In Freeing The Bound

In Freeing The Bound,
Chapter 2:

(Edited slightly)

“It’s you,” Harry said quietly once they had reached the top of the stairs, but Draco said nothing until they were inside his room, the door was locked, and his wards were in place.


He leaned gently against the door, letting his head fall back against it, and slowly removed his mask. Letting his hood fall back as well, Draco did not meet the other boy’s gaze.


After a moment of stunned silence, Harry breathed, “It is you.”


“Yes,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. He turned away, removing his heavy robe, as he added, “I’ll call for some food to be brought up. What would you like?”


When the other boy made no response, Draco turned back toward him- which was a mistake. Harry was staring directly at him and the expression on his face reminded the Death Eater of a begging puppy.


“Food?” he asked, his voice suddenly ragged, “What… what I’d like?”


Draco had expected him to be calm or suspicious or even excited, but Harry simply didn’t seem to understand the concept. “Yes,” he said, as if addressing a small child, “I’m going to call a house elf to get you some food. You know; something for you to eat? You are hungry, aren’t you?”


After another moment of silence, his words seemed to finally sink in and the boy’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” he cried, “Oh Merlin, I’m so hungry…”


Chuckling, Draco said, “Exactly. So what would you like to eat?”


“I-” Harry began exuberantly, “Could I have chicken? Or potatoes? Or could I have-” and then the excitement drained out of his face. “No,” he said quietly, “I think I’d just like a simple broth, just soup please.”


Draco watched him curiously for a moment and then nodded. “Of course,” he said, turning away. He pointed to a door on his right and offered, “You may bathe, if you’d like. I can have your meal brought to you whenever and wherever you would prefer.”


“That’s so kind,” the boy behind him said wistfully, “I haven’t had a proper bath in ages.” He paused and then added in a rushed voice, “Well, I have bathed, of course, but-”


He stopped talking at Draco’s quiet chuckle. “Would you like to bathe now, then?”


“I- no, I don’t think so. I’d like to eat first, if that’s alright.”


Looking back over his shoulder as he unbuttoned his sleeveless tunic, Draco said, “Of course. I hope you don’t mind my informalities; these clothes are just too stuffy for my tastes.”


Harry let out a strangled laugh and nodded. “I don’t mind at all. I’ve been alone in the wilderness for over three months, so I wouldn’t mind if you were half naked.” He paused and then shoved a hand into his hair and exclaimed, “This is just so weird!”


“What is?” the blond asked, removing the tunic and relishing in the feel of his loose long-sleeved shirt.


Harry sighed as Draco turned around. His expression was somewhere between a deep frown and a bemused smile as he breathed, “Trusting you. You’re not on my side- you’re a Death Eater for Merlin’s sake- and I’m your captive but… well, you’re the only person here that I don’t think is going to outwardly abuse me, so I actually trust you. I probably shouldn’t.”


Giving his childhood rival an appraising glare, Draco raised his wand and cast a row of complex silencing spells, allowing his next words to go undetected by anyone but the two of them.


“You should.” His voice was deep, meaningful. It earned him a curious and almost sad look in those emerald eyes. He simply nodded once and turned away once more. With that, he released the charms and, under the scrutiny of an unreadable green gaze, called for a house elf.


The elf took dinner orders from both of them and disappeared, leaving the two of them in an uncomfortable silence. “Thank you,” Harry said finally, “For all of your hospitality.”


“Don’t thank me yet,” he laughed, “You’re still a prisoner, after all.”


With a curious smile, the other boy said, “Yes, but I’m a very well taken care of prisoner.”


“That you are,” Draco said, and then added softly, “It’s the least we can do.” He extended a hand and turned Harry’s wrists toward the ceiling, casting a simple healing spell. Harry was still staring at his now smooth wrists when his dinner arrived.


Harry ate while Draco watched him, intent and silent.


When he was done, Draco quietly said, “He’s completely mad.”


Chuckling, Harry said, “He always has been. He tortured muggle kids with magic before he even knew what magic was, and he enjoyed it. There’s something seriously wrong with him.”


“True,” the blond said, leaning back, “But I’m sure you’ve noticed the change.”


Harry snorted, as though it were obvious.


Shaking his head, Draco added, “It’s not just him.”


Harry gave him a strange look, smile faltering, but said only, “Is that bath still available?”


Draco nodded and motioned once more to the bathroom door. “Towels, and all the supplies you’ll need, have been set up for you. If you require anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”


Harry nodded, a gentle and almost embarrassed smile on his face as he said, “Thank you.”


“Would you like anything to eat after your bath?” Draco asked as the man approached the door.


Harry shook his head. “Nothing I can think of,” he said, “But I will probably be hungry again, so if you’re having something-”


“I’ve eaten,” Draco lied.


“Oh,” Harry said, head dipping a few inches, disappointed.


Though his face remained stoic, Draco frowned internally. “It’s not a problem to order something more for you.”


“Okay,” the other man said, throwing him a close-eyed smile. “I don’t really know what to ask for, so… Surprise me.” With that, he disappeared into the bathroom. The heavy click of the lock sounded through the room.


Sighing, Draco stopped his fantasies before they began. He called his house elf back and gave intricate instructions for the meal he had in mind, making it clear that it should be ready as soon as Harry was done bathing. That done, he moved through the room, straightening pictures and generally making it more presentable. There was nothing terribly untidy about his room—nothing that he suspected Harry had noticed—but it calmed his nerves regardless.


With nothing left to tidy, Draco made himself comfortable in the green armchair beside the bed, pulling his legs up under him, and picked up his latest read—or reread, as it were—the collection of letters by Henry James. He found it pleasantly dry and full of pointless insights, but the complexities of the 19th century man’s mind and sentence structure made him smile.


He heard Harry rise from the tub almost an hour later, and a platter of food appeared on the bedside table. It was, however, almost another twenty minutes before the man emerged.


Draco stopped his mind, yet again, before it betrayed him—this time by swooning headfirst at the sight of Harry Potter in Draco’s green silk pajamas. He looked several sizes too small in them, shrunken and malnourished as he was, but it only added to the effect.


Harry glanced at him, but broke eye contact immediately. His expression was a mix of embarrassment and frustration. It slipped into shock, however, when he laid eyes on the bowl of strawberries beside the bed. Eyes darted back to Draco’s for only a second, he stifled a smile.


Draco did not stifle his own; he let it tug at the corners of his mouth as he watched his childhood rival squirm with delight. Those startlingly green eyes were even cleared than Draco had remembered—possibly due to the lack of eyeglasses—and struck a deep, sacred chord within him every time they locked with his own.


“Are these for me?” Harry asked finally.


Draco laughed softly at the near squeal in the other man’s voice. “I told you I’ve eaten, didn’t I?” he said.


Harry hopped onto the bed and pulled the bowl into his lap, placing it in the dip between his crossed legs. There was a ridiculous grin on his too-thin face. Draco could not fathom having caused such joy in anyone, let alone Harry Potter, and the smooth warmth it stirred in his core caused him to lose all attention he’d been paying to his book. Rather, he lost the ability to pretend to read, as he hadn’t actually been reading since Harry had emerged from the bathroom.


“They have sugar on them,” Harry said in awe, “And they’re de-stemmed.”


“De-stemmed,” Draco repeated, not even bothering to conceal the teaseing edge to his tone.


Harry glanced up at him, grinning sheepishly, and muttered, “It should be a word…”


The comment startled Draco, for reasons he did not understand, and he let out a surprised laugh—possibly the only genuine laugh Harry had ever heard from his throat.


The other man looked at him, squinting his eyes—searching—as if he understood the significance of that sound. Then, quirking the left corner of his mouth and nodding amicably, he popped a strawberry into his mouth. Draco watched openly as those eyes slid closed and a moan of pure bliss filled the room.


He was glad that Harry’s eyes were closed and his attention elsewhere, because he was fairly sure he’d let out a quiet moan of his own, and the heat crawling all over his skin was surely turning his paleness pink. He forced a deep and silent breath, calming his body back into its stoic mask, as he filed those thoughts away for a time when he was alone in the dark with only his hand for company.


Harry went on that way for a while, occasionally commenting only on how amazing his meal was—always wording his praise in what was surely unintentionally suggestive. Eventually the bowl was empty, and Draco was torn between the desperate wish that he had spelled the bowl to refill itself, and the near overwhelming sense of indebtedness to whatever god there might be that his torture had come to an end.


Harry put the bowl on the bedside table and leaned back against the pillows on Draco’s bed, pajama’s matching the emerald silk of his sheets. As his eyes fluttered closed, Draco heard the man whisper, “Thank you,” in his quietest tone.


And then he was asleep, breathing like a healthy baby, and Draco let out the chest-crushing sigh he had been suppressing. Harry Potter was asleep in his bed. He looked down at his book only to fight the urge to sneer and throw the object across the room.


He had expected the other man to hold some semblance of fear and resentment toward him. He had not expected this.


Author's note:
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