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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
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Chapter WARNING: This chapter contains Emotional Abuse of Minor, Humil, Physical Abuse. It is there to further plot.

November, 1985

Booming thunder encompassed the world. It rattled the walls and shook his bones. Freak darted forward where the door should be. It swung open as his slight weight pressed against it. Light flooded over him and into his sensitive eyes. Panting, he huddled in the hallway. A stick thin woman towered over him with a heavy metal ladle in her hands. She was the cause of the thunder, the god of his world.

“Get cleaned up, you worthless freak,” she hissed threateningly.

Freak nodded jerkily and scurried as fast as he could to the bathroom. Three days this time. He knew because he kept count of the meals they had in the kitchen. He could hear and smell everything from the cupboard. Meal time was the worst parts of his day… when hunger burned the brightest, the smells from the kitchen torture…

They had never locked him away for that long without at least opening the door to throw him bottled water. The boy moaned in agony. His insides were on fire with need, but his mind was too numb to understand its message. Dots of light danced in his eyes so he shut them tight. He knew the way without them, anyway. Good thing because he was jumbled.

Another door banged against a wall as he stumbled through it. A cool tub pressed suddenly against his shaking hands. He flung himself forward, frantically searching for the faucet. Liquid bliss spilled over his mouth. His tongue, so swollen and dry, almost stopped it from passing into his throat.

Whimpering fills his ears. He imaged he’d turned into a puppy. What fun it’d be to have a tail! To be so small that he could hide safely away when his family was mad! But he deserved it. Didn’t he?

He shook his head and went back to daydreaming.

Maybe they’d love him if he were a puppy. Puppies were so cute and lovable, after all. They’d hold him, and feed him, and take him for walks. He could sleep curled up warm at the end of the bed. Or maybe they’d let him sleep outside with the wide open yard and a sky full of stars over him.

But it wouldn’t happen. Freak was a boy; a very bad, ungrateful boy. No one would ever love him.

Freak didn’t realize he was crying until the heavy hand hit him hard on the back of his head. He looked up through blurry eyes to see his aunt. She was screaming at him, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. It didn’t matter. He knew what she was saying. She only ever hit him with her hand if he was crying. Usually, she used a ladle, a pan, anything she could grasp to hit him with.

Guilt burned him like acid. He almost threw up the water he’d drunk. He’d made her touch him. Now she’d scrub her hands red to get his filth off her. He was so bad, so filthy.

Exhaustion wrapped around him. For the first time, he wanted to sleep and never wake up. He wanted to stop moving, stop breathing, stop hurting. . . Just. Stop.

As if guessing he couldn’t hear her over the pounding in his ears, Aunt grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to his cupboard. She reached in and took out the best of his secondhand clothes. Freak went to reach for them, but she yanked them away so she could throw them hard in his face.

He picked them up and shakily began putting them on. He pressed himself firmly against the stairs for protection.

Vernon came down and they all moved into the kitchen. The huge man kissed his wife good morning and patted his son proudly on the shoulder as he took the seat next to him. Petunia smiled and placed big plates of food in front of them both. Freak didn’t even look up. He knew he didn’t deserve food. Instead, he curled up and tried not to listen to the happy chatter going on at the table.

Aunt Petunia scrapped what was left on their plates, which wasn’t much, on the floor in front of him. “Eat quickly. And don’t leave a speck on my floor!”

Shocked and happy, Freak fell on the food and ate it straight off the floor, licking it up. A puppy, he was a puppy!

“Disgusting freak,” Vernon growled and stepped on his fingers.

Freak whimpered but didn’t stop eating. Dudley laughed and made barking sounds. Freak pretended that Dudley was playing a game with him because they were friends. Boys were always friends with their puppies.

“Go get your bag for school, Duddykins, and wash your face, love.”

Freak looked up to see her lovingly smooth Dudley’s blond hair and kiss his forehead. Dudley beamed at his mother before running out of the room. He wondered what this place called school was like. Aunt said he couldn’t go because everyone would see instantly what a freak he was. It sounded like a nice place, though; a place where you colored and played games outside and counted a lot. He loved to count. Sometimes he'd count for days. Sometimes when he counted, everything was quiet in his head, nothing hurt, he wasn't even hungry.

“Wash the floor, freak,” Aunt growled, pulling him from his thoughts. “Your germs are all over it.”

Freak scrambled over to the sink and reached underneath for the cleaning supplies. He quickly cleaned the spot where he had licked the floor. Dudley had returned by the time he was done, and he scrambled back to his cupboard only to be drawn-up short by a meaty fist.

“Not today, boy. You’re coming with me.” Uncle lifted him to his feet and pulled him to the front door by his arm.

Freak was excited. He’d never been allowed outside before! That changed when he was taken to the back end of the car. The trunk lid was lifted and he stared in terror at the small hole. Uncle grabbed him by the neck of his shirt when he whined and tried to pull away. He lifted Freak completely off the ground, choking him.

“Keep your mouth shut, boy. You’re a worthless piece of shit, you filthy freak. No one wants to hear from you.”

Freak locked his jaw, keeping his cries silent as he was flung down into the trunk and the lid was closed. It seemed to go on for hours. The car was getting hot and the air tasted funny. Freak curled in a ball, crying silently. After a long time, he realized that he had to pee and he bit his lip. He knew if he peed himself in the car he’d get a beating for certain.

Finally, the car pulled to a stop. His uncle came around and opened the lid. Freak was dragged out by his arm. It hurt, but he was just so glad to be free. Freak looked around for a bathroom, but they were in a big parking lot.

“You’d better be good, freak, or you’ll regret it.”

Freak nodded vigorously and followed his uncle toward another car. Men climbed out when Uncle approached. They talked. Something about no one knowing about Freak. Uncle got a big, thick wallet and quickly turned back to his car. Freak tried to follow, but a strong arm wrapped around his middle and lifted him up. He grabbed onto the man so he wouldn’t fall.

“You’re coming with us, kid,” the man said gruffly.

“S-sir…” he stuttered as that arm pressed on his bladder. He was ignored and warm tears spilled down his cheek as he peed himself.

“What the fuck!” The man dropped him, face red with rage.

Freak’s whole body was jarred as he hit the hard concrete. A kick slammed into his chest. Pain exploded as all the air was knocked out of his lungs, his body flying several feet. The shame and self-disgust that burned his insides hurt almost as much as the kick. As he lay, unable to breathe, he realized his uncle had finally gotten rid of him.

His last thought was that he deserved it.

Blackness pulled him under.

xXx

Thirty hours later

Cold November air seeped through the small holes on the top of his crate as Freak pressed himself against them. He’d woken up hours ago. Two hellish hours he’d huddled in the crate, knowing he couldn’t hope for better. Not even his family wanted him. Just thinking of them made him sick and afraid. Bruises bloomed on his shoulders and back from the jostling he had received during the flight. It had been so terrifying - the noise, the pressure - that he’d vomited bile. The smell clung to him and made his eyes sting. His legs burned from where he peed himself, a rash forming.

Just when he thought for sure he’d break and begin to cry, noises sounded throughout the large, cold place. Light broke the heavy darkness and he curled tighter to wait. Eventually people came and grabbed his crate. It tipped and slammed forward as he was dropped. Unprepared, his head cracked against the side of the kennel.

“Fuck!”

“Dog must've gotten sick.”

“I don’t know why these rich bastards have to tote their animals with them wherever they go.”

“Think of the animal. Poor things.”

“Poor things, my ass. They’re probably eating caviar off their master’s plates at night.”

They laughed.

Freak wasn’t tempted to cry out. He knew better. No one wanted to hear from freaks. Even if they saw him, they wouldn’t help. Bad boys deserved punishment. Head spinning, sick and exhausted from fear, he tumbled into darkness.

xXx

the Hold

Locked in the empty bottom of a boat, damp wood creaked and swayed encircling the kids trapped inside. The only source of light came from four dim electric lamps. The only noise was the sound of the choppy waves surrounding them and the bleak sobs of children. They were in the Hold, or as Draco liked to call it, Hell. Nearly a dozen naked children huddled under blankets. Some were crying; others stared despondently. Soon they’d be sold on the black-market to clubs and rich men, to seedy doctors for their organs and blood. The lucky ones would be illegally adopted.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. His back ached horribly with even the slightest movement, but he’d have to get up soon. It was almost feeding time and it was his job to tend to the goods.

He was used to children coming and going. None stayed long. This was just a holding place before the goods were sent elsewhere. He had enough going on just trying to keep himself out from under the Master’s sadistic punishments, so it sucked that he had to share his corner with the new brat. Especially since the kid was so young; the young ones like this were so whiny!

Fortunately, he only rarely had to deal with very little kids. Too young and they were only good for one or two weeks, the abuse eventually killing them. Draco had been taken when he was as little as this boy, but his secret power had kept him alive. The top of the boy's head would probably only come up to Draco's chin. In fact, they were the two smallest in the Hold. Most of the others down here were a year or two older that Draco.

The little boy at his side stirred. The messy head of dark hair lifted, revealing a gaunt, frightened face. Draco saw that expression every day, and he scowled in annoyance that he’d have to deal with a weepy kid when all he wanted was some time to rest.

“Bout time ya got up.”

The boy blinked large eyes, obviously not tracking things well.

Draco eyed the skeletal chest littered in old and new bruises. Unknowingly, his face softened. “I’m Draco. I saved you food.” He freed his arms from under his thin blanket and handed over a bit of bread and cheese.

Two huge eyes stared up at him in shocked wonder, as if Draco were the most amazing person in the world. Surprised at the unusual reaction, Draco shifted uncomfortably and shoved the food closer. The boy reached for it and froze as he caught sight of the thin red welts and cuts striping Draco’s arm like a candy cane from wrist to shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” the boy rasped.

Draco gave the boy his most disgusted sneer. “Shit, you think? Jus’ eat.”

The boy ducked his head, distressed, but he said no more and obediently picked up the food. However, the deep dark eyes never left the injured arm.

Draco watched as the boy chewed slowly. The kid was crying, his tears wetting the hard bread. Feeling a pang of pity for the obvious pain caused by the simple act of eating, Draco figured maybe he could talk to the brat some, keep him distracted and quiet.

“People wanna adopt kids, you know? But gettin kids is hard. Takes lots of time and money, so they pay for kids from the black-market. It’s like a secret store. You're here ‘cause someone wan’ed a kid like you, probably it was the green eyes, and the sellers found you. This is the place the kids who’re for sale are held, but you won’t be ‘ere long. Your new mom and dad will pick you up soon.”

“I never had a mummy and daddy ‘afore,” the boy mumbled, still nibbling at the bread. “Are you going to be ‘dopted, too?”

Draco lifted an eyebrow at the kids weird accent. “Nah,” he answered, voice brittle as he considered his own situation. “Most here don’ go to adoption. People need toys ta play with. I was a toy but no good at it. Woulda killed me ‘sept the Master thought I could be useful. Most of these others will be toys, too.”

“How can you be a toy?” the boy whispered, hunching away as if afraid to be struck for the question.

Draco shrugged, tense. “It ain’t a good thing, so be glad you’re goin’ to a mommy.” He felt a flare of jealousy at that reminder and glared hotly.

The boy whimpered, flinching.

Draco nodded, satisfied that his feelings were understood, and turned his back. He was done talking to the kid. He closed his eyes, cheek against his knees, trying to rest. His greasy, shoulder-length hair fell into his face, further shielding him. However, before he got too far into his quiet place, the Hold door banged open. The children jumped. Some began crying loudly in fear. Draco tensed. Whenever he had to bring up kids to show for a potential buyer or for photos, the Master liked to play with him a bit and he’d hardly recovered from the last games. Stupid kid bothering him and taking up all his rest time.

“Draco! Bring up the Angels.”

He obediently stood and stepped forward, the blanket falling away from his naked, scarred body. He gestured to the group of blonde kids. Most stood obediently, too scared to do anything else. The two that refused to move, he took by the hand. The rest followed him like ducklings as he led them over to the stairs. They began the long climb toward the massive body blocking the bright light from the other side.

This doesn’t matter. I can’t change anything. I just have to survive, he told himself sharply. I have to survive so I can kill the bastard and escape.

By the time he reached the top and stepped within reach of his Master, the fear and anger slowly disappeared. So did everything else. He was empty. Nothing could hurt him anymore.

A large hand, almost as big as his head, reached for him. The thick fingers wrapped around his neck and squeezed cruelly. Blood and oxygen were immediately denied him, and Draco swayed, knowing he’d black out in seconds if he wasn’t released. He prayed that Master would hold on. He didn’t want to be awake for this.

xXx

Three hours later Draco led the children back down into the dark, damp of the Hold. He stood stiffly, holding his body rigid in the hopes that if he didn’t move the pain would lessen. The children were crying softly, clinging to each other. Two were missing. Draco put them back in their corner and whispered that they needed to be quiet. Task done, Draco returned to his corner. He hesitated when he saw the small body curled up there. He’d forgotten about the boy.

His best bet would be to ignore the pest. Draco slowly crouched and dropped carefully into a sitting position. His breath hissed out as dots danced before his eyes. Thin strips of skin an inch wide were peeled from his chest, leaving bare, oozing muscle. His throat burned from all the screams his Master had torn from him. He'd been pissed about something that was for sure.

As soon as the boy saw the wounds, his little face twisted with horror. Draco would have snapped at him, but he was ignoring the kid. Instead, he closed his eyes and began to mentally map out the groups of kids he was supposed to take care of. He often did this just to get away from the pain for a while and to be sure he didn’t forget anything. He didn’t want to give his Master any more excuses to hurt him.

The first group was called the Angels – unused, blond children. The second group was called Brats. These were the unused dark-haired children. The Darks were the third group. They were the unused children who weren’t white. Newbie’s were any kids, no matter their coloring, who were older than ten and had no experience. The last and smallest group was called Pets. They were the children with experience as toys or slaves. Pets were always least in demand. Draco was technically a Pet, and he was the youngest of that group. There was another group, but Draco rarely saw a kid from there. Subs, the master called them. They were used, but very well trained. Draco had met two in the Hold and they had been at least twelve or thirteen. It took years to become a good sub; years most kids couldn't survive. They were the most expensive kind of kid.

And it was Draco's job to keep all these kids in line down in the Hold. There was never more than thirty and never fewer than ten. Being the smallest and youngest – well, before this new kid anyway – Draco had to get creative. A single tray of food was delivered twice a day; one at dawn, the second at dusk. It always had a good amount on it, and Draco rotated who got that tray. Sometimes if a child was being especially difficult, he’d withhold food from the whole group. The rest of the hungry children would then gang up on the trouble maker and Draco’s problem would be solved.

Draco may be small, but he was mean. He knew a lot about pain from the master. In fact, he was probably an expert. And he didn't care one bit about these stupid kids. He had no problem finally getting to dish it out instead of taking it. Using the food as leverage was one of his better ideas. Ever since he hardly ever had to resort to violence.

He still remembered what he’d been willing to do for food when he’d first been taken hungry. And he didn’t want to have to fight with the bigger, older kids, especially since he was hurt all the time, but he would if he had to. Thankfully, most of the new kids were scared and weren’t up to challenging him. They’d be gone soon anyway.

His thoughts were broken when he felt something damp touch one of the cuts on his stomach. He flinched, his eyes flying open as terror sent his heart rocketing. Sweat rolled down his face and chest. The salt stung, adding to his misery. Draco quickly registered what had touched him. It wasn’t his Master. It was that annoying little boy again. He was kneeling in front of Draco, a dirty blanket in his hand.

Draco hissed and shoved him hard. He’d learned that it was better to let his wounds heal without aid than to clean them up with anything down here. His last bout with fever had been a nightmare that he never wanted to experience again.

“Sorry. Just wan’ed to help.” The boy ducked his head. Dark messy hair spilled forward and hid his vulnerable expression. “Didn’t it feel better?”

Draco was about to snap that of course it hadn’t when he paused. Now that he was thinking about it, his stomach did hurt less. He looked down and his eyes widened. The oozing muscle the boy had been tending had stopped bleeding and had scabbed over. Even better, it was now pleasantly numb.

“It does,” he whispered, awed.

“I can do the rest. Please?”

Draco was too shocked to say anything.

The boy took that as permission. He grabbed the blanket and dipped it in his cup of water again. Delicately, with all the care in the world, the boy began to wipe at the injuries once more. Draco sat still under the gentle touch. He felt tears burn his eyes as the constant pain he lived with began to diminish. The cooling sensation spread. It felt like heaven.

The boy stopped, misunderstanding his tears. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No.” Draco quickly brushed away his tears. “It jus’ don’t hurt no more.”

The little boy smiled a blindingly bright smile; one so pure that Draco felt it on his skin, like how he remembered warm sunlight. He let the kid continue to heal his many wounds, just soaking in the sensation of being cared for. He stared down at the boy’s head and felt a strange tight sensation in his chest. This boy. . . this boy was special.

He noticed instantly when the hand granting him such rare relief wavered. The kid was paler than ever before. His eyes were half closed with exhaustion and his whole body shook slightly. The blanket fell from the trembling hand, and the boy was about to topple over when Draco grabbed him.

“Sorry,” the child whispered. “Wan’ed to finish.”

“You did,” Draco lied easily, shocked a second time when he realized the boy had hurt himself. For Draco. Even though Draco had been mean to him. “I feel all better now.”

“Tired,” the kid confessed.

Draco did something he had never done before. He pulled the boy close, up against his battered body, and held him. The boy gasped, as if surprised. Barely conscious, he stared at Draco like Draco were the miracle. It was as if the boy had never been held before. Something almost like steel snapped closed around Draco's heart at the thought.

“Sleep,” he whispered softly, stroking the wild dark hair ever so softly. “I’ll take care of you.”

The boy gasped, little hands clutching at Draco desperately. Soft sobs shook through the tiny shoulders for several minutes before the kid finally succumbed to sleep.

Draco lay on his healed side, staring at the sleeping boy wrapped in his arms. The boy was magic. He was a light in the dark, and Draco wasn't going to let him go. “I’ll take care of you,” he repeated.

Chapter End.

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Freedom Bound in Chains