Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Freedom Bound in Chains	By : TaintedSensibly Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 58478 -:- 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
- 85
- 86
- 87
A/N: Just a reminder that this is M for Mature. There are scenes of child abuse / slavery / human trafficking / and rape in this chapter.
Violation
The rich aroma of the forest filled his senses. The smell of fresh rain, the soft perfume of flowers, the musk of animals, the green of plants, and just underneath it all… the sickly sweet smell of poison. Nostrils flaring, he crept silently through the underbrush and came upon a wide tree. The bark was darker, more sinister than the surrounding trees. The shade it cast felt threatening; the shadows almost seemed hungry.
Draco stalked around the base of the tree, searching… There! A thorn about teen feet above his head was halfway embedded in the trunk. Black sap oozed out from around it, as small as a drop of blood, but it stank of rot.
Bunching his muscular back legs, Draco leapt at the tree, claws digging into the bark. He whipped his head forward, bitting the thorn with his small, sharp front teeth, and yanked it out. The most foul taste flooded his mouth, his whole body clenched, wanting to vomit and expel the vile taste, but he refused to let go…
He was small with flesh hands and bare feet. He wore underwear and a shirt. It was hot, even at night. He was in a room with several beds and a single light above their heads. Other kids were there in similar clothes. One was crying in the bed closest to the door. Two others were laughing and hitting each other with pillows. A lady in a dark dress was shushing them, telling them to sleep. There was a dark gloom around the edges of the room and he frowned at it. Had that always been there?
A boy with dark skin, deep dark eyes, and short dreads flopped down at the end of his bed. “Are you sick?” he asked.
“No,” he answered. He tilted his head and blond hair fell into his eyes. “Why?”
“You never laugh.” The boy put his head down his folded arms. “You smile and stuff. You’re not like Tyson. He cries all the time ‘cause he misses his mommy. You never had a mommy, right?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then why don’t you laugh ever?”
“Roger, get into bed.”
The lady was beside them now. She smacked the black boy’s bottom. Roger - with a look of fear and pain on his face - scampered into the bed not even a foot away from Draco’s and crawled under the thin cover. Draco stared up at the lady. She had caramel skin and glossy black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She - glared at him coldly.
“Am I sick?” he asked her curiously.
She frowned and felt his forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” she dismissed and moved on - leaving him feeling alone. No one would ever understand him because he was different from all of them. “If I don’t hear silence in the next minute, you’re all going to get a smack!”
Draco frowned as he realized the shadows in the corners were whispering. He took a deep breath in. With his eyes pinned to that darkness, he blew as hard as he could. A powerful gust of ice-cold air whipped around the room. It became brighter, more in focus.
The image of Roger’s pain-filled face after the lady smacked his bottom changed into that of a giggling boy. She had barely tapped his butt. Her glare when Draco had asked his childish question melted into one of simple tiredness. She had touched his head gently when he had laid down, stroking his hair back from his face, tucking him in… but that gentle part of the memory faded almost as soon as he remembered it. The cold wind erasing it as it had the Dark Lord’s influence…
The black-scaled creature fell from the tree and landed on his paws. He was growling, anger pulsing through his blood. The poisonous thorns were altering his memories! The Dark Lord had wanted him to feel isolated, wanted him to pull away from others. He was different from the other kids, more serious and watchful, but he wasn’t alone. He had a sense that there was a cost to cleaning his mind of the Dark Lord’s manipulation, that he had to sacrifice something in exchange, but he had no other choice. He didn’t care what it cost him; he had to be free!
A deep growl of fury erupted from deep in his gut. His claws dug deep furrows into the rich soil beneath him. An almost eerie glow appeared in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he took in the scent of the forest around him. Again he smelled it, the faint hint of sickness on the air.
Draco sprinted forward, every inch a predator. This time the putrid scent wafted from deep within a bunch of ferns. The soft green, feather-like leaves parted under his nose. There, in the middle, a thorn was embedded in a withered, oily fern lying limp and flat along the ground. The soil around it reeked of poison. Gagging, body tensed, he nonetheless snapped his jaws around the fern, his stomach clenching, threatening to rebel, as he swallowed the leaf whole, dirt and all…
Draco sat huddled in the corner of a small square space. A single lightbulb hung above his head, but he’d been bad so he’d been denied light. It didn’t matter. He could see the room around him even though he was blind; he’d been stuck here for what felt like years, unable to leave.
A bare room so small he could almost reach out and touch both walls with his arms extended. One door that was always locked. A small metal grate in the floor. It smelled of piss and shit. It would until the bucket filled with soapy water was given to him to wash himself and the room, rinsing the drain clean.
It wasn’t cold or hot, but he shivered. It was quiet, always quiet. He used to scream or talk or sing, just to hear a voice, any voice, even his own. He’d even bounce himself off the walls like a ball just to be able to move, - but he’d stopped doing any of that. He couldn’t do it anymore. What was the point?
Suddenly the light turned on. Draco flung his arms over his face, his eyes watering painfully. The door opened. Fresh air spilled into his space, but Draco felt like choking because the monster was there. Standing in the doorway, filling it with his wide body. He was tall, but the monster knelt so that he wasn’t towering over him. Draco would rather he stay standing. As much distance that he could get from the monster the better.
“I missed you, baby,” the monster said, revealing himself to be a man, voice sickly sweet. “Did you miss me?”
Draco said nothing. - He stared straight ahead through the man’s chest, pretending he was still blind. - The smell of soap invaded his room as a bucket full of water was placed inside. The man easily reached him, his long arm stretching across the small room and grabbing hold of his leg. Draco was pulled forward and set on his feet. He didn’t fight, didn’t move, as the man began to sponge him off.
“Such a pretty boy, you are. A good boy…” the man cooed.
He said more of the same. Words spilling from his lips in a never-ceasing rain as Draco’s body was touched and scrubbed. The man loved to wash between his legs and his butt most of all. He’d rub and stroke with the sponge as well as his bare hand. He’d tug on Draco's balls and tap at his hole. The man’s whole face would get red when he did it. His mouth would part and he’d breathe heavy. - During this, Draco stood silent. It used to make him cry, but now he was just tired. What was the point in fighting? All he could do was endure and wait for it to be over…
Draco shook his head. Why was it so dark in here? The light was finally on. He looked up and saw a gloom too deep to see through. Drawing in a harsh breath, the man’s big hand kept rubbing at him as he muttered, “So goddamn pretty. So soft!” Draco threw his head back and screamed…
The shadows burst apart as cold air exploded around him. The false emotions were scraped clean, but the man’s face also blurred. Draco could no longer remember it with the crystal clarity he’d had before. All he knew was that he hadn’t stood there passive as the man groped and fondled him. He’d glared tearfully, his mind racing as he eyed the space between the man and the door frame. He had always watched! He’d always been ready! …
Thrashing his way free from the ferns, Draco staggered a few feet away. He crouched, panting. Fuck Voldemort! Clearly he hadn’t wanted Draco to resist. He wanted Draco passive and less likely to fight back. Well, fuck that! He would NEVER stop fighting!
Back then, during those three months he’d been trapped in that sicko’s closet, he’d not once given in. It had felt more like years than months, but he had never stopped testing the door, he’d never stopped hitting the walls, and he’d definitely never stopped watching for a chance to escape.
Howling like a wild thing, Draco leapt into a sprint and took off after the next hint of poison. The smell was up high. Taking a running leap, claws digging into the bark of a tree, he climbed with blinding speed. In seconds, he was in the canopy, crouching on a thick branch. There, hanging in a web, sat a fat spider. It glistened unnaturally; its body swollen grotesquely. Extra legs grew from its head. It was dead and deformed, half rotten.
Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He could barely force his jaws open. Bile burned the back of his throat. His whip-cord tail lashed side-to-side. Snarling, he snapped his jaws at the air. Spittle went flying. Then, before he could chicken out, he lashed his head forward and swallowed the putrid thing whole…
The master was drunk, but not so drunk that Draco would be able to bite and kill the bastard. The man held his favorite whip. The one that cut Draco to the bone with very little effort. If Draco got too close or made any sudden movements, he’d bleed for it. Sitting on the wide bed, his back to the headboard, the master’s eyes were half-lidded and glittered malevolently. His shirt was open down the front, revealing his hairy chest. His pants were also open.
Draco tried not to look, but it was hard to miss the thick rod that stood up against the man’s flabby belly. Draco wished the bastard would just fuck him already so that he could kill him dead, but the master had bought Draco already knowing about his strange “poison”. He never entered Draco with his own flesh. Toys, on the other hand, were fair game.
“You’re going to do it, slut. Or I will, and I certainly won’t be gentle about it,” the master taunted, his mouth curling into a mean grin. “Either way, I’m going to have so much fun.”
Draco was on his hands and knees at the end of the bed, his body longways across it so that the master faced his side. Pink silicone lay next to his left hand. The dildo wasn’t the biggest thing the bastard had shoved into him, but Draco had never been asked to do it himself before.
He glared murderously. He was already covered in bruises and his shoulders burned like fire from the last time the master had played with him. Cold hatred saturated his brain, the room filled his eyes with almost painful clarity. Sounds seemed muffled, but he could count each bead of sweat on the bastard’s face. Shifting up on his knees, Draco wrapped his hands around the dick. His fingers couldn’t quite meet around it.
The motherfucker lashed his whip forward. Draco grit his teeth on a scream as the bite of the leather seared a line of burning fire across his hip. Blood spilled hot down his thigh and splattered onto the bed. The pain screamed unending down his nerve-endings, forcing tears to flow down his pale cheeks.
“Use that as lube.”
Draco snarled, - but he obediently wet the toy with his blood. He lined the tip up against his body and began to push. The feeling of being spread open wasn’t foreign to him, but he was by no means used to it. He groaned. The pressure in his guts as it speared him to the core always made him cry…
Draco tossed his head hard to the side. No. That wasn’t right! He blew out a shaky breath and a cold wind as cutting as a knife burst through the room. He knew that as soon as that bastard had whipped him, as soon as Draco had seen that sick light enter that fucker’s eyes, he’d known he wasn’t going to get any mercy. He had bared his teeth and flung the toy right at the bastard’s face, but the image of the dildo slapping the fucker on the cheek was torn from the memory.
What didn’t disappear was the remembered agony of his punishment as the furious man whipped Draco with brutal precision, leaving ten bleeding lashes placed from shoulder to hips that had split the skin of Draco’s back and wrapped halfway around his chest so that he looked like a candy cane. Draco had been left just on the edge of death, but he most definitely hadn’t performed for the bastard and raped himself!
Falling from the tree as a black-scaled predator once more, he landed hard. His legs collapsed under him as his body hit the ground with a heavy thud. He hardly noticed. He was still caught up in the memory of being in the Hold, of being a slave to human traffickers.
For those fifteen hellish months, his existence had been focused on a single purpose, survival, but he wouldn’t have just obediently followed along for some false promise of mercy. He’d never been that naive!
The smell of Voldemort’s taint still drifted ominously on the air. For the first time Draco really understood what his freedom would cost him. Long ago he’d been pared down into something barely human. It wasn’t until Harry was thrown into the Hold that he had remembered what it was to feel warm. Going back again and again to the time before Harry would bring that mindset back. It would turn some of his mental forest back into the blood-thirsty jungle once more…
But he had no choice…
Not if he was going to be free.
Not if he was going to save Harry.
…
It was dark in the room. The only light came from a single candle that flickered gently on the currents in the air. The redheaded boy was sound asleep, his bed curtains wide open and his blankets pulled down to the foot of the bed despite the cold. He was curled on his side, knees drawn halfway up to his chest, one arm folded close, the other out flung. He wore thick sleep pants and a thin sweater. One foot was bare, the other wore a thick wool sock. He was deeply asleep, soft breathing barely detectable.
The boy’s body was sweet and pliant as he was stripped of his clothes. Thick fingers reverently traced all the freckles that spread down the boy’s chest and thighs. Greedy hands retreated only to return glistening with oil. The man massaged it into the boy’s pale flesh, making the redhead’s inner thighs glisten. Pushing the limp boy onto his side, the man climbed into bed behind the boy and pressed up against his slender, naked back.
Rock hard, the man’s dick rubbed against the boy’s ass and back, but he knew he couldn’t fuck him. Not the way he wanted to. He’d learned his lesson, learned to leave no evidence behind. He’d have to settle for the boy’s thighs. A warm, damp rag would wash the evidence away later. The boy would never know. As much as he missed the whimpers, the gasps, the way his first boy had squirmed and cried, he knew he couldn’t afford to be caught.
It didn’t matter. The boy’s thighs were soft and warm. They made the perfect passage when he braced his leg on top, forcing the boy’s thighs to squeeze together. Tight and wet, it felt so damn good as he rutted into that forbidden space. The redhead’s body rocked limply as the man’s languid thrusts became harder, more violent. The slap of skin on skin was loud in the room. His balls swung heavy, filling as heat coiled tight in his core.
Hoarse grunts escaped the man’s tight throat as his eyes drifted across the room. He locked on to the other boy he’d prepared. The dark-haired child was naked, robe flung wide open, sprawled in the center of the bed with his legs spread as wide as a whore’s. His arms were placed above his head, leaving his torso stretched. The image of those legs incased in thigh-high stockings, his perfect round ass covered in lace, sent him over the edge in a flash.
He gripped the sleeping boy in his arms hard as came, spurting between the redhead’s thighs and wetting the sheet. Shocks of pleasure sizzled under the skin, but it wasn’t enough. The redhead only took the edge off and let him think more clearly. He was still hard, even with cum dripping from his dick. His true desire lay in the other bed, helpless and asleep, vulnerable. He climbed out of the bed, leaving the redhead sprawled half on his stomach, half on his side, soaked between his legs with oil and cum.
The man padded silently across the room. He stood at the side of the bed and looked down at his true desire. He almost didn’t care what price he had to pay. He wanted the boy with a burning passion. Last night, he’d jacked himself off above the dark-haired boy, spelled his shirt gone and spread him out like the whore he was. He’d never cum so hard, splattering the boy’s perfect skin.
He knew the cost of touching the boy was high. He had been claimed and collared, after all, and even though he was young, the little blond who owned him was a force to be reckoned with. Of course, that only made the dark-haired boy even more desirable, which seemed impossible since the boy was such a gorgeous little whore all on his own.
Wild black hair, full pink lips, and slender with the delicious tendency to wear thigh-highs, heels, and lace panties… He also had a white dragon lying curled in a sleepy ball, embedded in the skin of the boy’s waist.
The man glared furiously even as his hands clenched. His first boy had been taken from him. A blood-red snake had been tattooed at the base of his boy’s spine just above the curve of his ass and had been filled with a Dark and deadly magic. He’d known immediately he’d never be able to touch the boy again.
That same dangerous magic was contained in this dragon, but it was also different. The snake had been a simple construct with the express purpose of killing anyone who touched the boy with lustful hands. The dragon was clearly far more complex, which left room for loop holes. Perhaps there was a way to get around it and take what he so desperately needed. It would only be fair! The snake had taken the only joy he had in his life. He deserved this after all he’d suffered!
Sweating, eyes glittering feverishly, he carefully reached out and touched the dark-haired boy’s slender wrist. He was careful not to touch skin yet. He kept his hand on the velvety material of the boy’s robe, the boy’s arms still inside the sleeves. He watched the dragon like a hawk. Heart pounding, dick throbbing as it stood rigid against his belly, the man slid his fingers down the boy’s arm and over the curve of his shoulder.
He was panting, almost cumming from this alone. He was so close to the boy’s face that he could count every eyelash that rested against his cheeks. The scent of the boy filled his nose. Lust burning deep in the pit of his stomach and between his legs, he gasped as his fingers ran out of material. Trembling, he let his fingertips drop onto the leather of the collar that ringed the boy’s slender throat. His eyes darted down to the dragon and he froze. It still lay peacefully still, but its dark green eyes were now open.
His heart thundered in his chest with the pounding beat of a war drum. His eyes darted up to the boy’s face, but the child still slept deeply, the man’s spell holding true. Boldly, he ran his finger over the collar’s edge and onto the warm skin of the boy’s throat. His breath caught and he stared down at the dragon, but it didn’t move. It continued to lay curled up, eyes unblinking and open.
Letting out a harsh breath, the man gave a feral grin. Less carefully now, he reached for the boy’s robe-clad arm and pulled until the boy was just on the edge of the bed. The movement made the boy’s legs close, but that was fine. He was after something else tonight.
He repositioned the boy’s arms down by his sides this time. The arm nearest the edge fell limply, hanging toward the floor as he pulled the boy’s head even closer to the edge by a firm grip on the boy’s thick hair. The dragon’s head weaved softly side to side as if hunting for something, but it couldn’t find him, couldn’t see him. It was not primed to recognize sexual energy and attack as the red snake had been. It had nothing to go off of with the boy unconscious and unaware. Without the child’s fear or anger to guide it, the dragon was harmless.
He released the child’s hair and gripped the base of his cock. His other hand came up to pull the boy’s jaw down revealing little white teeth and a small pink tongue. He pulled it open wider to see the dark red of the back of the boy’s throat. Moaning at the sight, skin feeling on fire, he slid the tip of his dick into the boy’s mouth.
The soft scrape of the child’s teeth sent electricity down his nerves. He carefully pressed forward, only half of his cock inside before hitting the back of the boy’s throat. The man gasped as the boy swallowed reflexively, lips briefly closing around him before falling slack once more. Drool began to pool in the bottom corner of the boy’s mouth.
“Merlin,” the man moaned shamelessly.
He grabbed the boy’s hair again to keep the kid’s head steady as he softly glided along the boy’s tongue, pressed at the inside of his cheek, and tapped at his soft palate. The room began to haze. He was sweating buckets. His thighs began to shake. He couldn’t believe he was here, using the boy’s slack mouth. He was so bloody close to exploding all over the little whore’s face…
Why was he holding back? He didn’t have to be careful. The boy bloody deserved it! He helped take away his first boy! He still remembered the feeling of stretching his boy out around his fingers, the tightness and heat, the way the boy got dripping wet with the sick he’d used before he pressed inside.
The feeling of that tightness wrapped around his dick had felt like being struck by lightning! He’d only gone halfway into the boy, afraid of hurting him, but it had still be ecstasy! He could still feel the way his boy had gripped him so tightly as he’d bounced his hips gently, gripping the base of his dick to make sure he didn’t go in too far. He’d pressed inside the boy’s helpless body over and over until he’d cum, fireworks exploding behind his eyes…
And that bliss had been stolen from him! He hadn’t been able to fuck anything since, afraid to leave evidence, settling for slack hand jobs and the slicked up thighs from the other boys he’d chosen. But tonight he’d get his revenge! He’d finally take what he so desperately needed, what he rightfully deserved! And it wasn’t like this little whore would even care! Dressing up like a girl, getting fucked by the blond on the regular! He’d probably love taking the man in, probably beg for it if he were awake…
Panting, almost mad with lust as he visualized the boy begging, tears in his eyes, the man snapped his hips forward and this time didn’t stop at the soft resistance at the back of the boy’s mouth. He pushed down the boy’s small throat and it closed around him, wet and constricting, tightening as the boy swallowed.
It felt better than anything he’d ever felt since taking his first boy’s ass and he let out a wild yell, his eyes rolling up in the back of his head. He pulled out, the boy making a small gasping sound before the man snapped his hips forward, pushing down the boy’s throat again.
Something in the man snapped completely. He growled, wild and vicious, as his hands clenched harder in the boy’s hair. He fucked the boy’s throat with abandon, battering the boy’s lips with his hips. The whore’s face turned pink as he was denied oxygen, his eyelids flickering as his hands helplessly twitched.
His hips slapped into the boy’s face at a rapid pace as he never fully pulled out of the tight heat constricting around his dick before slamming forward again. Shallow and fast, he thrust again and again, fascinated with the outline of his dick stretching the boy’s throat. He could even feel the bloody collar! Holding that throat even tighter around him just at the tip of his cock!
In only a few minutes, the end was rushing up, roaring over him like a steam train. He looked down to see where he was impaling the boy’s throat and saw the dragon rushing up the skin of the boy’s neck, its jaws open in a silent roar, eyes glittering with the promise of death.
With a scream, he stumbled back, falling on his ass. As he fell, he spurt a fountain of cum into the air, splattering the boy’s face, the bed, the floor. Heart tearing through his chest in a mixture of ecstasy and terror, he watched in horror as the dragon’s head lifted off the skin of the boy’s jaw, transforming from ink into real-life white-metal scales and glittering teeth.
The dragon snarled with the sound of a hissing rattlesnake, wings stiff and half raised along its back, covering the boy’s cheek and the top part of the boy’s neck. The man looked into the miniature dragon’s eyes and saw his own death. It looked right into him before sinking down, becoming an inked tattoo once again.
Trembling in relief, he felt his cock spurt a few more times on his trembling thighs before slowly softening. He laughed nervously, still catching his breath. Now that the threat of death had disappeared, he stared enraptured at the boy’s wrecked face.
There were a few strands of cum in the whore’s dark hair, across the bridge of his nose, and dripping from his chin. His lips were swollen twice their size and already darkening with bruises, a deep plum red. The boy was still sound asleep, panting softly and offering a weak cough every few minutes. Tears had slipped free of his closed eyes, beading on his lashes and rolling sideways to wet the sheet that was already soaked with drool.
Getting to his feet, feeling like a god, he strutted to the bedside table and grabbed the camera he’d left there. He took a picture of the dark-haired boy’s face, making sure to get nice and close. He also took a picture of the redhead’s glistening thighs. He already had quite a few of the redhead in his stash, but this would be a nice addition.
Satisfied and humming, he cast a spell to wet a rag with warm water. Almost reverently he cleaned the boys, the beds, and the floor. Once he was satisfied that all the evidence was gone, he dressed the redhead and carelessly covered him with his blankets. He didn’t bother putting a shirt back on the dark-haired boy. Like he’d said, the boy was a whore; that morning he hadn’t even questioned waking up naked, so he needed no special attention.
The man almost didn’t bother healing his mouth, either, the boy looking like a gorgeous doll, lips red with lipstick, but he knew his first boy would become suspicious, so he traced his wand over those succulent lips, casting a basic healing charm. Once that was done, he pulled the blankets back over the boy.
The two boys slept on oblivious, all traces of his victory erased.
…
Narcissa opened fevered eyes to a darkened room. She’d been in and out of consciousness for a whole day, but she was beginning to feel a little more coherent. She was in the guest room she favored in the east wing. The idea of going back to the master bedroom that she shared with Lucius made her stomach roll uneasily.
“Lottie,” she called, voice hoarse and weak.
The elf appeared as promptly as ever, but it didn’t call her master. “Yes, Lady Narcissa?”
“Warm broth and some water.”
The elf disappeared with a small bow.
While Narcissa waited, she propped herself up on her pillows so that she was sitting more than reclining. Her hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder and into her lap. She wore a loose cotton nightgown and had the blankets folded over her lap. A gentle fire burned in the fireplace, helping to keep the room at a warm temperature. She was as comfortable as she could make herself.
Her head ached, but it was no longer pounding as if a gnome with a hammer were banging away in there, and her magical core still felt raw and flared every so often, unstable, but the dizzy spells had past and she no longer shook. As for her status in the House of Malfoy, she was still Lucius’s wife. Magically, however, she was no longer recognized by Lucius’s magic or by the manor as his wife. The marital bond between them had been blocked, but it hadn’t been severed completely. Not yet. It would take a full divorce to sever their marriage completely, and divorce was deeply shameful in Pureblood circles, so she was fairly confident Lucius wouldn’t want to go that far.
Part of her understood his actions. He’d had to do it. To protect the manor and their son from Bellatrix, he had to block her access to the wards. She understood why Lucius had to do it, but it was how he had done it that had shocked her.
He hadn’t given her any time to recover from his clumsy mental assault and a broken Obliviate barrier. He hadn’t given her a potion to soften the blow of having the Malfoy wards and magic stripped from her. He’d been as brutal as he could be. Then to add insult to injury, he’d marked her as a ward under his care. That made the wards protect her, sure, but it also made them monitor her movements. It would also keep her from leaving without his permission.
On one hand, that told Narcissa that Lucius feared she’d run from him for the way he’d so disgracefully treated her and he did not want her to leave. On the other hand, it showed his utter contempt, that he thought of her as a child to manage. It hurt her terribly.
Lucius and she had gone beyond the traditional Pureblood marriage where there was no stepping outside of the roles placed on them by society. They had honestly loved each other, had suffered the same heartbreak at the loss of their son, and had taken care of each other. He’d trusted her judgement in many areas. He’d treated her as an equal.
Lottie returned with the warm broth and glass of water. The little elf summoned a lap tray so that she could remain in bed and Narcissa ate with shaking hands. She hardly finished half of the bowl before she grew too tired to continue.
Tears burned her eyes. She had never expected for Lucius to actually treat her with such cruelty. He had every right to be furious and hurt, but Draco was her son, too! She felt just as betrayed! She’d extended Bellatrix a promise of protection out of love, and in return her sister had hurt her more terribly than anyone else ever could. Lucius had to know that she would give anything, sacrifice anything, for Draco!
“Take it away and leave me,” she ordered the patiently waiting elf.
Lottie obeyed with another bow, taking the dishes and disappearing with a pop.
Narcissa weakly removed the pillows from behind her and lay down. She considered her options.
First, there was something about Bellatrix’s escape that still bothered her. Why did Bella wait until now to leave? For what had she needed the Solstice? The thought of seeing her husband filled her with fear, but she would not let fear rule her! She would see Lucius, and she would get her answers.
Second, she’d have to find her sister. Bellatrix was her mistake. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if Bella was able to inflict any more hurt on her son. Narcissa would have to find Bellatrix, and she’d have to kill her. She no longer entertained a hope of redemption and healing. The promises between them were void. There was too much damage now to be forgiven.
Narcissa stared up at the ceiling and sighed, frustrated and hurt. Her fist hit the bed next to her and she impatiently wiped at her tears with her other hand. Tomorrow, recovered or not, she’d confront Lucius and get permission to leave the estate. She had things to do and a son to protect. She was done playing nice.
Chapter end
A/N: A very intense chapter. Very tragic. I am open to anyone’s thoughts on the contents of this chapter. It is desperately sad how many people have experienced rape and domestic violence.
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Freedom Bound in Chains