herself and Harry was putting the finishing touches on the sandwiches at the sink, so Liam and Draco were alone at the table.
Draco sighed. Harry had fetched him water and the glass was already half-empty. “Can you imagine it, Liam? Let’s say you were told all your life that liking women was wrong. That breasts were gross. That thinking about their curves and legs were disgusting. Told you that you should admire pecks and broad backs. Expected you to like dicks. What if you grew up with everyone you knew liking dicks and that women were okay to be friends with but that’s it. Can you really imagine what that feels like?”
Draco laughed as Liam wrinkled his nose and continued. “Yeah. Nothing they say, nothing you do, will make you any less repulsed by touching another dick besides your own. But if you don’t want to be beaten or rejected or alone, then you’re going to pretend because remember you’re just a kid and kids are stupid like that.”
Liam couldn’t really imagine it past the feeling of it being yucky and no way could he even pretend, but he got where Draco was going with this. “So how does kissing him help?”
Draco shrugged. “Needed to shock him out of that loop. I’ve felt Harry in a spiral. Nothing short of a hard kick to the balls will break the cycle.”
Harry ducked his head, a blush staining his cheeks as he carried over the plate of sandwiches. “You never kicked me.”
Draco grinned. “Nah. Found a better way, didn’t I? Worked for Sirius, too. Besides…” His voice softened, became more serious. “Probably his first kiss in his entire miserable life. ‘Bout time he broke through that self-imposed exile, don’t you think, and allowed himself to feel his own damn sexuality?” His expression became challenging, dangerous. “Don’t forget, Liam, I’m going to change their fucking world. They’ll have to accept Harry and me together or we’ll leave them to deal with their own damn problems. So he might as well start thinking about the fact that he can be open about it.”
Liam felt both hopeful and deeply worried. Hopeful because when the magical world didn’t comply that would mean Draco and Harry would return to him permanently. But worried because he had the feeling Draco actually thought they he a chance to succeed and change the whole damn world. And, really, how realistic was that? Even the real world didn’t accept homosexual pairs. Sure, there were pockets of support and a community of sorts, but mainstream acceptance didn’t exist.
Liam didn’t have time to ask any more careful questions because Sirius, face freshly scrubbed, and Remus had returned. He sighed, resigned to their addition. “We’re going to need a bigger table.”
Chapter end.
A/N: I know it’s a short chapter, but it felt like a good ending point. Hope you enjoyed it! I look forward to any feedback you care to give.
I know it’s not going to be that simple to heal Sirius. He’s still going to struggle and have issues, but I think he’s making some big realizations and some progress toward healing.
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Freedom Bound in Chains