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
- 36
- 37
- 38
Lessons
Over the course of the next five days, the boys worked on their lessons from before dawn until after dark. Narcissa requested that they wear their new clothes, but Draco insisted on jeans and a t-shirt unless they were riding, fencing, or dancing.
Harry, however, chose to wear the day uniform, hoping to appease any anger the Malfoys felt over Draco's rebellion. Every morning he would put on the shiny black shoes, white socks, black shorts, blue vest, white button-up shirt, and thin neck tie. It was easy to ignore how uncomfortable it was when Draco told him how “cute” he looked.
…
Early morning, just after breakfast:
Harry absolutely dreaded the riding lessons they took daily with Lucius. He'd much rather watch the horses run free and maybe pet them once in a while. Riding was way more complicated than simply sitting on Caelius and directing the horse left or right.
They also had to train the young stallions. Training involved standing with lead reins buckled around the horse's nose and holding a long whip. They were required to teach the horses how to leap short jumps, prance at one tongue click, run on two tongue clicks, and other such commands.
Caelius was very docile compared to Agrippa, but he shied away from trying new things. Once Caelius completed a trick once, he was okay, but Harry had to force him that first time. Harry hated it; his nerves jangled painfully every time he was forced to crack the whip. Hated how Caelius skittered away from the sound and bite of the leather. Hated the way Draco's face went blank, even as he perfectly controlled the more rebellious Agrippa.
Lucius refused to help. Not out of any sense of meanness, but because he insisted Harry needed to do this himself. But when Harry froze and couldn't bring himself to lift the whip, Draco would come over and help him. He wasn't angry and would always stroke Harry's shoulder soothingly, but Lucius would make comments about independence and hindering Harry's growth. Draco would glare at him and tensions would flare between the two blonds. Harry felt wracked with guilt over causing Draco trouble and tried his best to get Caelius through the training on his own.
The last hour of actually riding Caelius instead of training him wasn't any better. Harry thought the animals were beautiful, but riding them was bouncy and awkward. Lucius was constantly telling them to turn or prance or gallop in order to put the horses through their paces.
Caelius followed in Agrippa's footsteps mostly on his own, but Harry still had to give commands and was terrified he'd mess it up, hurt Caelius, or, worse, get Draco in trouble. It was exhausting and stressful. After the lessons, Lucius's cold eyes would tell him how pathetic he was, and Harry would lower his head in shame, knowing he was an absolute failure.
Draco felt drawn tight as a spring. Harry's misery burned through him like acid. Laila had prepared him for Harry finding some things difficult and to wait it out to see if he would come around, but Draco didn't think they could take much more of this.
It was only the third day of riding lessons; he knew Laila would want him to give it more time, but Harry's hair was damp with sweat, his skin was pale, his fingers shook, and Draco could feel the throbbing – anxiety distress guilt fear self-disgust – like a double heartbeat slamming against his chest.
On the fourth morning, they walked, stiff and silent with hands clasped, out to the pen where Lucius had summoned the stallions. Lucius waited, his hair pulled tightly back at the nape of his neck, in tight riding pants, boots, and a white shirt. A crop hung casually from his hand, and his face showed no emotion as they approached.
It was a beautiful day. The sun just sitting over the horizon, a blue sky dotted with white fluffy clouds, short green grass whispering with every step they took, and the lake glistening to the right, yet the closer they came, the more Harry shook, the louder the despair and agony.
Draco felt everything inside him harden. His magic began to uncoil even though he hadn't called it. He clenched his left hand, trying to keep it in check, as the pen door swung open with a swish of Lucius's wand. Lucius strode over, scooping up the long whips they were to use.
On the far side of the pen, Caelius and Agrippa snorted and pranced in agitation. Draco opened his mouth to stop this, having decided it wasn't worth it, but Lucius was already putting the whip in Harry's hand. Green eyes glazed, Harry crumpled into a ball, sobbing.
Feet braced, hands clenched and glaring up at Lucius, Draco stated, voice cold as ice, “We're done.” He reached out to grab a handful of Harry's hair. The sobbing cut off instantly, turning into nearly incoherent apologies.
Lucius glared back, fingers turning white around his wand. “If he doesn't learn how to be firm, Draco, society will eat him up. I'm not trying to hurt the boy. I'm trying to prepare him.”
Draco released Harry and took a threatening step forward, magic and rage spiraling through his blood. He stood toe-to-toe with Lucius, half the man's height with eyes gone silver. When he spoke, he didn't yell or rage. He was icy calm, resolute. “Don't tell me what Harry needs, Lucius. Harry's mine, and I say he's done.”
“You do him no favors by pampering him!” Lucius screamed, furious. With a violent gesture, he lifted the whip and lashed it down on his own arm, inches from Draco's face. The loud crack made Caelius whinny, nervous and upset, and Agrippa race in zigzags around the pen. Draco didn't even flinch. “It doesn't even hurt them!”
“I said...” Lifting his thumb to his mouth, Draco bit down, his magic helping his teeth pierce through the skin like butter. “We're done.” He reached forward and slid his thumb down the whip in a slow, sensual drag, stopping just shy of Lucius's hand where he gripped the handle.
Instantly the tanned leather began to smoke and disintegrate. Lucius hissed in surprise and flung the whip away. His chest rose and fell in rapid pants as he stared, wild-eyed down at Draco. The boy stood in front of the still curled up Potter. His eyes were crystal clear; his almost shoulder-length hair framing a fierce expression, a smear of bright red staining his bottom lip. Blood dripped steadily from Draco's hand. He looked savage.
Furious, panicked, Lucius hissed in disgust and cast the spell to open the fence, freeing the stallions. “You'll regret this, Draco,” he hissed, and with a last hard glare, he stormed past his son.
Draco watched him go, unblinking. Once the man was out of sight, he reached down with his bleeding hand and grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair, pulling the sobbing boy to his feet.
Harry ducked his head, a whine building in his throat, and ignored the way it made the grip on his hair even more painful - distress self-hate guilt.
Draco released him and led him toward the woods.
Harry's heart pounded, knowing Draco was taking them out of sight, so that no one would be able to see them. The walk seemed to take and eternity and yet only a few seconds at the same time. The heat of the sun baked his shoulders and back; sweat slid down his back and down his face. Draco's hand held his firmly, and Harry clung to that grip, desperately grateful that Draco wasn't let him go, wasn't sick of him and throwing him away.
“Sorry, Draco. I'm sorry. I'm so stupid. I'll do better, promise. Sorry, I'm sorry,” he muttered pathetically.
The shadow of the trees fell over them and Harry gasped, knowing the time for redemption had arrived. Draco dropped Harry's hand and walked a few steps forward. Turning, he leaned back against the trunk of an oak tree. A sudden breeze made the shadows dance and the leaves above them whisper loudly. Tears rolling down his face, Harry stared at Draco with his heart thumping madly.
Grey eyes calmly watched him. “Narcissa's going to give you lessons while I do riding,” Draco told him, quiet yet firm. “You're gonna do amazing at them. Aren't you?”
“Yes, Draco!” Harry swore urgently, hands out in a pleading gesture.
Draco stared at him unblinking - watching, waiting. “You're gonna make me feel so good to make up for today, right Harry?”
Harry vibrated like a plucked bow. Draco held out his hand, thumb dripping blood. Harry gave a whine as he moved forward, mouth open. The thumb pushed past his lips and slid along his tongue, the taste of blood and Draco filling his senses.
Sucking tenderly, Harry watched as the blond used his other hand to undress. Slowly, Draco pulled the white, short-sleeved button-up from tight riding pants and began to unbutton the shirt with one hand. White creamy skin was revealed an inch at a time, and Harry sucked hard, his stomach fluttering, feeling hot and tingly as the shirt fell from Draco's loose fingertips.
Cheeks flushing, lips parting, Draco began to breathe faster, his eyes locked on Harry's mouth where it sucked greedily on his thumb. Each pull of Harry's mouth made him want to rut against the smaller boy, and he moaned, deep in his chest. Heart beating hard and fast, Harry bit down softly as Draco undid the button and opened the fly of his pants. He wore no underwear.
Pulling his now healed digit from Harry's mouth, Draco fisted the boy's hair and ordered, “Come here.”
Harry moved forward, – desperate need want.
“Hands behind your back,” he whispered, voice husky.
Harry obeyed immediately, clasping his wrists at the small of his back. A moan slipped past his lips as his head was guided to Draco's throat. The first taste of Draco's deliciously salty skin made him shiver. Lapping and sucking, he worked his way down the graceful slope of Draco's shoulder – love need gratitude.
When Harry's tongue pressed flat on the starburst bullet scar, Draco's head fell back with a long moan. Blood afire, determined to make Draco feel good and to apologize, Harry licked his way across Draco's chest and latched onto the blond's nipple.
Draco's hand clenched in his hair, a long hiss of, “Yesss, Harry...” escaping his mouth.
Tonguing, sucking, and biting the small bud, Harry felt blood roar in his ears as Draco's hips began to undulate. The thrum of pleasure built deep in his gut, and Harry licked across to the other nipple. Draco's nimble fingers undid the buttons of Harry's shirt, revealing warm, sweat-damp skin. He cradled Harry's head with one hand and pulled him against him, rubbing against the soft skin of Harry's stomach.
“That's it... So good...” he moaned, low and sweet.
Rocking together, sweating as the heat built between them, Harry sucked until his lips felt on fire. Pulling away with a gasp, he begged, “Please, Draco... Please...”
Draco, pupils blown, lips parted as he panted, stared down into his face and gave him a slow smile. Ever so slowly, he let Harry sink down to his knees.
Kissing and licking the skin of Draco's trembling stomach as he dropped, Harry clenched his hands tight around his wrists to keep himself from reaching forward and touching all that pale, faintly scarred skin. Then he was nuzzling into the place where Draco's scent was strongest. He closed his eyes on a deep moan as the taste of Draco filled in his mouth.
“Ah! Harry... Shit...” Draco panted, jerking with every touch of Harry's hot tongue.
Time hazed around them. Soft grunts, whines, and moans filled the air. Suddenly, Draco grabbed him by the hair and lifted him. Harry gasped as he was slammed against the tree. His wrists dragged painfully against the rough bark as Draco pinned him there with his body and rocked hard against him. Harry felt his collar fall away and his eyes flew wide, a cry rising to his lips, but it was cut off with a gasp as Draco bit him hard. Harry saw stars, pleasure/pain exploding through his body, sending him flying.
He came to, lying on the ground with his head in Draco's lap. His skin still sparked and throbbed hotly, focused between his legs and on the side of his neck. Draco sat with his back to the tree and was smiling his soft smile. Harry smiled back, reaching up to reverently touch Draco's cheek with trembling fingers.
“Such a good boy,” the blond whispered lovingly, petting Harry's hair and staring into his eyes. “Made me feel so good. My Harry.”
Harry melted, tears brimming in his eyes – love adoration gratitude. “Love you, Draco, love you so much. Yours. I'm yours.”
Draco caught the hand against his cheek and kissed Harry's fingertips.
Harry closed his eyes as a warm shiver ran through him. Warm leather slid against the skin of his throat and closed over the fresh bruise. He shivered again and turned his head to Draco's bare stomach to press gentle kisses there.
In the end, he took up gardening during the two hours that Draco continued working with Lucius and the horses. Gardening took patience and perseverance, which suited Harry much better. He soaked up everything Narcissa taught him, determined to do exceptionally well to make up for his failure at riding.
…
Midmorning:
They stood in front of Narcissa in the sunroom. Behind them on their desks were scrolls of pages drying in the sun filled with their lettering and math exercises. Now they stood with their backs straight and prepared for their elocution lesson. Harry did better at these exercises. For him, he was remembering his original way of speaking whereas Draco was learning a whole new accent.
“These exercises will help you to redirect where the sound resonates in the cavities in your head, your throat, and in your chest,” Narcissa told them. She sat in her chair, her hands folded in her lap and her back as straight as theirs. She was relaxed, calm. “Now when someone has a British accent, it isn't just because they pronounce the sound in the correct way, it's also to do with where the sounds are resonating and the way they use the muscles in their mouth. The first exercise is a ho-hum. Make your mouth really round on the ho and draw out the hum until you run out of air. Ho-huuuummmmmm.”
“Ho-huuuuuuummmm,” they said together.
They did this for several minutes until Narcissa nodded. “Now we will strengthen our tongue muscles. I want you to move your tongue in a circular patter eight times on the outside of teeth, but keep your lips closed.... Good. Now to the left.”
Harry glanced at Draco and saw the impression of the blond's tongue moving in quick tight circles under his lips. Harry tried to match him, but he wasn't quite as quick or coordinated with his circles.
“Now seven in both directions.”
They did it seven times.
“Now six.”
“Then five.”
“Four each side... Three... Two... Last one, both sides... Good,” Narcissa praised them with a smile. “Now imagine you are yawning. When you yawn, you lift the soft pallet at the back of the throat. I want you to try to lift the soft pallet and bring down your lower jaw and hold it there. Really open your mouth like a cave. British English requires your mouth to be really open and for your voice to really resonate in the back.”
Harry did this and felt his collar draw tight around his throat. Purposefully, he pressed his throat against the constraining leather to feel a tingle of pleasure as it pulled tight enough to ache. Red staining his cheeks, he held the position, feeling his throat open.
“Now we are going to go through the vowels. I want you to really draw them out and feel them in the back of your throats.”
For the next hour, they practiced sounds and completed warm-up activities. Once they were done with those, Narcissa had them echo words and sentences to try and match her intonation and pronunciation. She'd say things like, “No... go... home... alone... grow... notion... solo... explode... The oboe and cello sat alone, woefully echoing tone for tone... Autumn... awful... flawless... call... wall... walk... talk... thought... brought... The tall author walked awkwardly...”
And so on for another hour.
…
Lunch, followed by an hour of French lessons.
…
Afternoon:
They took their fencing lessons in the ballroom. The large open space with a whole wall made up of mirrors had been intimidating at first, but they were beginning to get used to it. It had been strange at first to see Narcissa in a fencing jumpsuit instead of a dress, but that was soon forgotten as she displayed her skill. It also helped that she put Harry at ease, always patient as she taught them positions and strikes.
Every time they began, she'd remind them, “Remember fencing may not be useful in and of itself, but it is the foundation for magical dueling. If you learn this now, you will be more skilled when it comes to magical battle.”
Harry had been very reluctant to fight Draco, but the blond had made it clear what he wanted. “I need ya to do your best so I can get better, too. I wanna be good at this.” And just like that, Harry forced himself to try and win.
He pulled on the fencing uniform and placed the helmet on his head. He watched as across from him Draco pulled on his own helmet. Lunging forward with the thin sword, Harry tried to hit his chest, but Draco parried with a flick of his wrist that sent Harry's sword to the side. Harry retreated with a sliding step back. He put his arm in the guard position as Draco took a lunging step forward, sword coming at his face. Harry swiped to the side, and Draco parried.
They traded fast swinging swipes until Harry saw an opening and jabbed Draco in the thigh. Heart pounding, he heard Narcissa call the point. Then Draco was pressing forward relentlessly. Harry defended as best he could, but he eventually felt the jab to the chest.
His legs were screaming from being held in lunging positions, and his arms burned from being held aloft, but he was grinning. Draco was getting better! Harry was so happy for him! Turning that joy into focus, Harry attacked, twirling his sword, ignoring the ache in his wrist.
Draco was pressed backward, and Harry saw it! The opening! He jabbed forward right into Draco's face-mask. Narcissa called the point. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat under the helmet and he was breathing hard, but Harry set himself to receive Draco's retaliation attack. He steeled himself to do better and be faster to help Draco.
…
Mid-afternoon:
Lucius joined Narcissa and them in the ballroom for dance lessons. Harry both dreaded and loved it.
First, they had to wear hot, uncomfortable formal robes, which consisted of black boots with an inch heel, black pants, white dress-shirt, dark blue, satin vest that fell to mid-thigh, black outer robe that fell to the floor, blue neck tie, and white gloves. Narcissa cast cooling charms on them, but it only helped a little.
Narcissa wore a ballgown and gloves for the lessons, her hair done up even more intricately than normal. She always gave them such a big smile and a compliment when she saw them in the formal clothes. It made Harry happy that he at least could do that right.
Draco, on the other hand, looked unhappy in the robes, and Harry fidgeted, wishing he could do something to help him. The blond always left his robes open or half unbuttoned with his tie hanging loose. Harry was nervous that he would get in trouble, but Lucius would only say, “That's fine for practice, but make sure you button up at the ball.” Narcissa never commented.
Second, they had to learn dozens of steps, which got mixed up and confused in Harry's head.
“There are two basic dances you will need to be familiar with,” Narcissa had explained in their first lesson. “The Quadrille, which has a wide variety of rapid, skimming steps, such as the chassé, jeté assemblé and entrechats. There are several versions of the Quadrille, and these set dances are done in formations of squares and lines that require several couples to perform. Then there are the couple dances that only require two dancers dancing together, which are all variations of the Waltz: the Five-Step Waltz, the Polka, the Schottische, Valse à Deux Temps, Redowa, and the Varsouvienne.”
Harry tried his best to mimic and remember the steps as Lucius and Narcissa demonstrated them, but it was confusing and complicated. He'd sweat and struggle as Narcissa and Lucius took note of his every mistake. He tried to recreate the graceful way the couple would move across the floor, but he constantly stumbled over his feet. Stomach in painful knots, he felt close to throwing up until the part in the lesson where he and Draco were allowed to dance together.
Heart pounding, Harry let his hands and body settle into Draco's hold. Grey eyes calm and confident, Draco would stare straight into him, and Harry would get lost in his eyes each time. It was the most amazing feeling; like flying.
With Draco guiding their steps, suddenly it wasn't hard at all. It was so easy to move, skipping in places and gliding in others. Their outer robes flared when they spun or turned, and Harry actually felt beautiful. Even when they were told to switch roles with Harry in the lead, Draco would still subtly guide him and they'd flow around the room.
In Draco's arms, Harry loved dancing, and from the way Draco's eyes sparkled and his lips quirked in a cocky smile, Harry thought Draco loved it, too.
…
Dinner, followed by an hour of history, in which Narcissa would walk them down the Hall of Portraits. Every night, she would have them pick a portrait and would tell them about the person within.
Balls of light floated above them, adding to the firelight from the sconces and three chandeliers. They stopped in front of a white-haired wizard with dark blue eyes. He was sitting in a massive chair, a darkened room behind him, with a large fireplace roaring with fire. Two thin grey dogs lay at his feet, sometimes lifting their head to look down at them. The man stared coldly down at them from his painting.
“This is Abraxas Malfoy,” Narcissa introduced them. “He was Lucius's father and Lord Malfoy before him. Abraxas, this is your grandson, Draco Lucius Malfoy, and his bonded, Harry Potter.”
Suddenly, the older man grinned. He had a fierce smile with straight white teeth. “Good evening, young Malfoy, young Potter.”
“Abraxas was born in 1921. He was sorted Slytherin in Hogwarts, and was the star of the Quidditch team, playing beater and Captain. He graduated from Hogwarts in 1938 and, I believe, he would have gone on to be a professional Quidditch player if his duties as the Heir to a Noble House did not bind him.”
“Oh, I played a game here or there,” the man in the painting drawled.
Narcissa nodded her head to him. “He studied business under his father diligently and married Iris Selwyn, a Pureblood, five years later in 1943.”
“She was so beautiful. Lucius and yourself received your grey eyes from her,” Abraxas stated, voice subdued as he pet the head of one of his dogs.
“The war between Light and Dark was very fierce at this time. Many families died for the Dark cause, following Dark Lord Grindelwald. Abraxas did not fight. It is a family law that a Malfoy must not put their life at risk without first producing a Blood Heir. However, Abraxas's father had an heir in the form of Abraxas. He fought, and he died fighting in 1945. This was the same year the Dark Lord was defeated by Albus Dumbledore. Upon his death, Abraxas became Lord Malfoy at the age of twenty-four.”
Draco cocked his head, his blond hair shifting around his shoulders. “Is this usual?”
“Typically an Heir does not achieve Lordship until his forties,” Narcissa informed him, a sad tone to her voice. “Lucius and his father were very extraordinary.”
“I see.” Draco looked away from her to gaze at the painting in consideration. Abraxas gazed back calmly, still stroking his dogs.
“A year later, Abraxas founded a Quidditch team in France: the Quiberon Quafflepunchers,” she continued. “In less than three years, the team grew to be incredibly strong and gained fame by consecutively winning the French League Cup. Unfortunately, amid this success, tragedy struck again. Lady Iris died giving birth to Lucius in 1954. Abraxas sold the team for a very substantial sum to stay close to home and raise his son.”
“That's so sad,” Harry muttered, holding tighter to Draco's hand.
Abraxas didn't comment, staring broodingly into the fire.
“Lucius grew up and was sorted Slytherin at Hogwarts. He was very clever for his age and was top of his class all seven years in Hogwarts, becoming a Prefect and then Head Boy.”
“Didn't join the team, though,” Abraxas muttered.
Narcissa smiled. “No, but he became Lord Malfoy at thirteen years of age and managed to increase the Malfoy power when everyone suspected it would be the end of the Noble House of Malfoy.”
“Thirteen?” Draco echoed, looking up at her.
“Yes.” Narcissa gently tucked Draco's hair behind his ear. “Abraxas caught Dragon Pox in 1967 and died a few months later at the age of forty-six. Fortunately, there's a vaccine for it now, so such tragedies do not happen any longer. Lucius founded a new company that year to honor his father: The Nimbus Racing Broom Company. It is arguably the best broom company in the world still to this day.”
“Wow,” Harry breathed. The candlelight glinted off his glasses as he looked up at Abraxas. “You must have been a good dad.”
Abraxas smiled gently down at Harry. “I am sorry I left him so soon, but he has done me proud.” His eyes shifted to Draco, who was frowning. “I can only hope Lucius has a chance to know such joy as I did.”
Narcissa gave a little curtsy and turned to the boys. “Come, children. It's time for bed.”
…
They worked hard. Even meal times were lessons, and not even when they were sent to bed did the lessons stop. Alone in their rooms, Draco continued to work with Harry on his “public mask”, and if they weren't too tired, he'd also have Harry write in his journal the way Laila had taught them.
By the time Draco blew out the candles, they were exhausted, but no matter how tired they were, they still struggled to sleep through the night. Dark circles had begun to line their eyes as the week came to an end.
“I'm worried about them,” Narcissa spoke into the dark as she lay next to her husband. “They look so tired. Perhaps we should let them rest.”
“No.” Lucius's voice came from the dark. It sounded so close and yet felt so far away. “We are already asking less of them than what was expected of us growing up. They will adjust.”
Narcissa said nothing, uncertain and anxious. She got little sleep that night.
Chapter end.
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Freedom Bound in Chains